Washington, H-J, 1873-1987, Undated

HAWKINS, Cy,ifford, white, hanged Washington (Skagit) 2-23-1938,

3 Place: Sauk, rural Skagit County, 2 miles east of Mount Vernon,
og Death dates: Dee, 17, 1936 = Ernest Grimm, 29 yrs. old.)Both shot and
March 12, 1937 - Floyd Grim, 21 yrs. old, )beaten.
Bodies buried: one in manure pile, one in wooded area on Grimm farm,

Victims were sons of Mr, and “Ys, Roy Grimm (Ethel), Objected to
relationship between Clifford Hawkins, 25, (hired under alias Toivo
Hautaneimi) and their sister Edith, 11(at the time Hawkins came).

Hawkins had been hired to care fortheir father (paralytic, died June,1937)
and to help with farm work, The older sons had strenuously objected to
the "illicit relations" that had been instigated and contimed by Hawkins
with their young sister, The brothers had allegedly repeatedly struck

the girl several times in protest. She, her mother and Hawkins, according
to testimony, hkd had to defend themselves from other family members be-
cause of the affair, After an argument out of doors between Ernest and
Hawkins one evening the first mrder occurred, The same circumstances
were related in the second murder, Hawkins told the family that the young
men had gone to California, the second victim to be with his brother (the
first victim), Hawkins had told young Edith he was"going to have to kill"
them previous to the acts and later told her he had done so, She did not
pass on this information to anyone,

Hawkins finally jailed on a morals charge, The papers were not clear as to
what this action entailed; that is, were Edith's other two brothers instru-
mental in having the morals charge brought about, or other relatives?????
While in jail on this charge Hawkins told a cell-mate about the murders, and
attempted to have a letter to Edith smeggled out of jail, It was inter-
cepted, The letter mentioned the murders and gave evidence of premeditation.

Hawkins stated at the trials’conclusion, acc.to the Mount Vernon Daily
Herald, ‘I would rather die than go to prison for life.' The jury of 10 men
and 2 women rettrned a guilty verdict in the record breaking time of 26
minutes, Acc, to the M.V.Herald Dee, 18, 1937 issue, "It was the first
time in the history of Skagit County that a jury returned a hanging verdict,
but Hawkins was apparently willing to be the first to have such a fate pro=
nounced, More than 4O years ago, when Skagit was still a part of Whatcom
7 Bounty» Al Hamilton was hanged in Fairhaven for the slaying of an attorney.®
Fairhaven is now within the Bellingham City limits and is one of the early,
Roce small towns that became Bellingham,

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“HAMILTON,

. riged at Fairhaven, Washinton, on 5-23-1902.

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Alfred (Al) Hamilton was ‘hanged in Whatcom County, Wash, (change of venue from Skagit Co, )
some time in 1901 (after August 15) for the murder of lL M Woodbury of Anacortex on Sept.
7, 1899, Was leader of a band of fish trap pirates, Plot made to free him by confederates
from the Watcom County jail while he was awaiting execution and when authorities learned of
this, he was taken to King County for safekeeping, In 1895 he had stabbed to death a come
panion named “halen in Seattle, Arrested but released on bond before Whaen died and escaped
from custody after he heard that'haien had died but before he could be rearrested, His real
name was Hawkins, He had been engaged in petty smuggling on the Sound with Whalen and they
got into an argument offer the division of spoils, He ten became leader of smgglers and
fish trap pirates who robbed salmon traps of San Juan Archipelao and was believed to have
murdered a number of persons. On September 7, 1899, he ehld up the entire town of Anacort ex.
After drinking himself to madness, he began hunting for enemies, Encountered Woodbury, a
lawyer, and two other men in the building where Woodbury had his offices, Ordered them to
hold up hands (had two revolvers) and the other men raised theirs, Woodbury refused to do
so and he shot and killed him, Convicted and sentenced to hang in Skagit County but on
appeal was awarded a new trial and granted a change of venue. to XXKESK Whatcom County where
he was again convicted and sentenced to hang and this conviction was affirmed,

SEATTLE POST INTELLIGENCER, Seattle, Washington, August 16, 1901


ai iN Ra Ri aia be hn Rae es ORS itl a aes a al aM By Ft

From the files in the KITSAP COUNTY HISTORICAL MUSEUM

From Information gathered in 1952:

"An Indian was hanged in Port Madison, the exact date I do not know, but it was

1873 or 1874, at the old jail by sheriff of Kitsap County, Theo. 0. Williams.
Dr. Alverson pronounced him dead after 20 minutes.

B
("Jainbridge Thru Bifocals" states Williams was deputy sheriff at the time.)

Gadian was hanged for cuttin
some whiskey from his victim

& another Indian's throat with a broken bottle to get

This, to my knowledge ,was the only hanging in Kitsap County. - R. 0.


hy Jack Slater

saw that wheel in the
Grimms’ machine — shop,
Sheriff.”

Sheriff Pat McCarthy, of Skagit
County, Washington, showed his
surprise as he eyed the complain-
ant.

“Why, you certainly don’t think
they stole it, do you?” he queried.
“T don’t know the family, but I’ve
heard of them. They’ve got the
reputation of being one of the
finest families in the county.”

“They are too,” his visitor
agreed. “I Anow they didn’t steal
it. I’d bet a hundred to one on
that, But they probably bought
it from the party who did. It’s
got several nicks on it. I'll de-
scribe them to you, and if you
don’t mind going down there and
taking a look—”

“Of course not,” McCarthy as-
sented. “I'll run down there this
afternoon.”

To him it was just another
complaint about a stolen article,
one of the kind which come into
his office by scores during the
course of a year. But, although he
had no inkling of it at the time,
it was destined to be added to
the thousands of inconsequential
matters which led to the uncov-
ering of a far more serious crime
—this time one of the most mon-
strous which had ever taken place
in the entire criminal history of
the Chinook State.

There was no one in_ the
Grimms’ machine shop when the

16

S OMEBODY told me_ they

sheriff entered. There, just as his
visitor had stated, was a Pelton
wheel—one of the kind used in
the construction of boats. And
the nicks and other marks on
its surface left no doubt it was
the one which had been stolen.

The sheriff was just about to
go up to the Grimm home when
a scraping noise caused him to
turn. In the doorway stood a
handsome, square-jawed young
man with a smiling, rather at-
tractive face.

“Looking for someone?” he
queried.

“I’m the Sheriff,” McCarthy in-
troduced himself. ‘“You’re one of
the Grimm boys, I take it, I un-
derstand there’re several of them.”

“There are,” the young man
replied. “But I’m not one of them.
My name’s Clifford Hawkins. But
I’m just the same as one of the
boys. You’d never know we were
not sisters and brothers. Is any-
thing wrong?”

“This Felton wheel,” McCarthy
answered. “Where did you get
it?”

“I don’t know. I believe Floyd
Grimm bought it. I don’t know
where. He just came back with
it from Mt. Vernon several months
ago.”

“I'd like to talk with him.”

“He’s not here, He's in Califor-
nia. Been there for two or three
months. But about that wheel?”

“It’s been stolen.”

“Stolen! My God, Sheriff, you

/ 945

don’t think Floyd would — steal,
do you?”

“No, I don’t. I understand what
a good reputation the Grimm
family has. But he _ probably
bought it from someone who did,
and I wanted to find out who
it was. Drop me a line if you
hear from Floyd, will you? I'll
arrange to send for that wheel.”

“Okay, Sheriff. I’m sorry you
had that trouble. I’ll let you know
just as soon as we hear from
Floyd.”

CCARTHY returned to his
headquarters at Mt, Vernon.
When he reached his headquar-
ters he consulted with his deputy,
Lester Finson, who had once lived
near Sauk, where the excellently-
kept Grimm farm was located.
“I know them all well,” Finson
told him. “Roy, the father, died
about two years ago. One of the
kids, Roy, who’s about ten, is
named after him. There’s_ six
others: Ernest, the oldest, who’s
around 30; Howard, about 25 or
26; Jay, around 23 or 24; and
Earl, who I guess is around thir-
teen or fourteen. The sixth child
is Alice Stanton. She’s around 15,
a neighbor’s child who was or-
phaned at birth but has lived
and grown up with the others
till she’s practically their sister.
She and her folks originally hail-
ed from Seattle. The Grimms are
one of the finest families in) the
county, and are so _ affectionate
with one another that it’s become
a sort of by-word around there.
Why, Pat? Is anything wrong?”
The sheriff evaded a direct an-
swer. “Do you think Floyd and
Ernest are the kind of boys who
(Continued on paye 42)


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REVEALING DETECTIVE CASES

for the first time he placed to-
gether the names of two of the
pirl’s acquaintances, she had not
said “gir? and “breath,” but
“Kerr” and “Death”—the names
of George J. Kerr and William A.

Death, the pair who had attack-
ed her. “I had a rendezvous with
na coupla guys,” she could have
said, “and one of them was Mr
Death!”

Both men have since died.

CASE OF THE BLONDE TEASER FROM SEATTLE

(Continued from page 16)

would go to California and not
write to their mother for two
months to tell her where they
were?”

“Tt’s unthinkable,” Finson an-
swered promptly, “Who says
that?”

McCarthy told him about find-
ing the Pelton wheel. and about
what young Clifford Hawkins had
told him. “Everything may be on
the up and, up,” he said. “Young
people are inclined to be careless
about communicating with their
relatives, But I won't feel satis-
fied until I’ve checked up a little.
Or, rather, until you have.”

“Me?”

“yes. You know everybody and
his dog around that section. I
want you to go down there and
make a few inquiries. Just feel
your way cautiously. I don’t want
to start a lot of gossip when
there’s no reason for it.”

INSON went to Sauk the fol-

lowing day. Within an hour
after his arrival it was very plain
to him that he didn’t have to
stir up any gossip. There was
plenty of it stirred up already.

The gossip had to do with the
twenty-five-year-old ‘Hawkins and
the fifteen - year - old schoolgirl,
Alice, the usual kind of some-
thing “going on” between them,
Finson hadn’t seen Alice for sev-
eral years. When he made it his
business to get a look at her
smiling, Innocent face and care-
free manner, he just couldn’t be-
lieve the stories.

“Tt’s malicious gossip,” he said
to a friend whom he had ques-
tioned. “I’m surprised at you,
Jim, that you believe such obvious
lies.”

“Okay, Les,” the friend answer-
ed. “You asked me and I told
you. But I’ve seen them together,
come across them once in the
woods when I was out hunting.
I must say that his manner was
very affectionate toward her.”

“You certainly don’t mean—”

“No, not what you're think-
ing,” the friend answered. “But
I still say his manner was very
affectionate toward her. And I'll
tell you something further: two
of her ‘brothers’ were very much
upset about it.”

“Which ‘brothers’?” Finson de-

manded.

“Floyd and Ernest,”

Floyd and Ernest! The two who
had gone to California and had
not let their mother know in two
months where they could be
reached! A curious, tingling feel-
ing assailed the deputy. There
was no definite reason why this
information precipitated such a
feeling. But it did nevertheless.
When further inquiry convinced
Finson that, if there was nothing
“going on” between Hawkins and
the young schoolgirl, everyone in
Sauk thought there was, he de-
cided to return to Mt. Vernon and
make a report to his chief.

The astounded Sheriff promptly
expressed disbelief just as had his
deputy. Nevertheless he was in
Sauk the following day. He had a
good excuse for talking to Hawkins,
namely, the stolen wheel.

“T’@ like to clear that case up,”
he told -him. “Haven’t you heard
from Floyd or Ernest yet?”

“No, not a word.”

“Didn’t they say goodbye to their
mother before they left and tell
her where they were going?”

“No. I met Floyd in Sauk. He told
me he had decided to go to Cali-
fornia to look for work, and that
I should tell his mother. You see,
Sheriff, he said he knew she’d ob-
ject strenuously to his going, and
that it would cause her a lot of
pain in saying goodbye, and that
she might even prevail on him not
to go when he felt it should. Baid
the farm couldn’t support all of
them.”

“Did Ernest leave in the same
way?”

“No, he telephoned me to say he
was going to join Floyd, and that
I should tell his mother. He gave
the same reason for going.”

“Took here,” McCarthy said sud-
denly, “there’re a lot of strange
stories going around about you and
Alice and—”

“I know there are,” the young
man exploded, “and I'd like to get
my hands on whoever started them.
Why, Alice is like a sister to me.
I’m like one of the family and I’m
treated that way. Don’t take my
word for it. Ask Mrs. Grimm.”

The sheriff followed the sugges-
tion. The kindly, motherly woman
showed the same bitter anger as
had Hawkins when the sheriff, as
delicately as he could, broached the
subject.

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“They’re rotten lies!” she flared
“It’s just a lot of filthy gossip!”

“Well, I’m certainly relieved that
you feel that way,” the sheriff said.
“I’d like to talk to Floyd about
that wheel. I want to get the name
of the man he bought it from. You
haven’t heard from him yet?”

“No, not a word from either of
them.”

“They’ve been gone about two
months?”

“Two! Oh my, no, much longer
than that; five or six at least.”

The sheriff was thunderstruck.
And for two reasons. First, because
young Hawkins had told him it was
only about two. And, second, be-
cause of the casual way in which
the kindly, motherly-looking widow
took it.

f Nod interview was getting no-
where. The sheriff said goodbye
and left. But now, as he drove back
to Mt. Vernon, he was far more
disturbed than he had been on his
previous visit to Sauk.

“It seems to me,” Finson sug-
gested, “after they had spent hours
going over such details as they had,
“that the little girl may be the one
who has the key to the mystery—
if there is any mystery.”

“I don’t like the idea at all,” Mc-
Carthy objected. “She’s in all prob-
ability innocent, and questions
about a, possible relationship with
Hawkins might give her a shock
which would leave a personality
Scar, as the psychiatrists call it; for
years to come. People’s lives have
been ruined by just such things as
that. I don’t want the job.”

“Neither do I—alone,” Finson ad-
mitted. “But how about my going
with Dick Welts, and maybe Charlie
Lund. They’re both pretty per-
suasive men. And Welts particular-
ly knows how to handle children.”

It was true. Welts was an experi-
enced probation officer, who “had
a way” not only with children, but
with adults as well, which enabled
him to probe beneath the surface
without shocking or alarming the
subject. Charles Lund, the District
Attorney, had an almost equal fa-
cillty along the same line.

The sheriff agreeing to the pro-
posal, the three men called on the
girl at the high school which she
attended. Welts and Lund immedi-
ately agreed with Finson that here
was a young maiden entirely with-
out guile,

Which of her “brothers” did she
like best? None, she liked them all.
Dic they get along well together?
Yes indeed, they never quarreled.
And Clifford? Oh, he was just the
same as a brother.

“Do you take walks with your
‘brothers?’ ”

“Sometimes.”

“And with Clifford?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“You say he’s like a brother,”
Lund smiled, and then, teasingly,

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flared
issip!”
ed that
iff said.
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1e name
om. You
oy abd
‘ither of

out two

ch longer
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terstruck.
, because
im it was
‘ond, be-
in which
ng widow

ting no-
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rove back
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ison sug-
ent hours
they had,
e the one
mystery—

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iship with
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versonality
call it, for
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t‘inson ad-
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children.”
an experi-
who “had
ildren, but
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arming the
the District
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to the pro-
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itirely with-

ers” did she

ced them all.
el together?

-y quarreled.
was just the

s with your

a_ brother,”

cn, teasingly,

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“Do you kiss him like you do your
‘brothers?’ ”

“Yes, indeed,” the girl answered
promptly. .“I asked ‘Mama’ if it
was all right and she said yes. You
see, I’m his sweetheart.”

It was said in the way any school-
girl would talk about a “crush.”
But the questions which followed
showed that Hawkins had taken a
ruthless advantage of the girl’s
wholehearted trust and confidence
in him, and had played on her af-
fections until he had accomplished
his purpose. Not only that, but he
had actually convinced her it was
perfectly all right because she was
his “sweetheart.” And he had im-
pressed upon her that it was alla
grand secret between them, which
would be completely spoiled if she
ever told anyone about it.

At the conclusion of the talk, the
girl skipped blithely away, appar-
ently without the slightest com-
prehension of the implications of
what she had innocently revealed.

EAVY-HEARTED, and boiling

with a suppressed fury, the
three officers left to call on Mrs.
Grimm. The reception they receiv-
ed from her was even more dumb-
founding than the information they
had just elicited from the “daugh-
ter.”

“J think it’s outrageous for you
to question such a young girl about
things like that,” she exploded in-
dignantly. “It’s ridiculous! Why,
Clifford’s the best friend we ever
had. He wouldn’t dream of doing
such a thing.”

It was plain she was just as much
under the influence of the open-
faced young Hawkins as was her
“daughter.” Bul) McCarthy was un-
der no such influence.

“Arrest him on a_ statutory
charge and bring him to Mt. Ver-
non,” he directed crisply, when Fin-
son phoned him the result of their
two interviews.

But he was not nearly so sure he
was doing the right thing when he
questioned Clifford Hawkins in his
office the following morning. For
Hawkins was apparently not at all
disturbed. In fact, he took it all
as more or less of a joke.

“It’s so ridiculous it’s funny,” he
said. “I suppose if a man was ar-
rested on gossip, half the people in
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That was his attitude during the
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The sheriff was getting more than
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in wishful thinking.

“Hunches and gossip are one
thing, facts and evidence another,”
he snapped to Finson during one
of their numerous discussions of
the case. “Nevertheless, I can’t get
it out. of my head that there’s some

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BY BUCKLEY GRAY

T HAS BEEN said that a man’s character is written on his

face, and that his eyes reveal his thoughts.

The accuracy of this theory is proved daily by police
officers and other law enforcement agents all over the world,
for a crack detective must be, instinctively, an expert char-
acter analyst. Many a tough case has been broken when
a sleuth has sensed the significance of a sly smile, a lifted
eyebrow or—as in the case of Sheriff Pat McCarthy, of
Skagit County, Washington —a pair of narrowed, beady
eyes.

Sheriff McCarthy, but for his alert intuition, might well
have overlooked completely one of the weirdest, most spine-
tingling mysteries in the crime annals of America’s vast
Northwest.

It all started in routine fashion on a bright morning in
May, 1937. George Pederson, a farmer from the Upper
Sauk River region, dropped into the Sheriff’s office to report
the loss of a generator from his water pumping machinery.
He had heard in a roundabout way, he declared, that the
generator would be found on the Grimm farm at Faber
Ferry, several miles away.

“It's just the kind of day I'd pick to go out looking for
a generator that’s disappeared,” the Sheriff told Pederson,
jovially, blowing a cloud of cigar smoke into the slanting

beam of spring sunshine that shone through his office }

window. “I'll start out for the Grimm place in an hour or
so—drop in to see you on the way back.”

After the farmer had left, McCarthy turned to his assist-
ant, Undersheriff Les Finsen.

“You're familiar with that Faber Ferry country, Les. Just
what kind of people are the Grimms? The name is familiar
but I can’t quite place them.”

Finsen reported that Roy Grimm, Sr., erstwhile owner

of the backwoods farm, had died only two months before. 7

Living on the place now were his widow, two sons,
Ernest, twenty-six, and Floyd, twenty-one, and a daughter,
Edith, thirteen. They were highly regarded in the com-
munity.

It was mid-morning when Sheriff McCarthy and Under-
sheriff Finsen left Mount Vernon, the county seat, and set
out for Faber Ferry, forty-two miles away. The Grimm
farm was reached only by a narrow, circuitous dirt road
still muddy from the spring thaws and none too easy to
travel. Farm clearings were sparse in that wilderness of
river-edge pine which comprised the Sauk River flatlands.
And most of the homes were scraggly, ramshackle places.
Thus it was with some surprise that the Sheriff rounded a
bend in the road to be confronted with a farm in splendid
condition.

Amidst a large clearing sat a spacious frame dwelling
that gave every indication of good care. Even the roof
showed signs of having been reshingled recently. It was
flanked by a huge barn, a neat array of outbuildings, and
fences all in excellent repair. It was also apparent that
every acre of ground had been kept under cultivation.

“This is the Grimm farm,” said Finsen. “The drive-
way’s right up ahead a couple of hundred feet.”

Sheriff McCarthy secretly wondered if Pederson had not
been misinformed as to the whereabouts of that generator.
Why, he mused inwardly, would the owners of an obviously
Prosperous farm want to steal a neighbor’s generator?

WHAT SECRETS LAY IN THE BRAIN OF ABDUL

HAUTANIM? WHERE. DID

A man of directness and action, McCarthy came immediately
to the point when Mrs. Grimm opened the door in response to
his knock.

“I'm here on rather unpleasant business, Mrs. Grimm,” the
Sheriff asserted. ‘“We have been informed that there. is a
stolen generator here which belongs to George Pederson. We
came out to take a look around—”

Sheriff McCarthy had expected some kind of response to his
declasation. But Mrs. Grimm, a stocky woman in her late
forties, with blue eyes and sandy hair, remained standing in the
doorway as though she were in a trance. Her facial expression
was blank. Her eyes had that faraway look characteristic of a
person who is listening for sounds not audible to other ears.

Nonplussed for a few seconds, the Sheriff was just about to
ask the woman if she were ill when she spoke. Her words were
as expressionless as her face.

“This is Abdul Hautanim. He will tell you anything you

want to know.” Mrs. Grimm raised her hand and pointed
mechanically.

Sheriff McCarthy, looking around, was startled to find himself
face-to-face with a heavy-set, swarthy young man, whose eyes
were like two black crescents glittering from beneath black brows.
From his olive skin to his blue-black hair he looked every inch
an East Indian. The Sheriff checked a subconscious impulse to
reach for his gun, and at the same time he saw Undersheriff Les
Finsen moving uneasily on the front seat of the car.

Mrs. Grimm was speaking again.

“Since the death of my husband,” she said, “the farm is
being run by the Rajah, here.”

“The Rajah!”

Both Sheriff McCarthy and Undersheriff Finsen made the
exclamation at once.

The faintest flicker of a smile crossed the inscrutable features
of the swarthy young man.

HEADLINE TETECTIVE MAGAZIN E,

A ee

LUE OF THE EVIL EVE

HE GET HIS HYPNOTIC POWERS — AND

“That’s just my nickname,” he’ volunteered. His voice was
deep, vibrant. “About that generator.” he continued. “Well,
there is one here, Sheriff. Sonny—that’s what we call Floyd
—brought it home with him one day. Said he had picked it
up at a bargain. I’m certain he wouldn't steal it. If you'll
follow me I'll show it to you.” .

It was but a minute’s work to check the serial number which
Pederson had provided with that of the generator on the Grimm
farm. They tallied. :

“This is serious business,” declared McCarthy. “That's Peder-
son's generator, all right.”

Back at the house the officers confronted the Widow Grimm
once more.

“Unless Sonny can show he bought that generator, I'll have
to take him back to town with me,” said the Sheriff.

As he spoke, he noticed for the first time the slim figure of a
wide-eved girl peering from the shadows within the house. And

Far left: A grue-
some climax to
an incredible -
saga of crime
arrived when au-
thorities dug two
bodies out of a
secret grave,

Left: Only thir-
teen, Edith
Grimm suffered
a horrible fate
while in the
clutches of the
man. who had
slain her brothers.

with some consternation he saw that her gaze seemed as far-
away as her mother's had been. Following her linesof vision, he
found the Rajah standing there silently, menacingly, his beady
black eyes virtually transfixing the child. It made Sheriff
McCarthy think of the time that he had seen an evil-eved snake
charm a small bird into fluttering helplessness. The Sheriff
had always scoffed at such a thing as hypnotism, and yet . . . and
yet...

The Rajah, aware that he was being watched, slowly relaxed
his cruel features into a smile.

“I'm afraid you won't take Sonny with you,” he stated in his
deep voice, “because Sonny and Ernest both left for California

. a week ago. They have some friends down there who seem to be

making out right well. They decided to join them.”

Sheriff McCarthy, inwardly seething at the insolence and
patronizing air of the Rajah. turned to Mrs. Grimm as though
he had not heard him

é

OW DID HE USE THEM?

“How long.” he asked her, “has this fellow been head
man around your place?”

Her eyes fixed at an indefinite point on the horizon, Mrs.
Grimm answered in slow, deliberate words as though she
were talking in a dream.

“My son brought him home with him from a CCC camp,”
she explained. “You see. after my husband died we needed
help around. the place. The Rajah knows farming better
than most hired men. You can see for yourself what kind of
shape the grounds are in. And then, besides, both my sons
left-me overnight. I haven't received so much as a letter
from them since they went away. I can’t run the place
alone.”

There seemed- nothing else to be accomplished at that
moment, so the silent Sheriff and his aide loaded the stolen
generator into their car and started away. As they rounded
the front of the house the Sheriff got another glimpse of
bird-like, thirteen-year-old Edith Grimm. She was peering
at the departing officers from behind a ‘window curtain in
one of the front rooms, luminous, blue eyes large in her

» ashen face.

“Young one looks scared to death,” volunteered the
imperturbable Finsen.

The pair of glittering crescents that were the Rajah’s
eyes danced maddeningly in the Sheriff's memory. He spat
forcefully from the car window.

“That lad is a devil if I ever saw one, Les,” said the

* Sheriff between clenched teeth. “Those evil eyes of his

are enough to tell me that something is wrong on the Grimm
farm—besides stolen generators. And I won't rest until I
find out what it is.

“Why, that heathen has got the little girl and her mother
under some kind of spell. He's got them half paralyzed with
fear of him.” He paused for a spell, thoughtfully, and
then, “I’ve seen that type of man before. Must have his
way at all costs. Won't let anything stand in his way—at
any price.

“He's got the eyes of an East Indian, but he doesn’t have
the delicate features characteristic of the race. I wonder
who he really is?”

After delivering the stolen generator to grateful Farmer
Pederson, the two officers sped back to Mount Vernon.
Almost immediately they launched an investigation into the
habits and disposition of the two Grimm boys. They
checked with every person who might have known them in
Skagit County. And they discovered definitely that the
missing youths were not the type to disappear from home
so abruptly, and without even dropping their mother a line
after they had left.

A month passed and still Sheriff McCarthy was unable to
discover the whereabouts of the boys in spite of numerous.
far-flung queries. They appeared to have dropped com-
pletely out of sight.

The Sheriff concluded that it was time to organize a
definite course of action. He summoned Undersheriff
Finsen to his office.

“Les,” he said, “it may only be a hunch, but I’m convinced
that our Rajah friend is definitely responsible for the dis-
appearance of the Grimm boys. Anyway it’s high time we
got to the root of that mystery out there. Everything isn’t
as it should be.

“For one thing, he’s hypnotized Mrs. Grimm until she
seems to lack all interest in what happens to her or her
children—and I never did believe in that kind of thing before.

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And here again the sinister shadow of
the drug crept into the case.

“He gave me something,” said the
girl. “I don’t know what it was.”

Te use of morphine was never
L proven, sithougt the fact that “The
Finn” had probably given the girl
some sort of an aphrodisiac was thus
fairly well established.

The jury retired at exactly 2:45 in
the afternoon and 43 minutes later
they returned with two verdicts, both
éarrying death for Clifford Hawkins,
once each for his murder of Ernest
and Floyd Grimm. This was done in
the event that the killer might escape
the penalty for one of the murders.

Crime Detective for February, 1939

The only show of nervousness on
the part of the cold killer was when
the at filed back into court. He bit
his fingernails and twisted his hands,
but when he heard the fatal verdict,
that twisted smile once again crept
across his dark features.

Tovio Hautaneimi—Clifford Haw-
kins, lover of red-haired Edith
Grimm, murderer of her two brothers,
is now as unconcerned about the fact
that his neck is going to be stretched
as he is about the weather. He eats
well, reads a little, laughs and plays
solitaire.

“Dm still sorry I didn’t get Howard,”
pe — Sheriff McCarthy, after the
rial. i

JAL BAIT =;

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 33

laid to the ‘belt-swatting’ game of
which we had been told, but I think
every man ‘in that office was. certain
there was something else behind that
perfectly told story which was being
withheld.. The old adage that ‘a
prison keeps its secret well’ was be-
ing proven, but Carroll was not idle
and in a very few minutes he had
something—the Psychopathic Hospi-
tal’s report on George Coover, stating
that he definitely was not an epilep-
tic. How, then, could he have died
following an epilepsy spell?

“T think we have somethin here,”
Carroll told us. “I’m going down to
the morgue.”

Just what we had there, none of us
guessed, but it was Carroll’s visit to
the morgue that started events which,
in the weeks that followed, rocked
the city to its embarrassed founda-
tions; toppled a jail system that had
been in operation more than half a
century, and caused the resignation of
Warden Tom Clennan; the removal
of Doctor Lorber and the dismissal of
four jail guards, and the clean-up of

> the county jail.

It brought the United States De-
partment of Justice into the investi-
ation when conditions within the
; aoe walls were brought to light. For
enver County’s jail was being run
by a ‘sheriff’ system and the ‘sheriffs’
were the prisoner’s themselves. :
Let me explain ‘here that the ‘sheriff
system’ was one in which the most
influential, or physically strongest,
prisoner in each tier made_himself
‘sheriff’ or boss of his particular wing
and ran it according to his own
whims; whims that took unto himself
the best of everything and brooked no

disobedience or complaints from those

under his rule. It is a cruel, vicious
system which practically makes slaves
of the inmates who can not incur
their ‘sheriff’s’ favor. And Carl Wells
was ‘sheriff’ of the juvenile wing of
the jail. James Stryker was
‘sheriff’ of the Federal wing where
Federal prisoners were kept, and
ruled his section with the same iron
hand that Carl Wells used, and which,
when the facts came to light, caused
the Federal Government to begin
building of a new Federal jail to
house its short-term prisoners from
the Rocky Mountain region and
which would be run under the no-
favorites system.

It was the bruise John Carroll saw

on the left side of the dead Coover
boy’s chin that started everything, for
it plainly revealed the outline of a

- heavy signet ring; mute testimony

that the bruise was not caused by a
fall but by a powerful blow to the
jaw and delivered with a human fist.

Carroll ordered an immediate and
complete autopsy to be made of the
body and returned to his office to find
out which boy in the juvenile wing
wore such a ring. Nobody did, we
discovered, and nobody had worn one,
said Warden Clennan. It was against
the jail rules to permit prisoners to
wear jewelry, he added, but later in
the day he turned in the ring which,
he told us, he had found on the floor
in the juvenile tier. He did not know
who owned it.

Within an hour the autopsy on
young Coover’s body was completed
and with its completion a story so
revolting and tragic that stunned
Denver citizens could hardly believe
it, came out into the light of day.

The autopsy revealed that the dead
boy had been subjected to a de-
generate attack less than two hours
before he had died in violent con-
vulsions in his cell after being lit-

erally beaten to death by the wearer |.

of a heavy signet ring. But who had
worn it? Every boy in the tier denied
ever having seen it.

Our first clue to the ring’s owner
came, oddly enough, from a_ pair of
uvenile B a iy in the City Jail.
hey told us they had been inmates
of the County Jail a few weeks
earlier and that Carl Wells was
‘sheriff’ of the wing and did pretty
much as he pleased with his fellow
inmates. He had, during their stay,
worn a gold signet ring.

W "8 this information we went

"™ back to the county jail, but we
did not question Carl Wells. We
questioned his younger brother, Billy,
also a jail inmate, and who, without
Carl’s moral support, cracked and
confessed.

He told us that after George Coover
came back to the jail from the hos-
pital he had ‘been too sick to eat, or
do anything except lie in his bunk;
something Carl, as ‘sheriff’, refused
to let him do. If George didn’t get
up, Carl dumped him out of the bunk
and when the kid complained, Carl
made him stand ‘on the line’; a pun-
ishment consisting of standing erect

101

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100

“Sonny” Grimm.

“We quarreled a lot about my re-
lations with Edith,” said “The Finn.”
“T decided to kill him so I suggested
that we go deer hunting. He was
walking ahead of me about 50 feet.
I had a 30.30 loaded with soft nosed
bullets. I fired and hit him in the
right temple. His gun went off too;
maybe he meant to fire at me or may-
be it was just reflex action.”

“Did you hit him then to make sure
he was dead?” asked Prosecutor Welts.

“He was dead, all right,” grinned
the youth. “The whole top of his head
was blown off. I took him down by
the pipeline and buried. I told Edith
about him, too. And that I would have
to take care of Howard, but that after
he was gone I could manage the bal-
ance of the family.”

“Where are your people, Hau-
taneimi?” asked the prosecutor.

“My name isn’t Hautaneimi,” re-
plied the youth. “That is the name of
a relative; I took it just for fun. My
real name is Clifford Hawkins and I
was born in Salem, Oregon. I have
some brothers, but when I was sent to
the reform school at Chehalis for for-
gery when I was 17, I lost track of my
eng g I think my father is a news-

oy in Tacoma, and my mother, I be-
lieve, is in an insane asylum in Ore-
gon. I don’t know where my brothers
are and don’t care. I’d do it again if I
had it to do over and I don’t mind
the rope if Edith still loves me. But I
didn’t think she would ever tell on
me,” said the youth dejectedly.

“She didn’t,” answered Sheriff Mc-
Carthy, and instantly. the boy’s face
lit up, but faded + as the officer
added, “but she will.”

On the following day a squad of
officers dug up the earth beneath the
manure pile at the barn, but failed to
find the body of Ernest Grimm. That
evening Sheriff McCarthy again
questioned the confessed killer and
Hawkins told the officer that he had
later moved Ernest’s body and buried
it beneath the root cellar and had then
burned the building to the ground.
And there the remains of the elder
brother were found, not much more
than a bare skeleton.

Clifford Hawkins went to trial in
the Mt. Vernon courthouse on Mon-
day, December 13, 1937, charged with
the double murder of Ernest and
Floyd Grimm.

ever once faltering, Edith Grimm
told how Tovio Hautaneimi, as she
continued to call him, arrived at her
home and how she soon fell in love
with him.

“We became intimate some time
later,” said the girl. “I was only 12
years old at the time. He told me first
and later showed me about sex. He
treated me fine, bought me things and
was very affectionate.

“Ernest, Floyd and Howard quar-
reled with Tovio about me. He told me
he would have to get rid of them and
that he would take Ernest first be-
cause he was the biggest objector.

“Ernest bossed me. One time I was
playing my violin and Ernest told me
to quit as it annoyed him and father.
I didn’t stop at once and he slapped
me. ‘The Finn’ jumped up and told
Ernest if he ever did that again he’d
get him; Ernest was afraid of Tovio.”

Then the girl told of the happen-
ings on the evening of December 16,
1936, when Ernest caught “The Finn”
loving her up, as she expressed it.
How the men left the house together;
how she heard a shot and sometime
later Tovio came in and said, “Edith,

Crime Detective

I did what I said I would do. I killed
your brother. I shot him, then hit him
over the head. I took $10 from his
pockets; we'll buy a nice with
that. If you ever tell, or if this ever
gets out, it will be the rope for both
Ge us. You are in this just as deep as
am.”

FTER the murder of Ernest her

‘& intimate relations with “The
Finn” became. more frequent and
finally Floyd Grimm began to strenu-
ously object.

“Tll have to get Sonny,” said Tovio
to his sweetheart, according to her
story. “Then I can run Howard away
from here and we can get married.”

Thus the girl brought the story
down to the month of March, 1937.

“On March 12th, when I came home
from school,” said the girl on the wit-
ness stand, “Tovio told me he_ had
killed Floyd. He said he saw Floyd
take a gun with him when he went to
fix the water pipe and that: he fol-
lowed. Tovio said Floyd shot at him
and missed and that he shot Floyd and
killed him. He showed me where he
buried him and again warned me of
what would happen if anybody found
out what he had done.”

The girl claimed that she did not
want to go on with Hawkins after he
killed Sonny byt said she was afraid
of him and feared he might wipe out
the whole family if she refused to
oe her intimate relations with

im.

Thus ended the girl’s bizarre story
of love and murder on the Sauk, but
the trial was to provide yet one more
sensation for the crowd which packed
the Skagit County courtroom. That
sensation was a letter which Clifford
Hawkins had written to Edith Grimm,
but which had been intercepted by
Sheriff McCarthy’s jailer.

_ Hawkins was placed on the stand
in rebuttal, after having previously

RACKET WITNESS MANHANDLED

told a story of self-defense in both
killings in.a desperate attempt to save
his neck. The youth admitted he had
written the letter. It read in part:

“Darling Edith:

Edith Darling, if you want to save
yourself and help me a little please
bear in mind what I about to tell you.

Do you want to be one of the per-
sons to help hang me, and also, dear,
if you go against me in court you will
get yourself in the reform school and
you know what I told you about
that place.

You will have to admit in court that
the reason you did not tell on me for
killing them was because you loved
me and didn’t want to lose me, other-
wise they will make it look like you
helped me.

Then it will force me to tell about
something else we did.. I will have to
tell all that in court if you talk too
much.. Just imagine what that will
do to your reputation.

Read this carefully. Do not say in
court that you ever heard me plan to
kill Sonny and Ernest.

You must not admit we were inti-
mate more than a couple of times and
don’t admit that I ever gave you mor-
phine.

I still love you with all my heart,
but is it true, what I read in the
Herald, that you told the attorney you
do not love me any more?

Do as I say.

TOVIO.”

Jurors leaned forward in their
chairs and gazed intently at the calm
and unshaken Clifford Hawkins, on
whose face there lingered a trace of a
smile, while the letter proving his
cold-bloodedness was read. At vari-
ous times in the trial, there had been
mention of morphine given by him to
the red-head, but he had denied such
an act in his own turn on the stand.

Irving Goodman, alias “Sol the Mock,” is seized by cops. He was indicted with two
policeman in a New York shakedown racket. He doesn’t like photographers.

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where to get it. I want it blasted
into bits so that it can never be iden-
tified. Will you do it?”

“Yes, for a girl like her, I’ll do it,”
answered Granville. “But will she be-
lieve me?”

“Can you smuggle out a note?”
asked “The Finn.”

“In my mouth,” answered Granville.

So the note was written, and Gran-
ville delivered it to Sheriff McCarthy,
who told the ex-prisoner to get in
touch with Edith Grimm at once.
Gerald Granville made his way to the
Grimm farm, Sheriff McCarthy,
Prosecutor Welts and Deputy Finsen

-following close behind. When he ar-

rived at the ranch they parked down
the road to watch developments.

RANVILLE went into the house

and after a short time came out
with the red-headed daughter. The
pair started toward the barn and the
officers surmised they were going for
dynamite.

The surmise was correct, for Edith
Grimm had been convinced by the
note in the handwriting of her lover.

From.the barn the pair walked
around to the rear of the house, and
then started down a ravine through
which ran a water pipe to supply the
house. Creeping across the open field,
the officers saw the boy and the girl
pause: she pointed to a spot in the

rush and, as Granville started to dig,
McCarthy, Welts and Finsen closed in.

“Well, Edith, we seem to have come
to the end of the trail at last,” said
Deputy Finsen, “even if you wouldn’t
tell us. We know there is a body in
there. Whose is it?”

“I don’t know what is in there,”

answered the girl. “I don’t know
what you are talking about.”
. Refusing to betray her lover or pro-
tecting herself? Had “The Finn” told
the truth about this near-child killing
a man who discovered their illicit re-
lations? It was now late in the eve-
ning. The girl was taken to town and
lodged in jail.

Early the next day the three offi-
cials, accompanied by Photographer
Holt, of the Holt Photo Service, Mt.
Vernon, and Jay Grimm returned to
the spot where Granville had started
to dig. For half an hour the party
turned dirt until Grimm called their
attention to the fact that the earth
here was so hard it could never have
been previously disturbed.

“T don’t believe this story at all,”
parece: Jay Grimm. “Tovio wouldn’t

ill anyone and you can’t think that
Edith did. I don’t know why he told
Granville such a story or why he sent
out that note, but you can see for
yourself that abr | is coming of it.”

Sheriff McCarthy had strolled down
the trail. A pile of clay on top of a
log caught his eye. Examining the
ground beside the log, the sheriff could
see where it had been disturbed. He
called the other men and again they
started to dig.

A short distance beneath the sur-
face Jay Grimm turned up some
pieces of cloth. Prosecutor Welts now
took a turn at the shovel and after a
few more minutes’ work the bone of
an arm came into view; then a grin-
ning skull. And, as the men labored in
turn, there finally was unearthed a
pair of leather hunting boots from
which stuck two bleached leg bones.

“Those are ‘Sonny’s’ boots,” said
Jay Grimm slowly. “He had them on
the Iast time I saw him at the ranch,
the day he was supposed to have gone
to California.”

Crime Detective for February, 1939

HE secret was out! Who but Tovio,
could have murdered “Sonny”
Grimm? And what of Ernest?

And surely, reasoned Sheriff Mc-
Carthy, the little red-headed girl, ac-
cepting the caresses of Tovio Hau-
taneimi, must have known that her
lover had murdered at least one of her
brothers, probably two. Yet through
-all these months she had maintained
her silence in the bosom of her family,
paying a willing and bloody price for
the love she bore the murderous, wily
Finn!

.Hastening back to Mt. Vernon,
Photographer Holt developed and
printed the Saale, hs which he had
taken. Vividly the bashed skull and
the whitened bones told a mute story
of the brutality of the Finn’s crime
for Floyd Grimm had been shot an
then his head crushed by several
heavy blows.

The officers decided to try for a con-
fession from Hautaneimi. The after-
noon of November 13, 1937, Sheriff
McCarthy, Prosecutor Welts and
Deputy Finsen questioned “The Finn”
about the departure of “Sonny”
Grimm; they asked the suspect to
describe in detail the manner in which
the boy had been dressed. Amon
other articles Hautaneimi describe
the boots which “Sonny” wore.

“Just like those, weren’t they,
Tovio?” said Deputy Binsen, thrusting
a picture of the boots and the leg
bones before the eyes of “The Finn.”

“What is this?” asked the dark
youth. “Where did you get this?”

It was evident “The Finn” was dis-
turbed. He turned the picture around
and around in his hand.

“You know what it is,” said Finsen.
“Those are the boots you just de-
scribed and that is all that is left of
the man that wore them.”

Hautaneimi again studied the pic-
ture; when he handed it back to Fin-
sen he had regained his composure
and a smile flitted across his face.

“Well, I guess you got me, boys,” he
said. “Those boots belonged to Sonny
Grimm. I killed him and I killed
Ernest,. too, but you’ll never find him.
I would have killed Howard if you
hadn’t picked me up just when you
did. The boys were interfering with
my love affair with Edith.”

Howard Grimm lived at Acme,
Washington, and. seldom returned to
the farm home on the Sauk. That
alone saved his life, for had he made
another trip there, “The Finn” no
doubt would have killed him. ©

AFPIER some verbal sparring in
which Hautaneimi tried to dicker
for his life in return for revealing the
whereabouts of Ernest’s body, the lad
seemed to realize the futility of fur-
ther denials of guilt and signified his
willingness to make a statement.

He began by telling of the quarrel
in the Grimm home when Ernest
caught him kissing Edith. He told how
he and the brother left the house and.
how he shot him through the back of
the head from a distance of’ 40 feet
with a Winchester .22 caliber repeat-
ing rifle. :

“He didn’t fall,” said Hautaneimi’
coldly, “so I ran up and hit him over
the head with the rifle butt. That
finished him. I went back to the house,
got a raincoat, then carried the body
to a manure pile near the barn and
buried it. I told Mrs. Grimm and the
boys that Ernest had gone to Concrete,
but I told Edith the truth.”

Hautaneimi then passed _ rapidly
to the day in March when he killed

Arrest Him, Officer!

ULL HAVE COMPLETE FACTS ON THE OTHER
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Sing
think
Vhat
and
fice
told
Vuhy
said:

hould
\ alibi

about
Yick
oticed
which
Safety
floor
ked up
‘qd the

detec-

Himes

s work-
4 cook

“This is a doctor,” Himes told him, in-
dicating Dr. Hartley. “He wants to take
a look at it.”

Hong Yick protested, but it was in vain.
Dr. Hartley removed the bandage.

From his medical bag, he brought out
tweezers and probed around in the wound.
A few seconds later, after fumbling for a
minute, he held the tweezers aloft.

“Ts ‘this what you were looking for,
boys?” he asked.

There was a fine splinter of jade clenched
in the pointed tip of the tweezers !

“That’s it,’ Himes said. “See it, Hong
Yick? That’s a piece of jade. We've
got the rest of it. We found it under the
body of Lee Wing Quen. You broke that
dragon when you fell, and it cut your
hand.”

There was a silence for a few moments
while Hong Yick stared at the jade in
the jaws of the tweezers.

“Ready to talk?” Himes prompted him.
“We know you killed him.”

“Yes,” Hong Yick declared. “I killed
him.”

“Why ?”

“T was outer guard for my tong,” Hong
Vick declared. “Lee Wing Quen came in
while I was on duty and stole our memn-
bership records. They are sacred, and un-
less I got them back there would be bi
war between our tong and his tong, so f
killed him. It was my sacred duty to kill
him. I read where you arrested Wuhy
and I did not want him to be blamed
for what I had done.” :

Himes called in a stenographer, and
Hong Yick made a detailed confession.

“That was nice going,” Himes said after-
ward, “but I doubt if he would have fallen
for it if we hadn’t broken a sliver of jade
off those pieces we found and given it to
the doc first. He did a good job of making
it look like he took it out of the wound.”

Hong Yick readily admitted the killing
during his trial, and his only defence was
that he killed for the honor of his tong.
He was convicted.

At high noon on July 19, 1935, he
dropped through the trap in the prison
yard at the Walla Walla State Peniten-
tiary, the first Chinaman to die on the
gallows in the state of Washington.

; Eprtor’s Note: To shield the identity of
innocent persons, the names “Mr. and Mrs.
Lee How,’ used in this story, are not
actual but fictitious.

Hanged For A
Loaf of Bread

(Continued from page 4)

on your soul.”

Ashen-faced, young Burgen started to
scream a protest, but it died in his throat.
Half fainting, he had tobe helped from
the courtroom by a brace of guards.

But the unfortunate lad was not with-
out friends. A movement was started to
save him, and at last the recommendation
of the jury was laid before Sir Howard
Douglas, Governor of New Brunswick. |

The agitation was in vain. The governor

refused to intervene. But as the date of.

the execution drew nigh, another possibility
of escape for Burgen presented itself.

Who was going to do the hanging ?

The sheriff who was charged with this
duty flatly refused, threatening to resign
if forced to spring the trap. The scaffold
was erected in front of the jail, but still
no one would act as hangman.

It was not until the day before the ap-
pointed date that a man was found who

INSIDE DETECTIVE

agreed to take the job. In desperation, the
sheriff had solicited each prisoner in his
jail, offering freedom to the man who
would hang Burgen.

It was one Blizzard Baine, serving six
months for theft, who agreed to act as
hangman. In addition to his freedom, he
coaxed from the sheriff fifty dollars in
cash as his fee. Bainé demanded his money
in advance, explaining that he wanted to
make a quick getaway from St. John.

RAINE was wise in so doing. For al-
ready an angry crowd was gathered
in front of the jail. Baine sprung the trap,
young Burgen fell ‘to doom, and in accord-
ance with custom, it was announced to the
crowd that Burgen was lifeless and that
justice had been appeased. ©

When they heard this, the crowd could
be held in restraint no longer. They went
hunting for Baine, planning to swing him
from a tree in the jail yard.

But the cunning Baine had laid his plans
well. Scuttling out the back door of the
jail, he fled through back alleys to a sail-
ing vessel waiting at a wharf in the St.
John harbor.

Blizzard Baine never returned to St.
John. It is known that he lived in con-
stant fear in Boston, knowing that many
persons had threatened to “get” him. He
moved from one place to another frequently,
and died not many years later.

Citizens of St. John. still dislike the
memory of the luckless Burgen and the
ignominious Baine. And 110 years later,
in this year of 1938, came a case that offers
a remarkable contrast. :

Twenty-four-year-old William -Robi-
cheau,: alias William White, entered the
store of Aaron N. Cohen in St. John in a
premeditated holdup, and shot Cohen dead.

Robicheau was caught and convicted, but
for some reason less understandable than
in the case of Burgen long ago, the jury
recommended mercy.

The killer, a hardened criminal with a
record of ten arrests for robbery, was
known to carry a gun habitually, and a
miniature arsenal was found in his rooms.
But the Canadian department of justice
heeded the jury’s plea, and the death
sentence was commuted to life imprison-
ment. Under present parole laws, Robi-
cheau expects to be a free man in fifteen
years or so.

Such a change can a century and a
decade make in the administration of law
and order. Patrick Burgen, a hungry
youth, hanged for stealing a loaf of bread;
William Robicheau, heartless killer, granted
mercy after a merciless slaying ... Per-
haps justice is blind after all!

Unlike Patrick Burgen, who was hanged

for stealing a loaf, William Robicheau

(shown) killed a man and got off with
a prison sentence.

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.

Another Tong War for
Seattle? Was That What |
the Green Jade Dragon

Beside the Victim Meant?

_. By Carl Hartley
Who Made a Special
Investigation of This Case

Chinaman, in the mud and rain and filth of that
alley on Profanity Hill, its fangs exposed, its
back humped, its evil eyes leering.

It was a dragon, a green jade dragon, and it
spelled murder.

Detective Lieutenant Ted Shirran of the Seattle,
Washington, Police Department shook the water
from his hat-brim and said, “We’re in for it, Buddy,
sure as shootin’, Know what this means?”

. “What?” asked Detective Lieutenant F. A. Himes.

“It means we got a tong war on our hands,”
said Shirran. ,

A tong war! Himes walked through the pelting
rain and peered at the dragon, outlined in the

Ten it squatted beside the. body of the dead

beam of his partner’s flash. He reached out to pick.

it up. . .

Then he jumped back, his feet spraying water
from a puddle.

. The dragon had moved!

Shirran stooped down and peered at the dragon.
He picked it up gingerly, turned it over, shielding
it from the rain. Warily, Himes looked over his
partner’s shoulder.

‘“Must’a been the shadows,” Shirran said. “Or
maybe the rain. This thing is made out of glass.”

“Jade,” Himes corrected.

Shirran slipped it into his coat pocket.

“What’s the tong war connection?” Himes asked-

“T don’t remember exactly,” Shirran said, “but
they use these things in a tong killing. A China-
man can look at it and tell us what tong it stands
for and who:had it and why.”

Himes walked over and stared at the body of
the dead man.

“That’s swell,” he said. “I guess this case is as
good as solved.”

“Like Hell it is,” said Shirran. “I said they
could, I didn’t say they would. If this is a tong
war there won’t be a man in Chinatown remembers
the English language tomorrow morning.”

The officers were silent then, staring at the body.
A tong war—they knew only too well that they
could expect no help from Chinatown if this were
the case. And they would need help, plenty of it.
For a tong war is a bloody thing, a mass murder’
that spreads from Coast to Coast, a flame of hate
bo grows and grows until it is all but unquench-
able.

Both Shirran and Himes were acquainted with
the extent of the dread open warfare between fac-
tions. Seattle had seen much of it. In 1906 the
desperate battle between the On Leongs and Hip
Sings, the battle that spread from the West Coast
to: the .Mid-West, to the East, had its inception
right there in Seattle. In 1917 a bloody San Fran-
cisco quarrel spread to Profanity Hill. In 1925
more than 20 bodies were carted to the Seattle
morgue and buried, unidentified, unwept, but
hardly unavenged.

And now, was.this to herald another tong war,
another outbreak of deadly murder by hatchet
and hammer and knife and gun? Was that what
the little green jade dragon meant—the beginning
of hostilities?

Shirran noted with alarm the few significant
facts, the equally significant lack of clews, in this
murder.

Fifteen minutes before, at 2:30 in the morning
of that December day, Patrolmen L. A. Whitlock
and C. A. McClure had discovered the crime as
they drove by in their cruiser. The body was lying
on its back in this dingy Chinatown alley at Eighth
and Lane Streets. No one was near.

Captain Charles Dolphin
“This is the death emblem..
It's a sure sign of trouble’

[OTMATS.

Dew CTL V

s-


One of the most vital exhibits
in the case was this weapon
used to slay Lee Wing Quen

Whitlock notified Headquarters while McClure
remained on guard. When Shirran and Himes of
the Homicide Squad reached the alley, the two
patrolmen still were keeping their lonely vigil, the
headlights and spots of their squad car turning
the alley into a bright lane of light streaked with
the pelting rainfall.

Pie that was all, Shirran realized abruptly. The
patrolmen had departed; the two homicide men
had discovered the jade dragon. And still no one
had appeared in the alley.

Shirran glanced up at the buildings flanking
the alley. People lived in those buildings, he
knew. They could not help noticing the shining
lights; they could not have missed hearing the
siren of the homicide car as it arrived. And yet
none of those people ventured into the alley; the
houses remained dark and silent.

Why? Was it because this really marked the
beginning of tong warfare, and because these peo-
ple—Chinese, all of them—knew it?

Behind the officers, headlight beams swung sud-
denly into the alley. The morgue wagon pulled
up and Deputy Coroner Harry Johnson leaped out,
his raincoat collar buttoned tight.

“What’s the score?” he asked.

Shirran pointed to the body. “A couple of uni-
formed men in a cruiser found this fellow,” he
said. “A Chinaboy. His head’s pushed in.”

Johnson examined the body with expert eyes.
“Know who it is?” he asked.

The detectives shook their heads. “That’s up to
you,” said Shirran. “We figured you’d take the
clothes off carefully in the morgue; we might dis-
turb something if we went through the guy’s
pockets here.”

“Why all the caution?” Johnson asked.

For answer Shirran fished in his pocket, brought
out the green jade dragon.

Johnson - whistled.

“Know what it is?” Shirran asked.

Detectives had to prove that
this dragon death emblem was
available to only one man

“Sure,” said Johnson. “It’s a—a green jade
dragon.”

“Yeah, we can see that,” Shirran said. “But what
else? What does it stand for?”

“I’m not sure,” Johnson said. “Something about
the tongs. But it’s darned serious. Maybe we got
another one of those wars coming up.”

“Maybe,” said Shirran. Then, “Tell you what.
T’ll see if I can find out. We'll meet you at the
morgue.”

Behind them the rain beat steadily on the dark-
ened sidewalk. Shirran and Himes could hear its
monotonous, dreary patter as they stared at the
ornate mahogany door and waited.

“This fellow is Ming Chin,” Shirran said. “He's
given me a lot of information before. Maybe he'll
talk now, maybe not.”

He pushed the tiny white button sticking out
between the teeth of a dragon’s head on the door-
jamb. Inside they could hear the tinkle of the
bell, then silence. 4

A minute passed. Himes reached impatiently
for the bell again. But Shirran restrained him.

“Take it easy,” he said. “You can’t rush these
boys into anything.”

The patter of the rain reached a crescendo. In
the distance the officers could hear the clatter of a
horse’s hooves on the pavement. A dog barked
somewhere.

Are then, before they realized that it even had

moved, the door was open. A Chinaman, heavy-
set, bland, inscrutable, dressed in skull-cap and
figured robe, stood before them, peering at them
in the dim light.

He looked at them for a long moment. No rec-
ognition showed in his eyes, but he bowed suddenly
and said, “Is velly happy to see you.”

“Ming Chin,” Shirran said, “this is Lieutenant
Himes, my partner.”

The Chinaman bowed from the waist. “Is velly

great honor to meet illustrious friend Mr. Police-
man,” he said.

“How do you do,” said Himes.

They stood there, the three of them, looking at
each other, saying no more, not moving. Until the
Chinaman, bowed again. : ’

“You pless to come in?” he said.

He stepped ahead of them, his slippered feet
pattering on carpeted floors. The doorway led into
a hall, a hall that was pitch-dark and interminably
long, Himes felt, as they walked ahead. Behind
them the front door swung shut.

FTER a moment’s walk Himes sensed that they

were in a large room. The Chinaman, so close
to them now they could hear his soft breathing,
said, “One minute, pless.” There was a click and a
diffused, soft light flooded the room.

Himes was disappointed in the room at first
glance.. Furnishings were decidedly American, in
restrained taste. No bamboo screens, no incense
sa no ornamental vases or tapestries on the
walls.

Himes became conscious of the Chinaman’s eyes
burning into his back. He turned around. ‘

“You pless to sit down,” the man said. “Ming
Chin, him velly happy you visit his miserable
home.”

Shirran plumped into an overstuffed chair near
the door. Himes was forced to cross the room to a
divan. And all the while he realized that the China- -
man was watching him, coldly calculating. .. -

“We've abused your hospitality, Ming Chin,” said
Shirran. “This is a terrible hour to awaken you.”

“But no,” Ming Chin said, his voice soft and sibi-
lant. “Any time you come see Ming Chin, him
velly happy.” : .

Shirran cleared his throat. ;

“Is something you wish to know?” Ming Chin
asked. He still stood in the doorway, his arms
folded, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe.
Moc you wish to know, Ming Chin glad to

elp.

Shirran brought out the dragon. -“Yes, Ming
Chin,” he said. “It’s this, What is it?”

Ming Chin pattered slowly across the room, took
the dragon from Shirran’s outstretched hand. He
glanced at it idly, for just a bare moment. Then
he looked at Shirran.

“Where you get this?” he asked.

The expression on his face did not change, Himes
noticed, nor did the tone of his voice. Yet some-
thing had happened to the Chinaman in the one
short, fleeting instant when he first -had glanced
at the green jade dragon. Somehow the friendli-
= was gone from his face, the spirit of coopera-

on.

“T found it in an alley,” Shirran said.

“Is velly pretty,” Ming Chin said. He looked at
the dragon again, as if (Continued on Page 38)


And : ng more—those people
rememb 00, that Dreamer had
been straugc:y agitated the next morn-
ing when he showed up. As agitated
as he had been eight years before, just

bringing it to closer scrutiny. Then
he said, without glancing up, “You
find something else in alley, no?”

For a moment the room was deathly
still. Patiently the Chinaman waited,
and Himes knew it would be useless
to lie to him.

Shirran didn’t. Instead he evaded
the question and asked, “What is it,
Ming?”

“Is dlagon,” Ming said. ‘Velly
pretty.” He turned it around in his
hands, looking at it, completely at ease,
his face unchanged.

“What does it mean?” Shirran asked.

“In China,” Ming said, his voice
sing-song, “jade is velly much money.
Is honored possession.”

“What about the dragon?”

“Dlagon velly nasty,” said Ming
Chin. “In China dlagon bling death.”
He paused. “But in America jade
dlagon is toy. Only toy.”

Again the room was silent.

“Is that all you can tell us, Ming?”
Shirran asked.

Ming Chin spread his hands. “Ming
Chin, him velly ignorant man. Is all
Ming Chin know.”

Shirran smiled to himself. Ming
Chin had recognized that dragon.

“Is velly pretty jade,” Ming Chin
said. “You find in alley?”

Shirran nodded. In an alley beside
a murdered Chinaman, and Ming Chin
knew it, the detective realized.

“Velly careless, leave jade dlagon
in alley.”

Ming Chin. turned toward the door.
Obviously the interview was at an end.
The detectives rose and followed him.

On the doorstep Shirran turned to
him.

“Sorry to get you out of bed.” he
said.

“Ts all light,” Ming Chin ssid. “Any
time you come see Ming Chin, him
velly happy.”

“['ll just take the dragon with me.”
Shirran said, holding out his hand.

Without a shadow of expression on
his face, Ming Chin brought the dragon
from his sleeve, said, “Oh. yes. Ming
Chin. him forget, put it in his pocket.”

He reached out his hand. the dragon
in it.

Then he dropped it.

But Shirran was too quick for him.
He stooped and caught it an inch
above the cement doorstep, a split
second before it had smashed to a
thousand pieces.

“Velly sorry.” said Ming Chin.
“Velly sorry. Ming Chin velly careless.
too.”

Cn the way to the morgue Himes

38

field where Thelma Young was siain,
that Dreamer worked alone and might
have sneaked out, could have sneaked
out. . : , ;

So. it. was Dreamer: . Detective Ritz

said, “Well, he didn’t tell us much.”

“Not in words,” said Shirran.

“What do you make out of it?”
Himes asked. :

“A tong war,” said Shirran. “That’s
about.the only thing that would scare
Ming Chin into silence.”

Himes said, “Well, cripes, we can’t
let that get started. What’re we going
sto do?”

And what were they going to do?
How could they prevent the tong
war that threatened—tong war with
hatchetmen on the rampage, with doz-
ens of deaths, with every large city
in the country aroused? Tong war,
when tong members settle. their own
grievances in their-own way, resenting
and obstructing any interference.

“There’s just one thing,” Shirran
said. “We've got to find the murderer
before the: tongs do. If we put him
away then they won’t have to take
their own vengeance.”

He lapsed into silence. After a few
blocks he said, “Maybe Harry John-
son’s got something for us—the identity
of the victim, anyway.”

Deputy Coroner Johnson was wait-
ing for them in the morgue. He
stifled a yawn and said, “Sure is a
swell night to keep a guy up.” .

“What'd you find?” Himes asked.

“Nothing,” said Johnson. He indi-
cated a pile of clothing on a table—
a raincoat, sweater, shirt, trousers, the
top of a pair of pajamas.

Shirran looked through the clothes,
searching for labels or laundry marks.

“There’s a couple of initials on the
pajama top,” Johnson said. “A Chi-
nese laundry mark. The fellow evi-
dently used it as an undershirt.”

Shirran fished it out, looked at the
label. He snorted. The label was un-
identifiable except by the man who had
put it there.

E TURNED to Johnson. “How

about the wallet?”

“Sixteen bucks,” said Johnson. “A
ten, four ones and a two-dollar bill.
Nothing else.”

“Nothing else? No cards or papers
or letters?”

“Not a thing,” said Johnson. “You
boys got a nice little job on your
hands.”

The three men stood there in the
morgue staring at each other. Water
dripped from the detectives’ hat-brims
and formed puddles on the tile floor
of the morgue. Outside the rain still
fell in heavy gusts; behind the swing-
ing white doors marked “Autopsy
Room” lay the body of a Chinaman.
dead and unknown. a body that well

WOME Wii Lau VEECIA GLEE. 4H
Ginley and Ritz still had a case
solve. They were morally certain tt
the Vampire was responsible for both
crimes, for the murder of Elizabeth

could be the first in a series of long,
vicious murders. :

. Finally Shirran said, “Keep it quiet,
will you, Harry?” :

“Sure,” said Johnson. “You can trust
our office. But I don’t think that’ll do
you any good. Probably everybody in
Chinatown knows more about it than
we do.”

The officers left then. Their one
chance to avert a disastrous war, they
knew, was to keep the slaying a secret,
if, indeed, it was not already known
throughout Chinatown. Keep it from
the prying eyes of newspapermen, keep
any mention of it from Chinatown
and the temples and restaurants and
opium dens. Let the murder die with
the victim—until the police themselves
were able to confront the only other
man who knew about it—the killer
himself.

After a few short hours of rest, the
two detectives met again at Head-
quarters to set out for Profanity Hill
and the dingy frame buildings that
house the many Chinese residents of
Seattle. Ahead of them was the all-
important first step in the investigation
of this wanton murder—identification
of the victim. And they had nothing
to go on but a simple laundry mark
from a pajama top, put on in any one
of a thousand Chinese laundries—put
on by a Chinaman who, if the officers
were to judge by Ming Chin, would
be anything but cooperative.

An intermittent, softer rain fell on
deserted streets in Chinatown that
day. Strangely, the officers noted, no
persons loitered about the corners, no
pudgy, elderly men could be seen
seated on their doorsteps, no pimply-

faced youths infested the entrances to_

the numerous pool-halls. Occasionally
a boy scooted across the street or down
the sidewalk, intent on some myste-
rious and all-important mission of his
own. That was all.

Himes turned a corner abruptly,
sped down an_ alley, came out on
another street. Three men were stand-
ing on the corner, talking.

Himes curbed the car, the officers
sprang out.

But the three men were gone. Shir-
ran got a glimpse of one back as it
vanished into a house, heard another
door slam behind him. The men had
not run from them, had not shown
any apparent alarm at the approach
on the police cruiser, but merely had
disappeared, rapidly and completely.

“Uh-huh,” said Shirran. ‘“We’re
going to find out a Hell of a lot here
today.”

For ten minutes the officers drove

titious.

Another picture with this story is
on Page 41.

“When Dlagon Talk, Look-See Velly Bad Murder’ (Continued from Page 20)

around, occasionally seeing a lone per-
son or two of them talking, but never
coming within hailing distance. Finally
Shirran said:

“Well, let’s try the laundries. These
fellows can’t afford to keep their busi-
nesses closed.”

A thin, emaciated old man was alone
in the first shop the officers visited.
Shirran brought out the pajama top.

“Me wash it for you,” the China-
man said. “Yeh. Yeh, sure. Sat-
dee.” He held out his hand for the
garment.

“No,” said Shirran. “No, that’s not
what I want.” He turned back the
collar until the label showed. “See
this?” he asked. “Is this yours?”

TH ‘elderly man stared blankly at
the detective, then at the label, then
back at Shirran.

“No savvy,” he said.

Shirran jabbed a finger at the mark.
“This mark,” he said. “This yours?
You mark clothes like this, no?”

The same blank look was on the
man’s face for a minute. Then it was
wreathed in smiles. “Yeh, yeh, sure,”
he said, reaching for the pajama top.
“Me wash. Sat-dee you get. Sure.”

Disgusted, the officers stalked out.

In the second laundry, down the
street, the sole worker displayed no
interest in the pajama top. He grunted
“No savvy” at the detectives until he
forced them out.

The third was no better. A woman
and a young, pock-marked man jab-
bered at each other in their native
tongue, smiled at the detectives, bowed
to them and otherwise paid no atten-
tion whatsoever.

And so on, and on, and on. Until
Himes said, “Guess we'll have to get
every beat cop to bring a shirt in and
have it washed before we can find
out about this mark.” .

But then they entered the laundry
of Yong Lee.

Three persons were in the front of
Yong Lee’s place, a boy of about fif-
teen who wore a high-school sweater:
Yong Lee himself, an elderly China-
man with a decided paunch, and an-
other man, who had been sitting in
the back.

The officers didn’t see much of this
man. For as soon as they entered he
jumped up, clattered over a box and
ran through the door into the rear of
the place.

“Hey! Stop!” Shirran yelled. “Come
back here!”

He vaulted over the counter and
sprinted into the rear. An excited
woman scurried in front of him. picked

ID> 5

a corner.

“Come on outside, you,” he said. He
and Himes strode out onto the side-
walk.

The boy followed, slowly, a minute
later.

Shirran showed him the pajama top.
“Whose is this?” he asked.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “No
savvy,” he said.

Himes stepped up. “Look here,” he
said, “don’t pull that stuff on us! You
didn’t get that sweater without learn-
ing English! Now, whose is that pa-
jama top?”

The boy paled. Then he walked
down the street a few steps and the
detectives followed. When they were
out of sight of the laundry, the youth
turned. :

“The shirt is the rightful property
of re heirs of Lee Wing Quen,” he
said. -

“Who’s Lee Wing Quen?” Shirran
asked.

“Lee Wing Quen was a waiter,” the
boy said. “He has gone to join his
ancestors.”

“Where did he live?”

The boy gave them an address on
the same street.

“More than that,” he said, “it is not
within my power to tell you. But you
may be more successful if you visit
the Hip Sing Temple.”

“The-:Hip Sing Temple?” asked Shir-
ran. “Why there?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders.

“The Hip Sing Temple is the home
of Madame Sing Loy,” he said. “It
is understood the Jealous God of Do-
mestic Tranquillity visited vengeance
upon Lee Wing Quen.”

Shirran grinned. “Okay, Buddy,” he
said. “You spilled a mouthful that
time.”

“My father is not accustomed to
American ways,” the boy said. “He
would not forgive me if he knew I
spilled a mouthful.”

“Don’t worry,” said Shirran. “We'll
keep it quiet.”

The officers climbed into their car.
Inside, Shirran said:

“Right now it looks good. We know
the victim was this guy Lee Wing
Quen, and we know he was playing
around with Madame Sing Loy. So
all we have to do is find Sing Loy,
and—”

“Yeah,” said Himes. “Find him, and
then prove something. These China-
men are going to make swell witnesses.
Well, we’ll go to the Hip Sing Temple
and see.”

The temple of the Hip Sing Tong at
that time was a dilapidated old frame
building covered with worn and faded
posters in Chinese writing. The door
was open; Shirran and Himes climbed
a flight of stairs and walked along a
dingy hallway before they saw anyone.

Then they came to a squat, husky
Chinaman perched on a wooden chair.
He glanced up at the officers as they
approached but showed no interest in
them. .

“Where is Madame Sing Loy?” Shir-
ran asked.

The man grunted and pointed to a
door farther along the hall. Shirran

ID 5

that Jacobs hac
>eping that prom-
id several womer
time.

her that two up-
rs had been mur-
that their families
sparable loss and
the killer, he un-
commit murder

nan’s indecision
nt,” she declared.
(0 society, and I
way I could help
know for sure
h me on the day

killed. When

i to me before, ,

.ed he was here.
granted that he
lice were hound-
e had a prison

is progress, Pa-
t on. He talked
<elso who knew
‘inally, he found
yyee with some

ticket to Tacoma
35,” the employee
vt remember the

recall the day,”
imly. “Think of
happened about

ered for sev-

out for sure,” he
.e same day my
ind I had to take

up the telephone
sician, After a
1e hung up and
1appened on July
‘n in his records.”
1e dogged patrol-
his investigation
lost no time get-
state capital, and
before his boss,
f of the State

ediately assigned
h Deputy Sheriff
ierce County to
bs lead until it
oaid dividends.
tleson obtained
bs and took them
io had seen the
was encouraging
Chief Pryde that
r

ere presented to
g and able prose-
ty. He agreed to
nt against Jacobs
ad been released
ind prison.

d in South Park,
taken to Tacoma.
{ committing the
though his alibi
ind he had been
witnesses.

ictment by the
irst-degree mur-
went to trial on
superior Court in
ig of Chief Chad-

built a bril-
ts dug up by
veputy Kittleson.
sank cashier, de-
-ongly resembled
ld him up. John

Urdea testified that Jacobs was the
man he had seen shoot the two
officers in cold blood a short distance
from Urdea’s driveway.

Soren Rasmussen was put on’ the
stand. He said that he had run out
to the highway in front of his farm-
house to snatch his daughter from the
path of the blue Buick sedan a few
minutes after the double murder.
Rasmussen declared he had got a

ood look at the driver. Pointing his

er at Jacobs, he announced:
“That’s the man I saw. I’d stake my
life on it!”

Charles Shriver, the railway con-

ductor, identified Jacobs as the man .

who had jumped onto the freight car
near the scene of the slayings and
whom he had flushed from the same
freight car at Renton.

FACTS FROM OFFICIAL FILES

Fred Carnahan, the Sumner mer-
chant who had nearly given the fugi-
tive killer a lift in his. car near the
murder scene, also fingered Jacobs.

Then the State presented the girl
whom Jacobs had deceived into liv-
ing with him. She declared she was
not sure that he had been with her at
the'time of the killings. f

The bus depot employee testified
that he had sold Jacobs a ticket to
Tacoma on the afternoon before the
murders.

The defense counsel could not mini-’
mize this evidence and on October 30
1942, the jury found the accused

ilty as charged, with no recommen-

ation of mercy.

Jacobs has been sentenced to die
on the gallows of the state peniten-
tiary at Walla Walla.

BLOODY INTERLUDE

(Continued from page 25)

moment and then continued with a
graphic slicing gesture at his own
throat. “Sometimes it’s bad for the
health too!”

Murray laughed and spoke casu-
ally. ‘Don’t take this thing so seri-
ously, Joe. We just wondered if this
fellow was in here sometime Friday.
He hit a lot of spots.“ He ate some
ribs, too. Don’t try to tell me a sport
like Melton wouldn’t eat ’em in the
best place in town?”

The man swelled with pride. “I see
you know more than you tell me.
All right, he was here about eleven.

He ate some ribs, yes; he drank some °

beer. He was pretty happy and he
spent his money fast.” he swarthy
man slapped the towel down hard
for emphasis. “But, there is no
trouble here in my place Friday. And
I am no throat cutter. I am a business
man.”

“Sure, sure. We know your place
is okay, Joe.” Murray -watched the
man sharply. “Who was with Melton?”

The man laughed. “Who would be
with a man out for a big time?
woman. Then Melton talked to some
people at another table and bought
them drinks. They all move and sit
around the big table over there. I
say to myself the woman is okay, an
old friend maybe. She tried to keep
him from spending all his money.”

“Know the woman?” Murray shot
at the man.

He shook his head emphatically.
“No. I think I’ve seen her once, twice
before.”

Both detectives were alert, watch-

ing for signs of holding out on the’

part of the cafe owner. They found
none. Now that he thought the police
knew Melton had been in his place,
he was talking straight and fully.

“Can you describe this woman?”
Mosley queried.

The man rolled his eyes up to the
ceiling and chewed his _ underlip.
“Tet’s see. She’s got dark hair—sort of
curly. She’s kind of heavy, maybe
weighs 150 pounds or so. She’s about
five foot four or five.”

Murray again took up the thread
of the questioning. ‘Know any of
the others?’ Any of the people who
joined the party?”

“Jimmy Hart from Furnace Street
was the only one. He’s a customer of
mine. He’s okay,” he added_hastily.
“Jim works over at the Ravenna
Arsenal. You won’t find him cutting
any throats, either.”

“I always like to meet a man who
wouldn’t cut a throat,” Mosley re-
marked, spinning off the bar stool.
“Come on.”

Jim Hart, home for the week-end,
was willing to talk. He was a
pleasant, lively chap and the detec-
tives agreed with Joe that he wasn’t
the throat-slitting type.

“Sure, Melton was being quite a
sport Friday night,’ he said. “I’ve
seen him off and on down here for

years. A woman they call Lexy was™

with him. After we left the rib place
me and my girl from Ravenna left
them. I saw Lexy and Melton still
together in his car around midnight
at the corner of Broadway and Fur-
nace.
“Did they say where they were go-
ing, when you people left Joe’s?”

art nodded. “Sure. Said they
were going over to the White City
for some more drinks.”

‘oy Sunday night the round-up be-
gan. Several other hangers-on
from the Howard Street area were lo-
cated who had seen the woman called
Lexy with Melton. Nobody seemed
to know her last name or where she
lived. Or if they did, they weren’t
talking.

Women with records who couldn’t
or wouldn’t account for their move-
ments on the night of the 26th and
early morning of the 27th were held
for questioning. A girl with blood-
stained clothing who lived not far
from Harris Street, was considered a
good. suspect until she proved the
stains came from a fight she had with
another woman.

Detective Gandee brought in a
woman from a Howard Street beer
joint. She gave her name as Jessie
Westwood. ike half a dozen others,
she refused to talk about the night of

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4
criminologist, gave the
-der gun—a .32—and
nany thugs in attempt

with the lethal slugs.

ned off the high-
red along a ‘side

»ushed the brake to
and his’ vehicle
iear-stop, Then he
direction taken by

iter he rounded a
the country road.
d on the brake as
a scene of blood-
There in the mid-
ment lay the pros-
shief Chadwick and
em, blood spurting
nds. Ever-widening
were visible on the
rifles of the inert
their sides.

BILL MAHAN, one of the perpetrators in
the infamous Weyerhauser snatch, he was
a hot suspect in this case, mainly because
the killer wore gloves and this was known
to be one of Mahan's pet conceits.

Chief Nelson sprang from his car
in time to see the blue Buick racing
away. Whipping out his service
revolver, he emptied it at the flee-
ing car.

When the machine disappeared

- from view, Nelson rushed to his

fallen colleagues. Farmers of the
community, attracted by the gun-
fire, assisted Chief Nelson in trans-
ferring the stricken officers to his
Squad car. Then he began a des-
perate race against death.

Chief Chadwick died en route to
the Valley hospital in Puyallup and
Patrolman Storem succumbed an
hour later without regaining con-
sciousness.

Neither officer had hada ghost

DEPUTY SHERIFF SIG KITTLESON

~
=~

stands cn the spot where two officers were slain

.

-_ “> wing
f Da We: © Et ety
~ - - oe wee

by the desperate bank bandit. Kittleson and State Patrolman Jack Crooks broke the
case, which defied solution for seven years in a hunt that covered hundreds of miles.

of a chance against the ruthless
slayer. The fact that their rifles
were unfired was mute testimony to
the cold-bloodedness of the vicious
crime. Chief Chadwick had been
shot through the neck, Storem in
the chest, eye and wrist.

Grimly, Chief Nelson realized
that the killer was a dead shot;
that he would not hesitate to con-

tinue his carnival of carnage to
avoid capture.

Word of the double slaying was
flashed throughout the northwest-
ern section of Washington and soon
a huge posse of officers was engaged
in the gigantic manhunt. Among
the officers were deputies from
Sheriff John Bjorklund’s Pierce
County office in Tacoma, men from

the King County (Seattle) sheriff’s
department, led by Sheriff William
Severynns, Washington state
troopers and local officers from

’ near-by towns.

While a huge dragnet was spread
over beautiful Puyallup valley, the
leaders of the investigation re-
mained at the scene of the brutal
murders to hunt for clues to the
gunman’s identity.

John Urdea, who lived near-by
was able to give a vivid eye-witness

‘account of the slaughter. On his

way home for lunch, he had driven
into his driveway just as Chief
Chadwick and Patrolman Storem
overhauled the fleeing Buick.

“The fellow got out of his car,”
Urdea related, “and walked toward
the officers with his hands in the
air. Then all of a sudden he whipped
out a pistol and started shooting.
I heard three shots in quick suc-
cession, then two or three more.
The’ gunman then ran back to his
car, got in and raced down the
road. I don’t think the whole
episode took more than a min-
ute.”

The witness, however, was unable
to give more than a hazy descrip-

‘tion of the killer; nor had he noted

the license number or any distin-
guishing features of the Buick.
After listening to Urdea’s account
of the murders, Chief Criminal
Deputy O. K. Bodia of the King

County sheriff’s office said:

“It appears to me that Chadwick
and Storem knew this guy. Other-

wise they wouldn’t have been

caught off guard. They had their

‘rifles trained on him, and if they
-had been suspicious, they could

easily have drilled him when he
went for his gat.”

““That makes sense,” remarked
Chief Criminal Deputy James Ma-
lone of the Pierce County sheriff’s
office. “The poor guys trusted this
killer and paid for it with their
lives.”

Bodia reflected in silence for a
moment, then said: “The thing to
do is to get a line on every ex-con
in the district. It’s a cinch the
killer has a record or he wouldn’t
have shot the officers in cold blood
to avoid arrest.”

One of the countless investigators
on the job was Deputy Sheriff Glenn
Barton of Pierce County, who had
a photographic memory and never
forgot a face or a name.

Bodia and Malone called Barton
aside and explained their theory.
“We think the killer is an ex-con,”
Bodia concluded. ‘Who around here
might fit the bill?”

Barton didn’t hesitate a moment.
“I have in mind two guys, parolees.
who might fill the bill,” he an-
nounced. (Continued on page 50)

29


Fa

cellar. But when I looked into your
furnace, there was a roaring fire. It
was such a hot fire I couldn’t touch
the door with my bare hand. That’s
how Mrs. DeVoe got those burns on
her arm. You thought you’d burn the
body. Then you gave that up and
dragged it back to the foot of the
stairs. You tried to make it look like
a fall. Isn’t that the truth, Perkins?”

Wearily the man nodded. “I killed

“T don’t think either of ’em would stop
at murder. And both knew Chief
Chadwick. They had to make their
parole reports to his office.”

Officers were immediately dis-
patched to check up on the parolees.
Then the leading investigators at-
tempted to pick up the trail of the
fugitive killer while the posse scoured
the valley in search of the bandit.

At the outskirts of Sumner they
found the blue Buick which the gun-
man had been forced to abandon -be-
cause of a blowout.

Also they found Fred Carnahan, a
Sumner storekeeper, who had some
interesting news. On a return trip
from Puyallup he had seen a man
step out from behind the stalled Buick
and signal for a lift.

“T stopped my car,’ Carnahan re-
lated, “and started to back up. But,
for some unknown reason, I decided
not to give the fellow a ride. So I
headed down the road again.”

The merchant said the stranger was
quite tall and slender. He had taken
off his hat to signal for a lift and
Carnahan noticed that his hair was
blond and unruly. “I’d recognize the
fellow if I ever saw him again,” the
storekeeper declared.

Asked what the stranger had done
when his request for a ride had been
refused, Carnahan said he had run
across the highway, clambered up a
hill and disappeared in the direction
of the railway bridge across Stuck
River.

Sheriff Bjorklund was immediately
given this information. He rallied
his forces and concentrated efforts on
the Stuck River valley.

But the killer evidently had van-
ished into the marshes of the dis-
trict. No trace of him was found,
although more than 300 officers
combed eyery inch of the desolate
region throughout that night and the
following day.

N THE succeeding day officers

assigned to check on the sus-
pected parolees found that one of them
could not have been the slaughtering
bank heister. He had been with his
mother in Puyallup at the time of the
holdup and shootings. The other,
however, could not be found in Puy-
allup, and a “wanted” notice was
flashed throughout the Pacific North-
west.

The investigators believed he might
be the brutal killer.. He had served
two prison terms for burglary and
one for robbery. He had been re-
leased from the state penitentiary in
Walla Walla only two and a half
months before.

50

COMPLETE DETECTIVE CASES

her.” He moistened his lips. “I was
drunk when I got home. She nagged
me about it. I pushed her, up in the
kitchen. She fell downstairs and I
beat her over the head with a mallet.
I couldn’t seem to stop. I burned my
clothes in the furnace. When you
saw it wasn’t a fall, I decided to try
to blame it on the odd-jobs man. I
knew he’d left town, so I thought
you’d never find him anyway.”

As Perkins finished his story he
covered his face with his hands. ‘We
were good friends when I was sober.
She nagged me when I was drinking.
She always nagged and nagged.”

In June, 1942, Beauford C. Perkins
was found guilty. of murder in the
second degree. He is serving a life
sentence in the Ohio Penitentiary for
the slaying of his mother-in-law,
Mrs. Ella DeVoe.

DESPERADO’S DELILAH

(Continued from page. 29)

Bolstering the officers’ hunch that
he was their man, Cashier Stone de-
clared the missing parolee’s police
photo bore a strong resemblance to
the bank bandit.

Alert detectives in Seattle located

‘the suspect a short time later and

whisked him to the office of Captain
of Detectives Ernie Yoris.

The ex-con denied the crimes, but
was nervous and completely ill at
ease. He claimed that he had been
with friends of his in Seattle at the
time of the holdup and shootings. His
friends, he declared, had driven to
his home in Puyallup on the evening
before the crimes and taken him to
Seattle.

On the day of the murders, the
parolee said, the three had driven to
the Potter Apartments on James
Street in Seattle to see his friend’s
sister. Finding her gone, they had
driven out to the university district
to make a payment on a car. Then
they returned to the Patter Apart-
ments and found the young lady in
and visited there for several hours,
returning to his friend’s home in
mid-afternoon.

Captain Yoris; plainly skeptical of
the alibi, sent a squad of detectives to
check the statements. When the
sleuths returned a few hours later,
they wore long faces. They an-
‘nounced that the ex-convict’s alibi
stood up 100 per cent.

Satisfied of the man’s innocence,
Captain Yoris released him from cus-.
tody. No charge had been placed
against the three-time loser at any

time.

EANWHILE, the Tacoma police

had not been idle. Checking on
the blue Buick sedan abandoned by
the killer, they learned that it had
been stolen from one of Tacoma’s
main streets two hours before the
Orting bank had been held up. How-
ever, the Buick yielded no finger-
prints and was a dud as far as tracing
the murderer was concerned.

Luke S. May, one of the Northwest’s
foremost criminologists, reported that
the bullets which had killed the ill-
fated police officers were fired from
a .32-caliber automatic pistol.

Detectives in Seattle and Tacoma
combed every pawnshop in the two
cities on the possibility that the
slaughtering fiend had disposed of-the
lethal ‘weapon. Scores of .32 auto-
matics were given ballistics tests by
Criminologist May, but none of the
suspected guns checked with the
rifling marks on the death slugs.

For the next several days, while the
manhunt continued in the Stuck River

region, Tacoma officers rounded up
every known criminal and ex-con-
vict. They were grilled relentlessly,
but every one was able to produce a
fool-proof alibi.

Six days after the double murder,
the manhunt in Stuck River valley
was called off when C. N. Shriver, a
Milwaukee Railway conductor, re-
ported an incident that occurred about
two o’clock on the afternoon of the
shootings. .

“IT was having a smoke in the ca-
boose,” he told Chief of Police Vince
Stewart of Renton, another Puyallup
valley town. “We had just left Sum-
ner and were going over the Stuck
River bridge. I saw a guy run along
the ‘bridge and swing onto the freight
car ahead of the caboose.

“When we got to Renton, I checked
on the car and found several bums in
it. I told ’em to get out and they did
... all but one guy. He was huddled
in a corner and wouldn’t budge.
When I threatened to lock the car
with him in it, he clambered out.

“It was the same guy who hopped
aboard on the bridge. He was tall
and slender and had light hair—

kinda mussed up. I’d know him again

if I saw him.” . «

Thus, it was disclosed that the killer
had miraculously escaped the dragnet
by hopping the freight car before the
posse could close in.

The conductor’s information caused
the manhunt to swing to the Renton
district. But although several sus-
pects were rounded up, none of them
was identified by the railroad con-
ductor.

Deputy Sheriffs Bodia and Malone
began preparation of a circular for the
fugitive murderer. From information
promes by persons who had seen

im, they described the killer as
about 35 years old, six feet tall, 170
to 180 pounds, blond hair, fair com-
plexion. He was wearing a blue work
shirt, open at the front, white under-
shirt and blue overalls.

As Deputy Malone was going over
his notes, he remarked: ‘“Here’s some-
thing the bank cashier mentioned. He
said the bandit wore brown, cloth
gloves—the kind that undertakers
wear. But there’s no use putting that
into the circular, for it’s a cinch the
puy got rid of the gloves as fast -as

e could.”

Deputy Bodia shot from his chair
like a jack-in-the-box. “Say!” he
exclaimed. ‘That sounds like Bill
Mahan’s trademark. He’s the only
heist guy I know of who wears gloves
like that!’’

Malone’s eyes -went wide at the
mention of Bill Mahan, one of the

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INS

1920


~

nation’s leading public enemies. It was
Mahan who, with Harmon Waley and
his wife, Margaret, had kidnapped
nine-year-old George Weyerhaeuser,
son of the Northwest timber baron,
the previous May, and_ received
$250,000 ransom.

Only a few days previous to the
murder of Chief Chadwick and Pat-
rolman Storem, Margaret Waley had
been convicted for her part in the
kidnaping.

“It would be just like Mahan to
thumb his nose at the law by pulling
this job while all the cops in the
country were looking for him,’ Ma-
lone declared.

‘Not only that,” Bodia continued,

“but he’s robbed several banks in the .

Northwest in recent years and never
been caught. And, Mahan always used
Buicks on his jobs. Why, he ditched
a Buick in Everett a couple of weeks
ago. They found his prints in the car.
And some people saw him leave the
machine said he was wearing brown
gloves—in the dead of summer!”

There was only one fly in the oint-
ment, however. Mahan was decidedly
dark complexioned. But, Bodia
pointed out, he could have dyed his
hair blond and powdered his face to
change its appearance.

The nation-wide hunt for Mahan
was intensified, but the weeks flew
by with no results from the gigantic
manhunt. Nor were the officers work-
ing on the Sumner murders able to
find a workable clue from the mass
of tips and leads provided by the
public.

Then, late in September, Larry
Paulos, alias Lawrence Edmonds, was
arrested in Seattle and charged with
burglary. Detective Captain Yoris
grilled the prisoner for hours and
finally was able to get an admission
that Paulos had pulled some “jobs”
in the Puyallup Valley.

Since the confessed burglar fitted
the general description of the fiend
who had slain the two police officers,
Captain Yoris took his prisoner to
Orting.

After viewing Paulos and hearing
his voice, Leslie Stone, the bank
cashier, was positive the prisoner was
not the bandit-killer. Paulos was re-
turned to Seattle to face trial on
burglary - charges and the _ investi-
gation of the brutal murders reached
another impasse.

Micke weeks passed and it looked
_like the trail had grown too:cold
to pick up. But a short time later
Kelso, Washington, officers took an
ex-convict, Roy Jacobs, into custody
for questioning.

Deputies, Bodia and Malone were
summoned ‘to check on the prisoner.
Jacobs tallied with several of the
characteristics of the wanted killer,
being tall, slender and blond. The
detectives noted that two fingers were
missing from his left hand.

The ex-con disclaimed all knowl-
edge of the bank robbery and mur-
ders, but just to be on the safe side,
Bodia and Malone took him to head-
quarters at Orting.

Cashier Stone was brought in to size
up Jacobs and hear his voice. ,

“He resembles the bandit, all right,”
Stone declared, “but he looks taller.
And I’m not sure about his voice.
Seems to me that the bandit talked
differently.”

“How about his hands?” Bodia
asked. “Did you get a good look at
both of them when he held you up?”

Stone nodded. “The bandit took the

52

COMPLETE DETECTIVE CASES

bundles of currency with his left
hand while he held the pistol in his
right. But I didn’t notice whether
any of the glove fingers on the left
hand were empty when he took the
money.”

Bodia and Malone closeted them-
selves with Jacobs and demanded to
know where the prisoner had been at
the time of the murders. He declared
he was with his wife in their Kelso
home.

The deputies took Jacobs back to
Kelso and checked with the sixteen-
year-old girl with whom he was liv-
ing. The girl said that she and the
ex-convict were not married, but thaé-
they planned to be wed soon. She
said also that Jacobs had been with
her the entire day of July 15, thus
giving her paramour a foolproof alibi.

However, when the officers learned
that Jacobs had transported the girl
from Portland, Oregon, for immoral
purposes, they immediately turned
him over to Federal authorities. Jacobs

leaded guilty to a charge of vio-
ating the Mann act and was sen-
tenced to the Federal Penitentiary
on McNeil Island.

In the succeeding months every lead
in the baffling murder fizz] out,

Then, late the following year, Bill
Mahan was captured in San Francisco
and whisked to Tacoma.

G-men, after thoroughly grilling the
public enemy and checking on_his
movements after the Weyerhaeuser
snatch, reported to Pierce County
authorities that Mahan could not have
been the murderer of the two Puy-
allup police officers. The notorious
criminal had not been in the State of
Washington at the time of the slay-

ings. .

Mahan was tried for the kidnapping
and speedily convicted. He drew a
long term in Alcatraz.

Thus, the brutal slayings of the
policemen seemed destined to go un-
solved. Every suspect had been
cleared; the death gun had not been
found; no further clues or leads could
be turned up. —

UT State Patrolman Jack Crooks
refused to let the investigation
die. He had been one of Chief Chad-
wick’s closest friends and he was de-
termined that the cold-blooded killer
should not go unpunished.

So Patrolman Crooks devoted all
his spare time to picking up the loose
ends of the case. It was tedious, dis-
couraging work, for by this time the
trail had grown stone cold; Persons
who had seen the ruthless slayer

found that their memories were con- °

fused, hazy on details.
But Crooks kept on... And, after
years of sifting the chaff from the

_ grain, he came to the conclusion that

only one man fitted all the descrip-
tions of the killer. That man was Roy
Jacobs, the ex-con who had been sent
to the Federal prison for seducing a

_ sixteen-year-old girl by promising to

make her his wife.

However, one thing baffled Crooks:
Jacobs’ alibi. It had been supported
by the young woman.

Crooks -decided to re-check this
story. Maybe the girl would turn out
to be a Delilah, shearing her lover
of his strength—that alibi.

At first the girl stuck to her pre-
vious statement that Jacobs had been
with her at the time of the bank
robbery and arise i j

Crooks persisted. He pointed out
that Jacobs had tricked her into liv-
ing with him on the promise of mar-

“spp

riage. He declared that Jacobs hac
had no intention of keeping that prom-
ise; that he had had several womer
on the string at the time.

Crooks reminded her that two up-
standing police officers had been mur-
dered in cold blood, that their families
had suffered an irreparable loss and
that, if Jacobs were the killer, he un-
doubtedly would commit murder
again. .

The young woman’s _ indecision
melted. “You're right,” she declared.
“Roy is a menace to society, and I
wish there was some way I could help
you. But I don’t know for sure
whether he was with me on the day
the policemen were killed. When

those officers talked to me before, .

they said Roy claimed he was here.
I just took it for granted that he
was. I thought the police were hound-
ing him because he had a prison
record.”

Encouraged by his progress, Pa-

’ trolman Crooks kept on. He talked

with everyone in Kelso who knew
Roy Jacobs. And, finally, he found
a bus depot employee with some
heartening news. -
-“Jacobs bought a ticket to Tacoma
sometime in July, 1935,” the employee
recalled. “But I don’t remember the
exact date.”

“You’ve got to recall the day,”
Crooks declared grimly. “Think of
some incident that happened about
the same time.”

The ticket agent pondered for sev-
eral minutes. =
' “T think I can find out for sure,” he
said. “That was the same day my
wife cut her finger and I had to take
her to the doctor’s.”

The nig picked up the telephone
and called his physician. After a
brief conversation he hung up and
told Crooks: “That happened on July
14. Doc had it written in his records.”

This was all that the dogged patrol-
man needed to throw his investigation
into high gear. He lost no time get-
ting to Olympia, the state capital, and
laying all the facts before his boss,
James Pryde, chief of the State
Patrol. .

Chief Pryde immediately assigned
Crooks to work with Deputy Sheriff
Sig Kittleson of Pierce County to
follow up the Jacobs lead until it
either fizzled out or paid dividends.

Crooks and _ Kittleson obtained
police photos of Jacobs and took them
to every citizen who had seen the
killer. The result was encouraging
enough to convince Chief. Pryde that
Jacobs was the killer.

The facts then were presented to
Thor Tollefson, young and able prose-
cutor of Pierce County. He agreed to
issue a murder warrant against Jacobs
who by this time had been released
from the McNeil Island prison.

Jacobs was arrested in South Park,
a Seattle suburb, and taken to Tacoma.
He steadfastly denied committing the
brutal murders, even though his alibi
had been shattered and he had been
identified by several witnesses.

OLLOWING indictment by the
, grand jury on first-degree mur-
der charges, Jacobs went to trial on
October 19, 1942, in Superior Court in
fel acing for the slaying of Chief Chad-
wick.
Prosecutor Tollefson built a bril-
liant case out of the facts dug up by
officer Crooks and Deputy Kittleson.

Leslie Stone, the bank cashier, de- |

clared that Jacobs strongly resembled
the man who had held him up. John

minutes
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Charle
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joined the ;

VV


O. K. Bodia, chief of the criminal division of the
King County Sheriff's office, County Detective Mur-
ray Gamrath and Deputy Sig Kittleson had arrived.
They were closely followed by a half-dozen cars
from both the Pierce and King County offices.

They held a parley and quickly decided that most
of the men could take up the chase by cruising the
country roads. Nelson would stay with the bodies
until the coroner arrived while Bodia, Smith and
Barton went on in to Orting and talked further
with Bank Teller Stone.

Bodia left Gamrath: saying, “Your best bet will be
to contact the stores and gas stations along the
road to see where the guy is heading. He’ll probably
be traveling at a high rate of speed and attract
attention.”

In Orting, Bodia went over the details of the
robbery with Stone. The bank clerk said that
something under a thousand dollars had been taken
during the robbery.

“This fellow wasn’t masked, huh?” Bodia asked.

“No, but he wore gloves. They were tight-fitting
kid gloves.”

“That sounds like an ex-con,” Bodie declared.
“He knew he had to take a chance on coming in
here without a mask to keep from attracting atten-
tion. But he wasn’t taking any chances of leaving

MRA SR te ss BES Se SC,

his trade mark behind with his finger-prints. Do
you think you would be able to recognize him if
you see him again?”

“I’m quite sure of it,” Stone declared.

BeprA found two other persons in Orting who re-
called seeing the holdup man. Allman Hardle
and Gordon Danley had been standing in front of
Knight’s Garage when the bandit got into his car.

“He didn’t seem to be in any hurry,” Hardle
declared.

“More evidence that he’s an ex-con,” Bodia told
Barton and Smith. “He knew what he was doing
and wasn’t rattled.”

In Seattle, Sheriff Severyns was busy. He sent
out a message on the teletype which connects
western police agencies, telling of the crimes and
giving the description of the bandit-killer and car,
Next, he established a secondary blockade in the
event the murderer slipped through the first block-
ade at Enumclaw and Puyallup.

The secondary blockade stopped the highway
going north of Seattle toward. Canada and at the
Snoqualmie Pass going east.

In Tacoma, Sheriff Bjorklund sent out men to
form blockades west and south of that city.

Luke May: His ballistics tests
showed the killer -had used a
stolen gun to kill the officers

When the police heard that the

. bandit entered the Orting State

Bank. unmasked but wearing

gloves, they knew he was an
‘ ex-con


Sheriff Severyns checked with the license
bureau in Olympia on the numbers given by the
eye-witness of the slayings, Peabody. He found the
plates had been reported stolen three months pre-
viously from a Seattle man as he visited in Ta-
coma.

Severyns considered the information and called
Bjorklund in Tacoma. “The plates on the killer’s
car came from Seattle, but they were stolen in
Tacoma three months ago,” Severyns told his
neighboring sheriff. “The car may have been stolen
there, too.”

“We’ve been checking,” Bjorklund answered. “It
was reported stolen last night from a fellow here.”

“Stolen last night! Say, the killer must be from
Tacoma, then,’ Severyns cried. “The plates were
stolen there three months ago—and the car last
night.”

The information on the car made the officers
more certain than ever that the bandit-killer they
sought was an ex-convict. He had planned the crime
carefully, stealing the plates three months in ad-
vance of the robbery so that the numbers would
not be fresh in the minds of the police. He had

Bank Teller Leslie Stone, right, tells
fellow employes how a quirk of
circumstance forced him to hold
his gunfire until the bandit escaped

not stolen the car to carry the plates until the last
moment, so there would be no chance of getting
into trouble over it until he was ready to use it.

In Seattle Police Headquarters, Detective Lieu-
tenant Dick Mahoney watched the information on
the double killing and bank robbery come in over
the teletype machine. He studied the description
on the yellow sheet for some time and then walked
into the identification bureau. ;

“Get mea mug of Cal Gruel, that ex-con from
Missouri I was looking at a while back,” he told
John Flint, bureau head.

Flint gave Mahoney the picture and he took it
into the office of Chief of Detectives Ernest Yoris.

Mahoney told Yoris, “That guy who pulled the
bank job in Orting and killed Chadwick and Storem
sounds to me like Cal Gruel.” He tossed the police
photo on the desk in front of Yoris.

Gruel was on parole from the Missouri Peniten-
tiary. The parole board had notified the Seattle
police when Gruel moved into town. Mahoney had
kept an eye on him, but Gruel had indicated he
wanted to go straight.

ieee checks,” Yoris said. “Better look
im up.” .

Mahoney and his partner Al Kuehl went to the
place where Gruel lived. The landlady reported,
“Mr. Gruel has been gone for two days.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

The landlady shook her head. “No. He didn’t even
tell me he was leaving. I expect him back, though.
All his things are here.”

Leaving the house, Mahoney said, “I think we’d
better drive out to Orting and let the bank teller
take a look at this mug of Gruel.”

“Now?” Kuehl asked.

“As soon as I put a call in to Chief Yoris and
tell him where we’re going. And have him put a

Sheriff John Bjorklund: He sent his radio cars
to back up the first line of the blockade

Police were
him because
another man

Roy Jacobs:
interested in
he resembled

watch on the house in case Gruel
comes in.”

County Detective Gamrath, who
had taken charge of the posse
searching the back roads for the
killer, had met with some luck. Two
miles from where the killing took
place, he located Leo Knoblauch, a
service-station operator. The detec-
tives asked about the blue Buick
with gray fenders.

“I saw a car going by here like that,” Knoblauch
said, “He was sure burning the dust and his radia-
tor was steaming.”

Harvey Cain, another service-station operator,
saw the car further on. “The car started to pull in
here, but the driver must have changed his mind, I
thought at the time that he was going to burn up
the motor unless he got some water for the radiator.
A cloud of steam was coming out of it.”

Cain said the car was heading toward Sumner.

John Urdea, a farmer, saw the car closer to Sum-
ner. “It sounded like a thrashing machine and the
driver had it wide open,” Urdea said. “He was driv-
ing like he was crazy.”

The posse converged on Sumner. The men com-
prising the blockade on the far side of town were
positive the car had not passed them.

“The guy may have hidden it around here some-
place,” Gamrath told the men. “He may be trying
to’ make it on foot.” (Continued on Page 43)


op teeemenenemin yaa

for several years and has always been
their friend.”

Krichamer said, ‘“Zinnanti claims he
was™here at home yesterday at the
time Mrs. DeGeorge was. killed. He
said he drove past her home about
9 a.m., but didn’t stop.

“However, in the back of his car I
found a pair of muddy shoes—the same
kind of mud we got on our shoes over
there at the Bayou. Except it looks
like some blood is mixed in with the
mud on his shoes.

“There was a pistol in the glove
compartment of his sedan. It’s a forty-
four and one shot has been fired from
it. But the maid here says he left
yesterday morning with an automatic
in his hand. Perhaps that accounts
for the thirty-eight slug found in the
body

oy ‘feel positive this man is the mur-
derer! Snyder looked at Zinnanti and
says he is sure he’s the man he saw in
the car with Mrs. DeGeorge.”

Binford’s face lighted up, he spun
on his heel and abruptly stepped out
into the darkness. In a moment he was
back, followed by Lomax.

“T brought along the witness,” said
the Sheriff. “Is that the man?” he
asked Lomax, pointing at the defiant
prisoner.

“It Was Alibi

Bodia, Barton and Smith finished
questioning the witnesses in Orting
and drove on in to Puyallup. They met
Chief Nelson.

“The doctor has finished an autopsy”

on both bodies. They were shot with a
thirty-two caliber gun. I’ve got the
slugs,” Nelson told them.

“We'd better send them on in to
Luke May in Seattle,” Bodia sug-
gested. “There isn’t much chance he
can give us anything until we locate
the gun, but he’s a wizard on ballis-
tics.”

The bullets were sent in to Luke S.
May, noted western criminologist, to
be examined in his Capitol Hill labora-
tory.

Mahoney and Kuehl reached Orting
at 6 o’clock. They found Stone and
showed him the picture of Gruel.

“It looks like the man,” Stone said.
“It’s hard to tell from a photograph,
but he does look like the man who
robbed the bank.”

, Allman Hardle and Gordon Danley,
the two men who were standing in
front of Knight’s Garage when the
bandit-killer got into his car, looked
at the photograph.

* They agreed that it “looks like the
fellow.”

Even little Shirley Maitland, whom
the bandit knocked down as he hurried
toward his car, said the same thing
about the photograph of Gruel. “That
looks like the man,” she declared.

John Peabody, who had seen the
killing of Chief Chadwick and Patrol-
man Storem, looked at the picture.
“T’d say that’s the fellow I saw,” Pea-
body commented. “I got a pretty good
look at the man. I guess he never saw
me or he might have shot me dead, too.
I was standing right there in the field
not fifty feet from him while he shot
those two policemen.”

Mahoney called Yoris in Seattle.
“All the witnesses identify Gruel as
the bank robber and killer. Better put
out an alarm for him and keep his
house covered.”

Yoris promised he would start an
immediate search for Cal Gruel, the
ex-convict from the Missouri Peniten-
tiary.

In Puyallup, the news of the mur-
ders of Chadwick and Storem spread
through the community. Chadwick had
been a popular officer. Storem and his
five children were well known and
liked in the community. Grim-faced

1D—1 . .

“Yes, that’s him! I’d recognize that
face anywhere! That’s the man!” Eyes
snapping with excitement, Lomax in-
stinctively backed away from the man
he was accusing. “He’s the one I saw
with a gun in his hand!”

Protesting his innocence, Ross Zin-
nanti was placed in jail. His car was
carefully examined and Mrs. De-
George’s finger-prints were found in
it! They appeared to be fresh—no
more than 24 to 48 hours old!

“IT can understand now about the
mixup in cars,” Krichamer told the
Sheriff. “Ross Zinnanti easily could
have waited until he saw Mrs. De-
George drive away from her house
to go to the beauty parlor. Then he
stopped her and asked her to get into

his car. They were friends so he
wouldn’t need much _ pretext. Of
course, she left her car where we

found it—two blocks from her home.
But I still don’t see what was his mo-
tive in killing her!”

INFORD donned his hat. ‘Perhaps
we'd better see Joe DeGeorge
again.”
The little teller’s face flushed an-
grily when Binford gave him details of

Zinnanti’s arrest. “Why, the dirty
snake! T thought he was my friend.”

Him—or Die!’’

farmers and businessmen gathered at
Police Headquarters. All were armed
with hunting rifles and shotguns.

Barton addressed the men. “I’m glad
to see you here,” he told them. “Re-
ports are beginning to come in. Many
of these reports turn out to be worth-
less, but they all have to be investi-
gated. I’m going to swear all you men
in as officers. You can help us investi-
gate these reports.”

Gamrath called in to Puyallup to
report to Bodia. “We tracked the killer
and the car down to the road leading
in to Sumner. That's the last) we've
been able to find of him, I don’t know
whether he doubled back, or got
through the blockade.”

“Maybe he got as far as Sumner and
saw the blockade and turned back,”
Bodia suggested.

“That’s what we think. We’re going
to head up toward Enumclaw now. He
knows the road through Puyallup is
blockaded. Enumclaw would be _ his
only out. He may try to run it when it
gets dark.”

“T hope he does,” Bodia said. “Smith
tells me he’s got some good men there.
They'll give him a taste of what he
gave Chadwick and Storem.”

Ai a couple of hours with no
further reports on the bandit-killer,
the officers changed their theories.

Barton told Bodia, Nelson and Smith,
“That bird must be holed up in Sum-
ner, The prowler-car boys followed
him down that way and they haven’t
been able to pick up a lead since. We
know he didn’t get through the block-
ade. He’s probably been hiding out in
town waiting until it is as dark as it is
now to slip out.”

“T think we'd better
Sumner,” Bodia.said.

“Me, too,” Barton declared, “We'll
take as many men as we can from
here and round up some more in Sum-
ner. We’ll look in every garage and
shed where a car might be hidden. It’s
a cinch the machine isn’t out in the
open or it would have been spotted
by now.”

While the officers were marshaling
the men for the move, Bodia received
a call from Sheriff Severyns. The
Sheriff reported that Luke May had
called and said his examination of the
lethal bullets disclosed that they had
been fired from a rather rare .32 cali-
ber automatic of foreign and obsolete
make.

The posse from Puyallup converged

shake down

The Sheriff mentioned his puzzle-
ment over lack of an apparent motive.

Joe DeGeorge’s face set in grim
lines,

“IT think I can explain that,” he an-
swered slowly. “I didn’t believe it at
first; but now—well, I guess it’s true.

“Federal officers raided Ross Zin-
nanti’s farm September 10 and seized
212 gallons of whisky, I heard that he
threatened to get whoever had squealed
on him. And later he accused us of
tipping off the raiders. But I didn’t
think he’d kill Loretta. I knew that
neither my wife nor I were to blame.
So I didn’t put any stock in the threat
—didn’t think he meant harm to us.
I thought it was just idle talk like
that other threat to shoot Joretta. I
wish now I had worried more about
it!”

Zinnanti was convicted and on Jan-
uary 21, 1935—exactly four months to
the day after he wreaked his vengeance
on a pretty red-haired woman—-he was

sentenced by District Court Judge
Langston G. King to serve 25 years

in prison. He accepted his punishment
without appeal and immediately en-
tered the Texas Prison at Huntsville.

The name Clarence V. Lawson is
fictitious to protect an tinocent man

(Continued from Page 28)

on Sumner, Chiet Nelson quickly
rounded up several score of additional
volunteers who joined the search of
that district for the getaway car. A
half-hour later it was discovered
where the killer had abandoned it in
a shed behind the yeast plant.

Nelson placed a guard over the ma-
chine immediately and called Tacoma
police, asking them to send out a
{inger-print expert at once. Within a
few minutes, Sergeant Fred Scheutze
was on his way to Sumner.

ONES of the residents who lived in
the vicinity of the yeast plant had
seen anyone near the shed.

“Seems likely that the murderer
beat it from here and caught a freight
out of town,’”’ Barton said. “We'll con-
tact the railroad and see what trains
have been through here since 2 o'clock

this afternoon, That’s about the time |

this fellow got here.”

The investigators learned that only
a few trains had passed through. Bar-
ton and Smith lost no time in putting
in long-distance calls to the destina-

tions of the trains, asking officers there |

to check with the train crews to see if
they could get a line on the slayer,
Deputy Fred Franke was assigned
the task of checking with a train crew
that brought a freight into Renton.
And he found something that looked
good when he talked to C. N. Shiver,

the brakeman in the crew.

Shiver said he saw a man drop from
the roof of the bridge over Stuck
River, just outside of Sumner. onto a
box car as the train passed slowly |

beneath the bridge. When they reached
Renton, Shiver had chased the man
from the train.

The man had hurried away with his
coat collar up and his hat pulled low
so the brakeman couldn't give :nuch of

a description of him. But what he said |

left no doubt in the officers’ minds—
the man on the freight had been the
killer.

When Sheriff Severyns passed this
news along to Bodia in

better bring your posse down to Ren-
ton and see if you can flush hing there.”
“We'll do that but why don’t you
call the radio stations and give them
this new information and have them
warn drivers about picking up hitch-
hikers?” Bodia said. ‘Maybe some ot
the listeners will see something that
will help us.”
Bodia, Barton

Sumner, he |
said, “‘He’s on foot now. | think you'd |

and Smith led the |

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Meanwhile, in Seattle Mahoney and
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watch the house where Cal Gruel, the
ex-con from Missouri, lived. At 10:30
a car drove up in front of the house.
A man stepped out and paused for a
moment to talk to several others in-
side the vehicle.

“That's Gruel,’”” Mahoney whispered
to the other officers. “We'll take them
all. But be careful and have all of
them covered.”

The group surrendered without any
trouble, though they were considerably
upset.

“What's the idea?” Gruel burst out
when Mahoney told him what he was

wanted for. “I never pulled anything
like that. I’ve been out with these
feliows digging clams.”

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murders.

While Yoris, Mahoney and Kuehl
were satisfied that Gruel was not the
bandit-slayer they realized that they
still had part of their lead left.

Several witnesses had identified him
as the man. Gruel’s picture could be
used to circulate to other police officers
in the search for the real murderer
and bank robber.

Sergeant Scheutze dusted the blue
Buick with the gray fenders in the
shed behind the yeast plant. He an-
nounced, “The driver wore gloves. I
can see smudges all over the steering-
wheel and doors.”

The engine numbers were taken
down and they compared with the car
that had been reported stolen in Ta-
coma,

Meanwhile the officers were search-
ing for a trace of the fugitive near
Renton.

But they found none.

At 5 o’clock that morning Tom Pratt,
a forest ranger out of Enumclaw, re-
ported to Bodia that someone had
broken into his cabin and stolen some
food.

FEW hours later a woman on a
farm south of Orting reported that
a man with a gun had forced his way
into the house and made the woman
feed him. He fled with a half-cooked
piece of meat when the woman said

her husband would be home soon.
Calls were received from persons all

over the state who said they had seen

the slayer. But no further trace of him

was found by the searchers. He had
slipped through the blockade and had
reached his hiding-place. The job now
was to trace him by establishing his
identity.

But how?

In Seattle, Chief Yoris told John
Flint in the Identification Bureau,
“Make up a set of mugs of that guy
Cal Gruel. Send them to all the de-
partments in the West. Tell them that
he is not the guy we want, but a
double for him. It may produce some-
thing.”

R. A. Lambert. a federal agent at
Five Mile Lake, called Barton. He re-
ported that he had read where the
killer had used a foreign make of gun.

“I've got a pair of Spanish auto-
matics—-that is, I had a pair, I picked
them up as a curio. About a month
ago, a burglar broke into my house.
One of the guns was stolen. I’ve been
wondering whether or not it could be
the one the murderer you are looking
for used.”

Barton borrowed the mate to the
stolen gun from Lambert. He took it
to Luke May. May fired test shots and
compared them with the bullets taken
from the bodies of Chadwick and
Storem.

“The bullets from the bodies were
fired from the same make of gun as
the one submitted by Lambert,” May
announced. “Whether or not it is from
the mate to the gun, which he says
was stolen, I can not tell until I exam-

ine the gun. It is very probable, how-
ever, for the gun is a rare one.”

The fact that the gun had been
stolen near Tacoma a month previous
to the bank robbery, added to the fact
that the license plates on the bandit-
killer’s car also had been stolen in
Tacoma, led the police to believe that
the man they sought was someone in
the immediate vicinity of Tacoma.

A week after the robbery and mur-
ders, the Chief of Police in Vancouver,
Washington, called Sheriff Severyns.
He reported that a man who looked
very much like Cal Gruel was living
there in an auto camp.

Severyns called in Bodia and gave
him the information. Bodia said, “It
could be the guy. The last trace we got
of him, he was heading south. He
must have had a hideout to duck into.
We weren’t able. to pick up his
trail.”

ODIA called Chief Nelson, Chief,

Smith and Barton, who had been
appointed chief in Puyallup to take
Chadwick’s place. The four officers
sped to Vancouver. With the help of
the police there, they placed the man
under arrest. He gave his name as Roy
Jacobs.

Jacobs fitted the description of the
bank-robbing cop-killer in every re-
spect. Stone, the bank cashier, iden-
tified him at once.

But Jacobs had an alibi. A woman
in the camp, Elsie Homer, swore he
was in camp with her all day of July
15, the day of the robbery and mur-
ders.

Chief Barton went to the district
attorney. He told him, “I’m sure Jacobs
is the killer. Can you charge him and
take him to trial?”

“Not if he’s got that woman as an
alibi witness,” the district attorney
told him. “You’ve got to break her
story first.”

Elsie Homer couldn’t be broken. She
maintained Jacobs was with her at the
very time Chadwick and Storem were
shot miles away.

“We can’t break her,” Barton told
the district attorney. “But we’ve got
witnesses who will identify Jacobs as

“the bandit and killer.”

“Those same witnesses identified an
ex-convict named Gruel as the killer.
That will come up during the trial.
With the woman as an alibi witness,
we'd never get a conviction.”

Was Jacobs the real murderer? Or,
like Gruel, did he just look like the
killer?

Weeks slipped by, and months. Most
of the country forgot about the killing
of Chief Chadwick and Patrolman
Storem. But not Barton, Nelson and
Smith. Those three men remembered
the oath they had taken on ‘the after-
noon as they stood by the dead bodies
of their fellow officers on the highway.

They scanned the mug pictures of
every bank robber captured through-
out the country. They figured that some
day the bandit who killed Chadwick
and Storem would rob another bank
and be captured.

Seven years to the day from the time
that Chadwick and Storem were killed
Barton delivered a prisoner to the
Federal Penitentiary on McNeil Is-
land. As he was leaving the prison,
he noticed a familiar face.

“Who is that man?” he asked War-
den Paul S. Squiar.

“Fellow named Roy Jacobs. He’s in
here on a Mann Act charge. He’ll be
out in a week. His time’s up.”

Barton recalled the face then. It was
Jacobs whom he had questioned in
Vancouver about the robbery and
killings.

“Mann Act charge, huh?” Barton
said. “Transporting a woman from
one state to another for immoral pur-
poses. I want to know all about that
case. I want to know in particular
about the woman.”

“The FBI in Seattle has all the
dope,” Squiar said.

Barton went at once at Seattle. The
one question he wanted to know was
answered at once. The woman in-
volved was not Elsie Homer.

Barton returned to Puyallup and
called in Chief Nelson from Sumner
and Chief Smith from Enumclaw. He

told them about seeing Jacobs in the
penitentiary.

“T always felt that woman was lying
when she gave him the alibi,” Barton
said, “This may be our chance to crack
her. He is serving time now for being
with another woman—that means he
must have dropped this Elsie Homer.
We've got to find her.”

Smith said, “That may be a tough
job. It’s been seven years. Those peo-
ple in auto camps drift around.”

“We've got to find her quick,” Bar-
ton said. “Jacobs’ time is up in a week.
He will be released. Unless we grab
him when he comes out, we'll never
find him again.”

Barton, Storem and Smith went to
Vancouver. They learned that Elsie
Homer and Jacobs had left there seven
years before to go to Portland, Oregon.

Working day and night, they picked
up the trail in Portland from some
people who knew them. One of the
persons said, “I haven’t seen Elsie in
four or five years, but I understand
she went to Tacoma and got married.”

“Do you know her married name?”

“No, but I think she’s still living
there. Married some fellow who has a
business in Tacoma.”

Barton turned to his fellow officers.
“It’s a long gamble, but it’s all there is
left. If she married a fellow in Ta-
coma, who has a_ business there—
maybe she was married in Tacoma.”

By driving all night, the three police
chiefs arrived in Tacoma the next
morning. They went to the county of-
fices and started checking back
through the marriage licenses for the
maiden name of Elsie Homer.

They found it. Her married name
was Beasly. There were a half-dozen
Beaslys in the city directory. The
fourth one was the former Elsie
Homer.

Barton explained to her what he
wanted. “You swore seven years ago
Jacobs was with you all that day. I
think you were lying for him.”

Mrs. Beasly nervously wrapped a
handkerchief around her fingers. “But
all that has been forgotten. Why—”

“Because Jacobs is a murderer. He
killed two police officers.”

“But I’m married now,” Mrs. Beasly
said. “If all this comes up—”

“Storem was married, too. He had
five kids. How do you think his wife
and kids felt when a murderer shot
him down?”

“J_-I~yes, I lied for him,” Mrs.
Beasly said. “I didn’t know that he
robbed the bank or killed the men.
All he told me was that unless I swore
he was with me on the fifteenth, he
would kill me, too. It was alibi him
—or die!”

“You’ll swear to that in court?”

“Yes. I’ll swear to that in court. If
you don’t convict him he’ll come back
and kill me. I know it. He said that
if I ever told the real story my num-
ber was up. That’s one of the reasons
I left him. I thought he might kill
me so I would be sure and never tell.”*

Barton called the penitentiary at
once. He was connected with Warden
Squiar. “I want to place a hold against
Roy Jacobs,” Barton said. “I’m calling
you now so you can keep him there.
T’ll get the papers to you as soon—”

“Roy Jacobs? He’s gone. His parole
came through yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Barton cried. “Where
has he gone? I’ve got to find him.”

“He told us he was going to Seattle
and get a job in the shipyards.”

ARTON called Bodia in Seattle. He
gave Bodia the story, adding, “See
if you can find Jacobs.”

Barton, Nelson and Smith went to
Pierce County Prosecutor Thor C. Tol-
lefson. He gave Tollefson the evidence
and asked for a warrant for Jacobs’
arrest on a charge of murder.

“You’ve got enough to try him for
murder,” Tollefson said. “The only
weak point, though, is the identifica-
tion of the witnesses; that will be
seven years old now. See if you can
dig up something more definite.”

“You mean you don’t think we’ll get
a conviction?” Barton asked.

“I didn’t say that. I will try him and
do everything in my power to convict
him. But if we had somethi. _ or some-

ID—1

pe

mts

i Officer
off shot-

sidential
highway
es away.
nits the

leading
re Chad-
lite cer-
issed this
had their
ck sedan.
it Oliver’s
‘ame into

By HOLLIS B. FULTZ

*& Patrolman Jack Crooks (right)
resolved search would never end
till he avenged the slayings

sight, whizzing by at a terrific speed.

Chadwick wheeled the police car
through the service station entrance and
gave chase. A short time later Chief
of Police Morris Nelson, of Sumner, also
informed of the robbery by telephone,
met the two speeding cars, but by the
time he had turned around he was more
than a mile in the rear of Chadwick and
Storem.

Many roads run through the rich and
fertile Puyallup Valley, stretching flat
as a floor between the cities of Tacoma
and Seattle. Here evergreens and
shrubs border the farms. Closely pur-

sued, the bandit turned into a side road
and Chadwick took the same corner on
two wheels.

The road was a winding one; Chief
Nelson had lost sight of the chase until
suddenly he came upon Chadwick’s car
parked on the left side of the pavement,
and braked to an abrupt stop. Elmer
Healy, a Tacoma attorney, and his wife
were gazing dazedly at the car. John
Urdea, employee of the C. W. Orton
farm near by, was out of breath from
running up from a mailbox 250 feet
down the highway.

Officer Storem was slumped on the

* Autos reconstruct positions at murder
scene—one at right represents the police car

eB.

ha

|| . ate

floor of the car, bleeding from three
wounds, unconscious but still alive.
Chief Chadwick lay dead at the edge
of the pavement on the other side of the
car, his hand still tightly clutching his
police pistol.

From the Orton home Attorney Healy
called the Valley Hospital in Puyallup
and then returned to the scene of the
tragedy.

“I did not see what happened,” said
Healy. “I had just driven around the
corner as a blue sedan flashed by me;
I got only a glimpse of the driver and
could not identify him.”

%* Officer Storem's badge was delib-

erate target of cop-hater's bullet


“I saw the whole thing,” volunteered
John Urdea. “I was at the mailbox
when I heard the two cars coming. Then
I saw the blue Buick weaving across
the road in front, steam shooting from
the radiator cap. Suddenly it stopped
and a man jumped out and I thought
started to take to the brush, but, as the
police car raced up, the motor roaring
like an airplane engine, with tires
screaming as it skidded on the pave-
ment, he ran behind his car and started
across the road.

“T caught a glimpse of a hand sticking
from the right side of the police car
but I couldn’t say if there was a gun in
it or not. Then there was a shot and the
hand jerked back. The bandit took a
few more quick steps and was right
against the police car. He fired two
more shots and after a slight pause I
heard another one. I could not see the
man on the right any more but Chief
Chadwick had tumbled out of the door
onto the ground.

“The gunman was over six feet tall.
He wore blue denim overalls and was
slender. His wavy, blond hair was
roached up on his head. I got another
look as he drove by me, for the car was
slow in picking up speed and although
this all happened in less time than I
have taken to tell it Pl know that man
if I ever see him again. I'll never for-
get him. The license number of the car
was A-26308.” Urdea read from a slip
of paper.

Chief Nelson returned to Puyallup an
hour later to find officers gathered there
from all over western Washington. They
knew by this time that their comrades
had been killed with a .32 calibre auto-
matic pistol. Storem had been hit
through the right wrist, one bullet had
struck his badge and still another had
drilled into his brain above the right
eye. Chadwick had been shot only
once, from right to left, through the neck
and downward into the left shoulder.

Two fired automatic shells of .32
calibre had been found on the floor of
the police car. Storem’s 32.20 calibre
revolver was on the back seat of their
automobile; neither of the officers’ guns
had been fired. The bullets from the
bodies and the empty shells were dis-
patched immediately to Criminologist
Luke S. May, in Seattle, for his expert
opinion after examination and study.

Cashier Leslie Stone of the Orting
State Bank had arrived in Puyallup and
he provided a first-hand account of the
holdup which had preceded the murders.

“T was alone in the bank at the noon
hour,” said Stone. “A man approached
the window as though on business but
suddenly he stuck an automatic pistol
in my face and told me to hand over the
money. I asked if I could lay down my
pen which I had in my hand and he said
I could but not to try any tricks. 1
shoved three packages of currency to-
ward him, only one of which was gen-
uine and contained $500; the others were
dummies with $5-bills top and bottom.
I kept watching his face, trying to fix
his features in my mind or to detect
some identifying mark or scar. He had
a little trouble picking up the three
packages and his face grew taut; I think
that if I had said a word just then he
would have shot me; there was murder

44

in his eyes. Then he ordered me into
the vault and backed out of the bank.

“IT grabbed my rifle as a blue Buick
sedan flashed around the corner, I fired
but missed. Someone yelled that the
car had come back to, the highway to-
ward Alderton and Puyallup. I had
the telephone operator call Dick Oliver’s
garage and ask him to watch for the car
and get the number; I also asked her to
notify Chief Chadwick and Chief Nel-
son. Oliver got the car number; it’s
A-26308.”

This was a King County designation,
there was no doubt that the robber and
the murderer were one and the same
man. Seattle is located in King County.

“Do you think this was the same man
that held you up last September?” asked
Chief William Cole of the Washington
State Patrol, who had hastened down
from riot duty at a strike in Everett to
assist in the investigation.

“T think not,” answered Stone. “This
man is different—more the dance-hall
type. He is about six feet tall. Has
blond, wavy hair, combed high. He
spoke good English. , He wore blue
denim overalls and a blue work shirt
without necktie. He was slender and
weighed not more than 165 pounds.”

-This description was immediately
broadcast throughout the state and in
accordance with plans developed pre-
viously for just such an emergency an
immediate blockade had already been
ordered which seemingly made it im-
possible for the killer to flee across the
passes of the Cascade Mountains east-
ward. Chief Cole was discussing this
situation in the police station at Puyal-
lup with Sheriff John Bjorklund of
Tacoma, in whose jurisdiction the
crimes had been committed, when the
telephone rang. :

“J think that blue Buick you men are
looking for is standing about 100 yards
from the intersection of the Puyallup-
Sumner highway,” said Fred Carnahan,
a Sumner real estate man. “A tall, blond
man about thirty years old thumbed me
for a ride there approximately three-
quarters of an hour ago, but I passed
him up. He had on blue denim overalls
and the last I saw of him he was running
along the tracks of the Milwaukee Rail-
way, just above the highway, toward
that covered bridge across the Stuck
River.”

Police cars sped to the road intersec-
tion. There stood the blue Buick with
a tire blown out. The King County
license plate was wired over a Pierce
County one; the number was A-26308.

A quick checkup revealed that this
plate had been stolen in Tacoma on
February 6th, 1935, from a King County
car parked in the Pierce County city.
The car itself had been stolen from a
busy Tacoma street only an hour before
the bank robbery. Care was taken to see
that fingerprints were preserved. Only
a pair of brown, knitted gloves was
found in the car.

Posses of men now spread out along
the Stuck River which flows into the
Puyallup Valley near the spot where
the bandit had last been seen, for it was
thought he might be hiding somewhere
in that brushy, marsh country until the
“heat” had died down.

In the meantime the investigation of

a 0 TS

*& Sketch shows how Orting Bank
has been made burglar-proof with
gun port and bullet-resisting glass

the physical clues were being studied
by State Investigator Joe MacCauley,
Officers Jack Crooks and Joe Sladick,
of the State Patrol; Deputy Sheriff
Glenn Barton and Deputy Sheriff James
Milone of Pierce County, and Deputy
Sheriff O. K. Bodia of King County.
All were veteran investigators, the ma-
jority of them soon arrived at some very
definite conclusions upon which they
could agree.

The first of these was that Chadwick
and Storem had been killed by someone
whom they knew. The second was that
the bandit knew the country extremely
well. The third was that he was indeed
a crack shot and a “cop-hater.”

“T figure the Chief knew this fellow
real well,” said Deputy Glenn Barton,
“and thought some mistake had been
made in the description of the car; they
didn’t have the license number then.
When he pulled up and recognized the
driver he didn’t believe the fellow could
be the bank robber and that threw him
off guard for a second, then it was too
late. I have a guy in mind I want to
look up.”

The second conclusion was reached
because the road which had been chosen
at the turnoff by the bandit was one
which would have brought him out
again upon a cross-state highway; many
others would have left him trapped in
the valley. #2ff

The third conclusion was based upon
the fact that every shot the killer had
fired had taken effect. He had quick-

TRUE DETECTIVE

APRIL, 1943

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oo

RS. PEARL BIGELOW, em-
M ployee of the city treasurer’s

office in Puyallup, Washington,
nervously hung up the telephone and
dashed into Police Headquarters next
door.

“The Orting bank has just been
robbed, Frank!” gasped the woman to
Chief cf Police Frank Chadwick, then
hurriedly read from a paper in her hand:
“The robber is headed this way in a
blue Buick sedan with King County
license plates. He’s wearing overalls.”

“Grab some extra artillery, Storem,”
ordered Chadwick, turning to an agile

* Holdup of Orting State Bank pre-
cipitated Puyallup's day of terror

<a ets
PMREAUESTATE

blab Al

TRUE DETEBTIBE,. April, 1943

JACOBS, Roy Willard, white, hagged WASP (Pierce) Aprul 6, 1943.

dh lia) ln edd a

* The Prosecutor accepted
Roy Jacobs’ story, but Roy
(left), caught in spotlight,.
was held for another crime

Vhe Relentless

man in his early forties who was sitting
at a desk in the squad room. “We
should be able to head him off before
he reaches ‘the junction.”

' The Chief’s face was grave, as he
turned his steely blue eyes for a mo-
ment toward Mrs. Bigelow, before he
hurried out the side door of the station
to the parked police car always standing
in readiness there.

“God bless you, Frank, be careful,”
warned Mrs. Bigelow, for he was an
old and valued friend, respected by
everyone in the city.

“We'll get him,” replied Chadwick as

* Six long years of searching for
a cop killer, through phony alibis
and baffling clues —then one man

made his surprising accusation!

he slid beneath the wheel and Officer
Harry Storem parked a sawed-off shot-
gun between them.

The car raced through the residential
section of the city onto the highway
which led to Orting, twelve miles away.
Just beyond the Puyallup limits the
road made a junction with one leading
to the twin city of Sumner; here Chad-
wick swung south. He was quite cer-
tain the bandit had not yet passed this
point and both he and Storem had their
eyes peeled for the blue Buick sedan.
Then from around the bend at Oliver’s
Service station it suddenly came into

* Officer demonstrates with Chief Lenfesty
(in car) how first shot got Storem in wrist

sight, wh
Chadwi
through th
gave cha
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informed
met the t
time he ha
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Many r
fertile Puy
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udied
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am

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OETECTIVE

* Jack Crooks poses with his old
friend, Marshal Tom Smith (right).
Latter's theory helped solve case

fired at Storem’s hand and had hit it.
He had used but one shot on Chadwick.
And he had planted one shot on an
officer’s shield, the act of a “cop-hater.”

There was one officer in the group,
however, who did not agree with all
these conclusions. Tall, middle-aged,
Patrolman Jack Crooks, an intelligent,
thorough investigator, was inclined to
base his ideas solely on established facts.
What had been concluded did not fit in
with Chadwick’s character, he thought,
and he probably knew the dead Chief
better than any man in the group.

Only the previous afternoon, late,
Crooks had said, “So long, Chad,” to his
pal, with whom he had ridden on many
investigations in the past eight years.
He could still feel the warmth of his
friend’s handclasp and hear the earnest
warning, “Protect yourself, Jack. Shoot
first. Don’t let them get the drop on
you.” For the Chief had considered
Crooks’ assignment at the Everett strike
a dangerous one.

“Say what you please, boys, about
Chadwick knowing the man who shot
him,” protested Crooks, “but I think
you are putting yourself out on a limb
there. I know what a prudent officer
he was. Never in all the time that I
rode with him did he ever pull up ahead
of a car he was stopping; always behind
it and with gun ready. He never put
himself on the spot. There’s something
here we don’t know about yet.”

“Then why, Jack, did he let that killer
get so close (Continued on page 75)

APRIL, 1943

* This is Chief of Police
Frank Chadwick, one of
the two officers killed
in one-sided gun duel


killing
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2

the difference in height. “I have always
thought he was the man in my own
mind,” said Stone.

Gordon Danley, an Orting laborer,
who had seen the man whom Hardtke
saw, and at the same time, said he be-
lieved that the man was Jacobs.

On around the winding trail which the
killer had taken on that fateful day the
two officers went, taking with them a
score of photographs and asking the wit-
nesses to pick out the man whom they
had seen in the car, at the murder, or
later. Finally they had five men who
were positive, and willing to say on the
stand that Roy Jacobs was the man they
had seen,

Kittleson and Crooks now went to
Thor Tollefson, dynamic young prose-
cuting attorney of Pierce county, and
laid their cards on the table.

“If these five men will testify as posi-
tively as you say they will, and if Jacobs’
alibi can be proven untrue, I think he
can be convicted. But if these witnesses
are not certain enough of their identity
to lay their hands on this man’s shoulder
and say, ‘This is the man,’ and if there

is any chance that his alibi will stand up “

then I would doubt his guilt and would
not try him,” said Tollefson.

“Everyone of the identifying wit-
nesses will stand up on the witness
stand,” said Kittleson. “We'll let you
know in a few days about the alibi.”

Two days later, after a trip to Kelso,
and after Peggy Nelis had been found
and interviewed, the two officers returned
to the prosecutor.

“The girl will not be very valuable to
either side,” said Kittleson. “She has,
in the course of this investigation, signed
three different statements about what had
happened, and they conflict; but we have
positive evidence, aside from her, that
he has no proof that he was in Kelso on
July 15, 1935, as he has always claimed.”

Tollefson looked over the statements
they had taken from ‘the various alibi
witnesses and decided to try the case.
Jacobs was arrested in Seattle almost
seven years to a day from the time the
murders had been committed; the trial
began in Tacoma on October 20, 1942.

“I say that is the man who held me
up,” said Leslie Stone, pointing his finger
at Roy Jacobs.

Defense Attorney Maurice, Kadish, on
cross-examination, tried hard to make
a liar out of the cashier, but Stone stuck
to his story, saying, “I was always satis-
fied in my own mind that he was the
man, but I did not want to be the only one

”

to identify him.”

Fred Freise, the ex-step-son of Jacobs, ©

telated how his step-father had invited
him to join in the robbery and had dis-
cussed means of escape, even studying
maps of the various roads around Orting.

Hardtke and Danley, the Orting men
who had seen the man in the car at the
gas station before the robbery, both testi-
fied that they believed he was the man

they had seen.

John Urdea, who had actually wit-
nessed the murder from a distance of 50
yards, unqualifiedly identified Jacobs as
the man who had fired the shots.

Fred Carnahan, the Sumner business-
man who almost gave the man by the
abandoned car a ride an hour and a half
after the murders, positively identified
Jacobs as the man he had seen on the
highway.

CS ONDUCTOR CHARLES SHRIV+

ER was positive Jacobs was the
man whom he saw run out of the covered
bridge and swing aboard the train, and
that he was the same man whom he had
driven from that same box-car a little
later in the Renton yards. _

In no way did Attorney Kadish shake
the testimony of a single one of these
men.

“Call Roy Potts,” requested Prosecu-
tor Tollefson and a pale-faced young man
was led into the courtroom in the custody
of an officer. He was the lad with whom
Jacobs had celled on McNeil Island. In
the past two weeks he had again had him
for a cellmate in the Pierce county jail,
for Potts awaited extradition to Pennsyl-
vania on a robbery charge himself.

“Jacobs had been questioned several
times while we were in the jail here,”
related Potts. “One time he came back
very angry because they had been asking
him about stealing chickens. He said,
‘They know I killed those two dirty so-

. and-sos. Why. do they try to kid me.

i

I’d like to get a lot more of them.

“Rat,” snarled Jacobs as Potts passed
him on the way out of the room.

The state closed its case. Where was
Peggy Nelis? Why had not the state
put her on the stand? Many who knew
that this girl was supposed to be one of
the star witnesses in the case wondered
if she had stuck with an alibi for Jacobs.
If the defense called her, what would this
girl, now respectably married, have to
say about the suave criminal who at such
an early. age had lured her from her
home by promises of love and marriage
and then abandoned her? Would she,
in spite of these facts, testify for him?
Would she save him? Or, would she
send him to prison or the gallows?

Failing to break down the long list of

_ identifying witnesses, Attorney Kadish

turned to an alibi for his defense. For
this he depended mainly upon Peggy
Nelis.

“Were you with Roy Jacobs all day
of July 15, 1935?” asked Kadish»

“T was,” answered Peggy.

“Your witness,” said Kadish with a
flourish of his hand as though that fin-
ished the matter. ,

Thor Toleffson only smiled as he
arose to question the witness ; in his hand
he held three documents; each had been
signed by this girl. The first one re-
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psychograph test had led him to make
certain untrue statements,

This new confession carefully re-
counted the movement of the accused man
for two days prior to the Slaying. He
alleged that he and Mack F isher decided
to go to the Grooms’ home and rob the
couple, They felt that Grooms’ illegal
traftic would keep him silent, Edgington
quite unconcertiedly stated that they had
gone to the cabin, knocked and pushed
their way in when Grooms opened the
door,

“We told him that it was a hold-up
and Grooms started reaching for what we
thought was a pistol,” claimed Darwin,

“What did you do then?” prompted
Judge Blair,

“I shot Craven. Mack shot Mrs,
Grooms when she raised. herself up on
the bed. We searched their bodies and
found over two hundred dollars. We
decided to take the whiskey, too,”

“How much liquor did you find?”
asked Judge Blair. :

“About two dozen pints, We poured
coal oil over the place, set fire to the
cabin and drove back to my house where
we divided . the money,” concluded
Darwin,

We took Mack Fisher into custody
and removed him to the Highland County
Jail in Hillsboro, a nearby town, where
he was held until the conclusion of the
Edgington trial since we deemed it ad-
visable to try the two men separately,

Darwin Edgington’s trial started Mon- .

day, March 25, 1940. In a crowded
courtroom filled with excited spectators,
the selection of the jury got under way,
When the final juror had been selected,
the jury visited the scene of the crime,
Prosecutor Lang assisted by Harvey
Pulse of nearby Lynchburg represented
the State while Messrs. Blair and Tucker
defended the accused,

The hearing of testimony started
Tuesday afternoon and various exhibits,
including pieces of overall, the purse
frame and several coins found in the
ashes, were offered as evidence.

Ruby Carr and Elinora Hill, wait-
resses in a Portsmouth restaurant, and

kinda easy-going with the boys he knew;
in fact I think Gibbs made out his parole
reports to him.”

Thus while Malone, Bodia and Barton
set out to check up Gibbs and Lane,
other officers tried to follow the trail
of the fleeing bandit after he had aban-
doned the blue Buick on the outskirts of
Sumner,

F'RED CARNAHAN, a Sumner mer-

chant, on his way back tq that city
from Puyallup, had a good look at the
killer when he stepped out from behind
the abandoned car and thumbed for a
ride. Carnahan, knowing nothing of the
murders, was inclined to stop; he backed

58

members of that city’s police force testi-
fied as to the amount of money Edgington
had flashed and had on his person when
he was arrested the day following the
murder. Bruce Shivener told of a trip
he had made to. the State Liquor Store
in Manchester to purchase 24 pints of
whiskey for Grooms,

The crowded court room, undoubtedly
containing many good customers of the

slain bootlegger, reached a high pitch of ©

excitment when Shannon Francis wai
called to the stand and related his story
of the night of the murder when he recog-
nized the Fisher truck but not thé driver
and of his subsequent discovery of the
cache of whiskey.

The lethal weapon, found near the

dgington barn, was displayed and
identified as having been stolen from a
local home which had been recently
robbed, thus clearing up another unsolved
crime,

Then Assistant Prosecutor Harvey
Pulse, with the consent of the defense

counsel, read to the jury the confession

which Edgington had last made implicat-
ing Fisher, The confession obtained by
the lie-detector test was not offered as
evidence, There was nothing to be gained
by confusing the issues,

FPHE first witness for the defense was

called just before adjournment. Dr,
H. F, Rapp of Portsmouth testified that
he had treated Edgington since 1937 for
an advanced case of tuberculosis, He said
his patient’s condition had improved. He
also stated that he had treated the
prisoner for syphilis from November,
1939 to January, 1940, The defense re-
quested a medical examination and this
was granted. The examining physician
found there had been an awakening of
the old tubercular condition in Darwin’s
upper left lung with an active lesion
present.

The trial continued through Thursday
and Friday before a packed court room.
Edgington took the stand and again impli-
cated Fisher. As each bit of testimony
was presented, the web of guilt around
him spun tighter and tighter. His own

up a short distance to let the man in,
But suddenly, acting purely on a hunch,
he decided against picking up the hitch-
hiker and stepped on the gas.
hen he got home and learned of
what had happened he lost no time in
contacting the officers—that is as soon
as he recovered from a bad case of the
jitters, ;
“The man was very well over six
feet,” stated Carnahan: “His hair was
light and wavy. He took off his hat to
flag me down. He was slender. I’d call
him a blond and his hair was roached
high on his head; the kind of hair that
refuses to stay down. He had on blue
denim overalls and a blue shirt. I'l]

appearance on the witness stand was the
final gesture to his perfidious story.
Final arguments were presented to the
jury on Friday morning, March 29th, at
which time Prosecuting Attorney Lang
demanded the electric chair. Darwin’s
attorneys made a valiant plea for mercy.
The jury deliberated for the balance of
the day; were unable to reach a verdict;
retired for the night and reconvened the

next morning. Then, at two o'clock Sat-.

urday afternoon—after 20 hours—a ver-
dict was reached!

“Guilty of murder in the first degree,”
.intoned the foreman, “but with recom-
‘mendation for mercy !”

‘+ On the following Tuesday, Darwin
Edgington once more stood before Judge
Young,

“IT sentence you to the State Peniten-
tiary for the rest of your natural life
without hope of parole or pardon. So that
you may further reflect upon the enormity
of your crime, I decree that you spend
each January 20th—the anniversary of
the murder of Craven and Gwendolyn
Grooms—in solitary confinement,”

On April 3rd, I took Darwin Edging-
ton to Columbus, Ohio—to the State
Penitentiary—where he will spend the
rest of his life. The convicted murderer
assumed a stoical attitude during the trip
and as I left him at the prison gates, he
turned to me with a malicious grin and
sneered,

“Tell Mack Fisher I’ll be at his trial
to bring him back to the pen with me.”

After several postponements, Mack
Fisher finally went on trial. Darwin
tried to make good his threat by taking
the witness stand and testifying against
his pal, But the jury was not impressed—
he was acquitted and Darwin went back
to his prison cell alone. I had always felt
that Fisher was innocent and just another
victim of Darwin’s unceasing desire to
drag some other person into the mire of
crime from which he had been unable
to escape.

At an age when most young men are
looking forward to a futtire filled with
promise of success and happiness, his life
is filled with meaningless days of regret.

| He Dudlied the Hot Seat

[Continued from page 43]

know him if I ever see him again.”

The ‘description given by Carnahan
differed somewhat from that which Les-
lie Stone had supplied, although in many
respects it ‘fitted exactly. Carnahan
stated that the last he had seen of the
tall, blond killer he had been running
along the highway and had then cut upa
small hill toward the covered railway
bridge across the Stuck River. F ollow-
ing this lead the hunt now centered in
the Stuck Valley, an off-shoot of the
Puyallup Valley. By nightfall two hun-
dred men were stationed at various points
along the Milwaukee Railway’s right-of-
way and the various highways which led
into the Stuck marshes,

Car ae

Tao YVWO rR

Mm be.

S-a9a

Day was just breaking the following
morning when Charles Foster heard a
rustling in the tall grass near where he
stood guard -under a peach tree. He
called to John Fullenwilder, a nearby
guard, to make certain he had not moved
from his station; when he got an answer-
ing call far to the right, Foster fired into
the grass.

A tall man, dressed in blue denims ran
for the fence and leaped over it, disap-
pearing into the thick undergrowth, Fos-
ter now sounded a general alarm and all
day the section of the marsh near the
orchard was carefully watched and
combed, but only the tracks of the fugi-
tive were found.

In the meantime, Lynn Lane and Bud
Gibbs had been found, the former at his
home in Puyallup, both with perfect
alibis covering both the time of the bank
robbery and the murders.

Back in Tacoma, Jimmy Malone had
checked on the abandoned Buick and had
discovered some very interesting things
about both it and the stolen license plates
wired to it.

The 1926 Buick sedan had been stolen
from Market street, almost in the very
center of the city at 10:05 on the morning
of the robbery. Less than an hour later
it had been seen in front of Knight’s
Gas Station in Orting, and by 1:30
o’clock of that same day it had been
abandoned near Sumner.

The license plates, as did the car,
pointed to some Tacoma man as the
bandit and killer, for the plates, ‘‘A-
26308,” a King county designation, had
been stolen from a car parked in front
of a residence at 3570 East B Street,
Tacoma, about six o’clock on the evening
of February 23, 1935. It seemed quite
conclusive that the Orting robbery had
been planned well in advance.

A T THE end of the sixth day after
the murder, information reached
Sheriff John Bjorklund, through Chief
of Police Vince Stewart of Renton, which
caused the manhunt along the Stuck to
be called off.

“A few minutes after two o’clock on
the day of the murders,” C. N. Shriver,
a conductor on the Milwaukee Railway
had told Chief Stewart, “I was sitting
in the caboose taking a smoke and lean-
ing out the upper window. We were just
out of Sumner approaching the Stuck
River covered bridge. A man came run-
ning out from the bridge and swung onto
a freight car just ahead of the caboose.

He was tall, over six feet and had light,,

wavy hair; he ran with a sort of stoop.
“When we got into Renton I found
there were several. hoboes in this car
and I ordered them all out. All obeyed
except one and he tried to hide in a dark
corner. I told him I would seal the car
with him in it if he didn’t move at once,
Suddenly he leaped out and ran; it was
the man who had been in the covered
bridge. I got a good look at him. I'll
know him if I ever see him again.” |
Fred Carnahan had last seen the
killer who had abandoned the Buick
car heading toward this bridge. There
seemed little doubt from Shriver’s story

sc

that the murderer had, by a lucky break,
escaped through catching this freight.
This obviated the necessity for further
operations in the Stuck marshes.

“I can’t get away from the belief that
Chadwick knew the man who killed him
and wasn’t afraid of him,” said Malone.
“That automatic spat out four shells in-
side the police car; he must have been
right on top of them when he fired. Roy
Peabody, who says he was an eye-witness
to the shooting, claims he saw the killer
on the running board of the car.”

“What do the different descriptions
we have of the killer add up.to?” queried
Bodia.

“We are getting out a circular,” re-
plied Malone. ‘We give his age as 30
years. Height five feet ten inches to six
feet tall, Stone could only judge his
height through the window. Weight
from 170 to 180, and that might be heavy

vi! eee

t es ;
WU

ROY PEABODY

if he had those blue denims on over his
clothing. Blond, with wavy hair. Clear
complexion, fair. Spoke good English
and was very cool and deliberate. Wore
blue work-shirt, open at neck with white
undershirt showing. And here is a
strange angle; wearing brown, cloth
gloves such as are used by undertakers
at funerals.”

Bodia almost jumped out of his chair.

“Why that’s Bill Mahan’s prize stunt,”
exclaimed the deputy. “As far as I
know it is original with him.”

“And he is still at large with all that
hot Weyerhaeuser kidnapping dough on

him; $125,000 and none of it that he
dares to’ spend,” replied Malone. “He
knows this country like a book and lone
handed has robbed six banks in this
tién and never been caught.” a

“And that isn’t all,” said Bodia. “He
thinks there is no car like a Buick. He
insisted on Waley stealing one for the
Weyerhaeuser snatch. Also he’s right
for height and weight, only he isn’t
light.”

“A little powder will make any man
light and we know Mahan has used dye
on his hair in the past; he even did that

for the snatch here,” replied Malone.
“T’ll have the FBI check his prints with
the one we found on the windshield of
the car. By the way did he have any
distinctive marks or scars,”

“A scar that ran up his cheek from
the left corner of his mouth,” replied
Bodia. “It wasn’t heavy, but was quite
noticeable.”

“Ye Gods man, and I left that off the
description on the circular because I had
no faith in it,” said Malone. “A little
girl named Shirley Maitland told a re-
porter for one of the papers that she was
standing at the door of the bank when
the robber came out and that she noticed
he had a scar on the left side of his face.

‘ She’s only twelve years old and I didn’t

know whether to believe her or not. Bill
Mahan is certainly a hot suspect—but
how do we catch him?”

The G-Men knew many things about
Bill Mahan which no one else knew.
They knew of his fondness for Buicks
and that he had abandoned one in Ev-
erett just a week before the murders.
They knew that he always wore under-
takers’ gloves and that he had them on
in Everett when he shipped his suitcase
full of ransom money to Spokane; that
he was still wearing them when the
claimed the luggage in the Eastern
Washington city. The search for Mahan
was therefore left in the. hands of the
Federal agents and there, for the time
being, that angle of the case rested.

HERS was just one other suspect
picked up during this early stage of
the investigation; his name was Roy
Jacobs and he was taken into custody at
Kelso, Washington, 180 miles south of
Tacoma, by Bodia and Malone.

.Fred Freise, a former step-son of
Jacobs, had told Marshal Tom Smith, of
Enumclaw, a town nestled in the foothills
of the Cascade Mountains some 18 miles
from Orting, that his foster father had
tried to get him to join in robbing .the
Orting State Bank; this proposition had
been made just one month prior to the
actual robbery. Marshal Smith told
Sheriff Bjorklund about the story and
Jacobs was brought to Tacoma.

Roy Jacobs was a man six feet, two
and one-half inches tall; very slender
with light, wavy, brown hair. He also
had two fingers missing on his left hand.
Bodia and Malone took Jacobs to Orting
and marched him up to Leslie Stone’s
window without warning him of what
they were trying to do; identify a mur-
derer.

“My heart skipped a couple of beats
when I saw that fellow standing at the
window,” said Stone when later he was
being questioned by the deputies. “But

e looks much taller than the man

_}-—-who held me up. He’s all right for com-

plexion and his voice is the same. But
I thought the man who robbed me was
only five feet, ten inches at the most. He
had a cap on and this man’s hair stands
up; that would make some difference.”

“Did you see the hands of the man
who robbed you?” asked Bodia.

“Yes, but he had on gloves,” said
Stone, “He reached three times for

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those packages of currency with his left
hand while he kept me covered with his
right. I saw both his hands, yes,”
“Notice anything Wrong with them?”
pressed Bodia.
“Not that I can recall,” answered
Stone,

“His glove might make a difference

but he has two fingers missing on his
left hand and I think you would have
noticed those dragging, empty stalls, at
that,” said Bodia.

“I didn’t notice a thing unusual about -

his hands,” said Stone. “T tell you
though, my heart missed a couple of
beats when I saw him at the window,
just the same; I thought it was him but
he seems much taller now.”

Roy Jacobs had been living in an auto
camp at Kelso with a sixteen-year-old
girl named Peggy Nelis who was not his
wife. He was wanted in Yakima as a
forger. The girl admitted that he had
taken her over the state line so he was
turned over to the Federal authorities
and pleaded guilty to a violation of
the Mann Act; he was sentenced toa
term in McNeil Island Federal Peni-
tentiary, in Puget Sound, near Tacoma.

Peggy Nelis was mad at Roy Jacobs
when questioned by the officers and she
told them she thought he was away from
Kelso at the time of the robbery and
murder ; then later she admitted she had
not told them ‘the truth about this and
claimed he was with her all the day of
July 15. There was no way of telling
which story was true. Jacobs’ sister in
Kelso also said he was at her house an
the afternoon of July 15; thus he seemed
eliminated in spite of the story which
the step-son, Fred F reise, had told about
the plot for the robbery,

Thus, one by one, the suspects were
crossed off the list: Lane, Gibbs, Jacobs
and now Bill Mahan, He had been
captured in San Francisco and was in-
carcerated for a short while, awaiting
trial on McNeil Island, where Roy
Jacobs was still serving time, The FBT
assured the local Pierce county officers
that a checkup had revealed that Mahan
was not in the state at the time of the
Orting robbery.

The return of Bill Mahan to Washing-
ton, however, did have a direct effect
upon the investigation by bringing Roy
Jacobs back into the limelight when he
boasted to a cellmate that, “If they pin
this onto Bill Mahan just because he is
a big-shot they will have the wrong man.
I can put my finger on the guy that killed
those two cops and he isn’t a thousand
miles from here,”

When this information was conveyed
to Chief William Cole of the Washington
State Patrol, through certain Federal
authorities, he conceived a scheme for
getting Jacobs where he could be more
readily interrogated than in the federal
penitentiary. He knew that this man had
once been tried for murder in Olympia
and that the charge was still good be-
cause of a hung jury. Cole approached
Prosecuting Attorney Smith Troy with
a view to retrying that case. This would
take Jacobs out of the island institution
for sometime, at least.

Jacobs had been charged with killing
Night Marshal C, H, Pake, in Yelm, in
1926, and the finger of suspicion had
been pointed at him when he bragged to
a girl who was in reality an undercover
agent, but whom he thought a gun-moll,
about killing the officer, ;

All this was presented to the court,
but the jury seemed to believe Jacobs
was ‘a‘liar instead of a killer, and had
just been bragging to the girl; they dis-
agreed and he went free, Now, Troy
found, the witnesses were dead or so
scattered that a retrial seemed impos-
sible, so Jacobs stayed in McNeil.

Nevertheless there were two officers,
State Patrolman Jack Crooks and Mar-
shal Tom Smith, of Enumclaw, who did
not believe. that Roy Jacobs had lied on
either occasion when he talked of his
hatred of police officers and bragged of
killing them,

Tom Smith had kept in close touch
with the Freise family into which Jacobs
had once been married and he had learned
from the ex-wife that Jacobs had owned
a .32 caliber automatic and that he con-
stantly practiced with it, until he had
become a dead shot. .

Smith learned from this woman too
that the only time Roy Jacobs had ever
had any amount of money was when he
would come home after being gone for a
few days, so dead tired that he would
sleep for 48 hours. He found that as
even in the bootlegging days this man
was constantly stealing license plates
and kept a supply on hand to use when-
ever he had a hot cargo to deliver. And
Tom Smith was absolutely sold on the
idea that Fred Freise, the ex-step-son,
had told the truth when he said that Roy
Jacobs had invited him to join in the
robbery of the Orting bank.

Deputy Kittleson had been moved to
reopen the investigation of the case by
a most peculiar incident, In examining
the file in the sheriff’s office one after-
noon, Sig Kittleson found a report on a
line-up held shortly after the murder, for
the benefit of a man named Almon
Hardtke, who had seen the bank-robber
in the Buick parked in front of Knights
Gas Station in Orting, shortly before the
holdup,

In reading the list of men who had
been in that same line-up, Kittleson dis-
covered that Roy Jacobs had been one of
them. The deputy lost no time in getting
out to Orting and contacting Almon
Hardtke.

“That is the man I referred to when
I said I saw him in the line-up,” said
Almon Hardtke, pointing’ to the photo-
graph of Roy Jacobs. “But I wasn’t
going to pick him out until there was
some further verification. I will not say
that he is the man, but I will testify that
I believe him to be the man, which I do.”

K !TLESON and Crooks now de-
cided to interview everyone who
had seen the killer, either in the bank, in
flight or at the scene of the crime. Cold
as the trail was, it was still a productive
one,
Stone still said he believed Jacobs was
the man who had held him up, except for

the difi
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yards, unqv
the man wh


fa Sheed:

a af

Hos.
Coes

eM Only a cindered
wy hand remained to
bear witness to
the fate of Agnes
Janson (left),
who died in the
death pyre built
by her killer

back to Ireland, for
they had noted a growing
discontent on his part; a
restlessness they attributed
to his dislike for his neighbors,

the Romandorffs.
It seemed that Frank Roman-
dorff had been using Logan’s horse
while he was away. When Logan
returned he was told that the horse
had been abused. It was a fine, blooded
animal,’ and Logan became very angry.
He'went across to the Romandorffs and a

bitter quarrel ensued.

NOQOKSACK

The Sheriff and his men made a
thorough search along both shores
of the Nooksack River from Lynden

to Maple Falls, a distance of several
miles, but neither body was found. How-
ever, hidden in the wood-shed at the

Logan place, Deputy DeHaven discovered
a bottle of opium. Leading from the shed

was a trail, where a heavy object, possibly a
man, had been dragged across the fields toward
the river.

Logan’s hat and his glasses were found in the house;
a clue indicating it might have been Logan who was
murdered, if murder had been committed. But, in the
event such a crime had been consummated, who had been
killed? Was it Romandorff who had slain Logan? Was

it Logan who had killed Romandorff?

Then, bearing out the validity of the Seattle letter, a
man named Frank O. Rankin filed a deed with the county
clerk for Logan’s farm. Rankin stated he had paid $5,000
cash for the place in Seattle; the handwriting on the deed
was checked and proved to be the same as that on the letter,
which Postmaster Strickfadden had received from Logan,
in Seattle.

Two or three months went by and nothing new developed
until Edward Romandorff was picked up by the officers for
selling a mortgaged horse; he said he had heard nothing
from his father. The son’s case was settled out of court,
and, within a few more months, the entire Romandorff
family vacated Maple Falls.

The disappearance of the two men had been almost for-
gotten by everyone except Sheriff Williams, when, almost
a year after the storm, a hunter brought in what proved to
be a portion of the leg bone of a human being, which he
had found in the wood-lot on the rear of the Logan farm.
Brush fires had burned over the place the previous fall,
however, and no other bones were found. If there had been
others they probably had been destroyed by flames.

One thing which had always puzzled Sheriff Williams
about the Maple Falls case was that Romandorff and Logan
were often absent from their homes for months at the same
time. However, he had been unable to find that the myste-
rious pair had ever been together during these extended dis-
appearances. Nor could he find where they had gone.

Residents of Stevens County, in Eastern Washing-
ton, could have partially answered these questions for the
Sheriff, had he but known it. For, in the summer of 1906,

VALLEY

40 Master

the previous year, there had arrived in the village of Ce-
donia in this county a man who gave his name as James
Logan. He vanished from the village from time to time.
In December of 1906 he reappeared and paid cash for the
old “Baslington Ranch.”

In the spring of 1907 Logan began to work this ranch,
having hired two younger men, Ed Lewis and “Tennessee
Jack” Tisth, as assistants.

W IUAIN a year, “Old Man” Logan, as he was familiarly

called, had bought another ranch and had contracted for
a large tract of land from the State. He had also become
the manager of the Cascade Land and Cattle Company, and
was fairly well known for fifty miles up and down the
Columbia River. Of all his many business activities he
seemed to enjoy real estate transactions most. He was land-
hungry and always had his ear to the ground for bargains.

During the winter of 1907 Logan made the acquaintance
of D. R. Shively, a widower, who owned 160 acres of land
near Addy, in Stevens County. “Old Man” Logan could
be seen driving his team and his “hack” over to Shively’s
place quite often that winter, and, along in February, 1908,
Shively told Al Weatherman, the druggist at Addy, that a
deal was about consummated with a Chicago man for the
sale of his farm. Logan was handling the matter. About
March Ist, of the same year, Shively told V. M. Stick, an-
other Addy merchant, that the deal had been closed. He
said he had received a good price for his farm and that
he was going East to live.

“Logan and I are going to Spokane tomorrow and finish
the transfer and get the money,” said Shively.

A few days later a deed arrived at the courthouse in Col-
ville, county seat of Stevens County, to be recorded as trans-
ferring the Shively farm to A. Herman, of Chicago. The
deed arrived by mail, but it had evidently been properly
witnessed and the signature was apparently that of Shively,
who was known to the county recorder.

Before the summer was over, the farm again changed
hands. This time Herman sold the place to James Monag-
han, of Spokane, for $6,000 in cash. The deed, which was
delivered to Monaghan by James Logan, acting as an agent
for Herman, had been witnessed before Notary James Allen,
in Seattle. The new buyer was himself a real estate agent.
He wondered how Herman happened to be in Seattle. He
scrutinized the deed closely and took the precaution to com-
pare the signature of the seller with letters which had been
written to Logan authorizing the sale of the farm. The
signature seemed genuine, and so, though he had never
seen Herman, Monaghan paid over the $6,000 to Logan and
accepted the deed to the land. It was a bargain at that price.

A few more months rolled by, and then one day there

Detective

(Left) The aban-
doned Hergushei-
mer ranch in Ste-
vens County, where
another became a
victim of the Mas-
ter of Horror.
Cross indicates the
spot where the
damning blood was
found. The fire
from which grue-
some mementos of
death were rescued
was built between
the two stumps in-
side the gate

(Right) Pictur-
esque Nooksack
Valley, Washing-
ton, where Frank
Romandorff and
James Logan lived,
and from which
they mysteriously
disappeared. Who
had been slain and .
who was the slayer
in this bizarre enig-
ma of mixed iden-
tities?

came a letter to the Addy postmaster which caused some
anxiety among Shively’s Stevens County friends. The let-
ter was from an Eastern relative and it stated that Shively
had never arrived at his old home, as expected. ~

“Something strange about the way Shively left here and
never wrote back to any of us,” said Stick to Weatherman.

“He left a few things here at the store,” replied Weather-
man, “and said he would send for them, but he never did.”

James Logan and his hired men batched on at the “Bas-
lington Ranch,” in apparent content, until one day, during
the harvest of 1909, Logan announced he was going to
Spokane to get a housekeeper.

“We need a woman around here,” he said. “I’m tired of
your cooking.”

It had been a busy summer for Logan. He was occu-
pied with plans to bring a colony of Germans from Chicago
to settle on the lands of Stevens County. Some years pre-
vious, he claimed, he had located such a group at Rose-
burg, Oregon. These settlers were thriving and he now
hoped to repeat this success in his new home on the Colum-
bia River. Logan was a convincing conversationalist and
his neighbors were ever ready to list their lands and co-
operate with him in this venture.

Early in August, Logan went to Spokane. While there
he dropped in at the cigar store of his friend, Fred Schulein,
on Lincoln Street. He mentioned his need for a housekeeper
and said he would consider a wife. A few days later he was


A : sn = * 2 2 * o mS a ce adee UU! ee
JAHNS, Frederick William, white, hanged Washington SP (Stevens) on April 21, 1911.

‘

By HOLLIS

B. FULTZ eae

N the night of November 10th, a ter-

rific storm swept through the Nooksack

Valley, in Northern Washington; it up-

rooted trees, blew the roofs off barns, and

left devastation in its wake. It filled the
river, for which the valley was named, brimming full;
it gave the little settlement of Maple Falls much to talk
about, partly because of the unusual ferocity of the wind,
and party because of certain mysterious events which
seemingly must have happened while the tempest formed a
cloak over the countryside.

For, when the clouds had blown away, and the downpour
had ceased, it was discovered that James Logan, a_well-
to-do bachelor farmer, and his nearest neighbor, Frank
Romandorff, were missing. Both lived within a_ stone’s
throw of the swollen Nooksack River, and the disappear-
ances might have been laid forever to the elements, had not
a neighbor found Logan's horse dead with a bullet hole in
its head, near the door of the house.

Sheriff Andrew Williams, of Bellingham, soon found that
both the missing men were enigmas to the community. Ro-
mandorff had lived in Maple Falls two years; he had a
wife, two daughters and a grown son, Edward. Nothing
was known of the family’s past.

Inquiry among members brought the statement that they
had not seen the father since about an hour before the storm,
when he started across the fields toward Logan’s place.
They gave his age as fifty-eight years. Logan was slightly
older than that.

The general belief that the men had been drowned be-
gan to break down with the finding of the dead horse; but,
when on November 15th, Postmaster G. H. Strickfadden, of
Maple Falls, received a letter from James Logan, post-
marked Seattle, the investigation assumed a more sinister
aspect. What had become of Frank Romandorff? Why
had Logan left so hurriedly without bidding farewell to his
friends? In his letter he merely informed the postmaster

that he had sold hi t d Renae ond
at he had sold his fatm> 4 map famed Ragkip: an

Nooksack River, at the point where Logan and Roman-
dorff disappeared. (Below, center) Along this road,
leading to the Hergusheimer ranch, Agnes Janson was
driven to her death. Tracks left by the murder wagon
are plainly seen. (Right) At spot marked by cross,
human bones were found by a hunter, more than a
year after the strange disappearance of James Logan
and Frank Romandorff >» 3¢

“T killed all these

people,” said the

Master of Horror o

(right), during ae

his trial. Then :

this arch-crimi- any ee tee “Ss

nal made aé still a Oceire .

more sensational ‘
statement

that he was on his way gay ME Past
back to Ireland. He re- ee Te
quested his mail be sent to POE, Nae Fee
Hoboken, New Jersey. ok PLS See
Sheriff Williams ascertained a Ro
that leaving home unexpectedly e8 |
was no new stunt for Logan. f
Often he disappeared for several
months at a time, usually returning
with considerable money. He had re- :
cently come back with about $2,000 in beatae
gold, which he explained he had made on in
a lucky investment. However, his friends
were not surprised that he had decided to go

wow we ewe a A Or

ak v effort to brin rou the
irene har r coUnthy, Many

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- 62

In desperation, Roy Jacobs himself
took the stand hoping that the story he
could tell would bolster his failing alibi.
He related that he had bought groceries
of John Perry in a Kelso store on the
afternoon of the murder and claimed he
had called the grocery man’s attention
to the story in the Tacoma News Tri-
bune of that date. But Perry’s records
showed that the last dealings he had with
the accused man was on July 6, 1935, a
full week before the murders, Then
Jacobs tried to prove by his sister that

of the crimes, but she would not testify
as to that certain date,

Jacobs’ alibi had failed. Ten days
after the trial began the jury filed out to
consider their verdict; two hours later

i

“You did?” said the detective, prick-

-ing up his ears. “And where did this

other call come from ?”

“It came from Room 756,”

“And who occupies that room ne

The clerk referred to his register, “That
room was given to an Army man, Cor-
poral Samuel Kaplan of Camp Atterbury.
But,” the clerk added, “when I called
back, nobody answered.”

The detective waited to hear no more,
He sped back upstairs to the seventh
floor, called the housekeeper, got her
passkey, unlocked the door of Room 756
and barged inside,

The room was empty. Not only that;
there wasn’t the slightest trace of its
recent occupant. Before checking out,
Corporal Kaplan evidently had “policed”
the room, putting everything in meticu-
lous order and leaving behind no clue to:
his presence,

DETECTIVE JONES called the

commanding officer at Camp Atter-
bury. “The police want to question
Corporal Kaplan regarding a murder
committed here tonight.”

He and his brother officers, Sergeants
Davis and Hunter, then questioned the
other occupants of the seventh floor.
None had heard any disturbance in Room
729. Even the guest in the nearest ad-
jacent room, Jack Manahiem, declared
he had heard nothing.

“And I’ve been right here in my room
all evening,” he declared,

Nor had anybody seen or heard any
person enter or leave Room 729,

Nevertheless, the police now had a
number of clues. There was the blood-
stained silver quarter found beside the
body. There was the broken whiskey
bottle. And there was the sinister letter
“S” inked snakily on the woman’s thigh.
But the most significant clue of all was
yet to come,

It came from a bellboy, Alfred Bayne,
Jr., who had delivered cracked ice to
Room 729 about six o’clock that evening,

“When I walked into the room,” he

they brought in a slip of paper which
read: “We find the defendant guilty of
murder in the first degree without recom-
mendation for mercy,”

“Mother of Goc »” breathed Jacobs, as
he collapsed into his chair, for that ver-
dict meant he must hang.

Roy Jacobs paid for his career of
crime on May 12, 1943, in the execution
chamber of the Washington State Peni-
tentiary at Walla Walla, having ex-
hausted every court in an attempt to

- Save his life. When the trap was sprung
he was at her home in Kelso on the day -

it removed from this world one of the
most bitter cop haters the Northwestern
states have ever known; he would have

_ killed many’ more officers if his career

had not been so successfully terminated
by the rope,

PAIR RR orcas

| “Murder of the WAG

[Continued from page 11]

said, “I saw two women there. One
was Corporal Ridings. I didn’t know
the other one. She was sitting on the
bed, smoking a cigarette, and she was
dressed all in black.”

“How old was this woman and what
did she look like ?”

“I'd say she was about thirty-five and
pretty good-looking. She had black hair,
and she wore a black dress and a black
hat with a black veil on top.”

“How did she and Corporal Ridings
act while you were in the room?”

“This woman in black didn’t say any-
thing. She didn’t even look at me. Just
sat on the bed, puffing a cigarette. But
Corporal Ridings was in jolly spirit,
laughing and talking. She gave me a
two-bit tip,” the bellhop recalled, and
displayed a new silver quarter.

It was a replica of the bloodstained
quarter found beside Corporal Ridings’
body.

But the police were far more interested
now in the mysterious “Woman in
Black.” Who was she? Where had she
come from? Where had she gone?

* Above all, why was she wearing a black

dress, and a black hat and black veil, on
such a warm night? Certainly this
apparel would have made her conspicu-
ous. Yet nobody except the bellboy had
seen her,

That seemed to end that lead. But
the police were rapidly turning up others,

Continuing their investigation at the
Claypool, they learned that a second de-
livery of cracked ice had been made to
Room 729. by another bellboy, Bernard
Rollins. And Rollins had not reported
for work this morning. The police started
hunting for him,

€ was not at his home, and nobody

there knew where he had gone. Detec-
tives finally found him in a tavern, drink-
ing straight whiskey. His nerves seemed
shot, and he almost collapsed when the
detectives closed in on him.

“Why didn’t you report for work this
morning ?”

“T couldn’t!” he stammered, passing

couldn’t
murder.

HE
furt
calmed :
“Abo
I got a
there w:
door w:
knocked
voice ce
door ope
“The
sight.
around,
call to n
ice on th
there,’
““T saw
and put
The bellt
dollar fr:
ice on th
“And j
this affai

it! Whe
killed, it
“The vy
it. the voi
of some «
“T coul
“Vou'r:
son in the
“T: didn
heard tha:
He hac
the Clayp:
between h
had serve
ceding Ap
cal discha
seizures,
“emotiona!
The po!
some dam
Within a
found a bl:
a man’s coz
The garme
Laundry b
no name o:
The “W.
The poli:
theory tha:
woman, wi
And the y
mysterious
first bellboy
The daug
Miss Virgi
a hazy de
woman wh
garments,
“T didn’t ;
but I did no:
way, she w
said she’d c;
and hurried
A: detectiy
on the off-c!
return, and
ing for furtl

Master of

introduced by Schulein to a Mrs. Agnes Janson, who had
come to America, following the death of her husband,
Doctor Hans Janson, in Germany.

The friendship between the comely widow, who was about
forty years of age, and the old rancher, seemed to ripen
rapidly, and on September 3rd, following many calls from
logan, she left the city to go to his farm, telling her friend,
Mrs. Margaret Aherns, with whom she had been staying,
that she was to act as housekeeper, but blushingly con-
fided that she might soon be married again.

James Logan met Agnes Janson at the Blue Creek Station
of the Great Northern Railway. He put her trunks into the
hack, and with her drove over the rolling hills, by way of
the “Johnson” road, to the rambling old “Baslington” ranch
house, set back amid the pines, a short distance from the
dusty, main highway. There he introduced her to the hired
hands who had awaited, with natural curiosity, the arrival
of the new cook.

Three weeks later Logan called upon Mrs. Aherns, in
Spokane, and gathered together all his housekeeper’s belong-
ings, including a cow. He said he was taking them to his
ranch at the request of Mrs. Janson.

“Don’t be surprised if you hear of a wedding soon,” he

(Below) The mys-
terious young man
of many aliases. He
proved to be the lone
confidant of the mass
ae murderer. What
B= crimson secrets did
he hold?

llorror! Al

remarked to Mrs. Aherns, as he led the cow away.

While in Spokane, Logan went to the post office and
called for Agnes Janson’s mail, representing himself to be .
her husband. He was handed an official looking letter from
Germany, which he asked a German-American mail clerk
to transcribe for him in order that he might attend to any
necessary business while in the city. Undoubtedly the old
man was quite pleased with the contents of the letter, for it
informed Agnes Janson that 14,000 marks, (then $3,500)
would be forwarded to her upon receipt of a cablegram re-
quest,

Upon his return home Logan became more active in
listing and securing property on which to place his colony.
He was, he said, about ready to leave for the East to bring
back the Germans. One place in which he seemed to be
more than ordinarily interested was the abandoned Her-
gusheimer ranch, some fifteen miles from his own farm. His
bay and gray horses were often tied beside the rotting gate,
and sometimes neighboring ranchers could hear the ring of
his axe as he cleared away the second growth in front of
the old farmhouse, as though he had bought it and was
intent upon making it his home.

On the morning of October 27th 1909, while at the break-
fast table, Logan announced that his colonization plans were
complete. And during the afternoon of that day he took
Agnes Janson into the parlor of the ranch house, where for
more than two hours they were engaged in low, earnest con-
versation. ‘Tennessee Jack” had come to the house for
some small thing he needed. He saw the couple go into the
parlor, and when he returned later in the day, he met the
German widow coming out; she was blushing like a school-
girl who had just received her first kiss. In a happy mood
she went about the business of packing her trunks. Peeking,
just a little bit, the farm-hand noted that Logan’s things
were being intermingled with her own.

That evening, when the supper dishes had been put away,
Agnes Janson went back into the kitchen and began filling
a large wicker basket with food of the sort that was, in
those days, taken on a long trip by those who did not intend
to use the railway dining-car. With sly winks the hired
hands looked on, but near midnight Logan told Lewis to
hitch the team to the wagon. “Tennessee Jack” put the
luggage into the rear of the vehicle. Agnes Janson ap-
peared, dressed for travel. Logan assisted her to a seat
beside himself, and the bay and the gray trotted out of the .
barn-lot, choosing a course across the fields instead of
turning on to the main highway in front of the house.

S E are taking the train for Chicago at the Blue Creek
Station,” said Logan. “I'll send the horses back by
John Cline.”

By three o'clock, on the morning of the twenty-eighth, -
the moon had risen. Al Stayt, a Colville merchant, on a
fishing trip, met a wagon on a bridge, a short distance from
where the unused road led up to the unoccupied house on
the abandoned Hergusheimer ranch. Stayt stopped. his own
horses and in a loud voice inquired where there was a good
place to camp.

The man in the wagon kept his face averted, as did the
woman, but, nevertheless, Stayt saw enough to fix certain
features of the man’s dress and countenance in his mind.
The man in the wagon moved on without replying to Stayt’s
question. The merchant drove a few more miles and made
camp on the banks of a stream on the John Cline place.

There were others abroad during those early morning
hours. Three Gifford brothers, Elmer, Ira and Charles, of
Gifford, Stevens County, were on a hunting expedition.
They had camped about half a mile from the Hergusheimer
place. Being closer than Stayt they observed some things
which the merchant did not see. Before dawn of the twenty-
eighth, Ira Gifford was awakened by the crackle of flames
on the mountainside above him.

“That’s strange,” he said after he had aroused his broth-
ers. “The old house must have caught on fire; that’s a big
blaze—too big for campers; maybe we had better go over
and take a look.”

“It’s early yet, Ira,” complained Elmer. “We'll be over
there later in the day; go back to sleep for an hour.”

Reluctantly Ira Gifford complied with his brother’s  re-
quest; but he resolved to find out what caused that strange

,

42 Master Detective

Another man in that neighborhood, however, was more
inquisitive than the Giffords. About six o’clock Milt Tay-
lor, a neighboring rancher, seeing the blaze, saddled his
horse, and rode up the hill.

Much to his surprise he found there an old man who
stood in the shadows beside a team and wagon. In the
back of the vehicle were two trunks and a wicker basket.
The logs on the fire were large, probably about three times
as thick as a man’s body, the rancher afterwards said. The
pile was six feet wide and as many feet high. It was a
hot, angry blaze which he could not closely approach.

“What are you doing with such a big fire?” asked Taylor.

“One of my horses got sick,” said a voice from the
shadows, “and I came up here to bleed him; he isn’t ready
to go on yet.” ;

Mounting his horse, Taylor rode away, his curiosity far
from satisfied. Later that morning he returned; the team
and wagon were still there, having moved a few hundred

- yards up the mountainside. It was now broad daylight and,

stretched on the ground beneath the wagon, the rancher
could see a tired little old man, sleeping the sleep of utter
exhaustion. It was then that he recognized James Logan.
The fire still burned briskly. Taylor glanced around and
then rode home, for, though he had seen nothing suspicious,

_he was not at all convinced that everything was right and

roper at the Hergusheimer place; a stench of what he be-
ieved was burning flesh had reached his nostrils.

By middle afternoon only the larger logs on the fire still

smouldered. The Gifford boys strolled over the brow of
the hill and approached the smoking pile; spellbound, they
simultaneously sighted a gruesome object in the hot, gray
ashes.

There before their eyes, still perfectly formed, but  re-
duced to ashes, as you have sometimes seen the half of a
cigar, was the hand of a human being!

HURRYING down to Taylor’s place, the Giffords paused

only long enough to hear his story, and then tele-
phoned to Sheriff W. H. Graham, in Colville. Long before
sunset Sheriff Graham, Coroner A. B. Cook and Prosecutor
H. B. Kirkpatrick, were at the smouldering log heap on
the mountainside.

Sheriff Graham, hoping ‘to save the hand for evidence,
tried to lift it from the ashes. It crumbled to dust and the
last vestige of the human form that he felt had been con-
sumed there disappeared forever from the earth.

In the search which followed, the three men discovered
evidence that a team had been tied at the gate. They also
found a small pool of blood, partly covered with sand. The
wagon tracks showed that the vehicle had been backed right
up to the log heap; these same tracks led up the mountain-
side and back again. A light rain had fallen on the evening
of the twenty-seventh. It was enough to settle the dust, and
the Sheriff was able to follow the steel tire impressions
alone the highway Finally they turned into a field ood

(Left) The Baslington ranch,
from which Logan’s house-
keeper started on her last jour-
ney. (Above) Deputy Sheriff
DeHaven (left) and Sheriff
af Andrew Williams, who helped
to solve the case

tea gf Se A
ce SSE a

after that into the barnlot of the “Baslington” place. The
iiyeshigalors found only “Tennessee Jack” and Ed Lewis at
ome.

While they were still “at the ranch, young Albert Cline
drove up with the Logan team and hack.

“Where’s Logan?” asked Sheriff Graham.

“He left on the morning train for Spokane,’
Cline. “He asked me to bring the horses home.”

“Was his housekeeper with him?”

“He was alone,” replied the boy.

“Did he have much luggage?” continued the Sheriff.

“He had two trunks and a wicker basket.”

“Did you help unload the luggage?” the Sheriff hurried
on, anxious to learn all the boy had observed. “Did you
see a rifle or a revolver?”

“I was looking for a halter with which to hitch the team
to a post,” said young Cline, “and I saw a big pistol in the
wicker basket—it was a foot long!”

The Sheriff had asked these questions because he could
not conceive that Mrs. Janson had been burned alive. Now
he concluded that she had first been shot.

Early the next morning, having sent “Tennessee Jack”
and Lewis to Colville, to be held as material witnesses, he
returned to the Hergusheimer place and made a more thor-
ough search by the brighter light of the autumn sun. He
found three empty cartridges of .32 caliber, but of the sort
used in a rifle instead of a pistol. From the ashes of the log
heap he recovered a belt buckle, a hat-pin, wires from the
frame of a woman’s hat, and a portion of dental bridge-
work.

When he got to Blue Creek Station the Sheriff was told by
the agent, who knew Logan, that the man had checked his
trunks to Spokane. But, from the conductor of the train
the officer learned that a’ man answering Logan’s descrip-
tion had left the train at Hillyard, on the outskirts of
Spokane. The ticket agent in the suburban station recalled
that a man answering Logan’s description had bought a
ticket for Davenport, the county seat of a county adjacent
to Stevens.

In so far as he had progressed, Sheriff Graham could
supply no motive for murder except theft. Neighbors had
readily volunteered the informatton that Logan was most
greedy. He liked to pose as a rich man. Once, when his
responsibility was questioned during a real estate transac-
tion, he had angrily exhibited a draft on a New York bank
for $11,100. And yet, despite this vaunted wealth, “Ten-
nessee Jack’” Tisth said he had received no wages for
months. So Sheriff Graham came to the conclusion that if
Agnes Janson had money or property which James Logan
coveted he would likely have to go through some bank or
trust company with his business, in order to obtain pos-
session of his spoils.

A telephone call to the Bank of Davenport brought the
information that Logan, who was known at the bank. had

he atrwys litt haecay en

’

answered

re Arye eT

Master

refused a loan of $1,500 on a passbook of a Berlin, Germany,
bank. But he had absolutely refused to let the bank au-
thorities see the name on the back of the book.

Refused a loan on such security Logan then proffered a
deed on a Stevens County ranch recently conveyed to him
by a man named George Hilton. This deed being unre-
corded the loan was refused.

Again using the telephone, Sheriff Graham sought the aid
of the Lincoln County Sheriff and told him the banker
could make the identification. The Sheriff dispatched a
deputy to watch the trains, and then in company with the
banker started to make the rounds of the few hotels; on
the register at the Davenport House they found the name
James Logan.

Q BIAINING a pass-key from the clerk the officer let
himself quietly into the room and there, apparently
asleep on the top of the covers, lay a bewhiskered little old
man. Slipping his hand under the pillow, the Sheriff re-
moved a pistol which was large enough to shoot rifle cart-
ridges. Then he awakened the sleeping captive, who readily
admitted he was James Logan. Receiving news of the arrest
Sheriff Graham hurried to Davenport.

The trunk of James Logan, found in Spokane, contained
a singular assortment of instruments and documents, among
which was a notary seal in the name of E. B. Bernhardt,
Republic, Washington; that being a town to the Northwest
of Colville in still another county. Investigation soon re-
vealed that it was this seal which had been used on the
deed conveying the Hilton ranch in Stevens County to James
Logan. An inquiry at the office of the Secretary of State
in Olympia, established that the seal was counterfeit, none
such ever having been issued by the State office. Later,
the Sheriff was to learn that the seal had been made in
Spokane for a man named Bernhardt, who answered Logan’s
description.

There were two rubber stamps which banks use to im-
press the name of the payee on drafts. One read: “The
Chase National Bank, New York, N. Y.” and the other,
“West Coast Lumbering Company, Main Office Seattle.”
They were replicas of the genuine ones.

Then there was a railway ticket agent’s dating stamp and
a cancelling perforator commonly used by passenger train
conductors. These, according to railway officials, could
only have been obtained by theft, since they were not sale-
able to the public.

One bundle was marked: “Take good care of these.”
This proved to be a circular advertising different kinds of
inks, and telling what chemicals should be used to erase
each brand. .

of Horror! . 43

In short, it was the complete and well selected outfit of
a master forger. There were many little notations on the
packages in the trunks, and Sheriff Graham could not help
but feel that these items of instruction were meant for eyes
other than Logan’s. They seemed to form a part of a sin-
ister legacy for some unknown person. There was a last
will and testament, written on the fly-leaf of a thumb-worn
diary taken from Logan’s person when arrested. It read:

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

Being of sound mind I hereby bequeath to the per-
son into whose hands this diary shall be placed, and
who will understand what is written herein, the follow-
ing described property:

Unity Safety Deposit Box, 1921 Dearborn Street,
Chicago, Il. You will find all papers in that box.

House and lot in Chicago.

House and lot in Terre Haute, Indiana.

Five lots in Gary, Indiana.

One lot Indiana Harbor, Indiana.

1,280 acres of land in Oregon.

Nine and one-half acres on Lake Washington, Seattle.

There will arrive from the Reulconto Bank of Ber-
lin, Germany, a draft to pay $1,150 in notes at the
Old National Bank of Spokane.

No property in my name. You will find in key of
information, how, and system to work.

In two places in’ the book the number “14,968” was
written with the names “Logan,” “Bush” and “Lbougshan” ;
the last was recognized as a combination of the first two
names, containing the same letters. With these names was
also the notation: “The keeper of the vault has the names .
of all relatives.”

But who was George Hilton? Thinking possibly one of
the hired hands might throw some light on this angle of
the case, the Sheriff called upon them in the Colville jail,
where they were now quartered.

“I’m George Hilton,” said the man known as Ed Lewis,
in answer to the Sheriff's questions. “That is my real name.

1 was born in Omaha, twenty-three years ago, and my
father’s name was Edward Hilton. I am Logan’s nephew;
he married my mother’s sister. I came to Stevens County
in 1908 from Missoula, Montana, where | had been work-
ing as a railway fireman. I was known there as H. L,
Gordon.”

“Why all these names?” asked Sheriff Graham.

“My past is my own business,” coolly answered Hilton.

“Tennessee Jack” had no knowledge of the past of either
Logan or Hilton. He was just a (Continued on page 56)

(Below) The murder wagon, near which the master murderer slept peace-

fully, after he had watched his victim burn in the pyre he had built

Chief of Police Harry Cusack
of Olympia, Washington
(above), who, years after the
first killer had been executed,
trailed the man who inherited
the master’s blood-lust

farm-hand whom Logan had emploved.
But Hilton now came under suspicion
along with the singular little old man
whom the Sheriff felt certain was a master
criminal.

“What do you know about this deed?”
the Sheriff asked Hilton, referring to the
document showing the transfer of a ranch
by Hilton to Logan.

“Nothing,” replied Hilton. “I bought
this place near Gifford with my own
money, but I never signed that deed.”

And with that Sheriff Graham had to
be content.

Now there were so many papers in Lo-
gan’s trunk, that the Sheriff did not ob-
serve some things that Deputy Lidger-
wood afterwards found.

Among these were cancelled checks of
D. R. Shively, written up to within a very
few days of the time he was supposed to
have left for the East.

OON the Logan-Janson case attracted

wide attention, and photographs of the
alleged murderer, taken at Davenport, ran
in Seattle newspapers. When one of these
came before the gaze of Deputy Sheriff
DeHaven, up in Bellingham, he almost fell
out of his chair. On the following day
Ex-Sheriff Williams and Deputy DeHaven
left for Colville.

Sheriff Graham led James Logan from
his cell into his own office.

“Did you ever know a man named
Frank Romandorff?” asked DeHaven.

“Never heard of him in my life,” an-
swered the prisoner, and since he would
answer no more questions, he was re-
turned to his cell.

“Let’s take a look at this fellow, Hil-
ton,” said DeHaven. “I could be wrong
about the old man, but unless my guess
is entirely wrong I think I ‘can tell you
something about Hilton.”

A few minutes later the young. man
variously known as Ed Lewis and George
Hilton was led into the room—but it was
not by either of these names that Deputy
DeHaven addressed the man who stood
before him.

“Hello, Ed Romandorff,” said DeHaven,
and then, turning to Sheriff Graham, ex-
plained. “We knew this man as the son
of Frank Romandorff who disappeared at

the time James Logan faded from view. .

And we are quite certain that the man
whom you have arrested as James Logan
is in reality the man known in Maple
Falls as Frank Romandorff. This can be
established by neighbors who were better
acquainted with Logan and Romandorff
than we were.”

Ed Lewis—George Hilton—admitted he
was Ledward Romandorfl, but no amount
of questioning could wring an  acknowl-
edgment from the older man that he was
Frank Romandorff and not James Logan.

“I suppose if they find out IT once lived
in Africa they will be accusing me. of
murders back there, too,” laconically re-
marked the old man.

Sheriff Graham mulled that remark over
in his mind for a day and then sent a
description of the suspected murderer to
many African countries. Word came back
from South Africa that Logan was un-
known there, but that he fitted the de-
scription of one Frederick William Jahns,
suspected of the murder of eight miners
in the Transvaal. He had escaped to
America by the use of a forged passport,
and the last trace of him was when he
had landed in New Orleans.

The trial of James Logan, for under
that name he was charged, began in Col-
ville. in January of 1910.) Two hundred

Master Detective

Master of Horror!
(Continued from page 43)

Veniremen were used up before the jury
was obtained. Many had preconceived
notions of Logan’s guilt or innocence;
many still held to the belief that Agnes
Janson was alive. and were frankly skep-
tical that it was her hand which had been
seen in the ashes.

However, the prosecutor ‘skilfully led
the jury over the facts as they have been
related in this story. Finally he came to
the question of the real identity of the
accused man. Was he Logan or Roman-
dorff? But Sheriff Williams and Deputy
DeHaven had brought men from What-
com County who knew both Logan and
Romandorft intimately. These to a man
swore that the accused murderer was not
James Logan but was in reality he whom
they had known as Frank Romandorff.

Then Ed Lewis-George Hilton took the
stand and admitted he had lived in Maple
Falls as Edward Romandorff where he was
known as the son of the defendant. He
now claimed he was the son of Frank
Romandorff's wife by a former marriage.
A slight young man, with dark hair and
one eye that was slightly out of line, he

glanced nervously about the courtroom _

while he talked.

The accused man gazed intently at the
boy as he testified.

His testimony probably neither helped
nor damaged the case of the man before
the bar of justice, despite the fact that
he had assisted in completing the identifi-
cation of the singular old man as Frank
Romandorff, instead of James Logan.

And now that the defendant had been
definitely established as Frank Roman-
dorff, of Maple Falls, newspaper reporters
again revived the mystery of what had
become of the real James Logan? Was
Frank Romandorff a mass murderer? AlI-
though he was on trial only for the crema-
tion of Agnes Janson, had he also killed
James Logan and D. R. Shively?

UT Frank Romandorff, as he now be-

came known, was not visibly disturbed,
either by newspaper conjectures, or the
vhysical exhibits introduced at the trial.
Vithout a tremor he admitted that the
big revolver found in the room where he
was arrested, was his own. He seemed
entirely disinterested when a firearms ex-
pert testified that the shells found at the
log fire could have been fired from. this
gun. [le even smiled when Sheriff Graham
related the story of the hand in the ashes,
and when the State placed in evidence
the only bone recovered; a small portion
of what surgeons said was a human ver-
tebra, which had somehow refused to be
destroyed,

At recess, that day, the prisoner amused
himself by snowballing with a deputy
sheriff.

“I’m going to have an ox-team and wa-
gon arrive here in Colville tonight,” he
said to a reporter who stood near. by.
“They are on their way here now,”

“What's that for?” asked the reporter,
sensing a story.

“To haul away those bones they found,”
replied the old man, chuckling at his little
joke.

But the smile left Frank Romandorff’s
face that afternoon when August Bruck-
mann, a Stevens County farmer, was
placed on the stand and Prosecutor Kirk-
vatrick held up a large brooch so that
both witness and jury could see it. From
the center of the blackened piece the form
of the Saviour stood in bold relief.

“Fave you ever seen this crucifix be-
forer” asked the prosecutor.

“Nes answered Brockmann “DT found

it in the ashes of a log fire on the Her-
gusheimer place last November.”

And_ then, through Mrs. Aherns and
other friends of the murdered Agnes Jan-
son, her ownership of the brooch was
proved, and so, at last the corpus delicti
seemed complete.

Something about that display of the
crucifix broke through Frank Roman-
dorff’s armor. What gruesome memories
of a defenseless woman fighting or plead-
ing for her life it aroused only he could
know. He grew faint, and had to be taken
to his cell. There he requested that his
personal physician be sent to him.

That night Doctors L. B. Harvey and
M. F. Setters were closeted with the ac-
cused man for hours. And, when on the
morrow, the defense began the presenta-
tion of its case through Attorney M. H.
Martin, of Davenport, Frank ~Roman-
dorff, at the mention of a certain name,
jabbered and screamed as one insane. This
was the first intimation the prosecution
had of what the defense was to be.

TTORNEY MARTIN had been un-

able to get Frank Romandorff to con-
fide in him, but to the two physicians the
prisoner had told a strange story of his
past. He would not consent that it all be
told to his lawyer. He wanted only enough
to go to the jury to convince them that
he was insane.

However, the physicians did relate most
of Romandorff’s story to the attorney.
Some other things the latter had learned
for himself; among these was the fact
the the prisoner was supposed to be Fred-
erick William Jahns.

“This man’s true name is Frederick
William Jahns,” said Attorney Martin.
“He was born in Saxony, Germany, on
February 2nd, 1848. He fled from that
country at the age of eighteen years and
came to this country, to avoid military
service, assuming the name Frank E. Ro-
mandorff. He was employed in a loco-
motive works in Philadelphia for a num-
ber of years, but for no apparent reason
he quit this job and fled to South Ameri-
ca.

“From his early youth he has had a
paranoic obsession that he was being fol-
lowed by someone who meant to harm
him. From South America he went to
Australia where he herded sheep for two
years; thence to Ilong Kong. through
Asia and Asia Minor and by way of the
Suez Canal to Alexandria, Egypt. Thence
to South Africa, and finally to America,
ever with the delusion that he was being
pursued, Finally he settled down in Neb-
raska, and married. He had a_brother-
in-law, named Hugh Melntyre -

“Iles telling it all! He's telling it all!
Damn that man!” screamed Romandorff-
Jahns, and it took the combined efforts
of three deputies to hold him in his chair,
It was fifteen minutes before Martin could
proceed,

“The first instance we find where he
desired to kill,” said Attorney Martin,
who was evidently unaware of his client's
South African record, “was when he at-
tacked this man, McIntyre, whom he
claimed was trying to rob him of his
property. Unable to remain where he saw
MelIntyre daily, the mentally upset man
brought his family West. Maybe he killed
Agnes Janson, | do not know. He has
refused to confide in me. But, if he did,
I am certain he was not responsible, nor
is he now in his right mind.”

Then George Hilton took the stand and
testified that as long as he could remem-

“f Ae a | At

, .
her the mention of the nan ,

abe

Fredrick William Jahns: His love for land
was second only to his affection for animals —

‘HE hand, like a ghostly shadow
against a blood-red background,
was no more than a gray outline
crisp ashes in the glowing coals.
was burned to a powdery substance
e the end of a half smoked cigar.
Che three Gifford brothers stared
y-eyed, breathless, hardly believing
ir eyes. Yet, there could be no
abt. It was a hand—had been a
man, living hand.
‘ra, Charles and Elmer Gifford were
t hunting when they spotted the fire
the mountain-side. Their first
nught was that it had been left by a
reless camper, and, being woodsmen,
xy realized a capricious breeze easily
ght transform it into a raging forest-
e. The brothers came to put it out,
1en Ira saw the hand.
“A pbody’s been. burned in there!”
1 cried. His voice was hoarse with
xed emotions.

4

“Sure thing,” Elmer grunted agree-
ment.

Charles pointed. out practically:
“Can't be much left of it. What should
we do?”

“Leave it where it-is and get the
sheriff,” Ira declared. “Murder has
been done!”

“Murder!” The other _ brothers
echoed Ira. Horror creased their faces
as they looked into the livid embers.

Murder—in the peaceful northeast- |

ern section of the State of Washington
the word was almost foreign. Farmers
tended their crops, did a little hunting
and fishing, went to town on occasions
for supplies and to go to church. They
lived happily—and let live.

. When the full significance of their
discovery had sunk in, the Gifford boys
hit out on a dead trot for the road to
Colville and the sheriff. When they
reached Milt Taylor’s farm, they stop-

By Jack Heise

Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

ped and Ira borrowed a horse to ride
on into town. ‘

Ira located Sheriff W. H. Graham
and recited the facts of finding the
hand in the fire. Graham called in
Doctor A. B. Cook, county coroner,
and Prosecutor H. G. Gilpatrick. Ira
led the way back to Taylor’s farm,
where he picked-up his brothers, and
then to the scene of the fire.

But the hand in the coals had dis-

appeared.

“It was right there,” Ira pointed into
the darkening embers. “There’s where
I saw it.” Only a faint smudge of
fine gray ash marked the spot.

’ “You're positive it was a human
hand you saw?” Sheriff Graham asked

“J'm sure of it, Sheriff. You ask my
brothers. They saw it, too. It was a
hand sure enough, but we couldn’t tell
whether it was a man’s or a woman’s
hand—it was too badly burned.”

Charles and Elmer backed up the
statement.

“Tf it was in ashes like they say, the
wind could have disintegrated it,” Doc-
tor Cook declared.

“And if they saw a hand, then there’

must have been a body in there,”
Graham added.

Prosecutor Gilpatrick brought the
conjecturing to a conclusion with:
“And if there was a body, there has
been a murder. And some place there
isa murderer.”

Sheriff Graham sized up the situa-

,

a print.
, —

v

tion and came to a decision. “Doctor
Cook, suppose I leave the Gifford boys
here with you to gather up the ashes
—you can get something from Taylor’s
place to put them in. .Gilpatrick and
I will get going on this thing. If a
murder has been done, we don’t want
the killer to get too big a head start
on us.”

Doctor Cook agreed to the plan.
“We may locate some of the larger
bones or some metal objects that were

_on the body in the ashes,” he pointed

out. “I'll take the ashes into town
and sift them to see what I can find.”

Graham and Gilpatrick decided the
best procedure would be to question
the farmers in the vicinity to learn if
any of the local people were missing
or if any strangers had been seen re-
cently in the district.

'Y went to a number of places
without uncovering anything before
they arrived at the Logan ranch. They
questioned farm-hands Ed: Lewis and
Jack Tish.

“Anybody missing around here in
the last couple of days?” Graham
asked.

Lewis said not.

“Seen any strangers about?”
— again answered in the nega-

ve.

“Where’s Logan?” Graham asked
after the elderly owner of the ranch.
“He went to Chicago yesterday.”

“To Chicago?” Graham asked in sur-

Ce Lty-—


Mrs. Agnes Janson sought romance
and a hueband but found death
.when she camé to work as a house-
keeper in this mountain home

prise. “I thought you just told me
everybody was here.”

Lewis snapped back: “You asked me
if-anybody was missing. Logan ain’t
missing. He went to Chicago.”

“We won’t quibble over words,”
Graham said. He went on to explain
about the. body in the fire. .

Color drained from Lewis’ face. He
asked: “And it is old man Logan?”

“We ‘can’t tell. The body was burned
up, that’s why we're trying to find out
if anybody is missing.”

The color returned to Lewis’ face. He
said casually: “It probably isn’t Logan,
then. I thought you had found some-
thing in the ‘fire to identify him.”

Graham, however, wasn’t so sure
that it was not Logan’s body in the
fire. He went on to ask other ques-
tions and learned that James Logan
had gone to Chicago to bring a number
of German emigrants out to his farm
to start a colony. He had been in
communication with a welfare agency
in Chicago and made arrangements
ieee them to bring.the people to his

‘arm.

“Togan must have. had money with
him when he left, then,” Graham said.

“A couple of hundred dollars, I sup-
pose,” Lewis answered. “Logan didn’t
tell us much about his personal af-
fairs.” :

“Who else besides you and. Tish
knew he was leaving?”

“Nobody—that is except the people
in Chicago.”

“And you haven't seen any strang-
ers around?”

“No. ”

Graham turned to Tish, who had
stood quietly by and let Lewis act as
the spokesman. “And you?”

“No. But—” :

“But what?”

“Well, I suppose it hasn’t got noth-
ing to do with this, but old man Logan
was afraid of somebody.”

“Afraid? Of whom?”

“I don’t know. But he wouldn't
even see anybody when they came to
the place until I saw them first and
found out who they were and what
they wanted. I kind of guess he was
afraid somebody would mow up he
didn’t. want to see.”

RAHAM asked Lewis: “Did you
get the same impression?”

Lewis pooh-poohed the idea. “Oh,
the old man was queer, but I don’t
think anybody was after him. I don’t
think he’s been done in, either. He’s
probably in Chicago by now, or will
be as soon as the train gets there.”

Graham sized up the two farm-hands
and. a question formed in his mind.
He put it to Gilpatrick -when they left
the farm.
. “How did that hired man Lewis
strike you? Did it seem strange that
he was so positive that it was not
Logan’s body in the fire?’”’.

Gilpatrick nodded. “Particularly
after he was sure we -hadn’t found
anything to identify the body in the
ashes.”

“What do you think of Tish saying
the old man was afraid of somebody?”

“Well, of course, the first thing we've
got to do is check with the. welfare
agency in Chicago and see whether
or not Logan arrived there. If he is
alive and safe, then this is all nonsense.
If not, the fact that he was afraid of
somebody may be the angle to work
on. We can check his past life and
see what the score is. I understand
he came from the’ Nooksack Valley
region near Bellingham.”

Graham sent a wire to the welfare
agency in Chicago. He spent the rest
of the afternoon and ‘the following

(Continued on Page 44)

Mrs. Agnes Janson: Detectives
bullt a murder case around her
hat pin and two corset-stays


08

from his home for weeks at a time. This
man was arrested by Harris, as a suspect
in the attempted stick-up of a Los An-
geles bank.

In the meantime, back in Olympia, a
shrewd chief of police, Harry Cusack, had,
through tracing the laundry-mark on the
chemise of Betty Pryor, learned that the
man with whom she left home, known
as Andrew Watson, was also, known as
James Huirt—and that was the name
given by the man whom Detective Harris
had trailed in Los Angeles.

Now things happened with startling ra-
pidity, until one of the reddest pages
in the history of crime in America was
unfolded. There came a day when this
man Watson or Huirt, took the Los
Angeles police to a lonely gully in the
hills outside San Diego, and there pointed
out the burial place of Nina Lee DeLoney,
another girl from the Northwest, whom
he admitted he had murdered. A revela-
tion made of his own volition on the
belief that clemency would be recom-
mended by the prosecutor.

Was there in this man’s mind as he
cast about for a way to save his life, the
memory of another trial, amid the snow-
covered Washington wheat-lands? Did he
recall a day in 1911 when he made a last
visit to Walla Walla to talk with a man
about to be hanged?

- Certainly the trail led back into the
Colville country. First, the backtrail
showed, this killer had married and prob-
ably murdered a woman in Tecumseh,
Nebraska; that was in 1911. A year later
he had married and deserted a woman

Master Detective

in Moose Jaw, Canada, as Charles New-
ton Harvey. In 1915 the same man mar-
ried a Spokane woman in_ Colfax,
Washington, just south of the aforemen-
tioned city. Another wife he had drowned
in Coeur d’Alene lake, a few miles from
Spokane, and yet another in the falls of
the Spokane River, within the city limits.
In all he had married, and deserted or
murdered, some twenty-nine women in the
years between 1911 and 1920; one of these
he married in Davenport and a portion
of one honeymoon was spent in Colville.

Under the name Andrew (Bluebeard)
Watson this man was sentenced to life
imprisonment in the State Penitentiary at
San Quentin, California. He was jubilant
that his life was spared but he refused
to tell anything of his past beyond 1910,

Now we may come down to a day in
the spring of 1933 when this writer was
digging among some musty archives for
the details of the crimes of William
Frederick Jahns, and came across the
names H. L. Gordon, Edward Lewis and
George Hilton, in connection with the
aliases of the younger man associated with
the false “James Logan” at the time of
the murder of the real Logan, Shively
and Agnes Janson. Those three names
tugged at memory’s strings: Where, ex-
cept in this case, had they been promi-
nently mentioned?

Then, having been associated with Chief
Cusack, on the Betty Pryor investigation,
came the remembrance of the name Hil-
ton as one of the aliases used by Andrew
Watson. Ferreting out a newspaper
which had printed a list of Watson’s
twenty-nine marriages, and most of the

aliases he had used, the names H. L. Gor-
don, Andrew /filton, Hilton Lewis and Ed
Lewis, were found among them. All these
were either the same, or combinations of
names, used by Jahns’ companion at the
time of the Washington murders.

There were many deeds and powers of
attorney among the effects of “Bluebeard”
Watson. There was also a mysterious last
will and testament, leaving to an unknown
woman, the contents of safe-deposit boxes
scattered about the country, the keys to
which were to be found in a box in the
Old National Bank of Spokane. But, when
Watson’s life was spared he changed his
mind about this will, although he has
sent more than one credulous adventurer
on a hunt for a hidden fortune through
the Nortwest country.

“Bluebeard” Watson was about forty-
two years old when arrested; he was five
feet, seven inches tall; weighed about 135
pounds; had brown hair and bluish-gray
eyes and his left eve was slightly out of
line; in short he answered the description
of the Romandorfl-Hilton-Lewis person of
ten years previous. He is still serving his
life sentence in San Quentin. Is he the
young man whom Frederick William
Jahns taught the trade of murder? Is he
a son or a nephew of that monster?

Possibly no one but Watson himself
can answer that question for a certainty,
but, from the manner in which he so suc-
cessfully operated over a long period of
years, he could easily have been a gradu-
ate of the school of Jahns. If so, the two
of them probably constitute the bloodiest
pair that have lived and killed, within a
century.

Mystery of “Murdering Johnnie”

The pictures and descriptions given by
Bessie of the four murderers coincided al-
most exactly with the descriptions of Di
Marco, Quinto, Periano and Myrtle
Barnes. Still we couldn't find them.

Months passed. Every time I came
across the case in my files | swore silently.
Somewhere on the globe four murderers
walked free. | was pretty sure | knew who
they were. But how to get hold of them;
that was another question. Again and
again I pieced together details of the
crime. Again and again | received tips
which sent me hot-footing to near or re-
mote sections of the state. But the clues
never held up.

The years slipped by. It began to look
as if the Famularo murder would go down
in history as an unpunished, unsolved
crime. Then out of a clear sky came the
“break” that all detectives pray for.

It was November Oth. I was opening my
mail, not thinking of anything in particu-
lar. All of a sudden a jagged piece of
brown wrapping paper came tumbling
from an envelope. ;

I picked it up; examined it curiously.
Then | leaped from my chair and headed
for Chief Reyer’s oflice. -

For, scrawled on the scrap of brown
Wrapping paper was an amazing revela-
tion—Dominick Periano, one of the mur-
der suspects in the Famularo case—the
anonymous writer said, was living on a
farm at Chatsworth, California, where he
was known as Anthony Patello: After
talking it over with Chief Reyer, | reached
for a telephone and put in a.long distance
call for Los Angeles police.

“Arrest Anthony Patello for me,” I re-
quested, “and the minute you nab_him
take his picture and send it to me. Then
hold him until I get out there.”

Iapatiently | awaited the arrival of the

(Continued from page 35)

and Dominick Periano one and the same
man? Was I at last on the trail of the
long-missing murderer?

Finally the picture arrived. Periano’s
wife took one look and identified it as a
photo of her husband. Her brother iden-
tified it. I brought the two into court.
And here before a judge and under an
act of Congress they gave testimony. Once
again they identified the man in the photo-
graph as Dominick Periano, wanted for
murder in New Orleans.

I clamped the picture to their testi-
mony, obtained extradition papers from
the Governor of Louisiana, and caught the
next plane for the Pacific Coast.

On my way across the continent | was
at peace with the world. With the papers
I had in my brief case, | told myself, I
would have no trouble in obtaining Pe-
riano’s extradition.

*
",
*

we

¢
&

Detective Fred Weber, whose astute

That’s what I thought—

When the plane reached Sacramento |
went directly to Governor Merriam’s of-
fice.

. There to my surprise I was met not
only by the chief executive of the state,
but by a very determined defense attor-
ney.

The Governor examined the papers |
had brought with me, then shook his head.
I didn’t have enough proof that Patello
was Periano, he said. | was dumfounded.
There couldn’t be anything wrong with my
papers!

“Your Excellency,” I protested, “how
much proof do you want? I have this
man’s picture. And his own relatives have
sworn under oath that it is a picture of
Periano. As a matter of fact, | know the
man myself. And as Chief of Detectives
of New Orleans | am willing to take an
oath that the man standing before you is
not Tony Patello of Chatsworth, but Do-
minick Periano, wanted for murder in
New Orleans.”

The Governor didn’t appear convinced.
“T must have more proof,” he repeated.

I didn’t know what to do. 1 couldn't
afford to have Periano’s relatives trans-
ported across an entire continent.

“This is the man, Governor,” | pleaded
desperately. “Why do you think I’d take
a chance of taking the wrong fellow
back to New Orleans? How long do you
think they would let me keep my job
there if | made a mistake like that?) And
don’t you suppose the people in New
Orleans know Periano when they see him?
What would you think of a Chief of De-
tectives out here if he flew across a conti-
nent for a fugitive only to return with an
innocent manpP”

The Governor remained unconvinced.
And as he was boss in California my hands

Aaa 806

ec seatien2

Noveinber, 1937

Intyre,’ had thrown Romandorff into a
rage.

It was all very dramatic, this sudden
change in the demeanor of the prisoner,
who had formerly been so docile. But
whether or not Attorney Martin sensed
it, it was seemingly apparent to the
shrewd little arch-criminal that the jury
was as yet unimpressed with his madness,
and taking his defense into his own hands
he decided upon a bold course. At his own
request he was the first witness on the
stand when court resumed, the next morn-
ing.

“What is your true name?” asked At-
torney Martin.

‘ ILLIAM FREDERICK JAHWNS,”

said the prisoner, “but most of my
life in America I have been known as
Frank LE. Romandorff.”

“Did you kill Agnes Janson?”

“Yes, I killed Agnes Janson,” said the
bearded little man in a clear and un-
emotional voice. “I killed her—I shot her
and I broke her neck and threw her into
the fire.

“T killed James Logan at Maple Falls
and then came to Stevens County and
took his name. If there is any of his body
left you will find it near an old culvert
on the back of his place. I don’t remem-
ber how the horse got killed; maybe I did
that too.

“T killed Shively; I went to Spokane
with him and gave him drugs in a hotel
room. Then I placed his body in a trunk
and sent it back to the ranch. It’s buried
on a hill there—if the coyotes haven’t got
it.

“They were trying to get my money,
but I got theirs; I have had lots of
money in my time. I had $85,000 when I
landed in New Orleans from South Africa,
but I lost it all in Nebraska in a manu-
facturing venture.

Master Detective

“T killed all these people,” said Jahns,
and then his voice rose in crescendo until
it shriekingly filled the courtroom. “But
other hands than mine will kill Milt Tay-
lor yf testified against me here at this
trial.”

Judge Cleary rapped vehemently with
his gavel. Jahns sank slowly back into
the chair from which, in his anger, he had
arisen. A hush came over the room. In
many minds was the same thought: Upon
whom did this murderer so-certainly feel
he could rely for revenge? To Sheriff
Graham that cry was a challenge to the
young man now known as Edward Ro-
mandortl; a clear call for vengeance on
the part of a man who felt he had a right
to expect it from another.

The case was given to the jury soon after
the confession. It found Jahns guilty of
murder in the first degree. On January
19th, 1910, the Judge called the sparsely
built little German before the bar to hear
sentence pronounced. Jahns now weighed
but 130 pounds; his face was thin and al-
most hidden by the heavy head of iron-
gray hair and matching mustache. There
was no sign of emotion on his broad fea-
tures when he was told he was to be
hanged by the neck until dead. He was
executed at Walla Walla on the morning
of April 2Ist, 1911. In his diary, after

death, was found a notation which read:

“Good-by to Maggie, Bessie, Mattie and
Ed.”

The first three names of that notation
conformed to the names of the feminine
members of the Romandorff family of
Maple Falls, so, it is reasonable to be-
lieve, the last name referred to was the
young man known variously as Ed Ro-
mandortf, Ed Lewis and George Hilton.
Never by a single word or action did
Jahns connect him with any of his crimes.

The mass-murderer’s attitude toward
this fellow was a benevolent one, and so

57

it Was Impossible to try him for complicity
in the murder of Agnes Janson. And it
Was to this young man, in the death cell
at Walla Walla, that Jahns gave his final
confidences, which probably included the
secret of the safe deposit box, for officers
had been unable to locate it among the
thousands in the Chicago institution.

Possibly he alone ever learned what
all the queer writings in Jahn’s diary re-
ferred to. Maybe he knew what became
of the bodies of D. R. Shively and James
Logan. Searching parties were never able
to find them; possibly, as the murderer
had himself said, the elements and the
coyotes had destroyed them.

But certainly, whatever secrets were held
between them, this young man, for whom
one name would seemingly do as weil as
another, since it is doubtful to this day
that his true name has ever been known,
was the closest friend this little gray-
bearded mass-killer ever had. And _ it
seems more than likely, in the light of
future sinister happenings, all those nota-
tions so carefully made on the packages
Were meant for this man’s eyes alone.

UT let us pass on to a day in the

spring of 1920, nine years after Jahns
had been hanged. To a dav when Ed Pit-
ner, digging post-holes in the rocky soil
of his farm south of Olympia, uncovered
the nude body of a young woman, after-
wards identified as Betty Pryor, of Spo-
kane. She had married and left her home
in company with a small, dark-haired
man named Andrew Watson; a man with
a peculiar cast in his left eye; it being
slightly out of line.

Then we may pass rapidly to a day a
little later in the year when WNatherine
Wombacher, another Spokane woman,
hired Detective Nick Harris of Los An-
geles, to trail her husband, and find out
why he was so often mysteriously absent

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Ce a ere

Se

Questions spun in his mind like a
bouncing ball on a roulette wheel.

How had the woman been lured up
on the mountain-side? Who killed
her? Why?

Graham could think of a number
of possible motives. An expectant
unmarried mother. A_ beastman at-
tack. A jealous lover. But it all came
back to the fact that there were no
young girls or women missing from
the community.

As Graham pondered over these
questions, a telegram arrived from
Chicago. The welfare people reported
that Logan had started a colony at
Addy on the Colville River the pre-
vious year. He was also manager of
the Cascade Land and Cattle Com-
pany. Graham tossed the message to
one side. The fact that it was a wo-
man’s body that had been in the fire

-changed the entire line of the investi-

gation.
Where to start now?
What to do?

Graham stared moddily out the of-
fice window. To himself, he admitted
he was stumped. In a murder case the
procedure is first to identify the vic-
tim, then find out the persons who
had motives to do the killing. Elimi-
nate from those with motives those
who could not have had an opportun-
ity to do the murder, and then con-
centrate the evidence on those left.
But without knowing the victim, the
starting-point of the investigation was
gone.

Prosecutor Gilpatrick strode into
the office with the greeting: “I just
saw Doctor Cook. He tells me the
body in the fire was a woman.”

“Yeah,” groaned Graham. “What do
we do now?”

“If she isn’t a local woman, then
she’s a stranger. If she’s a stranger,
somebody must have seen her when
she came here.”

“It sounds all right, but it doesn’t
work out,” Graham said. “I’ve checked
all over town.”

“Well, the woman didn’t fly up on
the mountain. Somebody lured her
up there and killed her.”

Graham began another’ check
around town, looking for a missing
woman or a stranger. Everyone was
accounted for and no strange woman
had been seen. It left Graham with
the conclusion that the woman had
not come through Colville. He started
checking the near-by small towns. At
Bluecreek he ran into luck.

“A strange woman got off here
about ‘three weeks ago,” the station
master declared.

“Where did she go?” Graham asked
eagerly.

“Don’t know—that is—I reckon she
went up to Logan’s farm.”

“Logan's farm?”

“Yeah. Old Man Logan was here to
pick her up. I understand he was go-

_ing to marry her. Don’t know where

I heard it. Maybe Logan told me, but
I heard it some place.”

Graham scarcely could contain him-
self. Here was something he could
get his teeth into. And it led back
to Logan.

GAs sped back to town and got
Prosecutor Gilpatrick. He laid the
new information before him.

“We're going out to Logan’s farm,”
Graham cried, “and, unless those hired
men have some darn good explanation
for this, I’m going to haul ’em in. I
knew they were holding out on me.”

At the Logan farm, Graham asked
Lewis about the woman Logan had
picked up at Bluecreek three weeks
ago.

“Sure, she was here,” Lewis said.
“She left with Logan when he went
to Chicago. They were going to get
married.”

“Why didn’t you say something
about it before?”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Didn't ask you,” Graham shouted.
“Do I have to ask you everything?”

Lewis shrugged. “I have answered
all the questions you asked me. What
more do you want?”

“Plenty!” Graham shouted. “I don’t
think you are telling me all you know
about this. If Logan and a woman

oD 7

went to catch the train he must have
taken a rig. Where is it now?”

“A boy brought it back. Logan paid
him to drive it out.”

“What boy?”

“I don’t know.”

Graham asked Tish. “Did you see
the boy?”

“No. I was out in the field working.:

But the rig is back here.”

Graham was mad. “I’m taking both
of you in. You can both sit around
my office until you think of a lot of
ae you haven’t told me about this
affair.”

“You can’t arrest me,” Lewis said.
“I haven't committed any crime.”

Tish said: “I ain’t done nothing. I
would have told you about the wo-
man, but Lewis told me to only
answer the questions you asked me.
The woman’s name is Mrs. Agnes Jan-
son and she come from Spokane.”

Prosecutor Gilpatrick warned Gra-
ham: “You really haven’t any charge
to hold them on. You can keep them
for a while as material witnesses, but
unless you have a specific charge and
information to back it up, you’ll have
to release them. I don’t see much sense
in going to a lot of trouble. They’ve
told us enough to work on now.”

“Yes,” Graham said, “but it took
pressure. And there’s more where that
came from.”

He felt that at last he had a toe-
hold with which he could tear the
veil from the mystery of the body in
the fire.

He took the morning train into
Spokane. He learned that Mrs. Jan-
son had boarded with Mrs. Margaret
Aherns in that city. From Mrs. Aherns,
he found that Mrs. Janson had been
introduced to Logan through a cigar
store operator who was a mutual
friend. This friend told Graham that
Logan had come to him looking for
a housekeeper and he suggested Mrs.
Janson.

Mrs, Janson had written to both the
friend and Mrs. Aherns that she and
Logan planned to be married soon. She
said she was going with him to Chi-
cago on a honeymoon.

“It must have been love at first
sight,” Graham said.

The cigar store operator laughed. “I
doubt if it was that. Old Man Logan
was pretty tight. I think he saw a
chance to get a housekeeper for noth-
ing if he married her. Besides, Mrs.
Janson had a little money in her own
name. Logan probably figured if he
married her he could use her money
for that colony he was planning on
starting.”

Graham thought of one other angle.
He asked the friend and Mrs. Aherns
about it.

“Do you suppose there was anyone
who could have been jealous because
Mrs. Janson planned to marry Logan?
Jealous enough to kill both Mrs. Jan-
son and Logan?”

Both the friend and Mrs. Aherns
said that the theory was possible but
not probable.

“Mrs. Janson came from Germany
a few years ago,” Mrs. Aherns de-
clared. “Her husband was a doctor
in Germany. He died there and left
her considerable property and money.
It wasn’t necessary for her to work,
and I think she went out to Logan’s
farm with the idea she might find her-
self a new husband.”

The widow had gone searching for
romance and found death.

But who delivered that death?

Logan? Graham considered the pos-
sibility and found little weight in it.
The widow would have been both a
wife and a housekeeper to him. If he
coveted her money, he could have got-
ten it by marriage rather than murder.

Was Logan’s body consumed in the
fire along with Mrs, Janson’s? Had it
been a funeral pyre for a bride and
groom?

Graham posed these questions to
himself as he rode up to Addy on his
way back to Colville. He had decided
to stop and check further on the past
life of Logan in that community.

The facts he found added new ques-
tions to the ones he already had pro-
pounded to himself.

There was a strange story concern-

ing the man Logan in the little town
of Addy.

Logan had operated the Cascade
Land and Cattle Company in that sec-
tion. He made a number of real estate
deals, among them one for an elderly
widower, D. R. Shively, who owned
a prosperous farm.

V. M. Stick, an Addy merchant, gave
Graham the details.

“I talked to Shively and he told me
that Logan made a deal to sell his
farm to a fellow in Chicago at a good
price. He was in to see me the day
before he left. Said he was going
with Logan to Spokane to sign the
papers and get his money. It was the
last any of us ever saw of Shively.
But about six months later, his rela-
tives wrote out here asking about him.
He never arrived in the East.”

“Was there any check made to see
what happened to him?”

Stick scratched his chin for a long
moment. “I don’t like to say anything
about a man—but, well, it always
seemed a little queer to me. Especially
with what happened later.”

“What happened?”

TICK wnt on: “Shively was sup-

posed to have sold his farm to a
fellow named Herman, but this Her-
man never showed up out here. About
six months later, a fellow bought the
farm from Herman and is living on
it now. His name is James Mona-
ghan.”

“There - doesn’t seem anything
strange about that to me.”

“No, but Monaghan bought the farm
through Logan. He paid Logan six
thousand dollars for it. I’ve talked to
Monaghan and he tells me he never
saw this fellow Herman. Some of us
have wondered if there ever was a
fellow named Herman.”

The implication was clear. If there
was no man named Herman, Logan
could have killed Shively and taken
his farm to sell to Monaghan.

Graham went out to see Monaghan.
He learned that Monaghan had dealt
directly with Logan for the purchase
of the farm and had paid the money
to Logan.

“Then, as far as you know there
never was a man named Herman?”
Graham asked.

“Logan got all the papers signed.
It wasn’t necessary for me to deal with
the owner. Logan acted as an agent.”

Graham returned to Colville more
confused than ever.

Was Logan a mass murderer? Had
he killed his neighbor, Romandorff, in
Maple Falls? Had he killed Shively for
his farm at Addy? Had he killed
Widow Janson and burned her body
on the mountain?

Where was Logan now? Was he
alive or dead?

It was possible that two _ bodies
could have been in the fire. Doctor
Cook said that the flames had so
thoroughly consumed everything ex-
cept the metal and a few bones that
it was impossible to tell.

If Logan and Mrs. Janson had been
killed on their way to be married,
who killed them? Why hadn’t Lewis
and Tish volunteered the information
about Mrs. Janson? :

Graham went over the case with
Prosecutor Gilpatrick when he re-
turned to Colville. .

“The case seems to narrow down
to this,’ Graham said. “Either Logan
was murdered, too, and we have to
find his killer, or he is alive and he
killed the widow. And if Logan is
dead, it looks bad for Lewis and
Tish.”

“And how about the case against
Logan?”

Graham went over it step by step.

Logan was first heard from at Maple
Falls. He disappeared from there and
sold his farm to a man named Frank
Rankin. At the time he left Maple
Falls, his neighbor, Frank Roman-
dorff, disappeared. Sheriff Williams
hinted that Logan might have killed
his neighbor. The motive, however,
was obscure, as Logan could gain
nothing by the murder as Romandorff
did not own his place and had no
property. . .

Next, there was Logan’s dealings

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’
sourl. Teleg slephone and radio
messages OV territory built up a
network so | seemed that the
fugitive could not possibly escape.
Everywhere in this area officers con-

stantly were on the alert for the gun-

speedometer needle slid past 60...

ere 5

Butler had the machine in the other

lane of the highway to pass up the

traffic and try to keep the quarry in

sight. He was blocks ahead now but
‘

the back seat. And more important
than that was the brief-case contain-
ing $1,200 they found alongside the

gun.
The patrolmen rushed ,the man to
Highway Patrol Headquarters in St.
.

ner pleaded guilty to the counts
nection with the stickup at Wil-
le was sentenced to 20 years in
the penitentiary and fined $100.
Later he was taken to the Leaven-
worth penitentiary to begin his term.

This Multiple Killer Murdered Himself (Continued from Page 25) ogric sR Set eitst ts Opies

morning checking around town and at
the depot to see if amyone had seen
the elderly German farmer come into
town or catch the train east. Luke
Day, the depot agent, was positive that
Logan had not taken the train. Gra-
ham was unable to locate anyone who
even remembered seeing Logan in
town.

At noon a wire came from Chicago
saying Logan had not arrived there on
the schedule he had planned. Graham
shot back another telegram asking the
welfare people to keep in touch with
him and to let him know immediately
if they heard from Logan. ;

Graham, also, sent a wire to Sheriff
Andrew Williams at Bellingham in-
quiring about Logan. The rest of the
afternoon failed to produce any further
information about Logan, or to re-
veal that any suspicious strangers had
been seen in the district.

In the evening, Graham and Gil-
patrick held a “council of war.” They
agreed that it was beginning to look
as if Logan was the only person miss-
ing in the vicinity, and the body in
the fire might have been his.

Graham said: “It would have been
mighty easy for somebody to waylay
the old man on his way to town. Could
have killed him, robbed him and then
put his body in those logs and set
fire to it.” :

Gilpatrick frowned. “But if it was
just a thug who- killed him, why
should he go to all the trouble of de-
stroying the body?”

Graham said. “I think we better go
out the first thing in the morning and
talk to those hired men, Lewis and
Tish, again. I've—”

The telephone jangled, interrupting
him. It was Sheriff Williams of Bell-
ingham on the line, with information
regarding the query on Logan.

Sheriff Williams had a weird story
to tell.

Two years previous, James Logan
had a farm in the Nooksack Valley
near Maple Falls. Logan was a
bachelor and lived alone in a small
house. His nearest neighbor was a ten-
ant farmer named Frank Romandorff.
The two men were good friends. One
evening Romandorff went to visit Lo-
gan and while he was there a storm
came up.

The following morning both men
had disappeared.

“We thought at first they might have
gotten drowned in the river,” Sheriff
Williams reported. “It was a terrible
storm, but when I found Logan’s horse
near his house with a bullet through
its head, I began to wonder.”

“You found Logan’s horse with a
bullet through its head, and no trace
of the two men?” Graham asked.
“Didn’t you find anything else?”

“Nope. That’s all we found. Ro-
mandorff left a wife and two kids.
His boy was around twenty, maybe a
little older, and a young girl. I talked
to the family and they couldn’t help
me at all. And I’m telling you I in-
vestigated both places thoroughly.

“That’s a queer one,” Graham
“You never found anything
else, huh?”

“Well, not right away. About six
months later the postmaster at Maple
Falls got a letter from Logan saying
he was going to Dublin, Ireland. He
said he had sold his farm to a fellow
named Rankin, but he never mentioned
a thing about Romandorff.”

“T suppose you checked on it?”

“As much as I could. I wasn’t able
to find Logan. The letter was sent
from Seattle. I did find in Seattle that
a Frank Rankin had filed a deed to
Logan’s farm. The Romandorff family
moved away from here a short time
later and that’s the last I’ve heard
about the affair.” Williams added, “If
you locate Logan, I’d like to talk to
him. It was mighty strange that
Romandorff disappeared at the same
time he did.”

“What is your theory?”

“Well, I haven’t any facts to back
it up, but it is my belief that Logan
killed Romandorff for some reason and
ran away.”

GRABAM and Gilpatrick puzzled
over the new information.

What did it mean? What connec-
tion did it have with the mysterious
disappearance of Logan and the body
in the fire?

Was Logan a murderer as Williams
suspected? Was that the reason he
was afraid to see anyone who came to
his farm without first knowing who
they were and what their business
was?

One point that Graham felt would
have to be cleared up was that Logan
had left the Nooksack Valley two years
previous. He arrived at his farm near
ColviNe only a year ago. Where had
he been during the intervening year?

Graham remarked to Gilpatrick: “I’d
say we are on the trail of something
mighty mysterious. This thing may
link up with the disappearance of Ro-
mandorff.”

E WAS more than ever certain of it
the following day when a telegram
came from Chicago saying that Logan
had not yet arrived there and they
had no word from him. Graham shot
back a fast wire asking for all the de-
tails the welfare agency knew about
Logan’s life.

Graham and Gilpatrick decided to
go out to Logan’s farm and to question
the farm-hands further. When they
arrived there they found that Lewis
refused to entertain the idea that Lo-
gan had been killed or that his body
was the one in the fire.

“You haven’t got anything to prove
it was him,” Lewis said.

- “No,” Graham admitted, “but if Doc-
tor Cook finds anything to identify the
body in the ashes, and it happens to
be Logan’s, I may as well tell you that
you and Tish are going to be in a bad
spot. You were the last persons to
see him.”

Lewis asked, “What are you trying
to do? Make out that we killed him?”

“Not at all,” Graham answered firm-
ly. “But I do want to know some-
thing about both of you so I can check
on you. Where are you from, Lewis?”

“If you are going to check it, I might
as well tell you that my right name is
George Hilton. I was born in Omaha.
My father is Ed Hilton. He has a farm
there.”

“Why did you use the name of
Lewis?”

“That’s my business. You can go
ahead and check all you want, but
that’s all I’m telling you. I don’t think
anything has happened to Logan, and
even if something has happened to him,
I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Sheriff Graham motioned Gilpatrick
to one side. “What shall I do? This
looks fishy to me.”

“I wouldn’t do anything,” Graham
counseled. “You haven’t any charge. It
isn’t a crime to- use a different name.”

Graham took the advice and went
back to his questioning. This time he

tried Jack Tish. Tish was frank about *

his past. He said he was known as
“Tennessee Jack” and had come from
his name state to the West. He had
worked for Logan about a year. Tish
appeared willing to help with the in-
vestigation but apparently was under
the influence of Lewis. As he an-
swered each question, his eyes darted
to Lewis as if to see whether or not
he had said the right thing.

Graham was far from satisfied when
he left the ranch. The hired men had
answered his direct questions but he
had a feeling they were withholding
information from him. He was de-
termined to check at once on Lewis to
find out why he used the fictitious
name.

Leaving Gilpatrick, Graham walked
up the street to his office. He met
Doctor Cook.

“Find anything in those ashes?”

Doctor Cook said: “A couple of
things, but not much to identify the
person. There were a few charred
bones, but too small to do much with.
There were two lead slugs—I’d say
they looked like a .32 caliber, but
they’re so badly melted it’s hard to tell.”

“Well, if there were bullets, then
it is pretty certain there was a body
and murder was done. Did you locate
anything that would indicate the body
was James Logan’s?”

OCTOR COOK shook his head. A

smile played at the corners of his

mouth. “Not unless Logan wore a
corset.”

“A corset?”

“Yes. I thought you knew. I sent
a boy over a while back to tell you,
but you must have been out. We found
the steel stays of a corset and a hat-
pin in the ashes. The body that was
burned must have been a woman.”

A woman! The news was so star-
tling that for a time Sheriff Graham
refused to believe it. It meant that
all the work he had put in on tracing
Logan had been wasted.

If the body in the fire was a wo-
man’s, then it had no connection with
Logan.

But who was the woman? No local
woman was missing. No stranger had
been seen in the vicinity.

Graham went to his office in a daze.

October OFFICIAL. DETECTIVE STORIES Goes on Sale Wednesday, August 27

44

oD—1

eee

ftom

a
we

he was stumped. In a murder case the
Procedure is first to identify the vic-
tim, then find out the persons who
had motives to do the killing. Elimi-
nate from those with motives those
who could not have had an opportun-
ity to do the murder, and then con-
centrate the evidence on those left.

ut without knowing the victim, the
starting-point of the investigation was
.

Tosecutor Gilpatrick strode into
the office with the greeting: “I just
saw Doctor Cook. He tells me the
ey the fire was a woman.”

an,” groaned ”
we do di. Graham. “What do

‘If she isn’t a local Woman, then

poem oF Pea she’s a pr Be ay
ust have
ee here.” ™ ee

“It sounds all right, but it d .
work out,” Graham said. “I’ve deocuad
all to] town.”
~ “Well, the woman didn’t fly u
the mountain. Somebody ferea” her
up there and killed her.”

Graham began another check
around town, looking for a missing
woman or a stranger. Everyone was
accounted for and no strange woman
had been seen. It left Graham with
the conclusion that the woman had
not come through Colville. He started
checking the near-by small towns. At
Bluecreek he ran into luck.

“A strange woman got off here
about three weeks ago,” the station
master declared.

“Where did she go?” Graham asked
eagerly.

“Don’t know—that is—I reckon she
went up to Logan’s farm.”

“Logan’s farm?”

_“Yeah. Old Man Logan was here to
pick her up. I understand he was go-

.ing to marry her. Don’t know where

I heard it. Maybe Logan told me, but
I heard it some place.”

Graham scarcely could contain him-
self. Here was something he could
get his teeth into. And it led back
to Logan.

GRAHAM sped back to town and got
Prosecutor Gilpatrick. He laid the
new information before him.

“We're going out to Logan’s farm,”
Graham cried, “and, unless those hired
men have some darn good explanation
for this, I’m going to haul ’em in. I
knew they were holding out on me.”

At the Logan farm, Graham asked
Lewis about the woman Logan had
picked up at Bluecreek three weeks
ago.

“Sure, she was here,” Lewis said.
“She left with Logan when he went
to Chicago. They were going to get
married.”

“Why didn’t you say something
about it before?”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Didn’t ask you,” Graham shouted.
“Do I have to ask you everything?”

Lewis shrugged. “I have answered
all the questions you asked me. What
more do you want?”

“Plenty!” Graham shouted. “I don’t
think you are telling me.all you know
about this. If Logan and a woman

oD 7

Uinivses you
informatio)
to release |
in going to
told us eno:

“Yes,” Gi
pressure. An
came from.”

He felt ti
hold with
veil from th
the fire.

He took
Spokane. H:
son had bo:
Aherns in th
he found th
introduced 1
store opera’
friend. This
Logan had
a housekee;
Janson.

Mrs. Jans:
friend and >
Logan plann:
said she wa
cago on a he

“It must
sight,” Grah

The cigar
doubt if it \
was pretty
chance to ge
ing if he m
Janson had :
name. Loga:
married her
for that col:
starting.”

Graham tl
He asked th:
about it.

“Do you s
who could h
Mrs. Janson
Jealous enou
son and Log:

Both the
said that the
not probable

“Mrs. Jan:
a few years
clared. “Her

in Germany.
her consider:
It wasn’t ne.
and I think
farm with th:
self a new |!
The widow
romance and
But who «
Logan? Gr:
sibility and
The widow \
wife and a h
coveted her n
ten it by mar
Was Logan
fire along wi:
been a funer
groom?
Graham p:
himself as he
way back to
to stop and c
life of Logan
The facts h«
tions to the o
pounded to hi
There was

th Shiveiy at Addy. Shively dis-
peared and the motive here was
iin—if murder had been done, The
000 for Shively’s farm was ample
itive. However, Logan could have
ndled the deal as a legitimate agent
and had handled numerous other
als in a similar capacity. Shively
iid have disappeared anywhere en
ute East. Carrying his money from
» sale of the farm he would have
en prey to slickers in any city.
Finally, there was Mrs. Janson. Lo-
n planned to marry her. The widow
d considerable money, which could
ve motivated her murder, but if
gan wanted it, he could have got-
1 it through marriage.

As Graham reviewed the facts, he
is inclined to put Logan in the clear.
ie case against the man as a mur-
rer, while his previous dealings were
ady and obscure, was not very
‘ong. And it was weakened further
e following day when Sheriff Wil-
ims of Bellingham called:

“In regard to that matter of Logan
d Romandorff I was talking to you
out. You can forget it as far as we
e concerned.”

HAT do you mean?” Graham

asked over the phone.
“TI was in Seattle yesterday and
n into Frank Romandorff. I was
rprised to see him and asked him
hy he disappeared from Maple Falls.
: told me he just got tired of his
ife and family and left.”
“Did he say anything about Logan?”
Sheriff Williams laughed. “I told him
at we kind of thought Logan had
lled him. He got a big kick out of
at. He told me that he went to
‘rattle with Logan. He went over to
»gan’s place just as Logan was get-
ig ready to go into Seattle, so he
ont along.”
“How about that horse you found
1ot at Logan’s house?”
“I forgot to ask him about that. I
iess there. must be some natural ex-
anation for it, now that both Roman-
ff and Logan are accounted for.”
“Not Logan,” Graham said. ‘“He’s
issing here.”
“T mean since they disappeared from

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here. I don’t know what has hap-
pened up your way.”

“Can you tell me what kind of a
life did Logan lead around Maple
Falls?”

“As far as I can find out, he was
a good farmer and honest. Nobody
has a bad word for him. He was a
bachelor and kept pretty much _ to
himself, but never caused any trouble.
He lived here for about five years be-
fore. he moved.”

Taking into consideration the in-
formation that Romandorff was alive
and dispelling all mystery from the
Maple Falls affair, Graham saw how
easily coincidence can be given an
air of suspicion that is unwarranted,
He wondered if it was not possible
that Shively’s disappearance from
Addy could: not be as easily accounted
for.

Mrs. Janson’s case, however, was
different. The Gifford boys saw the
hand in the fire. Doctor Cook found
the hat pin and corset-stays.

Graham went to Prosecutor Gil-
patrick.

“All these other things about Logan
have been pretty well cleared up,”
he said. “It merely adds up to the
situation that Logan and the widow
were on their way to be married. I
think that the time has come to put
the heat on Lewis or Tish—or both
of them together. I’m going to bring
charges against them.”

Gilpatrick warned: “If you do, you’ll
be turning them loose.”

“Why?”

“For the simple reason you haven’t
any evidence to sustain a conviction
in court.”

After some discussion Graham was
forced to agree with the Prosecutor.
There wasn’t sufficient evidence.

Graham returned to his office de-
termined that he would find some
way to get definite evidence both to
the fact that a body, or bodies, had
been burned in the fire and that some-
one was a killer.

He went out to talk to Tish again.

“Why didn’t you tell me right away
that Mrs. Janson had gone with Lo-
gan?’’ Graham asked him.

“Lewis told me not to.”

“Why?”

“He said if anything was wrong,
we were better off to keep our mouths
shut. I haven’t got anything to hide
and I don’t think he has. But neither
of us wanted to get into any trouble.”

Graham asked: “You told me that
Logan was afraid of somebody. Was
it Lewis?”

“No. I’m sure it wasn’t Lewis. He
liked Lewis a lot.”

“Who was it, then?”

“I don’t know. I think it was some-
body he knew when he lived at Maple
Falls. Whenever anyone came around
the place, he made me talk to them
first. He always wanted to know what
their names were and if they came
from Maple Falls.”

“Did anyone ever come from Maple
Falls?”

“Not while I was around.”

Graham had a new problem on his
hands. He dismissed Tish with the
warning not to leave the district.

Alone in his office, Graham tried to
puzzle out the mysterious case. Like
a jig-saw puzzle fan at work, he
pushed the facts around in his mind
trying to get the odd pieces of in-
formation ‘to fit into some orderly
sequence.

Logan was afraid of somebody from
Maple Falls. Who? Was it this person
he was afraid of who had come and
murdered him and his bride-to-be?

The natural explanation would have
been that he was afraid because of
the killing of Romandorff. But he
didn’t kill Romandorff. Sheriff Wil-
liams had seen Romandorff and had
talked to him.

Graham still felt the answer to the
puzzle lay in Maple Falls. Logan was
afraid of someone there. He had left
his farm suddenly and sold it. He
had written the postmaster saying he
was going to Dublin, Ireland. That was
evidently a trick to throw whoever
he was afraid of from his trail. Who
was that person?

The dead horse, too, would not fit.

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Cash for YOUR Opinions

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Hermann L. Jahnke, Marshalltown, Iowa

Cora Williams, Los Angeles

Why had his horse been shot through
the head?

Sheriff Graham got up from his
chair. He paced around the room. He
pulled out a tobacco sack and rolled
a cigarette. He sat down again, and
wrestled with the facts once more.

Logan was afraid of someone from
Maple Falls. It was possible this per-
son had trailed him to Colville and
met him as he was on his way to
the train with his bride. But who
was the person? Logan knew him
because he sold his farm and _ fled
to escape .

Graham bolted upright in his chair.
Suddenly, the pieces were beginning
to slip into place.

Logan ... the ranch . . . Roman-
dorff ... the horse... Rankin...
Shively ... Herman... the widow.

Click, click, click ... piece by piece
Graham fitted the puzzling facts to-
gether.

He reached out for the telephone.
“Get me Sheriff Williams in Belling-
ham. And hurry!”

His fingertips beat a rhythm on
the desk as he waited for the con-
nection to be made.

“Look, Williams, if I pay your way
over here will you come and help
me clear up this case of mine?”

“‘T’ll be glad to come. But what can
I do?”

“IT want you to do just one thing.
Stop on your way here and pick up
a photographic copy of the deed Logan
gave to Rankin for his ranch. You
can get it at the courthouse. When do
you think you can get here?”

“T’ll leave at once. If I stop in Seat-
tle, I can catch the night train out
and be in Colville in the morning.”

“Good,” Graham exclaimed. “I’m
leaving at once for Addy. I’ll be back
in the morning. I’ll see you then. If
the theory I have works out, there
will be a lot of surprised people.”

“Why the mystery?’

“I don’t want anything to leak out
until I’m ready to spring it. We’ll
have to work fast then. T’ll be seeing
you in the morning.”

Graham went to Logan’s farm and
asked Tish and Lewis to be in his of-
fice in the morning. From there he
went on to Addy where he spent the
evening making photographic records
of real-estate deals, particularly the
one involving the farm of Shively.

When he returned to Colville in the
morning, Sheriff Williams of Belling-
ham was waiting in his office.

“Get your case all solved?” he asked.

“I think so. There is one thing
though. Give me the best description
you can of James Logan.”

Williams complied, saying that Lo-
gan was a man of about fifty, large-
gg and with a mop of iron-gray

air.

“I thought so,” Graham said. “James
Logan is dead.”

“Yeah? You’ve found something to
prove it was his body in the fire?”

“No. He was murdered down Your
way at Maple Falls. Frank Roman-
dorff killed him.”

“What? How do you know? I
thought Logan was—”

“Wait a minute. I'm going to call
in a couple of fellows to describe
James Logan to you.” He brought in
Tish and Lewis. Their description
tallied in no way with the one Sheriff
Williams had given.

Williams cried: “Why that descrip-
tion sounds more like Romandorff. You
know I just saw him the other day.
I don’t understand it.”

“But it’s easy,” Sheriff Graham said.
“Romandorff killed Logan and then
took Logan’s name. The Logan we
knew was Romandorff! And _ there’s
your case.”

“But can you prove it?” asked Wil-
liams.

“And how!” Graham said in a sat-
isfied voice. “I've got all the proof.
Every one of these signatures on the
transfer of Shively’s property at Addy
are in the same handwriting. And
unless I’m mistaken, they’ll compare
with the signature of Frank Rankin
on the deed you brought from Seattle.”

GRAHAM was not wrong. The signa-
tures of Rankin, Herman and Logan
were all the same. They were in the
hand of Frank Romandorff.

“How did you ever figure this all
out?” Williams asked Graham.

“Tt was easy once I got started,”
Graham declared. “Tish told me Lo-
gan—that is the Logan we knew here
—was afraid of somebody in Maple
Falls. I tried to -figure out who it
was.

“Of course, at first I figured it was
because he had killed Romandorff, like
you thought. But when you saw
Romandorff, that was out. Then, I
thought of Frank Rankin, and sud-
denly the name struck me as having
the same first letters as Frank Roman-
dorff.

“Now if Romandorff had killed Lo-

oD -7

pun ne

| er )

ee Sa

gan and taken his farm, there would
be a motive for murder. I went a
step further and supposed that Roman-
dorff took Logan’s name as well. as
his farm, that would give a reason
for him to be afraid of anyone from
Maple Falls. In effect he had mur-
dered himself and assumed his vic-
tim’s identity. That explains the letter
Logan was supposed to have sent to
the postmaster saying he was going
to Ireland.

“Taking Logan’s name was a master-
ful stroke for Romandorff. It gave
proof that Logan was alive, and at the
same time, he was proof that Roman-
dorff was alive. It left no room for
suspicion that murder had been done.

“Of course, when I heard your de-
scription of Logan, I knew for sure.
The forged deeds ‘will be positive
evidence for the jury.

“Romandorff—or, as we knew him,
Logan—must have planned to marry
the widow for her money. Apparently
she refused to turn it over to him, so
he killed her like he did Logan and
Shively. Only this time he didn’t get
away with it. Lewis and Tish sus-
pected something was wrong but they
weren't sure what. All they wanted
was to keep out of trouble. That’s why
they were so reluctant to talk.”

“You still have to capture Roman-
dorff,” Williams pointed out.

“J don’t think that will be too
hard. You saw him in Seattle. He
must feel confident after talking to
you that he got away with the mur-
der of Logan. He doesn’t know we
are after him, so he won't try to
cover his tracks. That’s why I didn’t
want this thing to leak out.”

Graham was right. Romandorff’s
trail was picked up from a hotel reg-
ister in Seattle. He told the clerk
there he was headed for the town of
Davenport. Romandorff was found
asleep in a hotel room in Davenport
the following day.

HE ADMITTED his identity and the
murders.

Romandorff said he killed Logan to
get possession of his farm and buried
his neighbor’s body in the woods. He
signed the deeds over to Frank Ran-
kin, who in reality was himself. He
killed Shively in a hotel room in
Spokane. He cut the body up in pieces
and put it in a trunk and shipped it
back to the farm. He said he buried
the body in a meadow. Herman was
really Romandorff and when he sold
the farm to Monaghan, he cleared
$6,000 on the deal. He said that he

planned to kill Mrs. Janson and forge
her name to get her property and
money.

Sheriff Graham asked him: “Why
did you shoot Logan’s horse? That’s
one thing I couldn’t figure out.”

“I love animals,” Romandoff said.
“I was afraid the horse might starve.”

In making his confession, Roman-
dorff told the officers that he com-
mitted his first murder in Africa. “One
time I killed eight miners at once,”
he said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was
telling the truth,” Graham said. “Td
like to check in Africa and see if he
did kill eight men like he said.”

The trial was over, and Roman-
dorff was sentenced to be hanged
when Graham got a reply from the
Union of South Africa that a man
who fitted the description of Roman-
dorff, but who went by the name of
Fredrick William Jahns, had killed
eight miners and was wanted by the
police.

Before Romandorff went to the gal-
lows in the exercise yard of the State
Penitentiary at Walla Walla on the
morning of April 21, 1911, he admitted
his name was Fredrick William
Jahns and that he was born in Saxony,
Germany.

"But For $91 They Needn't Have Murdered" (Continued from Page 11)

nowhere to be seen. Already, on the
two-way radio, the “pick up 6-4029”
had gone out. Every cruiser on patrol
was alert but, incredibly, almost an
hour later the fugitive machine had
not been located. It had simply bored
into the dark and was gone.

With the advent of dawn, however,
the warehouse incident assumed pro-
portions most amazingly interesting to
the Detective Bureau and, slightly later
in the day, to Inspector Acosta in par-
ticular. Though nothing had_ been
stolen—the alarm had circumvented
that—a portable acetylene torch was
found abandoned right in front of the
door of the bookkeeping department,
a large, wicketed-in room containing
the firm’s safe.

At Acosta’s behest the acetylene out-
fit was positively identified by its own-
er as the one stolen by the man who
had slugged Gilstrap two days before.

When the morning mail was placed
upon his desk, the Inspector pounced
eagerly on the envelope from Melchen.
As if the inclosed print-photo were
made of gold leaf he carried it ginger-
ly to the lab technician.

“See if this is like the one from the
monkey-wrench,” he said.

EN minutes later a telegram was

on its way to Miami. It said, simply:
“That horse paid off.”

Melchen caught the noon plane north
and was in Acosta’s office at 2:30. The
Inspector related what had happened
at the Bull Line docks.

“You say the license was 6-some-
thing-or-other? That’s Palm Beach
County’s prefix numeral. Now I think
at least I know how he got here from
wherever he scrammed off the bus.”
He trailed off, thinking. (Let it be
said here that each Florida county
has its own prefix tag number. Palm
Beach County is 6, Dade, 1, and so on.)

“I got an idea,” Melchen told his
host. “Look. If that stinkin’ killer
didn’t steal that car—and somehow I
think he’s too smart to be runnin’
around in somethin’ hot—he must’ve
bought it in West Palm Beach. Second-
hand job, somethin’ cheap ‘cause he
didn’t have much money.” He paused
reflectively. “Your cop didn’t make
out what kind of car it was, huh?”

“No. He was too busy chasing and
trying to read the number.”

“Use your phone?” Melchen asked
abruptly. Acosta nodded, smiling. rae
it’s to Miami don’t forget to reverse
the charges.” Much as he admired and
liked the Captain, he delighted in
twitting his mercurial temper.

As a result of the call, State’s At-
torney’s Investigator Mills in Miami
went to West Palm Beach that after-

op—?

noon. He had no trouble substantiat-
ing Melchen’s guess. On December
26 a man answering the description of
the fugitive had purchased a ’33 Plym-
outh sedan from the Poinciana Motor
Sales Company for $75 cash. The
proprietor of the second-hand lot re-
membered the deal distinctly because
“the guy was such a good bargain
hunter.”

Len Kirby, the proprietor, told Mills
that he gave the buyer 1941 tags even
though the car had a Connecticut tag
on it good for two more months.”

The Connecticut license number was
listed in Kirby’s records: AH 607. Upon
his return to Miami that evening Mills
transmitted what he had learned to
Melchen over the telephone.

Immediately “AH 607, 1940, Con-
necticut” replaced the Florida number
on the Jacksonville patrol-car pick-up
list.

In the morning Acosta and Melchen
visited Gilstrap at the hospital.

He told his story briefly.

“It was a little after midnight when
this car drove up,” he began. “A short
guy about forty-five or fifty wearing
a painter’s cap got out and told me
to fill ’er up. I noticed he was wear-
ing rubber gloves.

“Then he asked to borrow a wrench.
I gave it to him and he asked me the
way to Jacksonville Beach. Said he
had a pal out there. Just then he
must’ve slugged me. That’s all I re-
member.”

The Inspector and
thanked him and left.

When the detectives arrived at
Headquarters Acosta dispatched a
patrol car to search every road, every
square mile of the Beach area.

An hour later two of Acosta’s men
from the Auto Theft Bureau were
inspecting a parking lot on Bay Street.
Suddenly George Manley clutched his
fellow officer’s arm.

“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing to a
machine parked off in a corner behind
a larger automobile. “Isn’t that the
buggy Acosta’s so steamed up over?”

It was the ’33 Plymouth and the
license tag that shone dull silver in
the sun was Connecticut AH 607.
From the man in charge of the lot
they learned that it had been there
two days. Manley called Acosta’ from
a near-by booth and the Inspector
with Melchen ignored traffic lights on
their way from Headquarters.

On the floor of the rear seat were
a pair of rubber gloves, torn at the
right thumb; the ‘41 Florida plate
6-4029, a blackjack and a painter’s

the Captain

ap.
Pie's bound to come back after his
car, Eddie,” Inspector Acosta said.

After detailing the two Theft Bureau
men to stand watch at the lot, he and
the Captain drove back to the station
house.

After the Inspector had sent a squad
of detectives to interview all cab driv-
ers who had been in the vicinity of the
Bay Street parking lot two days before,
the afternoon mail was brought in.
Among the letters was one forwarded
from Miami for Melchen. In the upper
left-hand corner of the envelope was
printed: “Federal Bureau of Investiga-
tion.” The Captain tore it open sav-
agely.

The thumbprint checked with that
of one John Stanton, who had been
released as an arrested case of “schizo-
paranoia with homicidal impulses” by
the Dannemora, New York, State Hos-
pital for the Criminally Insane on
April 6, 1939. The FBI communica-
tion revealed also that he’d served
time dating back to 1924 for crimes
ranging from armed robbery to man-
slaughter and attempted rape, and that

he was on parole from Dannemora |

until 1944—forbidden, thus, to leave
New York State until then.
Punch-line of the Federal missive
leapt to Melchen’s eyes: “This man will
stop at nothing to get money when

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CINCINNATI, OF


disposed of, the Whatcom County
(Bellingham) prosecutor had no inter-
est in trying Romandorff for the
Logan murder, especially since he had
no corpse. Nevertheless, Williams and
Deputy Dehaven went to Stevens
County to complete the identification
of the two men being detained.

When Sheriff Williams accused
Romandorff of murdering Logan, the
old man laughed at him. ‘‘How could
I murder Logan when I am Logan?” he
asked. ‘‘I suppose when you start
trailing me back and find out I was
once in South Africa you will accuse
me of doing things like that down
there, too.”’ '

IN THE LIGHT of what that volun-
teered remark revealed, it seemed
strange that Romandorff, shrewd as
he was, ever made it. Sheriff Graham
could only explain it at first as a
“slip of the tongue.’’ Questioning
* Cedonia and Addy citizens with whom
Romandorff had frequently talked,
however, he learned that the old man
had often told them of the great for-
tune he had made in South Africa in
the nineties. He had later lost it in a
business deal in Nebraska. This made
it appear that Romandorff was telling
the sheriff he had once lived in Africa
before it was discovered from someone
else.

Sheriff Graham sent a photograph

and details of the local crime to the:

South African police who replied that
the picture was that of William
Frederick Jahns. He was wanted there
as a suspect in the murder of eight men
who were killed in diamond thefts. The
last trace the South African police had
of Jahns was in New Orleans where
he landed shortly after the Boer War.
He unquestionably had a fortune in his
possession at that time, the police
stated.

‘““‘Logan”’ (the name under which he
was charged for the murder of Agnes
Janson) went on trial in Colville
in January 1910. Many people still
believed that the woman would show
up before the case was over. The
prosecution presented the evidence as
it had been ferreted out by Sheriff

_ Graham.

Sheriff Williams and Deputy De-
haven left not the slightest doubt
that the man being tried under the
name James Logan was the man they.
had known as Frank Romandorff.

George Hilton admitted on the
stand, in fear of a perjury charge,
that he had claimed to be Ed
Romandorff. However, he now stated
that he was the son of Romandorff’s
wife by a former marriage. He denied
any knowledge of Agnes Janson’s
murder. He neither helped nor hinder-
ed the state’s case or that of the
defense.

56

Logan didn’t seem at all worried
about the evidence until the items
found at the log pile fire were shown.
Along with them was a big German
revolver which could also shoot rifle
shells. Logan even smiled when Sheriff
Graham related the story of ‘‘the hand
in the ashes.”’ He was reprimanded by
the judge for laughing when the few

‘bones recovered from the fire were

presented to the jury in a cigar box —
one small piece of a vertebra, a frag-
ment of skull, and a small piece of leg
bone.

Logan’s smile became a little twist-
ed when the farmer August Bruckman
took the stand. The prosecutor held up
a large brooch with a likeness of
Christ in its center. He asked Bruck-
man if he had ever-seen the brooch
before. .

“Yes,’’ answered the witness, “I
found it in the ashes of a log pile
fire on the Hergesheimer place on the
fifth day of November last year.”’

The humor was gone out of: the
trial for Logan. He frowned and glanc-
ed nervously about the courtroom.
Then Margaret Ahern, the Spokane
friend of Agnes Janson, identified the
brooch. “That brooch belonged to
Agnes,” said Mrs. Ahern, sobbing as
she spoke. ‘‘She loved it so deeply
she wouldn’t even allow me to touch
it. It was a gift from her dearly-
beloved husband.”’

THAT WAS the turning point of the
trial. Logan held a whispered conver-
sation with his chief attorney, Henry
Martin, who immediately asked for an

, adjournment until the next day. He

stated that his client was ill.

On the following morning Dr. L.B.
Harvey of Colville and Dr. M.F. Setter
of Spokane told the court they had
been closeted with Logan most of the
night. He had told them the story of
his life in the hope that they would
testify he was insane. In the doctors’
opinion, however, he was sane and a

calloused killer, The refused to ap-

pear on his behalf.

George Hilton, who had said he was
Romandorff’s stepson, tried to bolster
the insanity defense when recalled to
the witness stand. But he was far from
convincing. In sheer desperation, as

Logan saw himself coming nearer and:

nearer to conviction, Logan demanded
that he be allowed to speak. He rose in
the courtroom and started talking.
The judge made him sit down and in-
formed him he could not be made to
testify against himself; yet he insisted
on taking the stand.

He stated; ‘‘My true name is
William Frederick Jahns. I killed eight
men in South Africa and stole their
diamonds. I had $85,000 when I land-
ed in New Orleans after the Boer War,
but I lost most of it in a business deal

in Nebraska. I killed Agnes Janson. I
prepared the log pile several days
before I shot her and threw her on the
fire. I killed James Logan at Maple
Falls.

‘My real name is Jahns. Most of the
time I have gone as Frank Roman-
dorff. I ran away from Germany to
avoid military service. I threw Logan’s
body in an old culvert not far from the
house. The horse just happened to get
in the way and I shot him.

“T killed Dave Shively. He met me
in Spokane to close a deal for his
farm. I gave him drugs in a hotel room
and put his body in his own trunk
and shipped him back to the Basling-
ton ranch. His bones are buried on a
hill back of the house if the coyotes
haven’t dug them up.

“T killed Fred Helms and Jack Green
of Maple Falls. I killed all these people
and many more whom I don’t even
remember. I’ve killed from Canada to
Africa, and that’s not all...”

Logan stood. His eyes were glaring.
His voice rose to a scream. He looked
directly at Ed Romandorff. ‘Other
hands than mine will kill Od Taylor
for what he did here to me.’”’ Then he

_ sat down and buried his head in his

hands, sobbing, ‘‘I’m crazy, I’m crazy.
I was afraid of all of them.”’

Logan was found guilty in an hour,
with the death penalty affixed. He was
hanged at Walla Walla on April 21,
1911. The last caller he had in his
death cell was the mysterious Ed
Romandorff.

During these years Mrs. Roman-
dorff lived with her two daughters
in the home on the banks of Nooksack
River at Maple Falls.

As you might have guessed from the
name, the Hergesheimer homestead
once belonged in our family. My
husband’s grandparents homesteaded
it, lived there for a number of years
but had moved away a few years
before the murder.

I’m sending along a picture of the
house. Blood was found on the ground
at the front yard gate, believed to be
where Logan shot Agnes Janson and
from there took her body to the log
pile.

The house was still standing until
ten years ago. The property was
owned by a timber company at the
time. In the process of logging off the
timber, they destroyed the house.

It was a_ secluded area, very
beautiful, with a small stream back of
the house. As the years went by, the
murder faded into the background. We
liked to picnic there and often wonder-
ed just where the exact spot of the log
pile fire was. However, the years had
erased all traces of it.

True West

a

a Reem er eaihansen esha pimpin ean hi wes

Siping erste

hoe ae

around to inspecting the mysterious
fire until only the larger logs. still
smoldered. Simultaneously they
sighted a gruesome object in the hot,
gray ashes. Perfectly formed, but re-
duced to ash, was the replica of a
human hand.

From Od Taylor’s one of the Gif-
fords phoned Sheriff W. H. Graham
in Colville. He arrived at the log pile
just before sunset with Coroner A.B.
Cook and Prosecutor H.B. Kirk-
patrick. Further investigation turned
up three large cartridges of .32 caliber
rifle ammunition. Also discovered
were a belt buckle, a hatpin, wires from
the frame of a woman’s hat, and a por-
tion of bridgework from a woman’s
mouth. '

At Blue Creek Station the sheriff
confirmed that Logan had checked his
trunks to Spokane. The conductor on
the train said the man had left the
train at Hillyard, a station on the out-
skirts of the city.

SHERIFF GRAHAM telephoned
Sheriff Gardner in Davenport and in-
formed him of the circumstances.
Gardner, at Graham’s_ suggestion,
made inquiries first at the Bank of
Davenport. He learned that a very
angry Logan had left the bank only a
few minutes earlier. The cashier would
not let him have $1,500 on a Berlin,
Germany passbook. The passbook
showed $14,000 in marks on deposit
to Agnes Janson. Logan claimed she
was his wife. He had what appeared to
be genuine power of attorney.

Logan also offered as further secur--

ity a deed to the Baslington ranch,
establishing a transfer of that pro-
perty from “George Hilton’ to him-
self.

Gardner next visited the local hotel
and took Logan into custody in his
room. He was bending over a trunk
into which he was putting some papers
when the sheriff entered. Later, in that
trunk, the investigating officers dis-
covered a strange assortment of in-
struments and utensils which an
honest man would not carry.

Sheriff Graham was very interested

- in the identity of George Hilton. On

this subject he approached the hired
hands at the Baslington ranch, both
of whom were being held in the Colville
jail as material witnesses.

“IT am George Hilton,’’ admitted the
young man who had passed as Ed
Lewis. “That is my real name. I was
born in Omaha and my father’s real
name was Edward Hilton. I am a
nephew of Logan who married my
mother’s sister. I came to Stevens
County from Missoula, Montana in
1908. I hadn’t seen Logan in many
years until we met here.”’

Hilton seemed surprised when he
was shown the deed transferring the

July, 1981

’

gangs of the 1930s.

Station Massacre on June 17, 1933.

sides, let the reader make his own judgement.

of our history and needed to be told.
lists events by date relating to many outlaws, including Nash.
artist Grace Knox.

82x 11 inches), postpaid. Paperback $15.00.

Mail your order to:

______ Copies Heritage of an Outlaw —
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____ Copies Heritage of an Outlaw —

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10% — $13.50

Frank Nash — Badman

HERITAGE OF AN OUTLAW
by Clyde C. Callahan and Byron B. Jones

Frank Nash and the Kansas City
Union Station Massacre

This is the story of Frank Nash, “perhaps the most successful bank robber in history.” It is the first full-length book devoted to Nash,
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Although the book centers on Nash, the authors provide much background on early Western outlaws including Jesse James and the
Daltons in the late 19th century to Pretty Boy Floyd, Al Spencer, Bonnie and Clyde and other early 20th century criminals.

As for Frank Nash, the authors tell his story from his birth in Birdseye, Ind., on Feb. 6, 1887 to his death in the Kansas City Union

Still, there's always the Jesse James syndrome. While a common criminal to most, Nash was a hero to others. The authors tell both

Frank Nash was a paradox in both life and death. Though he spent his life outside the law, in dying he did much to advance
law enforcement. After the Union Station Massacre, congress quickly passed long needed laws, giving the FBI authority to arm themselves
and to track the criminal wherever he fled. For the first time agents were able to meet force with force, fire power with fire power.
It was the beginning of the end of the rampant outlawry of the gangster era. All those who participated in the Union Station Massacre
were either killed or brought to justice; all the big time gangsters of the period met similar fates. None escaped. This is a part

Students of western outlaw history will find special interest in a chronology of events concerning outlaws in the back of the book. It

The book is illustrated with numerous photographs, diagrams, and photo copies of documents including two paintings by New Mexico

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|

Name

Address

City _ State Zip

Baslington ranch from himself to
Logan. He claimed he had bought and
paid for the ranch with his own money.
He insisted he had never sold any of
his land to his Uncle Frank.

Among the papers found in Logan’s
trunk were checks supposedly written
by D.R. Shively, the missing Addy
farmer, dated up until a few days be-
fore he “left for the East.’’ The
contents of that trunk convinced
Sheriff Graham that James Logan
was a clever mass murderer.

He was sure Logan had burned
Agnes Janson on a pile of logs and had
so effectively disposed of a neighbor-

ing farmer (Shively) that he was not
fearful of the body: ever being re-
covered. Logan believed that without
it there could be no corpus delicti for

. the prosecution.

The sheriff had Logan and Hilton
pose for photographs, which he mailed
up and down the Pacific Coast.

When the photograph of Logan ap-
peared in the Seattle Times, Deputy
Dehaven in Bellingham almost. jump-
ed out of his chair. He was looking
not at a picture of James Logan but at
the man he knew as Frank Roman-
dorff.

Until the Agnes Janson case was

55

st

TRUE

JAHSS, Frederick William, white, hanged ‘ashington SP (

A MASTER
fF MURDER

No one could count his victims
— for even he had forgotten!

By
CATHERINE HERGESHEIMER
Photo provided by author

IT IS not uncommon for one man
to disappear from a community of a
hundred people, but when two neigh-
bors disappear in one night, an invest-
igation is merited. In Maple Falls,
Washington in October 1906 this oc-
currence created quite a stir. Follow-
ing a storm that swept through the
valley, Frank Romandorff and James
Logan vanished from sight. The two
men had lived side by side on the
banks of the turbulent Nooksack
River. .

The disappearance might have been
laid to the storm had not a neighbor,
while poking around Logan’s place,
found his horse in the mud of the
barnyard, shot to death. An investiga-
tion followed the calling of Sheriff
Andrew Williams of Bellingham,
Whatcom County.

The neighbors thought Logan and
Romandorff were both mysterious. It
was, they said, not unusual for either
of the men to be away from home for
long periods of time.

Romandorff had come alone to
Maple Falls in the winter of 1903-4. He
was followed shortly by his son
Edward. A few months later, after he
had picked up a tax title farm on the
Nooksack, his wife and two daughters
arrived from Chicago.

Logan was a bachelor and had home-
steaded his place. Romandorff was
about fifty-five years old and Logan
was 10 years older.

The theory that the men had been
drowned had begun to break down
with the discovery of the horse in
Logan’s barnyard, and on November
15 Postmaster Strickfadden of Maple
Falls reported he had received a letter
from Logan postmarked Seattle, about

At right: House on the Hergesheimer
homestead where one murder was com-
mitted.

July, 1981

WEST

°

seventy-five miles distant. In the
letter Logan stated he was leaving
immediately for Ireland.

Why was Logan going to Ireland
in such a hurry? And what had

‘ become of Frank Romandorff? It was

learned they had quarreled over the
very horse found dead in Logan’s barn-
yard. Sheriff Williams had a suspicion
that murder had been committed. He
had no proof, however, that Roman-
dorff, or Logan, or neither was dead.
However, bearing on the matter of
the letter received by Strickfadden
from Logan, not long after he dis-

¥

Stevens) on April 21,

111.

appeared, one Frank Rankin filed a
deed by mail. The deed, mailed from
the Whatcom County Clerk, transfer-
red the Logan farm to Rankin. Rankin
stated he had paid $5,000 cash for the

farm. The signature on the deed was

the same as that on the letter from
Logan. Everything about the deal
seemed right and proper.

Three months after the disappear-
ance of Frank Romandorff his son
Ed got into trouble for selling a
mortgaged horse. This matter was

settled out of court and Ed Roman-
dorff disappeared from Maple Falls.

One year after the stormy night
when the two men had last been seen, a
hunter found a human leg bone in the
woodlot on the back of the Logan
farm. Inquiries were made of Logan’s
relatives in Ireland. They reported
that he never arrived there.

IN THE summer of 1906, a man who
called himself James Logan had visit-
ed several times in the vicinity of
Cedonia, on the Columbia River in
eastern Washington. He was looking


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for a farm, he said. That fall Logan
paid cash for the Baslington place, for
which he had been dickering. The
next spring he began work there with
two young farmhands, Ed Lewis and
Tennessee Tisth. From time to time
Logan bought more land from neigh-
bors and contracted for a large tract
from the state. He organized the
Cascade Land and Cattle Company,
and became well known as a shrewd
business man for fifty miles up and
down the river.

During that fall Logan struck an
acquaintance with D.R. Shively who
owned 180 acres of fine land near
Addy, in Stevens County. In February
1980, Shively confided in Al Weather-
man, Addy druggist, that he had just
about made a deal with a Chicagoan
for the sale of his farm. Logan was
arranging the sale.

“Logan is getting me a good price,”

said Shively. ‘‘When I get my money I ©

am going back East and see my folks.
Maybe I'll stay there.”

On March 1, Shively packed his be- _

longings in a big trunk and went to
Spokane to meet Logan and finish the
deal. On March 6 a deed was received
by the Stevens County Clerk at Col-
ville, Washington transferring the
Shively property to A. Herman of
Chicago. The deed seemed properly
witnessed and the clerk did not ques-
tion Shively’s signature.

However, after a few months,
friends and relatives of Shively began
writing letters of inquiry about him.
They were told he had sold and gone
East.

The farm which Shively sold to
Herman changed hands again that
summer. Through Logan, James
Monaghan of Spokane bought it for
$6,000 cash. The deed, duly witnessed
and signed by Herman, had been exe-
cuted before a notary by the name of
James Allen. Monaghan wondered
how Herman happened to be in Se-
attle, as shown on the notary seal,
instead of Chicago where he was sup-
posed to reside. Logan had given
distance as the reason for his handling
the sale on a commission basis.

LOGAN AND his hired hands,
Lewis and Tisth, batched at the
Baslington ranch. They had grown
more and more tired of their own
greasy cooking. One day the ‘‘old
man,” as the hands called Logan,
said he was going to get a house-
keeper if he had to go to Chicago for
one.

“I know a:lady there who would be

glad to come out for me,”’ said Logan.
“T’ll look around Spokane first. Maybe
I can find one of those German women

who have been coming over here in the

last few years.”
Logan had made friends with Fred

Schuelin, a German cigar store propri-
etor in Spokane. On a visit there in
August 1909 this man introduced him
to Mrs. Agnes Janson, a Bohemian
widow who had been in America only
a few months. By September she was
willing to listen to Logan’s pleas and
left the home of her friend, Mrs.
Margaret Aherns. She was to go to
the Baslington ranch and be house-
keeper for Logan and his hired men.

On an afternoon in October 1909,
three years almost to the day after
he disappeared from Maple Falls,
Logan took ‘Agnes Janson by -the
hand. Winking at Tisth he led her
into the parlor. The pair remained in
the room for some time. She came out
with a radiant look on her face and

' went to her own room where she began

f

to pack some clothes. When supper
was over she prepared a lunch for
traveling and packed it in a huge
wicker basket. Obviously the two were
intending to go ona long trip.

It was around midnight when Logan
ordered Lewis to hitch the big bay
mare and the little gray horse to the
hack. He announced: ‘‘We are going to
take the train at Blue Creek. I’ll send
the horses back with Johnny Cline.”

Assisting his “bride-to-be” to a seat
alongside himself, Logan cut across
the field and intersected the main road
a mile from his house. From there it
was probably twenty miles to Blue
Creek Station. |

On that same night Elmer, Ira, and
Charles Gifford, brothers from Gif-
ford, Washington, were hunting deer
in the area. They were camped about a
half-mile from the house on the
Hergesheimer homestead. It had been
unoccupied for several years. The
crackling of-a big fire awakened them
at dawn.

O.D. “Od” Taylor, a farmer living
about two miles from the Hergesheim-
er place, saw the fire when he went out

to his barn at six o'clock. He imme- .

diately saddled a horse and rode over
to investigate.

Beneath a hack, the back end of
which was filled with luggage, Logan
slept soundly. ‘‘What are you doing
here?”’ Taylor asked after he had
wakened the sleeper.

“I was taking my housekeeper to the
railway station at Blue Creek when
one of the horses got the colic and
I came up here to bleed him,”’ said
Logan. “I meta fellow on the bridge
in the valley, and since she didn’t want
to miss her train, she went on with
him.”’

Taylor left but returned to the

Hergesheimer ranch at midday. Logan ~

was still sleeping under the hack, but
had moved it a short way up the’
mountainside. The fire was still burn-
ing briskly.

The Gifford brothers did not get

True West

Baa Pe Foie ARE

‘ hoodlums
their way

'H|

in white mantle
ngton, as though
rast and starting
d there the wind
ring the coating
th walking and
‘re on the streets
red out to brave

‘e was the mid-
banking hours.
at the moment,
s three assistants
Kenneth Kohles

‘ee men stepped
them. One, who
wed-off shotgun,
others stepped
cs. One covered
Davis’ desk and
they’re told and
move and we'll

d said: “Do just

told the tellers,

death shot wrote
waiting gallows.

for the —
NT } BYS

“line up with your faces to the wall. Hands at your

sides. Stay that way—and keep still.”
Obedience was instantaneous. The bandit went on:

‘“We know all about your fancy police alarm. If anyone

pulls it before wé leave the bank, you’re all dead ducks!”
He then gave his attention to Davis. He was forced
at gun-point to go to the tellers’ cages. The robber

’ produced a canvas bag and ordered Davis to fill it with

currency. “And make it snappy!” he added.
There was no alternative, so Davis promptly complied.
The job was nearly. done when the man. with the
sawed-off shotgun called from the door: ‘“There’s a guy
wants in. What do I do about it?” ‘
Without a glance at the door the leader said: “Let

TAN

him’ in and keep him quiet. It won’t be long now.”
Then to Davis: “Shake it up, Big Boy, while you got
a chance.’ I’m telling you, you'll soon be dead if you
fumble it.”

A moment later the job was finished. The leader
ordered Davis to crawl under his desk and stay there.
“Stick your head out, and it’s bang-bang for you! Every-
body stay just where you are for the next five minutes,
or we’ll come back and clean house.”

: Both. gunmen ‘backed quickly to the door and all
three stepped outside, leaped into their waiting car and
sped away. ;

‘After what seemed like an age to the bank employes,
Davis cautiously raised his head, crept from under the

yt * Sea

Rita Ma ay
ever
py Sybyhed i

i
it


See

desk, pulled the police alarm and turned to the tellers.
“All clear now,” he said. “They’ve gone. Everybody

all right?”
They were, except for the fright that had left them
trembling. ‘

One said: “I heard a muffled sound a while ago. Did
they shoot-outside? Sounded’ like it.”

Others had heard the sound but knew nothing about it.

The bandits apparently had known of the special
police alarm that meant “Bank Robbery” which the
department had installed for just such emergencies, but
they had boldly laid their plans and, so far, had carried
them out. Possibly they did not know how strategically
the police had- planned to automatically bottle up the
bandits against escape. ‘ ‘

As soon as the alarm rang, the two-way radio warned
all prowl cars: “Bank robbery. Take your stations and
wait for orders.” Every prowl car driver had been
drilled in just what to do in order to close every highway
leading out of the city in jig time. With their radios
open, they’ raced to their stations. ;

While this was in progress squad cars rushed to the
bank bearing Inspector Frank Keenan, Detective Cap-
tain James McCarry, Detectives George Sexsmith, Perry
Gamble, A. H. Bettinger, George McConnell and Finger-
print Expert Al Jordan. ;

Teletype operators were busy keeping precinct sta- ,

tions and shefiffs’ offices abreast of the situation. The
police plan had enlisted the co-operation of the officers
at Fort George Wright and arranged that, following
such an alarm, a plane would be sent up to locate and

report any car speeding from the city. The plan was
complete on the ground and in the air.

Each police officer reaching the bank knew exactly
what he was expected to do. Some questioned those
now gathering in the street, others were trying to get
descriptions of the bandits. A direct line from the bank
was opened to Headquarters so that information could
be relayed as soon as received, then radioed to the
prowl cars.

Sexsmith had been busy getting descriptions of the

robbers and now phoned them to Headquarters to be

broadcast. The one who appeared to be the leader was
about five-feet-ten, had light hair, wore a gray suit and
a gray hat, was about 25 years old, and was armed with
a heavy automatic. Another, about 30 years old, wore a
brown suit and brown hat and carried a nickel-plated
revolver. The door guard who carried a sawed-off
shotgun and a revolver was dressed in black. He was
about five-feet-six, stocky in build and around 25
years ‘old.

Immediately the descriptions went on the radio and
the teletype to all enforcement officers. Events had
moved quickly, and the prospect of an early arrest
was bright. : ‘

ETTINGER, interviewing folks on the street, came

across an important bit of information. He found
a woman who had been passing the bank just as the
robbers left. Realizing what was taking place, she had
taken a good look at the fleeing car and had written
down the license-plate numbers. She was taken inside,
where she gave the information to Sexsmith. She said
the car was a green Oldsmobile sedan, and produced
a bit of paper on which she had recorded the license.

“I saw three masked men run out and I knew what
it meant. They jumped into the,car and didn’t even look
at me as I wrote down the number. I’m sure it’s right,”
she told Sexsmith.

This information was flashed to Headquarters to be

radioed to Fort George Wright. A plane took off at once
to try to spot the car while messages were being sent
to sheriffs and the State Patrol. Sexsmith then called
the License Bureau to check and report the ownership
of the number.
- Bank employes were questioned further in an effort
to glean the last vestige of available information. The
bandits’ faces had been covered with handkerchiefs so
their features were not seen and their hats had been
drawn low over their eyes. But a peculiarity of speech
of the leader had been noticed by the tellers. It was
an impediment not easily described, but one employee
thought he might possibly identify the man if he heard
him speak again. It was little enough to go on, but the
best they could do.

The bandits evidently had planned everything with
the greatest attention to detail, leading the officers to
feel that they were dealing with experienced robbers
who knew how to get in, get the cash and get out again
in a surprisingly short time. Kase

“There was one other thing,” Davis:said. “Just about
the time they were ready to leave,,somebody came to
the door. The leader said; ‘Let him in and keep him
quiet.’ I suppose he went out with the others, but I
couldn’t be sure.”

One of the tellers reminded Davis of the sound that
had sounded like a muffled shot. “Yes,” Davis said, “we

REFLECTION— :

As Herbert Allen knots his tie, does he think of the

hangman's noose that he just escaped? He got life.
& *

heard some
sounded mc
the bank.”
“But wha
man?” Sexs
an said only
left in the
around. Th
shot inside.”
There see
man could
the- room a
sound came
from the ent
short, listen
peated. He
was unlocke
Inside a ma
‘floor, a poo
Davis rar
William Wa
bank!”
Sexsmith
lance. Tell °
his attentio
happened?”
Painfully,
his story a |
he was -the
restaurant a
on business.
had taken }
shot. him in
idea who tl
It seemed
had shot Wa
identity fron
victim was }
ting weaker,
more as the
The ambu
wounded mz
He told Sex
way. The bi
below the st
pends on ho
give you a1
too much.”

EXSMIT!

to quest

A call came
Headquarte)
plates. The)
sedan, but \
his car yest«
“Good!” S$
got other pl
ditch that c
know their
before they :
He got P:
he’d ‘go righ
he drove to
questioned h
“Sure the
“Yes, I cle
were there |

_ house last n
noticing the

The plan was

x knew exactly
uestioned those
re trying to get
> from the bank
formation could
radioed to the

criptions of the
dquarters to be
' the leader was
a gray suit and
was armed with
ears old, wore a
a nickel-plated
ed a sawed-off
black. He was
and around 25

nn the radio and
‘rs. Events had

an early arrest
@

the street, came
ation. He found
bank just as the
ig place, she had
and had written
was taken inside,
xsmith. She said
in, and produced
rded the license.
and I knew what
{ didn’t even look
n sure it’s right,”

radquarters to be
ie took off at once
were being sent
smith then called
srt the ownership

rther in an effort
information. The
handkerchiefs so
ir hats had been
‘uliarity of speech
1e tellers. It was
but one employee
e man if he heard
to go on, but the

i everything with
ing the officers to
perienced robbers
and get out again

; said. “Just about
somebody came to
in and keep him
the others, but I

of the sound that
s,” Davis said, “we

2s he think of the
ped? He got life.

<Piteatabne pi

*,

heard something like that, but it
sounded more like it was outside
the bank.”

“But what happened to the other -
man?” Sexsmith asked.. “The wom-
an said only three men ran out and
left in the car. Let’s have a look
around. That’ could have been a
shot inside.”

There seemed no place where a * He
man could hide, but as they gave 4
the. room a careful going over, a
sound came from a vault not far
from the entrance. Sexsmith stopped
short, listened. The sound was re-
peated. He tried the vault door. It
was unlocked, and it opened freely.
Inside a.man was writhing on the
‘floor, a pool of blood beside him.

Davis ran to the door. ‘That’s
William Walker, a customer of the
bank!”

Sexsmith said: “Call an ambu-
lance. Tell ’em to hurry.” He gave
his attention to Walker. ‘What
happened?” i :

Painfully, the stricken man gave
his story a little at a time: He said
he was-the proprietor of a nearby
restaurant and had come to the bank
on business. The man at the door’
had taken him into the vault and
shot him in the. back. He had no
idea who the man was.

It seemed obvious that the guard
had shot Walker to prevent his own
identity from being discovered. The
victim was bleeding freely and get-
ting weaker, unable to say anything
more as the ambulance arrived.

The ambulance doctor looked the
wounded man over, shook his head.

THE KNAPP BROTHERS—
Of a respectable family, these two, Le Roy (at left) and Stanley, lost

He told Sexsmith: “He’s in a bad their lives through their wild ways and their yen for "real big dough.”

way. The bullet hit him in the back

below the shoulder. His chance de- —
pends on how far it entered and where it lodged. We'll
give you a report as soon-as possible, but don’t expect
too much.” ;

SS enpagpemsinry sent a detective along with the ambulance
to question Walker more fully when he was able.
A call came then for Sexsmith. The desk’ sergeant at
Headquarters told him: “We've got a line on the license
plates. They were issued to Virgil Paist for his Chevvy
sedan, but we phoned him and he says they were on
his car yesterday and he hadn’t missed them.”
“Good!” Sexsmith exclaimed. “But they’ve probably

got other plates and will change them. Maybe they’ll

ditch that car. and steal another one. They seem to
know their way around. Our chance is to grab them
before they make a change.” ‘

He got’ Paist’s address from the sergeant and said
he’d ‘go right out there. Taking Keenan and McCarry,

he drove:to the place where Paist was employed and

questioned him. ra oe
“Sure the plates were there yesterday?” a
“Yes, I cleaned up the car yesterday afternoon. They
were there then. I left the car parked in front of fhe

,.. house last night, and this morning I drove off without
» noticing the plates.” + i .

Stealing plates from a car parked over night on the
street could be done without attracting much attention,
but it seemed worth a trip to the section to see what
the neighbors might say.

The officers drew a blank at the first stop and at the
next one. Then they found a woman who said she went
to pull down the blinds along toward midnight and
happened to see a couple of fellows “fooling around”
the rear of Paist’s car which was parked across the
street.

“Did they have a car?” Sexsmith asked.

“Yes, a Ford coupe. I even wrote down the license
number. I don’t like folks snooping around the neigh-
borhood, and I thought they were up to some mischief,
so I just wrote the number down in ‘case something
came.of it.”

She produced a slip of paper and handed it to Sex-
smith. “That’s the number, and I’m sure I got it right.”

That was a better break than they. expected to get and
Sexsmith immediately called the license bureau to have
the identification traced. The net seemed to be closing in.
All highways had been blocked and no word from the
fugitive car had been received. The bandits must still
be in the ¢ity, and it should be only a matter of time

. before they were taken. Their (Continued on page 54)

ey oe eee.


here as soon.as he gets the.slug.”

Sis eS

ERS OAM SS aA
baa:

DETECTIVE

descriptions had been broadcast, and
detectives had been stationed at all
railroad and bus terminals to head off
sscape. All outbound cars were held
“po and searched and all occupants
identified and accounted for.

HE officers drove back to the bank

to see what more could be learned
there. A call from Desk Sergeant
Hogan was awaiting Sexsmith’s ar-
rival. Hogan said: “We’ve found the
green Oldsmobile stuck in a snowdrift
out on Providence Street. It had been
abandoned before a squad car got out
there.”

“Good work. We’ll be there right
away. Anything else?”

“Yes, we've got the identification
of that Ford coupe. It was issued to
Oscar Mackling.”

“What’s his address?”

The sergeant gave the address and

- Sexsmith wrote it down.

Sexsmith’s car raced out to Prove-
dence Street. The driver of the green
car had evidently tried to take a sharp
turn too fast and the car had skid-
ded and stuck in the snow bank. Two
squad cars were standing by, and
some of the officers from them were
canvassing the neighborhood for
traces of the bandits. ;

“Did all three get away?” Sexsmith
asked of an officer guarding the aban-+
doned car.

“There was only one in the car
when it got here. A woman over
there,”—he nodded toward a white
house across the street—‘“says she
saw the whole thing. She said there
was only one man in it. He tried to
back out again, but the road was icy
and he couldn’t make it. He left
right away?”

“Did she see where he went?”

“Yeah, and that’s a funny thing,
too. He went into that little church.
But the boys looked it over as soon
as they got here and there’s: nobody
there.”

Sexsmith nodded. “The others
dropped off along the way and are
holed up by this time.”

He went over and examined the
church. There were wet places on
the floor where snow had. melted, and
they led to a rear door which was un-
locked. The man had gone right
through the church and walked off
without being noticed. Sexsmith went
back to his car.

“All right, boys, keep up the search.
I'll get some more men out here to
help, and maybe we’ll find someone
who saw the mug leave the church.
Better have the area searched for two
or three miles in every direction. This
guy is either hitting the road on foot
or hunting a hideout in town. I'l] go
over and see if I can get to a tele-
phone.”

He put through a call to Hogan, told
what he had learned at the spot and
ordered more men out to help in the
search. “Anything new?” he asked.

Hogan said: “Yes, Gamble just
called up and said that Walker died
without saying anything. He’ll be

DEATH FOR BYSTANDER

Continued from page 43

“Have him give it to ballistics right
away and we’ll soon know which one
fired the shot. Give me the engine
number of Mackling’s car. . We're
going out there now.”

ORDAN had arrived now and was

waiting till Sexsmith was through
with the bandit’s car. “Can I have it
now?” he asked. “I’ll want to have it
towed to the garage where I can work
on it. Maybe there are prints, maybe
not. These fellows seem to know all
the tricks.”

“Sure, take it along. Hope you find
something.” Sexsmith turned to
Keenan and McCarry. ‘“We’d better
follow up this Mackling lead now.
Let’s go.’ ,

When they reached the Mackling
home, Sexsmith got out and rang the
door bell. A young man nearly six
feet tall opened the door. Sexsmith
asked; “Are you Mr. Mackling?”

“No, Mr. Mackling hasn’t got home
yet.”

“I suppose you're his son?”

“No, he’s my uncle. My name’s
Stanley Knapp. - I’ve been visiting
him here a while. If you havea
message you’d like to leave for him
I’ll deliver it, or you can wait if you
like. He drives a truck, and might
be along any minute.”

Sexsmith said: “I’ve got a lot of
other calls to make. uppose you
give me the address of the’ firm he
drives for and I’ll stop at the garage.”

The young man gave the address of
the garage. Sexsmith turned away,
drove around the block and waited
for the other officers, who had not
gone to the door with him.

When they joined him he said,
“There’s nobody at home but Mack-
ling’s nephew. He’s a tall young
buck and had on one of the loudest
colored sports jackets I’ve seen. Mack-
ling’s a trucker, and we’ll go down to
the company’s garage and wait for
him. The kid said he’d be due in a
short time.”

Inspector Keenan said; “This young
guy could be one of the robbers. How
old is he?”

“Oh, between twenty-five and thir-
ty, ‘say about five-feet-ten. He might
be one of them, at that. I was turn-
ing it over in my mind as I talked
with him. Maybe we'd better call up
and have a couple of the boys stake
out the place while we look into it. If
he’s hot, he might make a break.”

They stop on the way and put
through the call. Sexsmith’ said:
“Tell ’em.if we’re not back in an hour

they can call it off.”

They arrived at the garage and found
Mackling.

Sexsmith asked Mackling: “Where
were you between eleven and twelve
o’clock today?”

“Why, over at Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.
Why?” —

ing the question for a moment

Sexsmith said: “I suppose you can

prove it?” ‘
“Prove it? I certainly. can. All
you’d have to do isto phone the cus7

‘tomer | 1’ delivering, to .at that.

r

time.” He gave the customer’s name.

Sexsmith put through the call, and
Mackling’s story was promptly veri-
fied. He had been there from 11 o’clock
until a little after 12 o’clock.

Sexsmith returned to the group
and reported Mackling in the clear.
Then he asked who had been using
his car between 11 o’clock and mid-
night of the day before.

Mackling shook his head “Nobody.
It was in my garage all evening. I
didn’t go to bed till after midnight,
so I’m sure. It_ was still there this
morning when I started out. Say,
what’s all the rumpus about my car,
anyway? It’s registered, and I haven’t
been in an accident or anything.
What’s cookin’?”

“I guess you haven’t heard,” Sex-
smith said, but the Security State
Bank was robbed this morning just
before noon. The car the robbers used
wasn’t yours, but it carried stolen li-
cense plates.” :

“My license plates?” 4

“No, not yours. But a car, a Ford
coupé, with your plates, was seen
parked beside the car from which the
plates were stolen between eleven and
twelve last night. Now how do you
account for that?” e °

“Well, I can’t account for it. Some- |

body must have misread the numbers.
It couldn’t have been my car.”

The detectives had struck an un-
expected snag. If the car had not been
out of the garage somebody, certainly,
had made a mistake, yet the woman

who had reported the number seemed’
.positive she was right.

As they started away Sexsmith
said: “Let’s go back and see if any-
body near Mackling’s place heard a
car go out.”

They drove back to the neighbor-
hood and questioned everyone likely
to have seen or heard the car go out.
Nobody had. One man said: “My
bedroom window faces right on the
driveway and I sat there reading
until after midnight. There wasn’t
a sound out there,’ and they couldn't
have moved the car without my hear-

ag fot

ejectedly the detectives returned
to Headquarters and reported to
Chief. Martin.

“Well,” the chief said, looking up
as they entered, “what progress have
you made?”

Sexsmith shook his head “Ab-
solutely none. We’ve run down every
lead and we’re just where we started
from. They all fizzled out: When we
got the license number of the car, we
thought we had something. The kill-
ers ditched it in a snowbank. There
was only one man in it then, and he
got away before we found the car.
The car didn’t have a clear#finger-
print on it. The woman who took the
number of Mackling’s car must have
made a mistake. Anyway, Mackling
was-over in Coeur d’Alene at the time
of the robbery. We've checked and
he’s, in the clear.” : t

“How, about. checking ‘with the
woman again. Maybe she'll think
of. something.

Perhaps. she trans- -

_ posed the

mistake to

Keenan s
and she s:
make a mis
she wrote i:
the numbe
we've gotn
Ford coupe
into every
near it. It
we've got

. With all the

the descrip:
We're sim;
now.”

T was a

stead of
detectives
determinat)
before any!
living abou
came acros

ing in a ro

over to the
a report of

~all daw-en

area, and 1
of Sexsmit
Foremost
parent esc
one of who
gun. It se
gun found
same one.

* leaving to

and surely
weapon wi
pass withc
Headquart:
smith was
wired the
physical fe
what outle’
He was «
turn wire.
been _ solc
Spokane.
investig
tectives
Sears-Roet
manager.
“We are
ship of a s
informed
store.” He
of paper wv
make of th:
roa record o
at partic
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“Indian HARRY, aioe Metiac, vashington, 3-20-2187

ae ee py a 2 g

. vi: Memo From: sea ESPY

‘C/O LAW LIBRARY —:— P. 0.:BOX 6205 —:— UNIVERSITY, AL. 35486
bs ee ae PHONE (205) 848-5025

- EXEQUTION 0: OF AN INDIAN cacao AT PORT MADISON, WASE.=

"The execution of Indian any. for the mer of a Bella
Bella Indian on June 22, 1873, at Port Gamble, Wash,., took
place at Port Madison, Washe, on March 20, 18 Since
way his, sentence, Harry has manifested the most stoical ine
~-“ @ifference to his fate, begging of Sheriff Williams to
give him a new white shirts and black pants, and to invite
«, “hiyu Boston Cloochmen! to witness his exit to the happy
. “ hunting grounds, At 10X o'clock our reporter interviewed
Y | se Harry, whom he found smoking his pipe after a hearty break-
oo” fast, and seemingly very proud of his new shirt, pants and
shoes in which he had just arrayed himself, He said, in
course of conversation, that he had killed two Bella Bella
Indians and one Hydah, but that he had never killed a white
_Man, although he knew of the mrder of two by his friends
we).2 in his own country; he expressed himself as having a ;
-.. “shookum tumtumt and being ready to die, At 12:h5 PM,
Harry was brought from his cell and seated on the scaffold
which had been erected in front of the entrance to the
jail, The collected crowd of p rhaps 200 Indians and near-
~ ly as many whites, were perfectly quiet and orderly, evi-
.. dently appreciating the solemn spectacle, At 12:50, Harry |.
“was placed on the drop, when he addressed the assemblage ink’
Chinook, saying the had lived a long time and traveled
mich, but had never realézed the meaning of death until
then; that he thought the present a proper occasion, and
the time a suitable one, and that he had a 'skookum tumtun! |...
and was ready to die,! The cap and noose were then adjust-|
ed by an attendant, when the doomed man requested that they
. Might be removed, which was done, when Harry said, tall
tillicums, goodbyets; then, thrnning to the Sheriff, said:
~ fall right, Mr, Williams', Then, the cap and noose being
« readjusted, the Sheriff touched the lever, the drop fell,
JS! and the penalty of the law was executed, The fall evi-
su dently dislocated the neck of the criminal, as he never
CAE moved afterwards, At 1:05 the pulse ceased to beat, and at}icwsibo. 2
1320 the body was lowered into the coffin and short Ly after4.
-wards buried," Quoting Seattle Intelligencer, 3-21-187))
OLYMPIA TRANSCRIPT, . Harch 28, 187, page 2.


"On Saturday, June 21st,1873, at Port Gamble, Washe, three
Northern Indians were seen going to the woods together,
and afterwards but two returning, caused a suspicion of
two Indians were arrested, One of then,
s confessed that his companion had mr-
dered the third Indian and conducted a party to the spot
in the woods where the body was concealed, The object of
the crime seems to have been to obtain seven or eight
dollars which the mrdered man possessed, The murderer
himself aftamwards confessed, not only to this murder,
but “that he had committed three others, one a white man,
The prisoners were sent to Port Madison and lodged in jail

to await the action of the district court,"
! t

OLYMPIA TRANSCRIPT, Olympia, Washington, June 27, 1873

2


HAWKINS, Clifford, white, hange

BY JACK VAN CLUTE

N Sheriff Pat McCarthy’s files for February, 1937, ap-

peared a report of a Pelton wheel missing from a machine

shop in Mount Vernon, county seat of Skagit County,

Washington. Inasmuch as it was only a routine report
of a petty theft job, deputies started out with the idea of
finding:the missing piece of property, arresting the thief and
closing the files as quickly as possible.

As quickly as possible! Little did any of the officers re-
alize when they started out to run down that lost wheel just
what they were getting into.

First, Sheriff McCarthy had his men make the rounds of
local wrecking yards, then of near-by towns including Bur-
lington and Sedro Woolley to ‘the northeast. The search
went on for weeks but no Pelton wheel turned up. Then
deputies broadened the search to include more outlying com-
munities, some of which were in remote sections of the
county.. And finally, some four months later, the officers
succeeded in running onto a bit of information which pointed
to the Grimm farm, a forty-acre tract at Sauk, forty-two

‘miles east of Mount Vernon, as the place to direct the search.

Accordingly Sheriff McCarthy, armed with a search war-
rant, went to the Grimm home and interviewed members of
the family, including Mrs. Ethel Grimm, 54-year-old widow;
her children, Jay, twenty-four; Earl, fifteen; Roy, ten, and
daughter, Edith, twelve. Three other sons, Floyd, twenty-
one, whose genial disposition had earned for him the nick-
name of “Sonny,” Ernest, twenty-nine, and Howard, twenty-
six, were absent, the latter being at Acme, a small com-
munity several miles away.

Sauk is a small place in a “cut-over” section of the county,
a section that has been logged off, leaving most of the hill-
sides in stumps, second-growth pines, brush, briars and
brakes, a species of fern indigenous to most of .western Wash-
ington. Residents of the Sauk community are pretty much
on their own and have to resort to no little initiative. Hence
the Sheriff was not surprised to find a home-made machine
shop on the Grimm farm. And, due to the tip that he had
received, neither was he surprised to find the missing Pelton
wheel in back of the shop. However, when he began to
question the family, no one seemed to know much about
the wheel, particularly as to how it came to be there. But
the officer persisted until finally one member of the family
came out with a suggestion.

“You might ask the Finn about it, Sheriff. Maybe he'll
know.”

“The Finn! Who’s he?” McCarthy demanded.

“Qh, he’s Clifford Hawkins, a young fellow who’s been stay-
ing here to help out on the farm. You'll find him out around
the barn,” Mrs. Grimm replied.

The Sheriff went out to the stable and found the Finn,
a squarely-built, 25-year-old fellow with a cordially frank
manner indicative that he was anxious to help clear up the
petty theft case, even though his information might involve
a member of the Grimm family. ;

“That Pelton wheel? Well, Sheriff, it was like this: Sonny
—that is, Floyd Grimm—brought it here quite a while back.
Said that he had bought it somewhere down around Mount
Vernon.”

“All right then,'he’s the man I want to see,”
Sheriff. “Where’s Sonny?”

“Qh, he’s not here now. He went to California to look for
work. Left some time last March for Los Angeles.”

The reply was prompt, so very prompt that it made the
Sheriff wonder. Did the Finn have something to do with
bringing the wheel on the place and was he now trying to
evade the issue by shifting the blame onto an absent member
of the family? But that was his story, and before McCarthy
left him, it was repeated three times. Sonny was the only

66

replied the

Wash, (“kagit) 2/23/1938...

one who knew where that wheel came from and Sonny was
now in California.

McCarthy returned to the house and re-questioned the
family, this time bearing down on Sonny’s whereabouts. Yes,
everyone knew that Sonny was in California, but no one
knew just exactly where he might be in the Southland.

“You see, Sheriff, none of us knew when he left,” one of
the group volunteered. “He suddenly decided to go, then
pulled out one evening without telling us just where he would
land in California, though we all figured it would be some-
where down around Los Angeles to look for work. And he
hasn’t written yet.”

In the eyes of the Sheriff that made things look pretty bad
for Sonny. And yet— .

Despite the story, the apparent eagerness of those con-
cerned answering questions and their willingness to help clear
up the petty theft case, Sheriff McCarthy could not help
feeling that something was being kept from him. Just what
it might be, and who was holding out and why, he could not
guess. It did not seem probable that Sonny would suddenly
clear out just because he may have been mixed up in the
theft of a second-hand piece of machinery worth only a few
dollars at most. Perhaps he had not left after all. He might
be lying low, waiting for the affair to blow over, the Sherifi
concluded.

When McCarthy said good-by to the family, he pretended
that he believed every word he had heard. But he did no!
return directly to his office. Instead, he again called on
some of the Sauk neighbors, this time asking them what they
knew about Sonny’s whereabouts. He was a little disap:
pointed to hear the same story, namely, that Sonny had gon
south last March arid never returned. How did the neigh-
bors know? Well, come right down to it, that was the wor
that had come from the Grimm household.

“And Ernest Grimm, Sonny’s older brother—he left. fo:
California, too, a few months ahead of Sonny,” one neighbor
added, “Think it was in December of last year. At least ii

Terese De lect Masaki

Mov. LL GF


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surely was some time during the latter part of last year.”

December, 1936! That was two months prior to the re-
port of the missing Pelton wheel, or long before it had been
stolen. Why had Ernest headed south two months before
the petty theft occurred, the Sheriff wondered.

MeCarthy checked more and learned the same thing from
other neighbors. Ernest Grimm had gone south at least two
wonths ahead of his brother, Sonny. And then, in further
casual conversation McCarthy heard an interesting suggestion.

“You might talk to the Finn, Sheriff.”

“T did, but he’s already told me that Sonny’s gone south,”

“Yes, more’n likely. But what I was drivin’ at is Well,
you see, since Roy Grimm, the father of the family, died
last June, the Finn’s sort of been head man around the place
and has taken over most of the responsibilities. And, of
course, you know there’s a cute little, brown-eyed girl there—
little Edith. Well, the Finn says she’s his sweetheart!”

“What! He says that that little girl is his sweetheart!
Why, she’s only a kid. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Can’t help it, Sheriff. The young one may be only twelve
or thirteen years old, but just the same, the Finn’s been
actin’ mighty sweet to her ever since he hit the farm.”

THAT sounded too absurd to be believable. Yet, in sparse-

settled districts each resident generally knows his neigh-
bor. Perhaps this was only a bit of neighborhood gossip, yet
it set McCarthy to thinking on a new line. Sauk is a rather
solated district, though by no means a backwoods, hill-billy
vountry where child sweethearts and child brides might be
iound. The Sheriff had noticed Edith when he ealled on the
Grimm family that forenoon, She had appeared to be a
diffident, shy, little girl, certainly not one over-developed
physically» Just a normal appearing, healthy country girl;
snd cute, too, with rosy cheeks, brown eyes, a glint of burn-
shed gold in her hair, and a naiveté that bespoke her tender
years,

However, MeCarthy had questioned the family once. His

deputies, he felt inclined to view the Finn’s admission in a
charitable light. Perhaps this “sweetheart” affair was only
a big brother gesture on his part. Apparently he had in-
gratiated himself with every member of the Grimm family ;
in fact to all “ppearances, he was now the head of the house.

The following day the Sheriff dropped around by the
Grimm home to inquire if anyone had heard from Sonny since
the day before. No one had. Strolling about until he got
Clifford Hawkins to one side, the Sheriff asked if it were
likely that Sonny would write to him rather than to mem-
bers of the family,

“It’s very likely,” the Finn responded. “You see, I came

to lean on me quite a little, and I’m glad of it. Fact is, the
boys have become quite confidential with me, and I’ve always
had a brotherly interest. in Iidith. I’ve helped her with her
school work, even bought presents for her—” :

“But that’s all personal,” McCarthy interrupted. “I want
to know more about Sonny.” ;

“But I’ve told you all I know about him. He left hurried-
ly for California dast March. Ernest left 2 few months ahead

6]

hans eats

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aE EIR

68 True Detective M ystertes
Hh of him. And I’ve never heard from either of them since.” only neighborhood gossip. Was there any truth behind it? &

I. i And that was as far as the law could get in learning just The next day McCarthy conferred with Prosecuting At-

Yet it did seem odd that none of the Grimm family had seen following the conference Welts, Reverend Lund and Finson
i Sonny or Ernest depart, nor had heard from them since they drove up to Sauk, took Edith out of a class at school and had
left. And with the father dead, it did not seem probable a talk with her.

that the older boys would pick up and leave home, and then Edith was a bright little girl, as her class records showed. ké
hot write a word to the folks. When reminded of this, Mrs. At first she talked freely, and then a little guardedly. Gentle a
ee Grimm admitted that it did seem a little strange. questioning became even more sympathetic until finally the

But since Sonny and Ernest left, we’ve had such a hard awful truth came out. The heartbreaking story need not be
time making ends meet that we haven’t given the two boys repeated here. Suffice it to say that the Finn had resorted
much thought,” she explained. “Just came to accept their to the wiles and insidious inducements of a slimy, human
-absence as a matter of course and carried on without them, snake, had used them upon the little girl, and then, through

e have to work hard here, and I’ve felt right along that the _ these Same means and mental intimidations, had finally sue-
boys would write just as soon as they found work down ceeded in seducing her, However, but little of this as far as
south and had a little money to send us.” any charges against the Finn were concerned, was in the

Back at the office McCarthy had a conference with his words of the girl as she told the story haltingly, half un-
deputies. The result was another eall on the Grimm neigh- suspectingly, her large brown eyes gazing from one man to
bors. To a man, not one of the neighbors had seen Sonny the other. She was a brave little girl who had been through
or Ernest leave, not one had heard them say that they were a horrible experience. The very awfulness of it all had to be
going to California. read between the lines for she did not understand the sig-

“The more we check on that petty theft job, the more nificance of what she told. And she appeared not to blame
it appears to me that the Finn is the one who last saw Sonny the Finn. To her, hé had been and still was, a “sweetheart;”
and Ernest Grimm,” McCarthy told his men. “I want you to her listeners he was a human rat most clever in the re-
fellows to take turns hunting and fishing around that neck sourceful means he had used to cover his tracks and in the
of the woods up there and see if any word comes through shrewd, insidious way he had gone about placing responsi-
from Sonny or Ernest, or if they show up unexpectedly.” bility on his innocent victirn,

The trio of officers listened with bated breath, then told

N relays, the deputies fished and hunted and smoked; also Edith that she might return to her class. As she skipped

casually passed the time of day with the Grimm family toward the schoolhouse, the officers hurried out to her home

and the Finn, and learned nothing new. The family told and confronted Mrs. Grimm and Hawkins with the awful
the same story, the Finn told the same story and Sonny and Story. At first too aghast to speak, the mother finally found
Ernest were still gone. her tongue, then fairly boiled over at the report and declared whee]
“Tf that Finn knows so much about the family, then I that it was absolutely false. Edith was her own little daugh- Finn :
can’t help but feel that he is stalling us, probably passing the ter, just a mere child. Sonny
buck, trying to shift the blame on Sonny,” McCarthy told And the Finn was equally vehement in his denials. But
his deputies. “We're going to check the neighbors again, and “Why, the very idea of such a thought! Illicit relations about
this time we’re going to ask them very pointedly about the with little Edith—why I could punch somebody’s nose for the co
Finn,” |", even thinking such a thing. Say, if Edith said anything like would
The Sheriff and his deputies set out, and this time, after that, then she didn’t know what she was talking about, “Radi
they had called on the third neighbor, the case abruptly or else she was afraid of you. That’s what!” He fumed and now.
changed from lukewarm to hot. . paced about. : prove ;
“So that Finn’s tryin’ to be a big brother to little Edith, “And furthermore, such a thing’s impossible, Edith’s too I’ve al
is he?” said one out of the corner of his mouth. “Well, now young to realize what she said,” Mrs. Grimm defended. “Oh, h Tec
understand I’m not gossipin’ ’bout my neighbors, but that of course, she likes Clifford, but I’m sure that’s all there is to when t]
bird, Cliff Hawkins, is a man grown, while Edith—wel] she’s it. And I ¢an’t—I won’t believe anything else,” an amo:
just a little girl, And I’m thinkin’, and so do a lot of the Nevertheless, the officers brought Hawkins to Mount Ver- suspect
other neighbors, as you’d find if they’d think right out loud, non and lodged him in jail to think things over while a statu- Fe was
that the Finn’s takin’ advantage of the little girl’s age. You tory charge was slapped on him. But what did he care about Days
know, he must have knocked round a bit, so it Wouldn’t be a statutory charge? All the accusations were lies; he’d prove by with
hard for him to overawe the little girl in her innocence. If it to everybody as soon as he got in court. And he hoped and no
you think he isn’t tellin’ you the truth ’bout Sonny, then you — he’d get in court soon, so that he could get back to the Grimm on sever
might try scarin’ it out of him by jumpin’ on him ’bout Edith!” farm and help the family again, to the F
This was a new angle and the Sheriff .thought it worth fol- “Looks as though we’re getting side-tracked about that Grimm
lowing up. But he realized that it would be useless to put damned Pelton wheel,” a deputy reminded the Sheriff. As th
the question squarely to the Finn, for after all, this was “Maybe so. And then again it may turn out to be a Way it f
three me
Sheriff Pat McCarthy (left) solved one of the most ruthless crimes on record in ms “So he
Washington. (Below) The Sheriff inspects a shallow grave with Richard Welts, Sheriff's ;
Skagit County Prosecuting Attorney (left); Jay Grimm, brother of the missing came a ti
men (second from right); and Lester Finsen, Under-sheriff (extreme right) obviously
’ “Boys,
nounced
Granville
Jerry (;

age. Morr
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little plan
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Jerry and }
it all, Jerr
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Washington’s Enigma of Missing Men

Skagit County Courthouse (right)
at Mount Vernon, Washington,
where the double killer was con-
victed after a_ sensational trial

Wheel of fate after all,” McCarthy replied. “Now if that
Finn would only loosen up and tell us something more about
Sonny and Ernest—”

But the Finn would not. Day. after day he talked casually
about everything else. But whenever deputies tried to steer
the conversation around to the missing brothers, the Finn
would close like a clam.

“Eedith’s brothers are out of sight and out of mind right
now. All that worries me, all that I want, is a chance to
prove that I’ve never betrayed Edith. Why how could I?
I've always thought too much of her.”

McCarthy replied that the Finn would get that chance
when the time came, then saw that the bail was set at $5,000,
an amount which would be an insurmountable hurdle for the
suspect. When notified of this the Finn took it with a shrug.
He was innocent, so why worry?

Days dragged on, then weeks, then finally two months went
by with the statutory charge hanging over the Finn’s head

and no trial. In the meantime Sheriff McCarthy was busy

on several other angles of the case, every one of which pointed
to the Finn as the last man who had seen Sonny and Ernest
Grimm. ;

As the third month of the Finn’s confinement: got under
way it found him sticking to the same story, enjoying his
three meals a day and apparently not minding his lot one bit.

“So he won’t talk, huh?” became a stock query around the
Sheriff’s office. At first McCarthy only smiled. Then there
came a time when he didn’t, and finally a time when he was
obviously impatient.

“Boys, we’ve got to try a little ruse on Hawkins,” he an-
nounced one day. “I’m going to have a talk with Jerry
Granville and see if he can help us out.”

Jerry Granville was a young fellow of about the Finn’s
age. Moreover, he was a likable chap with an engaging man-
ner which usually invited confidence. McCarthy discussed a
little plan and Jerry agreed to see what he could do. Con-
sequently a charge “for investigation” was lodged against
Jerry and he became a cellmate of the Finn. But underneath
it all, Jerry’s purpose, under the officer’s guidance, was to
get Hawkins in a confidential mood.

From then on Hawkins received less attention from depu-
ties. Jerry Granville got the nod when greetings were ex-
changed. And, incidentally, that is about all the officers did
get from him. On each casual visit to the cell deputies would
find Jerry with that same, bland stare, which meant that he
had learned nothing. Finally one day McCarthy sauntered
up to the cell with a bit of “news.”

“Well, Jerry, guess you’d like to hear this,” he greeted.

“Your bail’s about to be raised and you're going to get out.”

Jerry took it in stride. But as he watched McCarthy walk
away he realized that the next few hours must tell the story.
Would the Finn open up, take him into his confidence and
tell him all about Sonny and Ernest Grimm?

The next morning, November 10th, Jailer Ted Pearson
rattled the cell door. And for once Jerry greeted him with
an expression that was not a blank stare. Pearson “got it.”

“All right, Jerry, come along to the office. Your bail’s
raised and you're going out,” he announced.

Jerry could hardly wait until he was ushered into Mc-
Carthy’s office. And neither could the Sheriff. Hardly had
the door slammed behind him than the officer asked, “All
right, what is it?”

“Sheriff, it was tough; he was like a rock. But finally he
took me into his confidence when he became convinced that
I might help him, for he knew that it was his only chance
to communicate with the outside. He asked me to go see
Edith as soon as I got out!”

“What for?”

“He said: ‘You go see Edith. She’s a brave little kid and
she’ll show you where’s buried the body of a prospector she
killed last summer when he tried to attack her out in the
timber. I had to bury him for her. The body is about three
feet deep on a hillside near the home. And you know very
well that if those nosey officers ever found a body there while
this statutory charge is hanging over me, it might go tough
with me. See?’

“QO I asked him what he wanted me to do about it, and

he said: ‘Get Edith to show you where the grave is, then
take a stick of dynamite and blast that hillside above the
grave so itll cover the spot so good that nobody will ever
know that a body’s been buried there!’ ”

“Well, well! And so it was little Edith who killed the
poor prospector, eh? That’s very interesting,” McCarthy
mused as his fingers drummed on the desk. “That being the
case, we'll just play the Finn’s little game and find out.”

The plan was quickly arranged. Jerry was provided with
a car and told to go see Edith, just as the Finn directed. At
this time the Grimm family, with the exception of Jay who
was “baching” at the home, had moved down to Sedro Wool-
ley, a few miles northeast of Mount Vernon, where Edith
was attending grade school.

McCarthy, Finson and Welts got into another car and
followed Jerry, tagging along just near enough to keep in
sight. They saw him stop at the Sedro Woolley school and
pick up Edith, then trailed him to the Faber Ferry which

69

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REVEALING DETECTIVE CASES

in a pair of high-laced boots!

In a few moments Jay Grimm,
who could not get out. of the crying
Alice what was the matter, came
over to see what it was all about.
The sheriff stepped forward and
stopped him.

“You'd better prepare yourself for
a shock,” he warned. ‘“There’s a
dead man in that hole.”

“A dead man! On our farm!”

He swept the officer aside and
ran to the edge of the opening.
“Why, they’re my boots!” he ejacu-
lated. “How did they get here?”

It was a heartbreaking scene
which followed, as Jay recalled that
he had loaned his boots to Floyd
on the day he started for California.
The sheriff put his arm around
him. “I’m terribly sorry, boy,” he
said to the weeping young man.
“But I’m afraid that’s not all. I
fear we’re going to find Ernest
also.”

His prophecy was borne out. A
short distance away they dug up the
body of the other boy.

Both had been shot in the back
of the head!

The disagreeable tasks of the af-
ternoon were not ended for the
sheriff. Again he talked with Alice.

“Do you know if anything hap-
pened to Ernest or Floyd before
they started for California?” he
asked.

The girl stepped back as though
she had been struck, whimpering
like a frightened animal.

“I’m afraid,” she sobbed. “I don’t
want to go to prison all my life!” |

“What!” the thunderstruck sher-
iff asked. “Who told you that?”

“Clifford. He said that if I ever
told that he had killed Floyd and
Ernest I would go to prison and
be kept there all the time because
I knew about it.”

“How do vou know that he killed
them both?”

“Because he told me—Clifford told
me—and he showed me where they
were buried and that, as I knew the
place, if I ever said anything it
Mg be worse than prison for

e.""

“Worse how?”

“That they would hang me,” the
girl sobbed hysterically.

“And you believed that?”

“Why, yes indeed; Clifford sald
so.”’

“It’s ridiculous,” the — sheriff
stormed, boiling with insensate an-
ger at the smiling young villain in
the Mt. Vernon jail. “Nothing is
going to happen to you at all. But,”
he burst out savagely, “plenty is
going to happen to him, I can as-
sure you.”

The officer could scarcely wait
until he got back to his headquar-
ters and had the smiling, self-as-
sured killer brought to his office.

“What kind of clothes did Floyd
wear when he left?” he demanded.

“T’ve already told you all I know,”
Hawkins responded, with the trace

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connection between this matter and
those two boys leaving without even
saying goodbye to their mother. I’m
going to talk to the girl myself.”

It got him nowhere. She merely
reiterated what she had told the
others. The sheriff asked her how
she knew the boys had gone to Cal-
ifornia.

“Why, because Clifford told me
so,” she answered, plainly surprised
at McCarthy’s obvious skepticism.

The officer gave up. The girl’s
absolute faith in anything Hawkins
told her was so rigidly set in her
mind that it was useless to ques-
tion her further.

Doggedly he made inquiries at
Sauk—of friends of Floyd and Er-
nest, of railroad men, truck drivers,
automobile owners who may have
given them a hitch. Not one per-
son could he find whom the boys
had told they intended going to
California, or on whose train or ve-
hicle they had been carried.

When he reported this to Hawk-
ins, that young man just shrugged,
grinned, said it was all silly, and
finally refused to go over his story
again, contending he had told it
so many times he was sick of It.

WO months and a half had gone

by. Then, in desperation, Mc-
Carthy decided on the old ruse of
“planting” someone in Hawkins’
cell. After a conference with the
D.A., he decided on Jerry Gran-
ville, a clever and persuasive young
man who was universally liked
throughout that section of the
county.

For three weeks Granville, up on
a make-believe charge of ‘“seduc-
tion,” remained as Hawkins’ cell-
mate. Time and again he tried to
open up the subject of the case
against his fellow-prisoner, and of
seduction in general. Every morn-
ing and evening Jailer Theodore
Pearson would stop by the cell, talk
for a few minutes, and then, when
he didn’t get the agreed-on sig-
nal, report back to the disappoint-
ed sheriff.

Finally the signal came. That
evening Pearson appeared in front
of the cell. “You’ve made your bond,
Granville,” he said.

“About time,” the young man
grumbled. “You're a nice guy, Mr.
Pearson, but I can’t honestly say I
like your hotel.”

He followed the jailer to the of-
fice, where sat McCarthy. The for-
mer “prisoner” pitched a match box

on the table. “There it is!” he said |

jubilantly.

The officer looked blank. Gran-
vile dumped out the matches,
straightened out the container
where it was scored and handed it
to McCarthy. On it was written:

“Alice: Do everything that Jerry
tells you to.”

“Well,” McCarthy snapped impa-
tiently, “what did he tell you?”

Granville’s answer caused the of-

ficer to stare at him with mouth
agape, wondering if he had actual-
ly heard what the young man said:

“He told me that several months
ago Alice- had shot and killed a
prospector who tried to attack her
in the woods in back of her home.”

If he had said that Seattle had
suddenly fallen into Puget Sound,
the sheriff could not have been
more utterly dumbfounded.

“She shot a man!” he repeated
dully. “Alice! The little girl!”

“Yes,” Granville answered, fully
aware of the flabbergasting effect
of the tidings he was bringing. “He
told me he had buried the body
for her, and that she should go
with me and show me the spot
where he had buried him.”

It took a long time for this to
register in the officer’s already-
numbed mind.

“But what for?” he asked at last.
“How could it possibly help to have
you, a third party, know about
that?”

What followed was just too fan-
tastic for credence. “He told me,”
Granville went on, “that If a body
should be found at the time he was
under another murder charye, it
might be hard for him to prove his
{nnocence, even though Alice and
not he had killed the prospector.
He wanted her to show me where
the body was so that I could dyna-
mite the place and destroy all the
evidence.”

The sheriff shook his head. “It’s
just ‘too-too,’” he asserted.

“No, it isn’t,” Granville asserted.
“It’s all on the level, I’ll bank on
it.”

“Well, we'll follow it through,”
the sheriff agreed. “You carry out
those instructions, and we'll follow
you, but keep out of sight until the
proper time. But I’m afraid it’s a
wild goose chase.”

HAT afternoon the officers se-

creted themselves in the woods
back of the Grimm home. Soon
Granville appeared with the girl.
He was carrying a shovel. They
walked a short distance, and then
the Sheriff, Welts, Finson and the
D.A., watching from behind trees,
saw Granville start digging.

He worked for about a half hour.
Suddenly he straightened up as if
exhausted and wiped his face with
his handkerchief.

It was the signal he was to give
if he found anything. The officers
stepped into the open. The girl
screamed.

“We're not going to hurt you,
Alice,” the sheriff said soothingly.
“As for vou, Granville, you’re under
arrest. Take Alice into the house,
Finson. You’d better go too, Welts.
I'l] keep my eye on Jerry.”

When they had gone he looked
into the hole for the first time.
What his eyes caught caused a spell
of nausea to sweep over him:

They were two decomposed legs

in you
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of a sneer, “and I’m not going to
say anything else.”

The infuriated officer rose to his
feet and drew back his fist. “An-
swer the question, you white-livered
skunk,” he shouted.

The frightened prisoner sullenly
described the footwear. “Boots like
these?” McCarthy demanded, fling-
ing on the table the pair of dirt-
covered ones taken from the farm
crypt.

Hawkins looked at them, his face
suddenly paper-white. “Why,” he
stammered, “there’s—there’s some-
thing—in them.”

“Of course there 1s,” the sheriff
shouted. “They’re what's left of the
legs of Floyd Grimm, whom you
murdered!

Cc. ‘ o LOPE NIN Sy

Veo vy

Ne canes eee SE eer

* euT THE BALL /%

“Don’t start lying,” he warned, as
the accused man began to speak.
“Alice has told us everything.
Granville turned over that match
box to us and we found the bodies
of both Floyd and Ernest. You can
make a statement if you want to.
But I'll tell you this, you heartless
polecat, I won’t raise a finger to
help you, whether you make one or
not.”

AWKINS confessed, dictating

to a stenographer the story of
how, immediately after entering
the Grimm household, he had made
up his mind to seduce Alice, and
had ingratiated himself with the
family for this purpose. But Floyd
and Ernest got suspicious. They
warned him. On different occasions
he got each of them out in the
woods and sent a shot into the back
of nis head.

On December 17, 1937, he was
convicted of murder in the first de-
gree. On February 23, 1938, Judge
Brickey sentenced him to be hang-
ed. On March 10, 1939, he dangled
at the end of a rope, meeting a fate
that no criminal had ever more
richly deserved.

Note: The name Alice Stanton is
jictitious to protect an innocent
person from possible embarrass-
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al be

BY.
WILLIAM |

-

“yi

Agy

Lis it.
tba hy
ne ee

CRUME. DETECTIVE

Zliucla (FFF

“6 gag TOP maki
The yo
as the w
Grimm’s
doorway of th
banks of the $
Tovio Hauta
he was about 2
borhood as “T’
Hautaneimi
and it was littl:
to him when h«
of 1936. Viva
topped with fi:
Little Edith
got little affe
brothers and «¢
to boss her. (€
mand if the ;
add to the bur:
been ill and w
he was the he:
Tovio Hautane
So “The Fi:
eye and drew
“What have
sharply.
Ernest Grim
no match in a
CCC camp wo
had invited to
had later gon:
It was the r
had started b
sweeping acrc
valley of the
intently to so:
“T believe i
Hautaneimi sa
As Ernest (
letting the qu
a corner of th:
also carried a
Not more t!
- the house Ed
or three mor
that way.” |
into the roon
a few affectio
coat and we
had chased t
was going to «
Hautaneimi
At the bre
Finn” repeat:
announced th
day. When


HAWKINS,

(Assumed name in this article.)

: By Harold Helfer —

¥ THE ANNALS of murder, per-
haps no criminal ever went to
the gallows with. any stranger
words on his lips than a young

4

._ killer who lived near Tacoma,

‘Washington.
- The unusual case begins with a

“water wheel. A factory in Tacoma

rt

@::.-” valley country. In time, he

“reported to the sheriff’s office -that

« its large, 12-foot water wheel was
missing.

To the law officers it seemed fan-
tastic. Who in the world would want
to make off with such an object?

_- But it was Sheriff Ben Facher’s
job to ascertain just that—and so
_ he began to make the rounds of the

‘ame to the ranch farm of Mrs.

‘brood of offspring.
After an exchange of some pleas-

Alice Burl, a gaunt widow with a

was on the lookout for some stolen
property. “Well, you can _ search
around here, if you like,’ she said.
“That’s your duty.”

“Just a routine check of your
place,” the sheriff assured her.

He began looking around. Sure
enough, propped up against the rear

_of the barn, was a big water wheel.

A few minutes later he was talkirtg
to Mrs. Burl about it.
“A water wheel back of the barn?”

_ she asked. “I never noticed it. Some-

body must have’ left it there lately.”
“What about Matt and Tom?” the
sheriff inquired. “Would they know
about it?”
Matt and Tom, in their early 20's,
were the oldest of Mrs. Burl’s chil-

‘dren, and more or less ran things on

the ranch.
“I don’t rightly know whether

they’d know about it or not,” the
mother spoke up: “‘They’ve been
gone to California for several weeks

ya, 7

Cyifford, white, hanged Washington (Skagit Co,) On? 3-19 38.

“California? — what’re they doing
down there?”

“Gone to make their homes there,
it seems like. But you know how
boys are. I never hear from them.”

Then Mrs. Burl said, “You might
ask Frank Sibel about the water
wheel, though. He’s the hired man
we've had around here for some
months now «and he might know
something about it.”

Frank Sibel turned out to be a
well-built young man of about 25.

No, he said, he didn’t know any-
thing about the water wheel. He
said that he thought it was a good
idea that the ranch have one, though
—maybe they could use it to hook —
on to a dynamo that was down the
river and bring. electricity to the |
place. Matt or Tom must have taken —
the water wheel, he said. ,

The sheriff decided to let things -
go at that for the moment. He ,
was now thinking about something ©

‘Continued on page 49) .


Ships (No. Zina Series.)
1T WAS A-very wise philosopher who
said, “A man may smile and smile,
.cand be a villain still.” i

-... On countless occasions the police have

had proof of this, as they come across
. many villains who appear to be kindly,
lovable men. They are, too, men who
have never previously committed crimes.
_. It was a handsome, smiling young fel-
-low of 25 who presented himself at the
door of the Grimm family farm on the
outskirts of Mt. Vernon, Wash., and
_ asked if a hand was needed.

One was. While five of the six boys
in the family were able to assist in the

_work, their father had recently died, and
the farm was a large one.

Mrs. Grimm, a kindly, motherly-looking
woman, studied the applicant. She noted
his broad, strong face, his high forehead,
his muscular build, and particularly his
pleasant smiling mouth and eyes. She
gave him the job. -

In less than a month Clifford Hawkins
was like one of the family. The six boys,
from Ernest, who was 29, down to Roy,
who was 10, treated him like a brother,

_as did also the sister Ethel, who was 14
and in high school. Mrs. Grimm found
his aid invaluable. He was an exception-
ally hard worker, cheerful and willing.
‘One day Hawkins came back from
town and told Mrs. Grimm that he had
met Floyd, aged 21, there, and that Floyd
had. asked him to say goodbye to his
mother, as he had made up his mind to
go to California. ‘5

It never occurred to the naive Mrs.
Grimm, so complete was her. confidence
in Hawkins, to. doubt his word or to
wonder why her son would leave without
personally saying goodbye.

bout two months later Hawkins re-
turned from town to tell her that Ernest,
the oldest son, was leaving for California
to join Floyd, and had asked Hawkins
to say goodbye for him. :

‘Then the hand of Fate reached into
the Grimm home in the form of a notched

metal wheel. One had been stolen, and
Sheriff Pat McCarthy traced it to the
Grimm barn. :

He learned from Hawkins. that Floyd
had bought the wheel in Mt. Vernon. The
sheriff was quite sure the latter did not
know it was stolen, as the Grimms had

excellent reputations throughout the coun- |

ty. When, however, the sheriff learned
that Mrs. Grimm had never had a letter
from either of her absent sons, he be-
came suspicious.

An investigation disclosed that Ernest
and Floyd had resented Hawkins’ atten-

INSIDE DETECTIVE, August, 19h).

' tions to their schoolgirl sister. McCarthy 4

- Ernest Grimm. Both had bullet holes in

buried, and had threatened that, if she |

various lies, Hawkins tried to save him-

questioned Hawkins about the two broth- —
ers. Convinced finally that something +
serious was amiss, he held Hawkins in — |
jail and placed an informant in the cell
with him. ps are
The informant was released after Haw- . —
kins had written a message which he _
asked his cellmate to deliver to Edith.
The message was to the effect that she
should show his poe ie friend the place
on the farm where he had buried the
body of a prospector he had shot when
he found him stealing fruit, and that the
informant would then dynamite the spot.
This, he told her in the message, was
because while he knew nothing of the
whereabouts of Floyd and Ernest, if a
body was found the fact would be used
against him. pligs
The sheriff and his men went to the
farm and dug up the bodies of Floyd and

j
{

their skulls.

Then Edith admitted Hawkins had told -
her that he had killed both her broth- /
ers, had showed her where they were

had ever told anyone, she would be put :
in prison for life, as she was now a party *
to the murders. : ee

What this particular villain had done |

was to invite Floyd and Ernest separate-

ly to go hunting with him. He sent a |

bullet into the back of the head of each, *

calmly buried them, and brought back

from town the phony messages about their

leaving. : Eo.
But this was not all. When trapped in - |

self by claiming that the girl had killed
her brothers. His story was torn to
shreds, and Hawkins confessed to the
murders. After he was sentenced to be
hanged,.the feeling against him was so
intense that it was necessary to remove
him to the state penitentiary at Walla
Walla for safekeeping. :

He went to his death on the gallows
with the same callous calm he had ex-
hibited in describing the murders. rg

An investigation of his prior life <.
showed that he had never been in trouble °%
of any kind. He had drifted from place “4
to place, but had always obtained jobs +4
and worked industriously. There was ~
nothing about his exterior to differentiate =
him from hundreds of thousands of other ~ a
normal young men. - ss

Yet few of the most desperate profes- =)
sional criminals would have been guilty
of such a monstrous double murder. But
when men of Hawkins’ type commit their a
crimes, the depths of fiendishness which * 4
they reach seems to be unfathomable. %

2


“What’s more, I’m pretty sure he has certain ideas about that
little red-haired Grimm girl. While those beady eyes of his are
glittering around it’s well nigh impossible to talk sense to either
the mother or daughter.

“Now here’s the way we're going to crack this case... .

Sheriff McCarthy outlined his plan forcefully and concisely.
He pointed out that Edith Grimm was a minor, and that he
wanted Finsen to take three or four of the Grimm neighbors
into his confidence and set them to watching the Rajah.

“As soon as that snake winds his coils around that little girl,”
declared the Sheriff, “I want to hear about it.”

Les Finsen spent several days on his mission, all of it in and
around Faber Ferry. He selected his aides carefully in the
scheme to “get something on” the Rajah. He discovered that
most of the Grimm neighbors disliked the Rajah, but were fond
of the Grimms. The Rajah was patronizing and insolent to them,
just as he had been with the Sheriff. Of all the farmers he
talked to, Finsen finally selected three whom he took into his
confidence. They eagerly assented to his plan and agreed to
keep an alert eye on the inscrutable, squint-eyed East Indian.

That the Rajah was extremely cagey was obvious from the
fact no reports were received of any untoward incident on the
Grimm farm. As the weeks and months sped by. a fuming
Sheriff McCarthy began to believe that his strategy had failed
and that he would have to devise other means of exposing the
secrets behind the Rajah’s evil, glinting eyes.

But, just as the Sheriff was sure he had failed, Bill Tate, one
of the neighbors whom Les Finsen had taken into confidence,
put in an appearance in Mount Vernon. He was considerably
excited, as he told his far from pretty story. He had been an
eyewitness, he said, to an act which caused the Sheriff to consider
making out a warrant for Abdul Hautanim’s arrest on a statutory
charge.

ie the State of Washington, conviction on such a charge
means life imprisonment.

It was in September when Tate had come into the Sheriff's
office with his story. And now that he had something definite on
which to work, McCarthy decided that he wouldn’t rush matters.

For the first time since his visit to Faber Ferry the previous
May, he drove out again to the Grimm farm with Les Finsen.
The dirt road from Concrete, eight miles away, was dry and
smooth now, so it took but half as long to cover the distance to
the farm. A hint of early fall was in the air and the smell of
woodsmoke mingled aromatically with that of the pine forest as
the two officers turned in at the familiar driveway. ;

The farmyard was strangely deserted and silent as the pair
drove up to the dwelling. The only indication that there was
any life on the place was a wisp of smoke curling up from the
chimney. The Sheriff's knock on the door reverberated within,
After what seemed like several minutes there came an answering
footstep. A hand fumbled with the lock at the door. Finally it
opened. ae.

Mrs. Grimm appeared, that strange, faraway look still in her
eyes. She gave no hint of recognizing either the Sheriff or his
assistant. She spoke not a word. Just waited until McCarthy
spoke.

PMs. Grimm,” he began, “I have dropped by again to see if
you can't help us clear up some details about the disappearance
of your two sons, Floyd and Emest. You needn't worry about
that stolen generator charge. We'll forget that. What I want to
do is clear up a lot of ugly rumors that have been circulating
around. Pressure is being brought on me to find out where the
boys went. I've sent queries all up and down the Coast without
any results whatever. Haven't you had any word from them
yet?”

“Mrs. Grimm fingered the collar of her dress with clumsy,
fumbling hands. She wet her dry lips. ;

“No, I haven't,” she replied distantly. And then with just a
bit more expression, added: “And as for those ugly rumors you
mentioned, that’s nothing but jealousy of the Rajah on the part
of our neighbors around here. Any one of them would like to
have him as their hired man. They can't keep their places any-
where near as nice as he keeps this one. And he makes it pay,
too. You'd better get him to explain about Sonny and Ernest.”

Adding that she would call the Rajah to go into more detail,
Mrs. Grimm invited the officers into the neat, if somewhat
shabbily furnished, living room of her home.

But as for calling the Rajah, there was no need for that.
When McCarthy and Finsen entered the room he was already
there standing in the middle of the floor, arms akimbo, an
insolent smile playing about the corners of his cruel mouth. His

16

”

eyes glinted as menacingly as ever. In back of him, still looking
extremely frightened, was red-haired, blue-eyed Edith Grimm.
As McCarthy glimpsed the attractive child he seethed inwardl
at the thought of what Bill Tate had :
told him. He had difficulty in con-
trolling a desire to leap upon this
evil-eyed monster and pound his
sneering face into a pulp. Instead, he
waited for the Rajah to speak.

“It’s too bad.” boomed the East
Indian, “that you have been forced
to drive out here again. Especially
this second time.”

An eerie atmosphere settled over
the entire room as the Rajah spoke
in his deep, vibrant voice. Mrs.
Grimm and her daughter seemed to
hang on his every word.

Edith, the Sheriff noticed, had been
edging toward a bedroom on the
ground floor, but without turning his
head the Rajah placed one arm be-
hind his back. The child stopped in
her tracks. It was positively uncanny
the power that this man had over
the two.

“The neighbors have been gossiping
is all,” announced Mrs, Grimm with
finality. “You had better let the
Rajah tell you how Sonny and Ernest ton the ‘man with the
left and went to California... . bead it:

The Rajah once more began his Soc y. yes Sarmnr”
original story of how the boys had ted his (outrages on
decided to join friends in California an entire family.
but before he had gotten under way,
the Sheriff interrupted.

“T’ve had just about enough of this
nonsense,” he stated. Whereupon he produced a pair of hand-
cuffs from his pocket and expertly snapped one on the Rajah’s
wrist.

“Abdul Hautanim,” he announced, “you are under arrest on an
extremely serious charge.. Both you and the girl will have to
come back to Mount Vernon with us.”

The Rajah’s evil eyes narrowed to the veriest slits.

“This is all a deliberate frame-up!” he muttered, adding a
threat or two about false arrest.

Strangely enough, neither Mrs. Grimm nor Edith became
hysterical or even wept, and the Sheriff thought inwardly that
they must be completely mesmerized. Then he climbed into the
back seat of his car still shackled to the hulking, now surly Rajah.
Finsen and the girl rode up front. As they drove away the
Sheriff looked back in time to see Mrs. Grimm pass a hand
across her eyes as though she were trying to brush away some-
thing. She remained in the doorway for a moment, as if be-
wildered. Then suddenly she disappeared within.

The long drive back to Mount Vernon was uneventful except
for sullen protestations from the Rajah. In his deep voice he
talked on and on, making vigorous, repeated denials of the
statutory charge. Sheriff McCarthy began to wish that he had
left Edith Grimm at home with her mother until later. It was
obvious that the East Indian was talking for the benefit of the
child—preparing her for the questioning she would receive alone.
Finally the officer silenced his prisoner by a harsh command
and snapped the Rajah’s handcuff two notches tighter so that
the steel bit into his flesh. The red-haired child continued to sit
quietly in the front seat, staring ahead at the road.

After consigning his defiant captive to a jail cell, the Sheriff
returned to his office where Les Finsen had taken the girl. Away
from the strange influence of the crescent-eyed East Indian,
Edith Grimm seemed more frightened and perturbed than usual.
When he began to question her, she trembled violently. Her
eyes, which heretofore had peered into the distance, now darted
from wall to ceiling to floor, like those of a trapped animal
seeking an avenue of escape. :

The Sheriff adopted his most gentle approach. He tried to
gain the pretty child’s confidence by joking with her, then he
became serious. This same technique had worked on scores of
other adolescents with whom he had dealt in his long experience.

But it failed to work with Edith Grimm!

The child was a veritable mountain of reticence. As the hours
wore on it became clear to the Sheriff that this girl was convinced

ve

In this farm home in
the state of Washing-

yea
eek

®,

thir
> Geass

oe

Then he lost no time in breaking the news to Les
Finsen and Prosecutor Richard Welts. Early the
hext morning they set out for the Grimm farm at
Faber Ferry accompanied by a crew of men
equipped with spades and pickaxes. They Jocated
the ravine which Edith had referred to and began
to excavate.

There was pitifully little to exhume from the
shallow graves in which the two brothers had been
buried—but there was enough to identify the lads.
For one thing they unearthed a pair of boots worn
by Sonny Grimm at the time he was shot,

It was at this point
that Sheriff McCarthy,
now fully aware of the
Rajah’s insidious crafti-
ness, used rare foresight.
He ordered that photo-
graphs of Sonny’s leather
boots be taken—photo-
graphs which later were
to prove a powerful
weapon in the Sheriff's
hands.

The only thing left to
do now was to obtain a
confession from the
beady-eyed Rajah. Back
in Mount Vernon the
Sheriff waited for the
pictures to be developed,
then for the first time in
weeks he paid a visit to °

vhis sulking prisoner.

When he entered the
cell, Abdul Hautanim re-
mained seated on his cot,
insolently blowing a
cloud of cigarette smoke
in the Sheriff's direction.
McCarthy pretended he
didn’t mind. He even
acted a bit hesitant and
un-sure of himself. The
squint-eyed Rajah, from
the Sheriff's actions, had

every reason to believe that the law had nothing on him and that
he was about to be released.

“Prosecutor Welts and I,” began McCarthy a bit diffidently,
“thought that we would like to have one more chat with you.
...uh.... just for the record you know.”

The Rajah, now certain that he was master of the situation,
became jovial.

Abdul Hautanim
was the name
adopted by this
fiend; it fitted his
East Indian ap-
pearance and his
air of mystery.

CRT opine ong

“THE NEIGHBORS HAVE
/;' BEEN GOSSIPING, AND
= THAT'S ALL THERE IS

<< 10 17,” DECLARED THE *
BEWITCHED FARM WOMAN

ws

*
Fa

in her own mind that the Rajah was invulnerable—a super-man!
She consistently denied the charges that had been made against
Abdul Hautanim, that she knew anything about the mysterious
disappearance of her two brothers. In a quavering voice she “Sure, sure,” he boomed. “Send the Prosecutor right in.
patiently denied everything over and over again. Glad to talk to you gentlemen at any time. Tickled to death in

Sheriff McCarthy was amazed, for in five hours of questioning fact. It’s been getting rather monotonous sitting down here all -

he had been unable to shake the story of a thirteen-year-old girl. these weeks with no one to talk to.”
He was to be even more amazed because after five weeks Edith It was obvious that the prisoner was confident he was
Grimm was still denying everything, just as steadfastly and just putting one over. He was certain that the girl had not talked
as patiently as ever. And when he brought Mrs. Grimm to his and that there was no evidence against him. His story had been
office, she followed her daughter’s example. accepted, he believed, and he would soon be free. He became

The Sheriff was temporarily baffled, but experience had taught actually gay. And the happier his mood became, the more freely
him to keep pounding away. He knew that constant attrition, did he answer questions.
grain by grain, will wear away the hardest rock. So, night after “Uh... by the way,” queried the Sheriff, “could you possibly
night, he sat in his office for hours talking to Edith. He pleaded describe the type of boots that Sonny Grimm was wearing when
with her, pointed out that she was completely in the wrong to you last saw him before he left for California?”
protect the Rajah if he had done evil—even if she loved him,.....“‘Why, sure,” grinned the Rajah as he launched into a complete
He impressed upon her the enormity of her sin if she were trying description.
to protect a man who had killed her own brothers. ; Sheriff McCarthy's deep-set eyes glinted as he prepared for

On Tuesday night, November 9, 1937, Sheriff McCarthy was the next question. From his pocket he drew an envelope and
just about to abandon his fruitless questioning when, all at once, slowly removed the photographs of Sonny Grimm’s boots. Then
something happened. Her large blue eyes clouded for an instant, he held them up for the Rajah’s inspection.
then, without any warning whatsoever, the girl began to speak: “Were they anything like these?” he asked in crisp tones.

“Yes, it’s true,” she said, her words coming in a rush. “The A thunderbolt could not have shaken the Rajah more. His
Rajah did kill Sonny and Ernest. He shot them with a deer- laughter died in his throat. He actually was propelled to a
rifle. I even hid in the woods and watched him bury their bodies. standing position by the shock of what he saw. After a moment
It was only a short distance from the house. he dropped back into character, his beady eyes narrowing once

“My brothers had an argument with the Rajah. It was all more. Nonchalantly he lit another cigarette and blew a cloud
about me. I heard him say to them that he always got what he of smoke toward his questioners.
wanted—and that he wanted me.” Prosecutor Welts and the Sheriff were astounded at the

The Sheriff listened intently until the girl finished talking. demeanor of their prisoner. (Continued on page 45)

17


‘ with tears. Jenkins came over and
sis hand on her trembling shoulder.
nt worry,” he assured her, “they won’t
‘ch me. I’ve got everything fixed. Just
ep vour mouth shut.”

hor a week thereafter Groze’s body lay

sdiscovered in the underbrush. But the old
-san’s absence awakened curiosity and neigh-

irs began to gossip.

Seven days after the killing, berry pickers
x4me upon a pile of human bones, gnawed

ean by denizens of the forest.

Despite the fact that Jenkins had taken
Groze’s two young sons into his own home
for food and shelter, the finger of suspicion
was pointed at him because of the rift oc-
casioned by the old man’s lust for Opal.

To make the murder appear to be suicide,
Jenkins had gone to Groze’s home and
gotten his shotgun. In one barrel of the
old man’s gun he inserted the hull of the
murder shell taken from his own. It was
this substitute weapon which was found by
the victim’s body. However, Jenkins had
failed to take into account that science
would prove the death to be not a suicide,
but murder.

Faced with a mass of circumstantial evi-
dence and tormented by his own conscience,
Jenkins confessed but pleaded self defense.

On March 9, 1938, he went on trial. Pros-
ecutor A. J. Hutson charged that Jenkins
had slain Groze in cold blood because he
thought the old man had “snitched” to the
grand jury on some hog-stealing cases in
which both men were indicted. Jenkins’ at-
torneys claimed he slew to protect himself,
and out of righteous wrath at Groze’s amor-
ous intent toward Opal. ;

At the end of the four-day trial, the jury
brought in a verdict of guilty, setting the
penalty at twenty-five years in prison. So
ended a hill-country feud and an old man’s
unbridled passion for a young girl.

EVIL EYE

(Continued from page 17)

i

“Start talking pronto!” barked the Sheriff.

“Aw, what’s the big rush?” retorted the -

Rajah in his customary insolent manner.
“I’m going to be hung for this anyway, so
what’s all the hurry? Give me time.”

A few more puffs on his cigarette and the
Rajah started talking. He spoke slowly and
deliberately as he went over his past history.
He seemed to take a delight in it. He
boasted and exaggerated, even going so far
as to chuckle from time to time about his
past exploits.

It turned out that he wasn’t an East
Indian at all. He was an Oregon-born lad,
now twenty-five, who had been christened
by the prosaic name of Clifford Hawkins.
Yet he looked and acted so much like an
Oriental that he had, at an early age, been
engaged as a hypnotist’s stooge, traveling
from town to town throughout the West.
That was before he had run afoul of the law
in Utah. There he: had been arrested and
convicted on a charge of forgery.

“But I never let little things like that get
me down,” he boasted. “I’ve always gotten
what I wanted. This hypnotist-who hired
me for his stooge—he told me that I had fine
eyes for that kind of work. I always felt I
did, too. People have always been a little
bit afraid of me. Especially women. There’s
something about me that seems to get them.”

“Get on with the story. Get on with it!”
growled the Sheriff.

“You want me to tell you I killed Sonny
and Ernest, I suppose,” the Rajah continued,
imperturbably. “Sure I killed ’em. And I’d
do it again under the same circumstances,
too. There’s no doubt in my mind about
that.”

}

ae we we wee eee we — wee wees we

“What do you mean by that?” the amazed
Sheriff asked.

“They were butting into my business
around the farm. They were trying to inter-
fere with me and Edith. Naturally, I
wanted them out of the way. I succeeded.
And I wanted control of that farm. Well,
I got it, didn’t I? I wanted Edith, too. .
and I get everything I want.”

The Rajah leisurely lit another cigarette
before he continued. He was apparently
reliving in his mind the events leading up to
the brutal murders of Sonny and Ernest
Grimm.

“Tt was like this,” he said, exhaling two
streams of smoke from his broad nostrils as
he talked. “One day Sonny and Ernest came
into the house suddenly and found me kissing
Edith. Well, they didn’t like it a bit. Ernest
began to light into me and we had a fight
right there in the house. That was after he
made Edith go to bed. Then his mother
came in and they quarreled over his right
to tell Edith what to do.

“Mrs. Grimm knew Edith and I were in
love—we both told her—and she promised to
go down to Tacoma with us one day so we
could be married.

“The next day Ernest and I made up. So
I asked both the boys to go deer hunting
with me that morning. It wasn’t long after
we got started that I suggested we separate.

As it happened, I managed to get fifty feet

to their rear before they could get behind
me.

“T had a .30-.30 rifle and—well—I decided
to start shooting before they did. That’s
the whole story and it’s the truth, whether
you believe me or not.”

“And you buried them there in the
ravine?”

“Why, sure,” the Rajah said calmly. “I
couldn’t leave their bodies lying out there in
the open for the turkey buzzards to peck at,
could I? That would attract too much
attention.”

Sheriff McCarthy, after months of re-
straint, finally let himself go now that he had
the evil-eyed slayer where he wanted him.
He stood up and shook his fist in the Rajah’s
face.

“Among your other damnable accomplish-
ments,” he shouted, “you’re a contemptible
liar. You know just as well as I do that
those boys, Sonny and Ernest, were totally
unarmed when you stalked them and shot
them in the back.”

Thus it was that Sheriff McCarthy’s in-
stinctive reaction to an evil eye provided him
with a clue which finally resulted in his
tracking down one of the most cold-blooded,
fiendish killers in the history of the North-
west. :

Clifford Hawkins, alias Abdul Hautanim,
alias the Rajah, pleaded guilty to the statu-
tory offense against Edith Grimm. But he
pleaded not guilty to the two charges of
first degree murder that were placed against
him. He was given a speedy trail before a
gimlet-eyed jury of Skagit County farmers
and merchants.

The jury agreed to a man with the con-
tention of Prosecutor Welts and of Sheriff
Pat McCarthy that the Rajah was guilty of
all three charges against him. .

Still, even when he was sentenced to be
hanged, the Rajah lost none of his insolent
composure. His eyes narrowed to mere slits,
he faced the judge as though he were trying
to hypnotize him and, in open court, shouted

_ vehemently:

“Make it soon, Judge! I want to die
soon!”

The judge pursed his lips and frowned at
the beady-eyed killer. Then he made a nota-
tion on a piece of paper before him. One
week later the Rajah dangled at the end of
a noose after being put to death at Walla
Walla Penitentiary.

Well, the Rajah always said that he got
what he wanted!

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45

“Look,” he said, “I got some dope
for you but it doesn’t seem to mean
much. Why don’t you come over?”

In his home he explained.

“T talked to a couple of the boys
who are willing to cooperate,” he said.
“Just to be sure I asked them about
that green dragon.”

“What did you find out?” :

“Well,” said Dolphin, “I was right.
It’s the death emblem. One Suey Sing
boy told me, ‘When dlagon talk, look-
see velly bad murder.’”

“Then it’s a tong killing, is it?”

“T don’t know,” said Dolphin. “It’s
like this. Lee Wing Quen, the dead
boy, was interested in this Madame
Sing Loy. He moved in with her.
Then Sun Wah got out of jail and
right away Lee Wing Quen moved out
and Sun Wah went in.”

“Yeah, we know that,” said Shir-
ran. “And then Lee Wing Quen was
bumped. But neither Sun Wah nor Lee
Wing Quen was a Suey Sing. How did
either of them get that dragon?”

Dolphin rose and paced up and down
the floor. “I don’t know,” he said.

_ “That’s the funny part of it. I talked

to a couple of Suey Sings. They’re
good boys and I’d know it if they were
lying. But they swear that no Suey

The Strange

living-room, as evidence indicated?
Was it possible that the killer was a
friend of the family? Was that the rea-
son why Mrs. Stiegler had not called
for help?

All friends of the family had to be
questioned closely. From the force of
the blow and the brutality of the
crime, the officers reasoned that the
killer must be a man. One friend—a
trusted lad of only sixteen—had visited
the Stiegler home on that day. Detec-
tives went to his home, found him
awake and strangely excited. They
searched his room and found the stolen
money under hisbed ...

Easter in Akron, Ohio, in 1941 was
bright, warm and almost like Sum-
mer. The trees were budding and
Spring flowers were in bloom. Ser-
vices were over at North Hill Methodist
Church at 1 p.m. and Detective Davis
and Kimerer pushed through the
crowd on the sidewalk outside and
were admitted to the church by Jani-
tor Lukens.

The church is a big, two-story struc-

Sing hatchetman killed Lee Wing
Quen: And they swear that no one
outside of the tong could have had the
emblem.”

Shirran said, “Say, I got an idea.”

The other officers looked at him.

“None of the hatchetmen had the
dragon, is that right?” he asked.

Dolphin nodded.

“And nobody outside the tong had
162?

“I suppose,” said Himes, “the dragon
sneaked out in the middle of the night
and did it himself.”

“No,” said Shirran. “Only one per-
son could have used that dragon and
dropped it beside the body. Hong
Yick!”

“By gosh!” said Dolphin. “That’s
right!”

Himes said slowly, “But why? What
motive would be have?”

“He was a friend of Sun Wah, wasn’t
he?” Shirran asked. “Maybe he
thought he was doing Sun Wah a favor
by getting the rival out of the way.”

Dolphin said, “Well, that’s possi-
ble. But how’re you going to prove
it?”

Shirran said, “I don’t know. You
can bet that I’m going to try, though,”
he said.

Disappearance of

ing girl’s music case or her metro-
nome. But neither article was there.

“We hunted for them last night, too,”
Lukens said. “But they weren’t around
anywhere. She must have taken them
with her.”

The detectives—like Ruth’s father
before them—examined the windows.
They were tall, of stained glass and
opened in such a manner that Ruth
— not have jumped out of any of

em.

a was nothing in that room to
indicate that Ruth Zwicker ever had
been there. -

“Let’s look in the other rooms,”
Davis said, wiping his forehead with a
handkerchief. It was warm and close
in the church and great beads of per-
spiration coursed down the faces of all
three men. :

“Is this place still heated?” asked
Kimerer. :

“Yes,” Lukens said. “I’ve got the
fires low but I, have instructions te
keep the steam up. It may turn colder
any time, you know.”

That evening Shirran brought the
green jade dragon to Hong Yick’s cell.
“Hong Yick,” he said, “what is this?”

The Chinaman stared at it.

“What is it, Hong Yick?” he asked.

“Is guard of third outer heaven,”
said Hong Yick, speaking slowly. “Is
god of vengeance.”

“Tt’s the emblem that sanctioned the
murder of Lee Wing Quen, isn’t it,
Hong Yick?” Shirran asked.

The Chinaman didn’t answer.

“Look at it, Hong Yick,” said Shir-
ran. He put the dragon on the cell
floor. “Pick it up.”

Hong Yick shuffled across the cell
slowly. He. stooped and picked up the
dragon.

“Hold it in your left hand,” said
Shirran.

Hong Yick shifted it to his left hand.

“It’s the emblem you held when you
killed Lee Wing Quen,” said Shirran.
“You can’t deny: it, Hong Yick. You
can’t deny your own god.”

Hong Yick advanced to the bars of
the cell. Beads of perspiration stood
out on his forehead. He clutched the
dragon tightly in his left hand.

“You held that dragon in your hand
while you killed Lee Wing Quen,”
said Shirran. “Look at it, Hong Yick!”

Hong Yick grasped the bars with his
right hand.

“Ts true,” he said, his voice low and
hoarse. “Is true. Hong Yick cannot lie
to god.”

They took him out of the cell and
upstairs to an office. There, still clutch-
ing the emblem, he dictated a con-
fession. He told Shirran where to find
the hammer with which he had killed
Lee Wing Quen, still stained with the
dead man’s blood, still bearing Hong
Yick’s finger-prints.

He also claimed that Lee Wing
Quen had stolen membership lists be-
longing to the Suey Sing Tong. But
police doubted him, because the tongs
had not retaliated. This had been a
personal grudge, not a tong matter.
Hong Yick had violated his oath when
he used the green jade dragon.

Or A hot day in July, months later,
Hong Yick mounted the gallows at
Walla Walla Penitentiary and plunged
to his death. Seattle Chinatown had
learned that the law will take its own
vengeance.

The names Ming Chin, Madame Sing
Loy, Yong Lee and Sun Wah are ficti-
tious to protect innocent persons.

Ruth 7 wicker (Continued from Page 5)

Davis reached for the handle of one
of the fire doors and opened it. The
fire was settled with a thick blanket of
ashes, under which burned red-hot
coals. .

“Must have had a pretty good fire
going this morning,” Davis remarked
to Lukens as he closed the door.

“Yes,” the janitor replied. “Thought
it was going to turn cold. Wanted to
be sure the church was warm enough
for Easter services—people wear all
their Spring clothes, you know. It was
a mistake today, though, the church
was too hot.”

The detectives concluded their search
without uncovering a single bit of evi-
dence to aid them in their hunt for the
missing music teacher. They had not
found her. They did not know where
she was. No one knew—except one
man, a killer, a killer who roamed free,
his <lever mind calling upon past ex-
perience to save him from the hands
of the law...

On that day so long ago in March of
1899, in Cincinnati, the inexperienced
Wan illae onhn had hoanten Mrs. Julia

ten o’clock I went to bed. I hid the
money under the bed, but I could not
sleep and was awake when the officers
came and got me...”

All of Akron, Ohio, was clamoring
for the answer to Ruth Zwicker’s mys-
terious disappearance by nightfall. The
Boy Scouts had pushed through the
brush of the Cuyahoga River gorge all
day without success. News of Ruth’s
disappearance had been broadcast to
the police of three states. Her descrip-
tion had been sent by teletype to every
police department in the country.

Mr. Zwicker willingly gave the
newspapers a photograph of Ruth that
had been taken less than a year before.

“T’]] do anything that might help to
bring my daughter back,” he promised.

“Music Teacher Vanishes,” the head-
lines screamed over long, detailed
stories of how pretty Ruth Zwicker
had dropped from sight after practis-
ing the piano at the North Hill Meth-
odist Church.

Practically every newspaper in Ohio
carried her picture. This accounted for
the large number of tips that were

the war as a topic of disc-
most every home in Akre-.
ern Ohio.

Surely she cculd mot hi 4
into thin air. Somewher :
must be a clew to her c:apy
But where? |

Kimerer and Davis. weer f
hours of work on the case ret
the church. Both detecti-2s —
the answer to the riddle must.
—if they only could find -

The fire still was burnirz in
boxes under the steam soil
detectives stepped near the
furnace and sifted throuzna t
in the cans. A film of dust s
their clothes as they searcted
the janitor, watched the wo
time, then went back to h:s di

AVIS and Kimerer were

with dust when they nis

But they found nothinz.

“When will that fire te o
the boiler?” they asked Luke

“Friday. Why?”

“We want to look into che
said Davis. .
“Gracious!” Lukens sais.

think she’s in there!”

“Why, this door is big er
even me to go through, isn’t

Lukens gulped. “Just the
that Ruth might have been |
that fire-box,” he said, ~senc
down my spine. That’s ewft

“We'll come back Fridzy, t!
Kimerer.

The two detectives le th
They still could not be certé
crime had been commitied. '
had no way of knowing whe
Zwicker was alive. They sti
suspicion that a clever slaye
large in Akron and, even
recalling a mistake he had
the past and was making
avoid the same error ..- -

In 1899, Cincinnati solic:
Mrs. Stiegler’s young slayer
degree murder. A year later ¢
agreed and on May 16, 1900,
pleaded guilty to manslaus
was sentenced to one to 20 ye
Ohio State Reformatory at
Records at Mansfield rereale
man was paroled on Januar
but was returned May 7, :
parole violator from Canton,

Among the calls receive
Zwicker home in the North
tion of Akron was one in
caller said she believed Rutt
hospital ‘‘near Pittsburgh.”
hundred hospitals are situ
Pittsburgh.

“T’]] make up a circular,”
Sterchi, a son-in-law who
a print shop. “We'll send co


up a child and huddled in the corner,
glaring at him.

Straight through to the back door
Shirran ran, and out into the alley.

No one was in sight. The man had
vanished.

Back into the laundry strode Shir-
ran, ignoring the screaming woman.

“Who was that fellow?” he roared.

Yong Lee shrugged his shoulders.

“Him flend,” he said.

-“What’s his name?”

Yong Lee shrugged again. “Dunno,”
he said.

Himes reached over the counter and
plucked a shirt from a pile of dirty
clothes. He glanced once at the inside
of the collar. -

“Look here!” he said. “It’s the same!
This is the place!”

Shirran looked, and beyond a doubt
the laundry mark on the shirt Himes
held in his hand was the same as that
on the pajama top.

Shirran glared around the laundry.
His eye fell on the boy, huddled in
a corner.

“Come on outside, you,” he said. He
and Himes strode out onto the side-
walk.

The boy followed, slowly, a minute
later.

Shirran showed him the pajama top.
“Whose is this?” he asked.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “No
savvy,” he said.

' Himes stepped up. “Look here,” he
said, “don’t pull that stuff on us! You
didn’t get that sweater without learn-
ing English! Now, whose is that pa-
jama top?”

The boy paled. Then he walked
down’ the street a few steps and the
detectives followed. When they were
out of sight of the laundry, the youth

d.

ned. 4

“The shirt is the rightful property
of the heirs of Lee Wing Quen,” he
said. -

“Who’s Lee Wing Quen?” Shirran
asked.

“Lee Wing Quen was a waiter,” the
boy said. “He has gone to join his
ancestors.”

“Where did he live?”

The boy gave them an address on
the same street.

“More than that,” he said, “it is not
within my power to tell you. But you
may be more successful if you visit
the Hip Sing Temple.”

“The: Hip Sing Temple?” asked Shir-
ran. “Why there?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders.

“The Hip Sing Temple is the home
of Madame Sing Loy,” he said. “It
is understood the Jealous God of Do-
mestic Tranquillity visited vengeance
upon.Lee Wing Quen.”

Shirran grinned. “Okay, Buddy,” he
said. “You spilled a mouthful that
time.”

“My father is not accustomed to
American ways,” the boy said. “He
would not forgive me if he knew I
spilled a mouthful.” .

“Don’t worry,” said Shirran. “We’ll
keep it quiet.”

The officers climbed into their car.
Inside, Shirran said:

“Right now it looks good. We know
the victim was this guy Lee Wing
Quen, and we know he was playing
around with Madame Sing Loy. So
all we have to do is find Sing Loy,
and—’ :

“Yeah,” said Himes. “Find him, and
then prove something. These China-
men are going to make swell witnesses.
Well, we'll go to the Hip Sing Temple
and see.”

The temple of the Hip Sing Tong at
that time was a dilapidated old frame
building covered with worn and faded
posters in Chinese writing. The door
was open; Shirran and Himes climbed
a flight of stairs and walked along a
dingy hallway before they saw anyone.

Then they came to a squat, husky
Chinaman perched on a wooden chair.
He glanced up at the officers as they
approached but showed no interest in
them. ¥

“Where is Madame Sing Loy?” Shir-
ran asked.

The man grunted and pointed to a
door farther along the hall. Shirran

ID 6

and Himes walked up to it, knocked.
The patter of slippers could be heard
in the hall. A moment later the door

asked.

“We want to see Madame Sing Loy,”
Shirran said.

“And who is it wishes to be honored
by her presence?” the man asked.

Himes stirred suddenly from behind
Shirran. “Cut it out, Sun Wah!” he
said sharply. x °

THE Chinaman peered at him for a
moment,

“Oh, yes,” he said. “It is the Mister
Policeman.”

“You know this guy?” Shirran asked
Himes.

“Sure I know him,” said Himes.
“He’s Sun Wah. He used to be a dope
runner. He just got out of the pena
few days ago.” Himes shouldered his
way into the room. “Now go get this
Madame Sing Loy,” he said to the
Chinaman, “and make it snappy, see?
No monkey business. We got a lot of
things to talk over with her.”

The Chinaman said, “It is regretta-

‘ble, but Madame Loy does not under-

stand English.”

“You can cut out that stuff,” said
Himes. “Go and—”

He stopped. Behind -him, from the
other end of the room, a voice raised
in a soft, whispering sing-song chant,
words of a foreign language but uttered
in such clear tones they sounded like
the trill of a bird.

There, standing on a short flight of
steps leading into another room, was a
young Chinese woman, a woman of
fair, white skin, of clear, almond eyes,
of a grace and beauty that astounded
the officers.

She walked slowly down the steps,
talking over their heads to Sun Wah.

Sun Wah bowed from the waist and
spoke back to her in Chinese. She
advanced toward the men until she
stood a few feet away from Shirran.
Then she stared at him, straight into
his eyes, with a look so clear and
fearless that Shirran felt, somehow,
ashamed. He reached up and took
his hat off.

She spoke to Shirran then, but still
in Chinese.

Sun Wah interpreted. “Madame
Sing Loy requests that the honorable
gentlemen make themselves comfort-
able,” he said: “She wishes to know
for what purposes she is honored by
their visit.” .

Neither officer could speak for a
moment. Then:

“Ask her,” Shirran said, “if she
knew Lee Wing Quen.”

“It is true,” Sun Wah said. “She
did know the unfortunate Lee Wing
Quen.”

“Ask her!” said Shirran.

Sun Wah spoke in Chinese, and the
woman replied.

“Madame Sing Loy was aware of
the existence of the person known as
Lee Wing Quen,” Sun Wah said to the
detectives. “She also is aware of the
regrettable fact that he has joined his
illustrious ancestors.”

“Does she know how he was killed?”

Sun Wah’s expression was one of
pain but he turned again to the woman
and addressed her. Then, to the detec-
tives, he said, “Madame Sing Loy was
not one to be acquainted with the
affairs of the lowly Lee Wing Quen.”

“Where is Sing Loy?” Himes asked.

Sun Wah said, “Sing Loy has not
favored us with his illustrious presence
for many months.”

“And what are you doing here,
Sun Wah?” Himes asked.

Sun Wah bowed his head but did
not answer.

“A week ago,” Himes said, “you
were in the pen and Lee Wing Quen
was in love with Madame Sing Loy.
Now you are in Madame Sing Loy’s
apartment and Lee Wing Quen is
dead.”

“Perhaps,” said Sun Wah, “we could
find a more advantageous place to dis-
cuss this matter.”

Shirran said, “Okay. We’ve got some
nice, comfortable rooms down at Head-

quarters. With iron bars on the win-
dows.”

Sun Wah bowed. “I have had the
honor of being guest of Police Depart-
ment before,” he said. “I am familiar
with rooms you describe.”

He turned to the woman and spoke
to her in his high, sing-song voice.
She stared at him for a moment, then
walked away, slowly, gracefully, with-
out another glance at the detectives.

The detectives took Sun Wah with
them, past the lethargic guard who
still sat on his wooden chair, staring
vacantly at the floor. They escorted
the fat, little man to their squad car,
then drove to Headquarters.

With them, they hoped, was the key
to the murder of Lee Wing Quen. If
the boy who first had sent them to
the Hip Sing Temple were correct,

Hong Yick: As guard of the Suey
Sings, he could not explain how
their emblem was involved in murder

Sun Wah would have much to explain
—too much, perhaps.

At Headquarters Shirran said, “Sun
Wah, where were you this morning at
two o’clock?”

“Unfortunately,” said Sun Wah, “I
am not prepared to answer that ques-
tion.”

“Most unfortunately,” said Shirran.
“What tong do you belong to?”

“Sun Wah has not been blessed with
the bonds of brotherhood in any tong,”
the Chinaman said.

“How about Lee Wing Quen?”

“Lee Wing Quen was a Hip Sing,”
said Sun Wah.

“Are you sure about that?” Shirran
asked. “We can find out, you know.”

“But of course,” said Sun Wah.
“Many years of experience have taught
this unworthy one the folly of de-
ception.”

Shirran glanced at him sharply,
looking for any indication of sarcasm.
But Sun Wah’s face was unchanged.

‘“Look,” Himes said, “we’ve got a
pretty good case against you, Sun Wah.
Why don’t you open up?”

Sun Wah said, “The virtue of silence
is golden.” .

And obviously, as the detectives
questiohed him, he intended to reap
the rewards of this golden virtue. He
would say no more. So the officers dis-
missed him and reviewed their case.

They had a tentative identification
of the victim, Lee Wing Quen.

They knew, if their information was
reliable, that Lee .Wing Quen had
been enamored of Madame Sing Loy.

They knew, too, that Sun Wah had
been released from jail and had ap-
peared in Madame Sing Loy’s apart-
ment the day ‘of Lee Wing Quen’s
death.

“We need just two things for a case,”
Shirran said. “First, verification of
that kid’s story about Lee Wing Quen
and the woman. And, second, proof
that Sun Wah had that green jade
dragon that was dropped beside the
body.”

“Maybe,” said Himes, “Charley Dol-
phin can tell us about the dragon.”

“By gosh!” said Shirran. “I never
thought about him. I’ll bet he could.”

Captain Charley Dolphin, a retired
Seattle police officer, reputedly knows
more than any other Occidental about
the intricacies and secrets of Chinese
tongs. During the 1906 war between
the On Leongs and the Hip Sings,
Captain Dolphin was hired as a pro-
tector of the Three Brothers’ Tong.
After that he remained in the confi-
dence of the various Chinese factions,
throughout a long and outstanding
career in the Police Department.

In a short time Himes and Shirran
were showing the green dragon to
Captain Dolphin in his home.

Dolphin looked at the dragon closely.
His voice was serious when he spoke.

“This is the death emblem,” he said.
“It’s a sure sign of trouble,”

“What tong?” Shirran asked. “The
Hip Sings?”

Dolphin shook his head. “No,” he
said, “the Hip Sing emblem is a finy
statue with a thousand eyes. No, this
is from the Suey Sing Tong.”

“The Suey Sing Tong!” Shirran ex-
claimed.

Dolphin nodded. “When a hatchet-
man kills,” he said, “he holds this
emblem in his left hand. That signities
that he has the wrath of the gods
behind him and that the killing is a
tong killing. Your man is a Suey Sing.
And you better get him quick, or the
tong brothers of the victim will re-
taliate on a Suey Sing.”

“Look,” said Shirran. “Is it possible

that somebody who isn’t a Suey Sing
had that emblem? A Hip Sing, for
instance, or a Chinaman who isn't a
tong member?”
; “Nope,” said Captain Dolphin. “Def-
initely not. The guard of the Suey
Sing Temple watches over those things
with his life. He would have to kill
anyone who took the emblem who
wasn’t a Suey Sing.”

Shirran and Himes were silent for
a few minutes. Shirran finally said,
“Then the guard of the Suey Sing
Temple should know who had this
emblem the night of the murder.”

Dolphin nodded and grinned wryly,
“Sure, he knows. But try and get him
to admit it.”

The detectives rose to leave.

“Thanks for the information, Cap,”
said Shirran. “We appreciate it, even
though you did knock our theories of
the crime to Hell.”

“Tell you what,” said Dolphin. “I’]l
nose around a bit and see what I can
find out. You guys pick up the Suey
Sing guard. It’s just possible he might
crack, or make some slip that will help
you.”

Sitting on a wooden chair on the
sidewalk in front of the Suey Sing
Temple was a short, plump Chinaman
wearing a cap and a dark sweater.

“You the guard here?” Shirran
asked.

The man nodded his head.

“What’s your name?”

“Hong Yick,” said the Chinaman,
spitting over his shoulder.

“Well, you're under arrest,’ Shir-
ran said. “You’ve got a lot of ques-
tions to answer.”

HONG YICK proved a surly, unco-
operative prisoner.

“Nobody take emblem,” he. said.
“Nobody take Suey Sing emblem or
Hong Yick kill.”

“How about Sun Wah?” asked Shir-
ran.

“Sun Wah flend,” said Hong Vick.
“He no take emblem. Sun Wah no
Suey Sing.”

“You sure?”

“Sure,” said Hong Yick. “Velly sure.
Sun Wah with Hong Yick this morn-
ing, all morning. He no take emblem.”

“How about a Suey Sing member?”

“Nobody take Suey Sing emblem,”
said Hong Yick. “Lee Wing Quen, him
velly wicked Chinaboy. But Suey Sing
no kill Lee Wing Quen.”

And on and on. Eventually, in dis-
gust, Shirran and Himes ordered him
locked up.

That afternoon Captain Dolphin
called.

39

Library

. B52

eq
THE FOURTH CORNER >
Highlights from the Early Northwest Z

by
LELAH JACKSON EDSON

*9SQT *ato S*yseM S£qun09 woogeg, pesury ‘suetpul OM]

MAP INSIDE FRONT AND BACK COVERS DRAWN BY THE AUTHOR

;
-~fue puts JO WITjUOO 04 eTqeun

Copyright, 1951, by
LELAH JACKSON EDSON

DEDICATED
to
THIS COPY IS NUMBER EDWARD EDSON

a Pioneer Himself,

L ol ¥ J | Eee Whose Long Life,

Exemplifying the Ideals

of Citizenship, was Devoted
to the Upbuilding and Conservation

of the Resources, Beauties, and Grandeur
of the Northwest He loved so Well,

and to the Preservation
of the History
Cyr : of the New Land.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
COX BROTHERS, INC., BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON

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FRONT PAGE DETECTI

The alibi Roy Jacobs
fixed up backfired in
court, and he faces
death on the gallows.

Willard, white, hanged Washingtgs
) on April 6, 1943. 4

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23

FOR SEVEN YEARS THE WASHINGTON SHERIFF DOGGEDLY SOUGHT

‘


t

At Puyallup Police Chief Frank
Chadwick slammed down the receiver.
“Come on,” he called to Officer
Harry Storem. “Bank stickup at Ort-
ing. The robber’s headed his way in
a blue Buick with black fenders.”
Storem leaped behind the wheel and
e police car headed toward Orting.
@::. Sumner the officers met a blue
Buick, driven fast.

“That was it,” barked Chadwick.

Tires shrieked as the officer spun
the machine and headed after the
fleeing bandit.

The Buick slowed down. It had
overheated. Storem jammed his fist
down on the siren button and the
police car cruised up alongside the
other. The chief motioned the bandit
to halt.

The Buick rolled to a stop, and the
police car stopped beside it, to the left.
John Urdea, a farmer, was working
nearby. He heard the siren and
looked up. z

The bank robber stepped to the
highway. Chief Chadwick started ‘to
leap from the police car.

The bandit raised his automatic.
Five shots rang out.

Two bullets struck Storem, one in
the forehead, the other in the right
side of his chest. He collapsed over
the steering wheel, dying.

Both Officers Die

Another slug struck Storem’s police
adge, and ricocheted into Chadwick’s
@:: The chief slumped onto the
running board, then slowly rolled to
the pavement on his face.

The gunman stepped back into his
car, from which a cloud of steam was
rising, and escaped. :

As Urdea ran to the scene, Roy
Peabody of Sumner, driving up the
highway, stopped his auto.

The unconscious officers died within
a few minutes. Urdea noticed that
after the blazing gunfire an unearthly
silence settled over the countryside,
broken only by the song of birds. “I

could hear birds singing,” was all he

could say when interviewed later by
newspapermen. :

Urdea noted a sawed-off shotgun
on the seat of the police car, and that
the revolvers of both murdered offi-
cers were in their holsters.

Later, while the search for the
bandit was at its height, newspapers
speculated that perhaps the police had
not drawn their revolvers because
they knew the bandit. :

To persons connected with the case,
such reasoning seemed faulty, because
even if the officers had recognized the
‘bandit, they scarcely would have ap-

@o him right after he had
Pbbed a bank without drawing their
weapons.

It would seem the most logical an-
swer to the puzzle is that in the ex-

24

Prosecutor Thor c Tollefson (left) and his assistant, Marshall McCormick,
look up a point of law in preparing the state's case against Roy Jacobs.

citement of the chase the officers _

underestimated the ferocity of the
bandit and simply were not expecting
his murderous attack. However, there
never can be any definite explanation
of why they failed to draw their guns.

Peabody drove on to sound the
alarm, while Urdea guarded the bodies
as dozens of cars on the highway
stopped at the murder scene. ;

The bandit in the Buick sped on
toward Sumner. Two police officers
were dead, murdered in cold blood.
Thus ended the second phase of the
Orting bank robbery.

Several persons noted the bandit
car chugging toward Sumner, bécause
of the motor trouble it was having.
Leo Knoblauch saw it pass his service
station.

A little farther on it dice the at-
tention of Harvey Cain, who looked
curiously after the machine with the
steaming radiator.

S. Rasmussen saw it clatter past his
berry ranch, and got a good look at
the tall, thin bandit.

In the outskirts of Sumner the car
broke down, and the bandit tried to
thumb a ride. Fred Carnahan, a Sum-
ner resident, started to pick up the
hitch-hiker but changed his mind. In
so doing he doubtless saved his car,
and possibly his life.

The bandit abandoned the Buick
and went to the Milwaukee railroad
tracks, near the Stuck River.

A freight train was just starting
from Sumner for the railroad junction
of Renton, Wash., a few miles from
Seattle. ;

. yards.

|
4
4

Conductor C. N. Shriver saw a man
run from under the covered railroad
bridge and swing aboard a boxcar just
ahead of the caboose in which he ..
was riding. At Renton, Shriver went
forward to the boxcar.

“Get out of there,” he ordered.

Manhunt Begun

Several men dropped ‘out and oe i
slouched away through the railroad %
None, however, was the ex- . |
tremely tall, thin man Shriver had ‘
seen springing into the car. : i
“This car is going to be sealed up,
and anyone in there may be locked
up for a couple of weeks without food
or water,” the conductor called out.
The tall man suddenly appeared out
of the gloom, glared at Conductor
Shriver, and leaped from the car. He
fell, but scrambled to his feet and
rushed away in the direction of ~
Seattle. ;

That was the last seen of the bandit
at that time.

A manhunt began which was to last
for seven years. At its head was
Sheriff John C. Bjorklund: of Pierce
County, a peace officer with the ten- - -
acity of a bulldog.

The abandoned Buick was found
near an old yeast factory in Sumner.
It bore the Washington auto license
A-36308.

“That means it is from King County .
—probably from Seattle,” Under
sheriff James Milone pointed out.
- Sheriff Bjorklund leaned forwar}
and scrutinized the plates. :

“Something ST nee here,” he said

FRONT PAGE DETE


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i

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ti
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te aid 0

«After he alleged!
Orting State Bank, ie
__ two policemen making his escape.

ESLIE A. STONE, mild-mannered,
[| espectacted young cashier of the
Orting State Bank in Orting,
Wash.. strolled from the’ vault and
walked to the teller’s window. Stone
was the only employe on duty. at
the time. ; *
A man stood waiting at the window.
Stone picked up a pen expectantly.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
The man thrust a black automatie
above the counter, aiming it directly
at the cashier’s heart.
“Hand it over!” hissed the bandit.
Stone had seen other bank rob-
beries and knew that not only his own
safety, but that of others who might
enter the bank, depended upon his
keeping cool. Any hasty move might

start the unmasked bandit blasting.

away with that deadly gun. -

Stone stood frozen a second.

“May I lay down my pen before I
open the cash drawer?” he asked
calmly.

“Yeah, go ahead. I won’t hurt you,”

¢

growled the robber. He made a slight
motion with the muzzle of the weapon
to hurry the cashier. But Stone was
not to be hurried,

The mere constriction of a finger,
he knew, would start that automatic
spewing death. He noted that the
hand which held- it trembled, with
excitement or fear.

Slowly Stone opened the money
drawer. keeping his eyes -on the
bandit. — bs

Desperately the cashier was mem-
orizing the man’s appearance. in case
he should ever.see him again.

Long, narrow face, with high cheek-
bones . . . steely eyes which glared
balefully ... a thin trap of a mouth

.~ small head . . . brown hair .
extremely tall . . . painfully slender.

Stone scooped bundles of currency
from the drawer. Ostensibly they
were packets of fives, tens and 20s,
but actually the total loot was only
$520. The interior layers of bills were
stage money. The bank had been held

BY STUART WHITEHOUSE

held up the
Jacobs shot

Cashier Leslie. Stone identifi ed -
‘Jacobs as the bandit after once” 3
previously hesitating $e. do so. .

NOOSE!

A BANK BANDIT WHO

MARCH, 1943

te

KILLED TWO OFFICERS:

up before, and these packages were

specially prepared for a gfopeat per-—
formance.

The cashier Shoved the stack toed

the bandit. With his left hand, the
overall-clad gunman stuffed the
money into his pockets.
“Now back up,” he ordered. =
Keeping his hands in plain sight,

‘Stone inched cautiously toward the

vault.

The robber watched closely. Sud-
denly he wheeled and dashed for the
bank door. Stone leaped Ante the
office. :
“That fellow will have a car parked

_on the side street just outside this

i

- Mrs. Biglow | slipped

office window!” he thought.

He grabbed a high-powered rifle
from a rack, climbed on a table be-
side a window high in the wall, and
smashed out the frosted pane.

Dares Not Fire

The bandit was in an old blue sedan
with black fenders. He was franti-
cally fumbling with the gear. k

Stone raised the rifle and fired. But
the car lurched forward at that in-
stant, and sped out of sight.

The cashier rushed to the front
door of the bank, hoping the bandit
might double back on the main high-
way through the little town. Women
screamed at the sudden appearance of
the banker with the smoking rifle in
his hand.

Again Stone had figured correctly.
Two blocks away the robber’s car
careened back on the highway and
headed north toward Sumner - and
Puyaliup. > ex

Stone raised the weapon, then low-
ered it in disgust. There were too
many people and.cars on the street.
He dared not fire. meee

He could not leave the bank un-
guarded to pursue the fleeing auto,
so he_ yelled Herat § Robbery! :
Catch that car!” STR

Mrs. Pearl Biglow, an, Orting. resi-
dent, rushed up. nee

‘Tl call the Puyallup police,” _ She
offered. aa

“Good,” said Stone. “I'll pes ‘the
state patrol. Tell Puyallup it ,is a
blue car with black fenders.” .

He dashed back into the bank while
into the city
treasurer's office where she worked.”

“Get me the Puyallup police station,

quick!” she shouted to the telephone -
operator.. “The Orting bank's just.
been robbed!”

The tall bandit disappeared to ‘the
north, toward Puyallup, about ten
miles away. On that Monday, July 1y
in 1935, he had set in motion a chain.
of circumstances which brought about ,
the deaths of two fine men and which
—more than seven years later—put a.
third man
gallows. |

in the shadow of the. ~~


&.

“Let's have a screwdriver.”

The sheriff loosened the front li-
cense. It dropped off, revealing a
second plate underneath. a

“B-32696,” he read.
are from Pierce County; this -car
probably comes from Tacoma.”

A checkup proved the sheriff to be
correct.

“The King County license plates
were stolen in Seattle some time ago.
while the car was stolen from Steve
Gordon in Tacoma just today.” Milone
reported to_Bjorklund.

* “What about Gordon?”

“He had reported the loss to the
Tacoma police before the robbery.
He’s in the clear.” .

Luke May, Seattle criminologist
(now an officer in the Navy) was

called in on the case. He sprinkled”

yellow powder all over the car and
examined it for fingerprints. Little of

Above: Police Chief Frank Chad-
wick was mortally wounded when
a sua ce a and struck him.

Right: Sheriff John Bjorklund
refused to admit defeat in his
investigation of the murders.

value to the investigation was found
by May.

Seattle joined the little community
of Puyallup in mourning the two offi-
cers who died in line of duty, and
scores of uniformed men attended

their funerals. A civic festival planned.

for that week in Puyallup was post-
poned.

\

Question Suspects
-Glenn Barton was named _ police
chief to succeed the murdered Chad-
wick, and worked day and night with
Sheriff Bjorklund on the case.

MARCH, 1943

“The B licenses -

Police radio and teletype were fair-
ly new in those:days, and this case
was one of the first in Washington in
which they played a big part.

The bank cashier’s description of -

the murderous bandit was broadcast
far and wide.

“The fact that the killer’ was un-
masked is our best lead,” declared
Bjorklund.

“T’ll know him if I see him again.”
the banker promised.

“Think he is an ex-convict?” asked
Milone.

Bjorklund shook his head. “No.
Otherwise he would havé made some

-effort to conceal his appearance. The
fact that he wasn’t masked also proves

another point.”

“What’s that?”

“That he doesn’t live nearby. If he
did he would have been afraid that
someone might have recognized him.”

Stone pored over hundreds of po-
lice photos of criminals, but could not
find one that looked like the bandit.
One early theory advanced was that
the murderer was William Mahan, a
gangster being sought at that time in
connection with the kidnaping of 9-
year-old George Weyerhaeuser in
Tacoma.

. Stone studied police photos of Ma-
han, then shook his head. “That's

not the man,” he said emphatically.

An ex-convict was picked up, ques-
tioned, released. Half a dozen other
suspects were quizzed.

From Kelso, in the southern part of
the state, came a tip brought about
by the widespread broadcast of the
tall, thin bandit’s appearance.

“There is a tall, skinny guy living .

in Cozy Camp here, who is a dead
ringer for the man you are looking
for,” the informant volunteered.

Milone and Deputy Sheriff 0. K.

Bodia of King County went to Kelso .
and: found the man outside a cabin.

He did fit the description of the ban-
dit. His name was Roy Willard Jacobs.
He was 34 at the time.

ry ll be glad to go to Orting with
you,” he said. “But from what I have
read of the case, you are barking.
up the wrong tree, gentlemen. I was
here in Kelso at the time, and can
prove it.’

An attractive blonde girl of 19 ap-

peared in. the doorway. ive
“What's the matter, honey?” she
‘asked.

“These fellows want to question me
about where I was a few*days ago,
when a bank was held up and two
policemen were killed up north.”

The girl looked at the officers.
“There’s some mistake,” she pro-
tested.
for three weeks, and he hasn’t beet
out of town.’

Cashier Is Uncertain

Nevertheless,

took Jacobs north to Orting. At the

“Roy and I have lived here ©

Milone and Bodia _

bank Cashier Stone looked him | over >

closely.
“Have him enter the bank wall
over to the cage, and tell me it is a
holdup,” Stone suggested.
Jacobs did so.
‘studied him.

finally said.
However,

federal authorities in Jacobs.

Wade, across a state line.

He was sentenced to serve iret’

The bank employe _
“I can’t say for sure ©
that he is the right man—now, f° ihe.

his arrest had interested on
He had
transported the 19-year-old girl, Anns 3

years in the McNeil Island peniten- ...
tiary on a federal statutory charge. .-
All of which did nothing toward solv-
ing the. murder of the two ee ra

police officers.

Police Chief Glenn Barton fond a

Sheriff Bjorklund worked . days,
weeks, months, even years, running
down leads, but to no avail.

“This may be one of ,those cases
where we’ll get no solution unless the
killer strikes again,” Barton mourned.

Bjorklund shook his head emphati- ° >

cally.
search.

“We can’t let that stop the —
Two policemen have been. -
killed; they must be avenged.” 9. ¢~

ane

The years passed, and a new prose- —

cutor, Thor C. Tollefson, took over in ~
He spent many hours ~

Pierce County.

wo.

studying the unsolved mystery, of the rs

Puyallup murders.
One day in.the summer. of 1942.
Sheriff Bjorklund visited Prosecutor
Tollefson.
case, the more. it seems to me that
Jacobs, wHo fits ‘the description so
closely, is our _best bet . the she
said. Kage YN BES

afoes

couldn't identify him,” i
Tollefson. =) (Ws

identify him.”

“The more I study this ~~

(Continued on page a)

.

‘PLL BET A BEER -
LD

ONT

n the same manner as the bank robber shot Chadwick and Storem, a
‘exas detective shows how he put down Huntsville prison break in 1941.

Ll < ‘

urder threat in his eyes,

Soe ye ye ee at Loe te
n up fo the cashier's cage. M

$3

de held the gu

Chief of Police Frank Chadwick,

HANG...”

BY CHRISTINE CARR

two wheels. A few feet ahead, the
Buick was sliding to a stop. Storem
brought his car alongside, riotgun
ready across the steering wheel.
Then suddenly a figure arose from
the side of the Buick, gun in hand.
Before either Chadwick or Storem
had a chance to swing that way, the
bandit’s gun roared’ three times
quickly. Storem slumped across the
steering wheel. Chadwick tried to
lift his own gun with dying fingers.
He couldn’t make it. He, too, fell
back, dead.

Three hundred feet away, a farm-
er, John Urdea, was herding his
cows across the road. When he
heard the shots, and saw the Buick
turn around, then disappear in a
cloud of dust, he knew that some-
thing terrible had happened.

N Tacoma, 15 miles west, Sheriff

John Bjorklund was directing the
hunt for the bandit. He turned to
his deputy, Sig Kittleson. “Frank
Chadwick and Harry Storem are
covering the Alderton Road. You
take a couple of men and block
Highway 99 to the south, while...”.

He hesitated as the phone rang.
He picked it up and listened as John
Urdea reported his horrible discov-
ery. “Did you get the license num-
ber?” he asked, and hardly believed
his good fortune when Urdea gave
it as A25-308.

Immediately the teletype sent out
the pick-up order on this number.
In every neighboring county officers
hurried to their blockade positions
that had long ago been designated
for just such an emergency as they
were now experiencing. ;

“The whole district is sewn up

re

ie commanded sharply, "This is a stick-up! Get your mitts up high!" chopped down by killer's bullets.

~

iyi amie 3 ae

Harr
steering wheel of the police car.

tight,” the sheriff remarked grimly
as he and several deputies drove to
the scene of the killing. ‘“He’ll
never get through this net.”

When Bjorklund looked at the
bodies of the two slain officers,
Urdea touched him on the elbow.
“Sheriff,” the farmer said, “I gave
you the number on the _ license
plates as I saw them, but I’m nearly
sure that I saw the rear plate snap

‘up.as the bandit turned the car

around; and I think I saw another
set of plates under it. I’m not sure,
but that’s what I think.”

Sheriff Bjorklund realized at once
that the Buick was a stolen car, dec-
orated with perhaps another set of
stolen plates. “That means,” he
told Kittleson, “the killer will get
rid of that hot Buick as soon as pos-
sible.” :

He was right. Within three hours
the Buick was discovered near Sum-
ner, a little beyond the bridge that
spans the Puyallup River.

Sheriff Bjorklund stared thought-
fully at the stolen Buick, while Ser-
geant Fred Scheutze.went over it
minutely for fingerprints. “This is
going to be tough sledding,’ the
sheriff said to Deputy Kittleson, in-
dicating with a sweep of the arm
the many miles of valley at his feet.
“Look at those pea fields! Miles
and miles of them! A man or a
dozen men could hide in there until
harvest. time, with. food ready for
the picking.” ‘

At that moment O. K. Bodia, Chief
Criminal Deputy for Sheriff Sev-
eryn, of neighboring King County,
arrived with a number of men.
“We’ve got every road on our end
blocked,” he reported. “No one can

Storem slumped over the

wet by without running inte ua,”

“T don’t think he’ll try it,” Bjork-
lund replied, “TO think he's in
there,” again Indicating the pea
fields.

“Lota got Matt Starwleh and his
bloodhounds,” Bodia suggested.
“They'll dig him out if he’s there.”

Starwich, perhaps the moat re-
nowned peace oflicer in the north-
weat, responded immediatoly, bring-
ing Rambler and Gloria, veterans of
many a manhunt,

The dogs sniffed at the car, then
raced for the river bank. There
they turned and dashed up again,
heading straight for the railroad
yards. “He took a train here,” Star-
wich said, watching his dogs who
knew that the trail went no farther.

“T’ve ‘had every train searched,”
Bjorklund replied. “No one, even
remotedly looking like the killer,
was on them.” :

Bodia added, “We did the same
thing at our end.”

“Just the same,” Starwich said,
“he boarded a train here. Maybe a
freight. And he might have hopped
off again somewhere along the line.
I’m taking the dogs along the right-
of-way, both north and south.”

Undaunted by the seemingly end-
less miles of track, Starwich pur-
sued his task until nightfall. But
it was in vain. The dogs never
picked the trail up again.

When Bjorklund returned to his
Office, several agents of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation were wait-
ing for him. ¢

One of them said; “Judging by
the description that has been given
out, this bank bandit might be Ma-
han.” Mahan was at the time
hunted all over the United States
for the famous Weyerhauser kid-
naping. “He held up a bank at Rath-
drum, Idaho; another at Centralia,
and another at Cle Elum. In each
case the methods were the same,”

beara SCHEUTZE shook his
head. “I don’t believe it. Ma-
han’s prints are on record in every
hamlet. But this guy wore gloves
and Mahan didn’t have to do that.
And what’s more, I didn’t find his
prints in the car, nor for that mat-
ter any others we have records of.”

All through the night every trail,
path, river and highway was care-
fully guarded. But when daylight
came, no one had been apprehended.
Sheriff Bjorklund was just ordering
his men to get a few hours sleep,

when the phone shrilled sharply. It.

was Forest Ranger Tom Pratt from
Naches Pass. “Some one,” he re-
ported, “cut my telephone wire dur-
ing the night. And just now I found
one of the barred gates broken open.
A set of tire tracks lead into the
reservation. Better get here fast.”

The sheriff and his men raced to
Naches Pass. Before noon that day,
they trapped four men’ in an iso-
lated cabin. Realizing that there
was no chance of escape, the men
came out with their hands up.
When they realized that they were
being accused of a double cop kill-
ing, they broke down and admitted
several bank hold-ups north of Seat-
tle, Washington.

“We were just congratulating
ourselves,” the leader said mourn-
‘ully, “on a clean get-away, when
ve ran into your blockade. . I
hought we. might break through
1ere, but it’s no go.”

They established alibis that freed
hem of the killing, but all four are
till serving terms for their crimes
t the McNeil Island Penitentiary.

Tired and weary, the officers re-
urned to their headquarters. But

6 °

there was no rest for them. A very
excited farmer, hardly able to talk,
Hlatmmered, phe killer tried to mur
der my wife.” :

When he calmed down a bit, his
alory became a ttle more lueld,
Apparently he lived in the middle
of the vast poa-fields. While ho wan
away, w stranger came to the house
and threatened to kill his wife if
she didn't food him, After he had
eaten all there was in the house, he
again disappeared.

“No sleep for us tonight,” Sheriff
Bjorklund grinned at his tired crew.
“Get out and organize posses. I

want the whole’ field surrounded.

By daylight we’ll move in.”

All night the posses lay in wait-
ing. Not even a rabbit could have
gotten through that angry crowd of
men, some armed with guns, while
others brandished knives and pitch-
forks. ;

At the ‘break of day, the order
camé to advance; and by noon the
suspect was surrounded. When
caught, he proved to be an insane
person who had escaped from cus-
tody.

It became apparent now that the
killer had made good his escape,
and the excitement died down.
Glenn Barton was appointed as
Chief of Police to succeed Frank
Chadwick. Sig Kittleson had orders
to keep on digging. The State Po-
lice put Jack Crook on special or-
ders. All had the same instruc-
tions; “Follow every tip'‘to the end.
oo nothing. Keep on prob-
ng

men were taken into custody on sus-
picion and for questioning.

‘Treacher Harnett, the police were
told, looked like the killer, and had
been in the vicinity of Orting at the
time of the hold-up. Leslie Stone,
the bank cashier, Urdea and several
others couldn’t pick him out of the
lineup; nor could they identify him
in any other way. He was promptly
released.

Roy Jacobs, another suspect re-
ported in, was declared to be far too
tall, even though he looked like. the
bandit.

Paul Hursh was returned from
Alaska. He wasn’t identified by
any one, but admitted the hold-up of
two banks in Seattle, for which he
was convicted.

Arthur Burr was discovered to
own shells of the same make as
those used by the bandit. They
were somewhat rare and of foreign
make. But he, too, was cleared by
Stone and others, who couldn’t iden-
tify him.

| Bot for seven long years, the
murder of Chadwick and Storem

‘Slowly gathered dust in the un-

closed files. Then one morning in
early spring of this year, 1942, Sig
Kittleson dropped in on Glenn Bar-
ton at Puyallup.

“Glenn,” he said, “I don’t like the
idea of Chadwick’s murder not be-
ing closed. How about it? If I re-
open it, can you help?”

Barton was enthusiastic about it.
“We'll try to get Jack Crooks from
the State Police assigned to this.
You go and have a talk with Thor
C. Tollefson, your prosecuting at-
torney. He’ll fix it.”

Tollefson was more than willing.

He had Crooks and Kittleson re- .

lieved from all other duties. “TI
know just how difficult this job is
going to be, after seven years,” he
told the men, “but you give me some
kind of evidence and I’ll do my best
in court to get a conviction.”
Barton, Crooks, Kittleson and

As the weeks went by,: several .

a”

PDA cain i Ey 6 aah a mat A

After unloosing a fusillade that dropped two co

o

fl in pools of their own
blood, the murderer lost his pursuers at the Sumner railroad yards.

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es

———

. France acted as an

one to tie him definitely to the robbery
and murders, we’d have a_ better
chance of getting a conviction. A jury
might be hesitant to accept identifica-
tions seven years old.”

Barton, Nelson and Smith with Tol-
lefson to help them worked feverishly
to find some link to connect Jacobs
with the crimes. Checking over Jacobs’
past life they discovered he had been
married at the time of the killings.
His former wife and stepson were liv-
ing in a town near Seattle. The offi-
cers went there to interview them.

The stepson asked Barton: “Do you
have enough to convict Jacobs of the
crime?”

“I think so,” Barton said. “All we’re
looking for now is some link to tie
him to the robbery definitely and—”

“I’ve got the link for you,” he said.
“I know Jacobs planned to rob the
Orting bank. He asked me to go in
with him on it, and I refused.”

“You knew this, yet you kept quiet
all this time?” Barton asked.

“T did it for my mother,” the young
man said. “Jacobs came to me after-
ward and said if I ever told he would
kill me. I laughed at him. I wasn’t
afraid of him. Then, he threatened to
kill my mother if I ever told. That
was different. I knew he was a killer
and unless the evidence was sufficient
to convict him and put him away for
life, he would carry out his threat.”

T= stepson promised to testify as
soon as Jacobs was captured.

When Barton returned to Puyallup,
a message was waiting from Bodia. He
called him at once.

“I’ve found Jacobs,” Bodia said. “I
hope you’ve got the evidence. He’s
plenty cocky. When I told him he was
charged with the murder of Chadwick,
he just laughed.”

Jacobs continued to Jaugh, even
when he was taken to trial before
Judge Ernest M. Card in Tacoma.

He laughed when the jury went out
to deliberate.

Clew of the Unlined Fishing-Rod

well convinced he was murdered. Did
you dig up anything that might point
to a motive?”

“Yes,”
“You did? What?”
“Well, it isn’t very strong, but it

might be a motive. I found that La-
informant for
Sergeant W. C. Epps in a race-track
swindle they cleaned up a while back.
It was a pretty tough mob.”

“What did LaFrance do?”

“He acted as the decoy. Passed the
marked bills that nabbed the gang. It
was led by Red Hanson. Red took
a year rap for it and is out now.”

Sauter squinted thoughtfully. “I
can’t see Red bumping a guy for
that—but still, it’s an angle. Keep
working on it. Look up Red and his
gang.”

“Tl get Epps to help me,” Morris
said.

At the end of three days, Sauter
kept his appointment with Simmons.

“What have you found out?” Sim-
mons asked.

“A number of things,’’ Sauter said.
“But what you want to know is
whether or not I think an investiga-
tion should be made.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I do. I am convinced a mur-
der has been committed. But, even
though I take the investigation, I
can’t promise you any results. The
clews we’ve uncovered so far are
weak. The only thing I can tell you
is that my boys and I will do every-
thing we know how to unravel it.”

“That’s fair enough. I couldn’t ask
for more.”

Sauter looked squarely at Simmons.
“There is one request I will have to
make. If we take this case, we are
going to see it through—no matter

‘who is involved or who is hurt.”

“Why, naturally—”

“I just wanted that understood. We
are private investigators, but murder
is murder.”

“Have you any idea who could have
done it?”

“Not yet.
facts now.”

We are just collecting

AUTER went on to tell him the re-
sult of their investigation. How the
body was found without any money on
it. Of the strange actions of the man
who led Baker to the body. Of La-
France’s connection in jailing the race-
track swindlers.
“Do you think those swindlers could
have killed him for revenge?”
“Frankly, I think it is far-fetched,”
Sauter said. “However, we are in-
vestigating every possibility.”
“Do you have any suspicions at all?”
“Yes, some rather definite, ones. I
believe LaFrance was killed for his

wo}

. for all I knew,

insurance money. That is why the
mysterious man who disappeared in
the woods led Baker to the body.
LaFrance carried over fifteen thousand
dollars’ worth of insurance.”

“But if it was for his insurance,”
Simmons gasped, “then—”

“IT am having Mrs. LaFrance sha-
dowed day and night, to see who she
meets and what she does. She came
from Lake Charles, Louisiana, and I
wrote authorities there about her.”

“Do you think it will take long to
uncover the truth?”

“Tam quite sure that it will be
some time. If this is a murder, as we
suspect, the killer has been very clever.
He has left nothing we can break open
now. The only thing to do is to keep
watching until he makes a misstep in
the future and be ready. You will
have to be patient.”

“T’ll_ wait,” Simmons said. He held
out his hand. “You will call me when
you have something?”

“TIL check with you at regular in-
tervals.”

B Bisse following day, Sauter went out
to the spot in the woods where La-
France’s body was discovered. He
spent several hours tramping through
the woods before he returned to his
office. When he came in, Fuller asked
him about the trip.

“T found exactly what I expected to
find,” Sauter answered.

“What did you expect to find? Did
they overlook any evidence?”

“Nothing Jike that,’ Sauter said.
“First, I checked with the tram com-
pany operator. He knew LaFrance
and remembered him going to Caza-
dero on the morning of the eighteenth.
I checked in Cazadero and found a
storekeeper there by the name of
Samuel Martin who knew LaFrance.
LaFrance was in his store on the
eighteenth and bought some sardines
and crackers.”

Fuller interrupted: “But there hasn’t
been any doubt that LaFrance went
fishing!”

“Hasn’t there?” Sauter said sharply.
“Until I made my own investigation,
he could have been
killed in his own back yard and carted
out there,

“What is more, I called Sheriff Mass
of Clackamas County, and he told me
that there were no sardines or crack-
ers found near the body. That means
he must have been killed in the after-
noon.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. I went up to the scene. It is
a grassy place by the river where he
was found. It looks to me like he
might have been sitting there resting
when someone sneaked up behind
him.”

The laugh disappeared from his lips | ;
when the grim-faced jurors came back | }
1942, for their ver- |}

in on October 27
dict was guilty. "Kis they did not in-
clude a recommendation for mercy.
That left Judge Card no alternative

except to pronounce the death sentence j |

upon Jacobs.
And as Judge Card intoned:

“And |

You al é

|
t 7“ ~ Doctor

I sentence you to be hanged by the |"

neck until dead—-’ Glen Barton, Mor- |

ris Nelson and Tom Smith stood in the

courtroom and looked at one another. | ‘a

The oath they had sworn over the dead
bodies of their fellow officers more
than seven years before had been
filled.

Jacobs now is waiting in the State
Penitentiary at Walla Walla, Washing-
ton, where he will be legally executed
from the noose.

The names of Elsie Homer and
Beasly and Cal Gruel are fictitious to
protect persons wrvittingly connected
with the crime.

(Continued from Page 23)

“Did you find anything more on a
possible motive?”

“Yd say it was insurance, Fifteen

thousand dollars is a lot of insurance |

for a man of moderate means to
carry. I want you and Morris to keep
Mrs. LaFrance covered day and night.

If there is anything strange about her |

actions, I want to know right away.”

The Lake Charles, Louisiana, au-
thorities answered Sauter’s inquiry
about Mrs. LaFrance, but their answer
threw no new light on the sittation.
Mrs. LaFrance was well thought of in
her home town.

While Morris and Fuller kept every
movement of Mrs. LaFrance covered,
Sauter went into the angle of La-
France being employed as a decoy in
the race-track swindle. Te learned
that Sergeant Epps had LaFrance pose
as a real-estate man. He had Jet the
swindlers talk him into” placing a
$4,000 bet, just as Epps stepped in and
arrested them.

Sergeant Epps promised to tale care
of that phase of the investigation.

“T can’t figure Chink Benson being

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Asthma w:

sore enough to kill LaFrance Epps
said, “but Pm having him covered, I
know he wouldn't do the killing him-
self, so I've got some stool-pigeons
working close to him to see if he hired }
anyone to do the job. So far. they

haven't turned up a thing.”

For nearly five months, the case re-
mained at a standstill. Everyone, ex-
cept Sauter, his two agents and
Simmons, had forpyotten the maivstery
of LaFrance's death. Thad been writ-
ten off the books as accidental.

Then one afternoon, three weeks
after Mrs. LaFrance gave birth to her
child, Morris reported in to Satiter,

“Mrs. LaFrance went to the Mult-
nomah Hotel today. I tailed her.”

“Multnomah Hotel,’ Sauter said.
“That’s a strange place for her to go.”

The Multnomah Hotel was the Jead-
ing hostelry and meeting place for the
socialites of Portland 30 years aso,
even as it is today.

“Did she meet anyone?” Sauter
asked. \
Morris shrugged. “I don’t) know. |
I’m sure she must have gone there

with the intention of meeting some-

_one, for she just walked through. 1

kept as close a watch as I dared. If
she did meet someone, it was just for
a second.”

“J think we are petting close.”
Sauter said. “Don't let her out of your
sight.”

A week later,
a new report.

“Mrs. LaFrance went to the Ladd
and Tilton Bank today and drew out
six thousand dollars. She did not
spend any of it.”

“Six thousand,”

Fuller came in with

Sauter repeated.

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ARKRXKK JVAUU DD, iiO y Wit Lara 9 WOLTGE - Nansea wa il « Sta Lé (Pie ree) 4—-6=1943,

TWAS the flrwt day of the trial, Only
two jurors had been picked when
the court recessed for noon, I aaked
the prisoner as he stood, heavily
shackled between two officers, wait-
ing for the elevator to take him down
| to oe cell, “T'hink you can beat this
| rap?’
| We looked at me with crafty, flicker-
| ing eyes that were hard with cocky as-
a surance, “Beat it?” he replied. “Noth-
ing toit. I'll never hang. Think the cops
can tie these killings on me after seven
years? They’re nuts, I tell you.” Ae

As the elevator doors closed on him,
he added, “I’ll buy you a beer on Skid-
row in Seattle next week.”

Will I get my glass of beer? No one
knows yet. Day after day the trial goes
| on, as Thor C. Tollefson, Prosecuting
Attorney for Pierce County, Washing-
ton, unravels the long story that started
FA seven years.ago, on July 15, 1985,.in

Orting, Washington. :

! T WAS hot that summer day and
: Orting’s sizzling streets were
nearly empty, just a few minutes

before noon.

Then a black and green Buick se-
dan came slowly down Main Street.
The. car turned into a side street,
next to the bank, and stopped. The ©
driver lolled in the seat for several
minutes. Then he casually got out
and strolled into the bank.

Once inside, he bolted into swift
action.. A blue automatic jumped
into his fist. His body crouched.
He held the gun up to the cashier’s
eage. His voice, vibrant with eager

- desire, he snapped sharply, “This is
a stick-up. Get your mitts up high.”

Only one man was in the bank,
Leslie A. Stone, the cashier. He
had just been in the vault. When
he read the murder threat in the
bandit’s eyes, his hands slowly rose.

The gun in the bandit’s hand
made nervous, demanding motions.
“Get the dough out on the counter,”
he snarled, “or I’ll plug you.”

Stone asked permission to lay
down a pen he had in his hand, and
to open the cash drawer.

| “Get the dough!” the gunman re-
peated.

When Stone complied, the strang-
er swept the money into his pock-
ets. “Stand back and turn around,”
he ordered, a satisfied grin on his

~face. The cashier heard the bang-
ing of the front door. He ran into
his private office, snatched up a rifle
and jumped for a window facing the
side street. }

The bandit was just climbing into
his car. Stone thrust the rifle
through the window and took a shot
at him. But he missed, as he real-

| ized when the Buick raced ahead
| and disappeared.
| In Puyallup, a few miles to the
; north, Chief of Police Frank Chad-
wick was talking to one of his pa-
trolmen, Harry Storem, when the
phone rang. Chadwick grabbed it
| and listened intently.

“Okay,” he said, “we'll block

him.”

He turned to Storem. “Bank
hold-up in Orting. The guy’s com-
ing this way on the Alderton Road.”

They jumped into the chief’s car;
Storem at the wheel. Hardly were
they out of the city limits, when
Storem exclaimed, “Black and green
Buick coming. That’s him.”

Chadwick nodded. “Give him the

_ siren.” eo

As his partner complied, the
Buick suddenly started to slide on
locked wheels, then it made a sharp
left turn, ,

.

“Got him!” Chadwick exulted. $ See oe! ; :
“That’s.a blind road.” y ah ‘Tl never hang," the prisoner assured the author. "Think the cops can
The officers’ cay took the turn on” Ale these killings on me after.seven years? They're nuts, f tell you!"
| 4 bs ps , : ‘ . fake tate a) ’
re Sic ee es eee
| i :

:

Bi

Luborudarr <I

: WMywah, (F4-


—

What on earth has Roy been doing now?
He came to my house Wednesday morning,
(the murders were on Monday, July 15) with
his clothes all dirty and torn and he hadn’t
shaved for several days. He was so nervous
he could hardly hold a cup of coffee with
both hands.

Jacobs said he was reporting this mat-
ter because the dates corresponded so
closely with the Orting robbery and he
thought it would be worth investigating
his nephew, who he said would probably
be found at the Cozy Apartments in Kelso.

@ ROY JACOBS was arrested that night

in Kelso by Deputies Bodia and Milone.
He stood six feet, two and one-half inches
in his stocking feet and had light wavy
hair which he combed back from his fore-
head. He was brought to Tacoma and
there questioned by Prosecutor Harry
Johnson, State Investigator Joe Mac-
Cauley, Deputies Bodia and Milone. He
presented an alibi. It was substantiated
by a sixteen-year-old girl who had been
with him at the Cozy Apartments; she
said that he had been home all day with
her on July 15th, the date of the murders.

Furthermore, Jacobs produced a gro-
cery slip, dated July 15th, from “Parry’s
Grocery Store,” in Kelso, and stated that
while buying groceries there about three-
thirty on the afternoon of July 15th he
had picked up the Kelso Tribune and had
read the story of the robbery and shoot-
ings and had talked with John Parry, the
proprietor, about them. The newspaper’s
files were checked and it was found they
had carried a banner headline story on
the crimes and that the paper had been
delivered at the Parry store at almost the
minute claimed by the suspect. John
Parry had been out of town and the offi-
cers had been unable to check with him
on their visit.

Jacobs also stated that later the same
evening he had discussed the murders
with the mother and grandmother of Mrs.
Edna Smith, who had taken over the
apartments a few days earlier. The offi-
cers found that both the two women had
gone to Canada and therefore could not

Thor Tollefson, prosecutor (/eft), with assistant prosecutor Robert McCormack

76

be interviewed.

The sister of Roy Jacobs now said she
believed it was Monday that her brother
was at her house, instead of Wednesday,
as she had written in the letter.

All this fixing of dates, occurring so
shortly after the commission of the
crimes, together with: the alibi, seemed
to eliminate the necessity of having eye-
witnesses try to identify the suspect, but
nevertheless this was done.

Several winesses were brought to the
jail to see if they could pick Jacobs from
a line-up. Hardtke and Danley said he
looked like the man they had seen, but
they would not say, “This is the man.”

Taken to Orting and led into the bank,
sent up to the window where the bank had
been held up, Stone was given a chance
to identify Jacobs as the man who had
stuck the gun in his face.

“It looks an awful lot like him,” said
Stone. “It may be he; in fact, I think it
is, but he seems taller now.”

“Did you notice anything wrong with
his left hand?” asked Bodia.

“No, I didn’t,” replied Stone.

“Well this man has two fingers gone
from his left hand, Stone,” said the dep-
uty. “Don’t you think you would have
noticed that if he was the man who held
you up?”

@ “IT SEEMS like I would,” replied

Stone. “I remember his right hand; it
was so big, like his here, that it made his
gun seem small, but to tell the truth I
don’t remember anything about that left
hand at all. Don’t remember seeing it.”

Bodia and Milone took Jacobs back to
Tacoma; John Urdea saw him there in a
line-up.

“That is the man who.killed the of-
ficers,” said Urdea, pointing to Roy Jacobs,
but he was the only man who would say
that.

“The alibi is too strong; the identifying
witnesses, except this man Urdea, are
not positive,” said Assistant Prosecutor
Stuart Elliott. “We could never convict
him on such evidence.”

Now Jack Crooks knew nothing of

what was taking place when he went to
the Pierce County Jail on the morning
that Jacobs was to be placed in the line-up.
But, as he walked across the corridor he
was suddenly brought face to face with a
tall, blond man, who in every way fitted
the mental description he was now car-
rying of the man who had killed his friend.
Inquiring of the other officers he found
that they believed this man had a perfect
alibi; he also learned that Stone would
not positively say this was the man who
had held him up.

But that night Crooks drove up to
Enumclaw to see his friend Marshal Tom
Smith; they talked long into the small
hours; then the patrolman started to
leave.

“Tom, today in the Tacoma jail I saw the
man who killed Frank Chadwick,” said
Crooks. “I’ve been detailed to work over
at Coulee Dam, but you keep your eyes
and ears open. I’ll be back some day and
we'll reopen this thing. Learn all you
can about Roy Jacobs.”

Although cleared of the murders, Jacobs
was in other trouble. He had taken the
sixteen-year-old girl from her Toppenish,
Washington, farm home, over into Port-
land, Oregon, and had thus violated the
Mann Act. He was sentenced to three
years in McNeil Island Federal Peniten-
tiary, near Tacoma.

“There was a funny thing about that
jolt Jacobs took,” Tom Smith wrote his
friend Crooks a few days later. “The
Feds never would have known about the
trip to Portland if he hadn’t told them.
I’ve learned from a Deputy Sheriff over
in Yakima County that a man named
Stevenson was going after Jacobs on a
grand larceny charge for swindling him
out of $500 on a hidden gold stunt of
some kind. It looks like Jacobs broke
into the Federal pen to avoid that rap, as it
would have made him eligible for the
habitual criminal act, and a life sentence.
He’s been convicted on two felonies
before.”

Jack Crooks surmised that the need of
$500 to stop action by this man Stevenson
could also have been the motive for the
robbery of the Orting bank.

One by one the suspects were eliminated.
Cole Taylor, whom Barton suspected, had
been turned loose on an alibi. . Jacobs
had an alibi. And then Bill Mahan was
caught by the G-men in San Francisco.
He, too, had an alibi; the Federal agents
established that he had not been in Wash-
ington at the time of the Orting bank
robbery.

@ JACK CROOKS went on directing

traffic at the great ‘Coulee Dam, still
believing Roy Jacobs was the most likely
suspect, and then one day he read a head-
line in a Seattle paper: ‘“‘Chadwick Murder
Solved. Suspect Captured in New York.”

“Two-gun” Jimmy Mulhern was the lad
named, a former inmate of Washington
State Reformatory. He had come under
suspicion because he had allegedly told
a cell-mate that he intended to rob the
Orting bank when he got out and this
was on July 12th, three days before it
happened.

Crooks looked at the photograph of Mul-
hern and shook his head. “Not a chance,”
he murmured; “wrong guy again. He’s
too short and too dark. I'll bank on my
eye-witnesses.”

Jimmy Mulhern had an alibi; Patrol-
man Joe Sladick went back to Sing Sing
and checked it out. He came home con-
vinced that it would stand up in court.
Mulhern had a gun on him when arrested
in New York which he had stolen in
Minneapolis on July 16th, 1935, one day
after the Puyallup murders; he couldn’t
have arrived there that soon if he were
guilty, so he went on doing time in Sing

TRUE DETECTIVE

Former §

(above)

Sing, anc
was with
Time

Chadwic!}

colder.

brought

County

originate

ficer he
could on

Jack C
ways bee
gardless

to the m:

“Chief
va cit
o1

n' ni
Fr Fre
Jacobs w)
in Kelso;
thinks R«
At Env
shal Tom
acquainte
had man:
that so f
from Roy
cause Jac:
der down
cused of k
during a}
positive i
crime, bu?
and had 1
ficers dec
young Fre«

“Fred, |
picion on
Roy Jacok
asked Ton
youth did
a descrip
the killin;
detail.

“I do h
but I hate
hoping yo
ing to put
you can’t
rob the O
it happen:
pulled just
used to b
used stole
to this in

Fred Fr
with anyc

APRIL, 1943


osequent
“We had

several
she had
rer bank
je plans
then get

‘osecutor

.“‘Tliked
living in
‘e unless
- another

or—after
ge?”

that in-

left her
on?”

went to
it would
ly, with-
Hannah

rer?”

sught we
coperty.”
what did

{ ate our

future.”

ulled
She

shot
first shot

i her. So
her and

ain what
2’s hands
clothing
icers be-
vever, he
ry about
1 Harig’s
designed

trail of
tted that

> figured
ght they
zot quiet
hated to
ie.”

slightest
s, and he
2 follow-
1 he ap-
nS. Me-

mit this
you have
did.”

was sen-
the state

vas being
irned to
I reckon

truth,
fatal

DETECTIVE

The Relentless Avenger

(Continued from page 45) that two ot
the shells were extracted right in the car?”
asked Glenn Barton, equally as good a
friend and admirer of the dead officers
as Crooks had been, but standing his
ground on what he believed had hap-
pened. “Urdea saw the bandit and he
says he was right on top of them. How
did he get across that pavement with those
two sitting in the car with guns in their
hands and get the drop on them, unless
they just thought there was no need to
cover him?”

@ CROOKS ADMITTED he could not
answer the questions which Barton had
put, so for the time being the search cen-
tered upon criminals and suspects whom
Chadwick or Storem knew and who had
owned .32 caliber automatic pistols, bullet
twisting to the left, a characteristic only of
the Colt automatic in American manufac-
ture, but common in guns of Spanish
make, according to Criminologist Luke S.
May, who had relayed this information
quickly by telephone from Seattle.

“This looks like a job of Bud Taylor’s,
Bodia,” Glenn Barton told the Seattle
officer and that night he picked this lad
up and brought him to Tacoma for ques-
tioning. He fitted the description of the
killer only in a vague sort of way but he
had a bad record and Barton knew that
Chadwick, because of the lad’s mother,
had befriended him. Taylor was tough
enough to shoot; that had been proven.
His alibi was not too good, so he was
placed in the Pierce County jail while
this was being more thoroughly checked.

The search along the Stuck River for
the man whom Fred Carnahan had seen
fleeing from the car was abandoned when
Chief Barton, who had now succeeded
Chief Chadwick at Puyallup, learned
through a Milwaukee Railway detective
that Conductor Charles Shriver thought
he could explain how the killer had made
good his escape.

“We were approaching the covered
bridge over the Stuck River,” Shriver
had stated, “when a tall man ran out of
the bridge and hopped a car in front of
the caboose out of which I was leaning.
I got a good look at him as we were
moving slowly. At Renton I ordered all
the hoboes out of the car; one hung back
and I had to threaten to seal him up. He
came out in a hurry; it was the man who
got on at the bridge. He was six feet tall,
with light wavy hair. He wore blue
denim overalls. I'll know him if I ever
see him again.”

The posses were drawn out of the Stuck
Valley, since there seemed little doubt
that this man whom Shriver had seen was
also the one to whom Fred Carnahan had
refused a ride near the abandoned Buick.

But suddenly there was injected into
the hunt the dread name of Bill Mahan,
fugitive kidnapper of little George Wey-
erhaeuser in Tacoma during the previous
May. It was on Monday, July 15th, 1935,
that Chadwick and Storem had been
murdered. Margaret Waley had been
convicted in a Federal court in Tacoma
on the Saturday afternoon before the rob-
bery and murders. Bill Mahan, with
$125,000 in currency, the number of every
bill widely advertised, was still at large,
badly in need of money that he could
spend and undoubtedly eager for revenge
upon any officers.

In the past five years, Bill Mahan, lone-
handed, had robbed a dozen banks, mostly
in the State of Washington, and had never
been apprehended. As in this case, his
fingerprints had never been found be-
cause he always wore brown, knitted
cloth gloves, like those found in the aban-

APRIL, 1943

doned Buick. Over his clothes he wore
overalls. His weight and height agreed
with the descriptions, but his coloring was
different, as he was very dark instead
of light as the Orting robber had been
described.

“Don’t let that disturb you,” an FBI
agent told State Patrol Investigator Joe
MacCauley. “Mahan dyed his hair a
bright blond for the Weyerhaeuser kid-
napping. It’s an old trick of his.”

However, finding Mahan was a job for

the FBI, so it was decided that it would ©

be time enough to consider him for the
murders after he was caught. Stone could
not identify him as the robber from photo-
graphs.

The search began to lag and if there
was one man who worried more about
that than others it was State Patrolman
Jack Crooks; he spent every waking hour
trying to pick up a tip and interviewing
witnesses to determine just what had hap-
pened which had caused his old friend to
fail to defend himself. From time to time
Crooks stopped to talk with John Urdea,
the only known eye-witness to the kill-
ings.

“When the car skidded: to a stop, it
looked to me like the driver bent over
suddenly,” said Urdea. “The way that
motor was racing I have often wondered
if the foot accelerator wasn’t stuck.”

Crooks next talked with Harry Wil-
liams, the man who had driven the police
car into Puyallup; he inquired if there
had been anything wrong with the car.

@ “THE foot throttle was stuck to the
floorboard,” said Williams, “and the en-
gine was flooded.”

Crooks believed he had found the
answer to why the two officers were un-
prepared for battle. That stuck throttle
had carried them beyond the bandit car
as they attempted to stop on rounding the
curve. Involuntarily Chadwick might even
have attempted to loosen it, while it was
possible that Storem swung around in the
seat to cover the bandit and had been shot
through the wrist, the convulsive reaction
throwing his gun into the back seat of
the police car.

Approaching from the rear, being al-
ready out of his car at the time the other
one stopped, the bandit had the officers
at a decided disadvantage. With Storem
disarmed, Chadwick could not shoot un-
til he got out of the car. As he started to
do this the killer had rushed forward
and placed a bullet through Storem’s
head. The third shot caught Chadwick
with the door open and one foot on the
ground; he tumbled over dead.

Then the killer, with “cop-hating” an-
ger, deliberately aimed at the hated sign
of the law, the emblem over Storem’s
heart. ‘

“He’s a quick thinker,” said Crooks the
next day as he told his conclusions to
Marshal Tom Smith of Enumclaw. “From
what Urdea said I think he meant to run
into the brush but he saw in an instant
that he had Chad at a disadvantage by
taking him from the rear and could get
the officers with little danger to himself.”

The man to whom Crooks had taken
his troubles, largely because he feared
other officers working on the case would
not agree with his theories, was a good
man to consult. For thirty years he had
been a deputy sheriff in the Cascade foot-
hills city and many a big-time crook had
met his Waterloo there because he had
underestimated Tom Smith’s shrewdness
and ability. The latter told Crooks he
agreed with his theory of what had hap-
pened and that the killer was not neces-
sarily someone whom Chadwick or Storem

had known.

“Theres are about a dozen witnesses
who claim they saw this man,” said
Crooks. “I’m going to see every one of
them and find out what this fellow really
looked like.”

“If you can get five that agree you can
bet you know what he looks like,” coun-
seled Smith. “If you get three, you will
probably be right, but if no two agree
don’t be much surprised.”

Lacking good physical evidence, Crooks
had decided that only through positive
identification was there ever any chance
to avenge the death of the officers. Work-
ing night and day, with painstaking care,
and not letting one witness know what
another had said, Crooks interviewed all
those who he was positive had seen the
killer and were certain in their own minds
as to what he looked like.

Almon Hardtke and Roy Danley, Orting
residents, had seen the car with a man
in it sitting in front of Knight’s gas sta-
tion, for quite a while before the robbery.
Once he had left the car and gone into
a soft drink parlor and they got a good
look at him. Their description fitted ac-
curately that given by Cashier Stone, ex-
cept that they placed his height at over
six feet.

John Urdea’s description tallied with
that of Stone, Hardtke and Danley.

Tracing out the route the killer had
followed after the shooting, Crooks found
that a farmer, Sam Rasmussen, had res-
cued his crippled daughter from the path
of the blue Buick and had obtained a
look at the driver’s face as he braked the
car down to avoid a wreck. His descrip-
tion of the man’s face and head was ex-
actly the same as that of the others ques-
tioned.

Then Crooks went to Fred Carnahan
and Conductor Charles Shriver. Carna-
han had seen the man standing beside
the Buick car and stated he was slightly
taller than it was. Measurement showed
that the automobile was six feet and one
inch high. In every respect as to color-
ing, height, weight, features and clothing,
Carnahan and Shriver agreed; and their
descriptions were as close as was humanly
possible with those of the five other men.

@ “AT LEAST six feet tall, probably

taller,” Crooks felt he could now say
with certainty. “Stone and Rasmussen say
the cords in his neck show very promi-
nently. All say he is very thin, 160 to 170
pounds. He is undoubtedly fair, as all
agree on that. He wore blue denim over-
alls and blue work shirt open at the neck
and his undershirt was white. He is the
type of man who would be dressy in
civilian clothes. He is cool and aeiberate
unless angered or vexed. He speaks good
English. Wore brown cloth gloves. He
combs his heavy head of light, wavy hair
ag from his forehead. And he is a crack
shot.”

All this was tedious though careful de-
tective work of a high order, but while
Crooks had been about this detail many
days had passed and it seemed possible
that Deputies Bodia and Milone had
taken a short cut and beat him to a solu-
tion of the case.

There lived in Seattle at this time a
man named Tom Jacobs, who had built a
home for his mother at the rear end of
his own lot. He was a very honest and
upright citizen but he had a nephew, Roy
Jacobs, a gangling, blond youth of twenty-
seven years, who had a bad reputation.
Tom Jacobs told Deputy Bodia that his
mother had had a letter from a sister of
Roy living in Kelso, Washington, 150 miles
to the south, which read:


Former State Patrol Chief William Cole
(above) assigned Crooks to the case

Sing, and once again the Washington case
was without suspects.

Time rolled relentlessly by and the
Chadwick-Storem case grew colder and
colder. Then one day Chief William Cole
brought Patrolman Crooks back to Pierce
County to work on a case which had
originated at Coulee Dam; he told the of-
ficer he might also spend what time he
could on the Puyallup murders.

Jack Crooks and Glenn Barton had al-
ways been and still were close friends, re-
gardless of their differences of opinion as
to the murders.

“Chief Marion Imhoff, of Kent (another
valley city), brought me a story while you
were gone,” Barton told Crooks, “which
might interest you, Jack. It came from
Fred Frese, stepson of that fellow Roy
Jacobs whom Bodia and Milone picked up
in Kelso; he says the whole Jacobs family
thinks Roy is guilty.”

At Enumclaw, Crooks found that Mar-
shal Tom Smith had become quite well
acquainted with the Frese family and had
had many talks with Fred. Smith said
that so far all he had been able to get
from Roy’s stepson was pure suspicion, be-
cause Jacobs had once been tried for mur-
der down near Olympia, where he was ac-
cused of killing Night Marshal H. A. Pake,
during a holdup in Yelm. The stepson was
positive that Jacobs was guilty of this
crime, but the man had drawn a hung jury
and had never been retried. The two of-
ficers decided to have another talk with
young Frese.

“Fred, haven’t you anything except sus-
picion ‘on which to base your belief that
Roy Jacobs killed Chadwick and Storem?”
asked Tom Smith. For some moments the
youth did not answer. Then he asked for
a description of the man who had done
the killing; Crooks gave it to him in full
detail.

“I do have something else, Mr. Smith,
but I hated to tell it,” said Frese. “I kept
hoping you could solve it without me hav-
ing to put the finger on Roy, but I guess
you can’t do it. He asked me to help him
rob the Orting bank just a month before
it happened and I refused. The job was
pulled just the way he said it would be. He
used to be a bootlegger and he always
used stolen license plates. Yes, I’ll. swear
to this in court.” rtp ele so

Fred. Frese, was. cautioned. not. to talk
with anyone about what he had just re

APRIL, 1943

vealed. Once again Smith and Crooks
went over such evidence as they had.

“You better go down and tell Deputy
Stuart Elliott what Frese told us,” Smith
counseled. “That way you can find out
quickly just why they turned Jacobs loose
the other time.”

When Crooks had finished telling his
story to Deputy Stuart Elliott, the attorney
pulled open a drawer and threw a slip of
yellow paper across the desk.

“We can’t beat that grocery slip, Crooks,”
said Elliott. “It is one of the most perfect
alibis I have ever seen. Then there is the
girl, whom he lived with in Kelso. She
swears he was there all day July 15th, the
date of the murders and of this slip.”

It was now that the determined patrol-
man learned for the first time of the seem-
ingly overwhelming evidence against the
guilt of the man he suspected. It was dis-
heartening news and rather took the sting
from the fact that he was again ordered
back to work at Coulee Dam.

“I wonder if I any making a nuisance of
myself, Laura?” he said to his wife in
whom he had confided every detail of his
search. ;

“If those witnesses who saw the killer
are as sure of themselves as you claim,
then you can’t be wrong, Jack,” she said.
“He fits their descriptions exactly. Don’t
give up.”

More months were torn from the cal-
endar, months that represented years, and
then Patrolman Jack Crooks was per-
manently assigned to a run in Pierce
County, which comprised the Puyallup
territory.

Crooks took up the trail of Roy Jacobs
where he had left off years before, still
grimly determined to avenge the murder
of his friend. He took a trip to Toppenish
with his wife and Tom Smith. He visited
Kelso and checked out the alibi witnesses
there. He took several eye-witnesses to
McNeil Island to see the suspect in a
line-up.

@ AND AT last satisfied that he had a

case he went again to the Prosecutor’s
office. Again he got the same answer:
The identification is too weak. The girl
will say he was with her in Kelso, and so
will the sister.

So the file gathered dust in the Prose-
cutor’s office, in the Sheriff's office and in
the State Patrol Headquarters until the
spring of 1942, when suddenly a new clue
was discovered which seemed to prove that
there had been justification for ‘leaving
the case so long dead, and that everyone,
including Crooks, had been on the wrong
trail.

Sheriff John Bjorklund assigned Deputy
Sigurd Kittleson and Deputy Luther
Wright to work on the new clue. Dick
Calvert, a former prohibition enforcement
officer, himself a shrewd detective, had
reported that George Palow, his stepson,
had stolen a .32 caliber Spanish automatic
from him shortly before the murders and
said he had just learned this was likely the
kind of a gun which the killer had used.
George had claimed he was working in a
logging camp on July 15th, ‘1935, but Cal-
vert said he knew this was untrue, and that
another member of the family had hauled
the youth out of the camp to Orting, on
the night before the robbery, He, Calvert,
also stated that -he had had ammunition of
the type found in the death car in his home
and that this had disappeared with the gun,
He believed his stepson had killed Chad-
wick and Storem.

In investigating the charges of Dick Cal-
vert, Kittleson and Wright were naturally
given access to the huge file in the Sheriff's
office. In a few weeks Sigurd Kittleson
was convinced that George Palow never
committed the crimes; but he had become
intensely interested in the Roy Jacobs

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(Left to right) Miss Emma Olsen, bank employee, Archie Stone and his son,

Leslie, bank cashier. They discuss

angle; he spoke of this to Chief of Police
Jack Lenfesty who had now succeeded
Glenn Barton in Puyallup.

“Jack Crooks can tell you more about
that than any man in the world,” Lenfesty
told Kittleson.

Sigurd Kittleson liked to see any case
solved, regardless of whether or not he did
it himself, That night he knocked at the
door of Jack Crooks’ home and told him
he wanted his help on the Chadwick-
Storem case.

“Get my Chief’s consent and we'll go to
work,” said Crooks. The next day, at the
request of Kittleson, Crooks was assigned
to the case by the new Chief of the state
patrol, James Pryde.

Marshal Tom Smith was brought into
the picture; the three men went over the
evidence which had been gathered during
the years.

“Why it’s all here; Jack,” said Kittleson.
“If we can find these witnesses we have a
perfect case.”

“That might not be what the Prosecutor
would think, Sig,” warned Crooks. “They
want plenty of evidence.”

lm “WE NEED one more thing,” coun-

seled wise, old Tom Smith. “We need to
make that boy Jacobs talk. Frese says that
when Jacobs gets mad he shoots off his
face. Remember how he reacted that day
at McNeil’s, Jack. When he saw us he said.
‘How did you get in here? I thought it
took an order from Roosevelt to do that.’
And you told him that was just what we
had. He was mad as a wet hen; the cords
on his neck stuck out like ropes.”

Thor Tollefson, a dynamic young lawyer,
had now been elected prosecutor. After
hearing the story of Crooks and Kittleson
he was convinced that Jacobs was guilty.
He swore out a warrant for the man’s ar-
rest for first-degree murder and Roy was
taken into custody by Crooks, Smith and
Kittleson at his home near Seattle; he was
brought to the Pierce County jail. He
didn’t seem frightened and said he had a
perfect alibi. He seemingly held no ill-
will, so Tom Smith insisted on talking
with the suspect quite often.

One afternoon as they approached
Jacobs’ cell, Smith grabbed Crooks’ arm.

“See that young fellow in there with

Jacobs,” said Smith under his breath.

78

the new burglar-proof installations

“What a break. That’s Roy Potts. I know
him; not a bad kid, just a bit foolish. If
Jacobs ever blabbed to him I can get it
out of him. Let’s get out of here and have
Jacobs brought into the office.”

Jacobs was taken back to his cell an
hour later, swearing a blue streak. That
night Tom Smith had a talk with Roy Potts.

Roy Jacobs went to trial in Tacoma on
October 20th, 1942, and it was not until the
story unfolded from the witness stand that
the amazing trail Crooks had followed for
seven years came to light.

Fred Frese related how he had been ap-
proached by his stepfather to rob the bank
in exactly the same manner as it was done.

Cashier Leslie Stone pointed his finger
at Roy Jacobs and said, “That is the man
who held me up. In my heart I have been
certain of it from the first I saw him in
jail in 1935. I'll never forget how those
cords in his neck stood out, just as they
do now. I watched his face so closely that
I could not even tell you if he wore a glove
on his left hand. I did. not positively
identify him before because I did not
want to be responsible for hanging him.”

Defense Attorney Maurice Kadish was
unable to shake Stone's testimony, nor
could he make either Hardtke or Danley,
the men who had seen the robber in the
car at the Orting service station say they
had ever seen a man whom they believed
was that man, except Jacobs.

John Urdea, the eye-witness; Fred Car-
nahan, the real estate man; Sam Rasmus-

sen, the farmer, and Conductor Charles

* Shriver all stated without reservation that

Jacobs was the fleeing killer they had seen.
The smile had faded from the accused
man’s face long before Roy Potts took the
stand.

“Jacobs came back to the cell so mad
that the cords on his neck stood out like
broom handles,” said Potts. “He said,
“That dope of a town marshal and that big
patrolman have been questioning me about
stealing chickens. Even wanted me to
admit what color they were. White
chickens away back in 1934, Hell, I killed
those two coppers and there are two more
named Smith and Crooks that I'd like to
get. Asking me about chickens! I sup-
pose that if they don’t make the murder
rap stick, they’ll try to get me asa habitual
on that chicken-stealing job.’”

Now Thor Tollefson rested his case; it
stood mainly upon the identification wit-
nesses and the statements of Fred Frese
and Roy Potts. To refute this chain of
evidence Attorney Kadish presented an
alibi. Jacobs, he said, was in Kelso on
the day of the killing.

The young girl who had been with
Jacobs at the Cozy Apartments was called
to the stand. In answer to the question
of whether or not she had said Roy
Jacobs was with her in Kelso all day on
July 15th, 1935, she faintly replied, “Yes.”

“Your witness,” said Kadish. Tollefson
advanced toward the girl on the stand.

“I have a statement here,” he. began,
handing her a few sheets of paper. “It is
written in the longhand of Mrs. Laura
Crooks. You dictated it to her in Yakima
in 1936 after she had asked you to tell
the truth and save other girls from falling
into Roy Jacobs’ clutches. You say here
that Roy was gone from Kelso from July
14th, Sunday, until twelve o’clock, Tues-
day, July 16th, 1935, when he came in un-
shaven, so tired that he slept with his
clothes on and so nervous and changed
that you hardly knew him. Is that a true
statement?”

“Yes, it is true,” replied the girl, leaving
the jury to believe whatever they chose.
In any event she had effectively destroyed
any value she might have given to Jacobs’
alibi.

m NOW JACOBS took the stand. He went

over in detail the grocery store alibi and
the talk with the mother and grandmother
at the Cozy Apartments on that same fatal
day. He said the grocery slip had been
taken from him by officers and therefore
it could not be produced.

Then Maurice Kadish closed his case by
putting a sister of the accused man on the
stand to prove that he had been at her
home on the afternoon of July 15th, which
she said was true but on cross-examination
she became confused and admitted the day
might have been the following Wednesday
after the murders.

In rebuttal Thor Tollefson called John
Parry, the groceryman. He carried with
him his books which he opened to a page
that revealed that the last grocery pur-
chase of Roy Jacobs there was July 5th,
1935. He also stated he had never dis-
cussed the murders with the accused man.

Mrs. Edna Smith testified that her
mother and grandmother were in Can-
ada on July 15th, 1935, and that Jacobs
could not have talked about the murders
with them. She said also that she knew
he was away from the Cozy Apartments
on Monday and Tuesday, July 15th and
16th, because she went to the apartment
to try to collect back rent due her on
those days and that the girl told her he
was in Portland, trying to get some money
from his aunt.

“How easy it was to make one straight
mark before that figure five on the gro-
cery slip, change the date to July 15th
and create a perfect alibi,” said Thor
Tollefson in his argument to the jury.

The jury was out just two hours and
came back with a hanging verdict. On No-
vember 9th, 1942, Patrolman Jack Crooks
stood in the old Pierce County courthouse
and heard Judge Ernest Card pronounce
the death sentence there for the first time
in nearly forty years; he heard it with
satisfaction and without bitterness toward
any of the many officers who had disagreed
with him about the guilt of Roy Jacobs,
for he felt that at last his seven years of
hard work had been rewarded and that a
killer had been given his just deserts;
death at the end of a rope.

Note—The names Dick Calvert and
George Palow used here are fictitious, al-
though the real Calvert was a witness at
the trial. ;

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APRIL, 1943


JAHNS, Frederick William, white, hanged Washington (Stevens) on

4/21/1911,

. & wagon along the road.

One of the West's most evil men,

PO,

Jim Logan looked the part. They called him—

Agnes Janson—she ran off to get
married. She got murdered instead.

c WAS LATE on the evening of Oc-
tober 26 when Albert Stayt tethered
his horse near the Clear Creek bridge
in the Okanogan range country of
northeastern’ Washington. Stayt, a

general storekeeper of Colville, Wash., .

was taking a few days off with the idea

' of getting himself a deer. He pitched

his tent in a grassy glade and was about
to get ready for some shut-eye when
he was surprised to hear the rumble of

The hour was near midnight, an un-

‘usual time for anyone to be bouncing

along in a wagon in this remote coun-
try. Stayt strolled over to the bridge

and saw the vehicle approaching in the .

moonlight. It was coming at-a good
clip, drawn by a white horse and a bay.
A man held the reins, and beside him
sat a woman, dressed in her best and

_ wearing a broad-brimmed hat.

_ ~

-

“Howdy, folks!” Stayt greeted them
genially, waving his hand.

He expected them to stop and pass a
few words, after the manner of the
back country. They did nothing of the
kind. The man jerked down his hat
low over his face and slapped the
horses with the reins, The wagon
picked up speed and clattered across
the bridge. The driver, hunched down
low, looked away from Stayt as they
rattled by. The woman, one hand
steading her hat, glanced at him for an
instant as she passed by. Stayt thought
her face was pale, and that she, looked
frightened.

“Friendly cuss, ain’t he?” the mer-
chant muttered, staring after the dis-
appearing couple., “Didn’t want any
palaver. Funny thing, but seemed to
me the lady looked scared.”

Well, possibly one of them was ill,
looking for a doctor, and had no time
for sociability. Stayt puzzled about it
for a few moments, then shrugged it off
and went to bed. :

Around noon on the following day,
Ira Gifford and his brother Charles
were. hunting deer on the abandoned
Hergesheimer ranch about two miles
from Stayt’s camp. Not far from the
ruined barn they came upon the re-
mains of a huge log fire whose ashes
were still hot. ‘

“That’s queer,” Ira said. “Why would
anyone build a big bonfire like that out
here?”

Charles pointed an unSteady finger
at the pile of ashes. “Look!” he ex-
claimed.

Ira looked. Yes, there was what
seemed to be a human hand sticking
up out of the embers—a hand all but
burned to cinders, its five fingers bent
like claws. :

“Holy smoke!” Ira gasped. “Looks
like somebody was up here burning
a body!”

There was no sign of the rest’ of the
corpse—only the projecting hand and
wrist. After a hasty look around, they

‘decided that Charles would remain

eet Ditty

19 Fb

while Ira rode to Colville to summon
the sheriff.

He had a long ride to make over
rough country. It was not until late
that night of October 27, 1909, when Ira
Gifford returned: with Sheriff Bill Gra-
ham of Stevens County and Prosecutor
Henry Kirkpatrick. The sheriff de-
cided against. any effort to probe the
remains of the fire by moonlight. They
set up camp nearby and got up at dawn
the next day. .

“It’s a hand, sure enough,” Graham
nodded. “And what’s more, it looks
like a woman’s hand. Wonder if we
can save it for evidence.” ;

He set a pasteboard carton ‘on the
ground. Then, with great care he tried
to lift the. hand in a shovel and trans-
fer it to the box. But the pathetic
member fell to ashes almost at a touch
and was lost. et

Poking into the dead embers, the
men recovered three empty cartridge
cases, .38 caliber in size. Further
search turned up a blackened hatpin,
the metal remnants of a large, decora-
tive belt buckle, and a circular frame
about 18 inches ‘in diameter made of
thin wire.

“No doubt the victim was a woman,”
Prosecutor Kirkpatrick said. “But
what’s this wire frame?”

Sheriff Graham eyed it closely. “I’m
guessing,” he admitted, “but I’d Say it’s
a frame for one of those broad-brimmed
hats the women are wearing now.” ©

Crane. RAKING brought to
light several blackened: corset
stays. Near the edge of the fire .the
sheriff swooped down on a large brooch
that had scarcely been touched by the
flames. Within an oval gold bezel it
contained a miniature sculpture of the
Saviour in white stone.

“What luck!” Graham exclaimed.
“This is an expensive and unusual piece
of jewelry—the kind that people would
notice and recognize. Maybe it will help
us identify the victim.”

Not far from ‘the fire, the Gifford

,

Ge arbeclt,

ae


brothers found the hoofmarks of two
horses and the wheelprints of a wagon.

The men were able to follow these -

marks past the rickety barn and to
the broken-down gate. Here there were
footprints in the sandy soil, and there
was also a noticeable pool of blood.
While the footprints were not clear
ones, it was apparent that they were
made by two persons, a man and a
woman.

“So this ts where he murdered her,”
Kirkpatrick said. “Then he took the
body over yonder and burned it up.”

“Might be we could follow the trail
of that wagon,” Graham observed. “We
can try, anyway.”

They were able to trace the marks
out the long driveway to the Cedonia
road. Here they turned right toward the
village of Cedonia, some 20 miles west.
The men rode off in that direction, now
and then spotting the wagon marks in
softer spots. When they reached the
bridge at Clear Creek, Sheriff Graham
was surprised to see Al Stayt cooking
coffee at his fire. The sheriff was a good
friend of Stayt, whose store was near
the courthouse in Colville.

“You’re quite a ways from home,
sheriff,” Stayt greeted him. “The same
goes for you,” Graham replied. “Al,
how long you been camped here?”

“Got here night before last. Why—
what’s up?”

“You didn’t see a man and a woman
drive up here in a wagon, did you?”

“I sure did,” the storekeeper said.
“They came by here in a hurry—

‘wouldn’t even stop to say howdy.

Something mighty queer about that
pair.” fe

He told how he had tried to hail the
couple, only to have them speed up and
roll by. “They had one white horse and
‘one bay horse,” he went on. “Can’t tell
you anything about the man except he
seemed about middle size and acted
like he didn’t want to be seen. The
woman, I’d say, was in her thirties and

wore one of them fancy broad-brimmed
hats——”

Jim Logan—he claimed he slew

dozens for gems and property.


“A big hat!” Graham exclaimed.
“That checks. Did you notice a brooch
she was wearing?” }

“Shucks, rio. I just got a glimpse of
them. But you know, I had an idea
that the woman looked scared, sort of.”

“She had good reason to,” the sheriff
agreed. “She was on her way to get-

ting murdered. ‘You see where they -

went after they passed you by?”

“The poor thing got murdered!”
Stayt was shocked. “Then I’ll bet my
_last dollar the feller with her did it.
He acted mighty suspicious, seemed to
me. Yes—I saw the wagon turn off on
that road that leads up to the. Herge-
sheimer place.” __

Stayt had not seen or heard the
wagon on the return trip. However,
he had gone to sleep almost im-
mediately, and admitted he was a sound
sleeper who was not easily aroused.
Sure they were on. the right trail,
Sheriff Graham and his party rode on
westward along the Cedonia road, stop-
. Ping to make inquiries at the scattered
homes along the way. At the ranch of
‘Odley Taylor, Taylor himself came out
-and talked with them.

“I saw the fire the other night,” he
- said. “I woke up about 3’in the morn-
ing and it was burning like sixty. I
thought it must be the old Herge-
sheimer barn going up in smoke.”

Curious, Taylor said he had mounted
his horse and ridden up to the Herge-
sheimer place about 9 the next morn-
ing. He saw the remains of the bonfire,
but had not noticed the projecting
hand. :

“I couldn’t make any sense out of it,”
-he went.on. “Why anybody should start
such a fire in the middle of the night
was beyond me. Well, I looked down
the road and I saw a man in a good-
sized wagon driving away. He ‘wasn’t.
Sparing his horses, either.” §*

“Did you get a good look at the.

man?” Prosecutor Kirkpatrick asked

eagerly,

“No, he was turned away from me
and quite a distance off. All I can
tell you is that he had a nice team. One
white horse and one bay.”

That same team again! The investi-

gators no longer had much doubt that
the driver was the slayer. Undoubtedly
he had remained to stoke the fire all
night, and had fled when Taylor came
up the mountain trail. But the identity.
of killer and victim were still as much
a mystery as ever. ay

Now JOINED by Odley Taylor, the
men continued westward on the
Cedonia road, stopping to talk with

householders along the route. No one, .

it seemed, had seen the man driving
the white and bay team. But Taylor and

Sheriff Graham were both good track-
ers, and here and there they spotted
marks they were convinced were made
by the same wagon and team. At in-
frequent lanes leading off the road
they took pains to scan the ground
closely to make sure the vehicle had
not turned off.

It was late in the afternoon when
they reached the old Baslington ranch,
some 11 miles from the scene of the
murder. Once one of the finest ranches
in the Okanogan country, it had fallen
somewhat in decay since the death of
Baslington and its passing into other
hands. Graham and Taylor got down
and examined the driveway leading
into the place.

“Marks of a wagon and two horses,”
the sheriff nodded. “Looks like the
same rig.” :

They rode in, rather surprised that
no one came to meet them. They looked
in the barn behind the house. There
were two horses in stalls there, one
white and one bay. In a nearby shed

"was a large work wagon.

“No doubt about it,” Od Taylor said.
“Them’s the horses and wagon I saw.”
Graham and Kirkpatrick went to the

house and knocked. A pair of young.

men came to the door, both clad in

_ work denims. One of them identified

himself as Ed Lewis and introduced
his companion as Jack Tish.

“Who owns the place?” Graham in-
quired. :

“Jim Logan’s the owner,” Lewis
replied. “We work for him. But Logan
ain’t here now.” |
--“Where’s Logan?”

“I don’t rightly know. He rode off
in his wagon a couple days ago and
hasn’t come back.”

“I see,” the sheriff nodded. “Logan
had a woman with him when he left,
didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” Jack Tish spoke up.
“He had the housekeeper here, Agnes
Janson, with him. They said they were
going to Spokane to get married, I
s’pose they must be honeymooning
now.”

In response to Graham’s questions,
the two young men agreed that Agnes
Janson was _a blonde from Germany,
about 35 years old, who spoke only
rudimentary English. When she left
with Logan she was dressed “fit to
kill,” wearing among other things a
large-brimmed picture hat. She also
wore a white brooch with a religious
design, and had taken some luggage
with her.

The sheriff made no mention of his
belief that Agnes Janson had been
burned to ashes. “What kind of gun
did Logan have with him when he
left?” he asked.

\

Judge D. E. Carey heard the pris-

-oner blurt out a. fantastic story.

Money purse bearing name "'Roman-

dorf"

was puzzling clue in case.

It was a loaded question, and the two
hired hands exchanged glances. “I don’t
know,” Tish replied at last, “but it was
the biggest revolver I ever saw. Had
a barrel about a foot long.”

“Tell me one thing,” Graham went
on. “If Logan didn’t come back, how’d
his team and wagon get here?”

“Well, he didn’t bring it back hisself,”
Lewis shrugged. “A young feller named
Johnny Cline came back with it yester-
day afternoon. Cline lives over at
Blue Creek Station. He said Logan
hired him to drive the rig back.”

“And did Cline say anything about
where Logan was heading?”

“Yes, according to Cline, Logan said
he was leaving for Chicago.”

That brought Graham and Kirk-
patrick up short. They well knew that
Blue Creek Station,-. about 20 miles

away, was on the Northern Pacific
ry


Hy
i
H
}

<

branch line connecting Canadian points
with Spokane. If Logan wanted to make
his getaway after murdering his house-
keeper, that was as good a place as
any to make it from. hs

They asked a few more questions,
learning only one more item of inter-

.est from Jack Tish. He said that

Agnes Janson’s only .close friend in
this country was a Mrs. Margaret
Ahern of Spokane, whose address he
supplied. —

Then the sheriff left the rest of the
party to return their’ separate ways
while he himself took off on his tiring
horse for Blue Creek Station. It was

* past 11 p.m. when he reached there,

and the Cline family had already re-
tired, but he roused them. The father

_ woke Johnny, who turned out to be a

clean-cut youth of 18.

’ “T want to know everything you can
tell me about James Logan,” Graham
told the boy.

“Never saw him in my life until
yesterday,” Johnny said, “when I met
him at the station. He paid me two
dollars to. drive his wagon home for
him. That fellow gave me the creeps,
somehow.

“He was alone?”

“Yes, he was, but he had enough
baggage for several people. I unloaded
it out of the wagon for him. There
was a traveling bag, two full-sized
trunks and a wicker basket. He said he
was going to Chicago, but he was
carryin’ enough duffle to take him to

Europe.” vay
Young Cline described Logan as a

“mean-looking customer” of about 50,
middle-sized and rather small of build.
He wore a dark suit, a gray hat with
lighter-colored band, and a shirt with-

out a necktie. He had a drooping "

mustache, beetling eyebrows, and what
seemed to be a perpetual sneer or
scowl.

“He spoke with an accent, German,
I guess,” the boy went on. “And what
a nasty way about him! He got mad at
me because I was looking for a hitch-
halter and I noticed a big revolver he
had in the wicker’ basket. Say, that
thing was almost like a rifle! I men-
tioned something about it, and he
ripped out a few curses and told me to
mind my own business.”

F HE WERE really going to Chicago,

the suspect would have to change
trains at Spokane. The sheriff decided
that he would likewise board the Spo-
kane train and see if he could learn
anything about Logan from the crew.
Graham stayed overnight at the small
local hotel, got the train next day and
was soon describing James Logan to
the conductor,

“I. remember that fellow,” the train-
man nodded. “About: as sour-looking
a gent as I ever met. He didn’t say
anything about going to Chicago. He
bought a ticket for Spokane. That's
what he did.”

“And he got off at Spokane?” Gra-
ham queried.

“No, he didn’t. I saw him get off at
Hillyard.”

That sounded bad, for Hillyard, just
outside of Spokane, was a rail-connec-
tion center where trains-could be
boarded for almost any part of the
country. It looked to Graham as though
Logan was making tracks, and with a
two-day start it might be difficult to
catch up with him. The sheriff decided
to go on to Hillyard and see if he could
pick up the trail there.

Meanwhile,.he had some unfinished
business that was burning a hole in his
pocket. Strangely, it also songeened. a
man named James Logan.

Several days earlier, he had re-
ceived a letter from relatives of David
Shively, who for some years had owned
a prosperous ranch near Addis,’ a vil-
lage north of Blue Creek Station. Ac-

Wagon ebave bore lovblesc yam
Janson on a midnight death ride.

‘ Yes, the agent. remembered the man

‘He ended by buying a ticket for

Wregne trail,

cording to the relatives, Shively had
written them a year ago to say that a
man named James Logan had sold his
ranch for him and he was returning
East to live. However, the months had
passed and nothing further was heard
from Shively. His relatives, in Chicago, -
wrote to him and their letters were re-
turned. After a year went by, they
were definitely worried and they asked
the sheriff to see if he could locate
Shively. Graham had been about to
start on this chore when he was called
into the murder investigation.

Now he had a very strong hunch
that the James Logan who seemed to
figure in the disappearance of David -
Shively was the same man he was
looking for.

He got off the train at Hillyard and
made a bee-line for the ticket office.

with the German accent, the droopy
mustache and the scowl.

“First he inquired about trains to
Vancouver, B. C.,” the agent said.
“Then he seemed to change his mind.

Davenport.” (Continued on page 56)

Pied investigators to
the old Baslington ranch (below).


' Miss Hermans said that she had
seen the men as they stepped into the
bank and saw the masks on their faces.
They had moved with such speed that
she was unable to reach the button to
sound an alarm before one of the men
was in front of her, threatening her
with the gun.

“Did you notice anything particular
about the man?” Sexsmith asked.
“Anything distinctive that would iden-
tify him from anyone else?”

Miss Hermans shook her head. “He
had a handkerchief over his face and
his hat pulled down. About all I could
see were his eyes.”

“How about his voice?”

For a moment she hesitated, then
said, “I think he lisped. Not exactly a
lisp, but there was kind of a thick
sound to his voice when he was ex-
cited.”

“I. noticed that, too,” Crandall de-
clared.

“Try saying some of the words like
he said them,” Sexsmith told Miss Her-
mans and Crandall.

Both tellers repeated a number of
words while Sexsmith listened intently.
Sexsmith knew that sometimes a minor
point like this could lead to the solu-
tion of a crime.

Sexsmith asked Davis whether he
noticed anything particularly distinc-
tive about the man who had covered
him with a gun.

“I think I could recognize his voice
if I heard it again,” Davis replied.
“There wasn’t anything outstanding
about it, except that it was harsh, but
I’m almost certain I could pick it out.”

At of the bank employes declared

that the three men went about
their business of the robbery with a
professional touch. They created little
confusion and took only a few minutes
to get the money and leave.

“Did anyone come in during the time
they were here?” Sexsmith asked. “Or
were there any customers in the bank
at the time?”

The clerks declared that no patrons
were in the bank at the moment the
bandits entered.

“I heard one of them say that some-
body was coming in just about the time
they were leaving,” Davis said.

“Typ you see who it was?”

“No. I was on my hands and
knees getting under the desk at the
moment.”

“Did any of you see who it was?”

“They had been lined up facing the
wall. They hadn't seen anyone.

“There was a shot just as they left,”
Crandall volunteered. “I guess they
figured that if they shot it would scare
us into keeping still longer and give
them more time to get away.”

“A shot?” Sexsmith pounced on the
word.

“Yes. I don’t think they actually
fired at us. It sounded kind of muffled,
as if they had fired into the floor.”

“We’ve got to find that bullet,” Sex-
smith declared. “We may be able to
get the gun later and prove that it
came from the gun by a ballistics tests.”

The detectives began a search along
the floor and walls of the bank.

Nearing the far wall, Captain Mc-
Carry stopped suddenly. “What’s
that?” he asked.

A low groan came from behind a
door.

“That's an old safe where we keep
records,” Davis said.

“Who’s in there?”

“Nobody. At least—”

McCarry pulled open the door.

A man was sprawled on the floor.
Blood seeped from his coat and stained
the white tile. McCarry dropped be-
side him.

“Get an ambulance!”

“It’s William Walker!” Davis cried.

“What happened?” McCarry asked
Walker.

“He shot me!” Walker gasped. “I
walked into the bank and he took me
back here and shot me.”

“Why?”

A squad of detectives almost overlooked a dying man
who had been imprisoned in this little-used bank vault

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ee eee ee es

fon

“J don’t know. I did everything he
told me to. As he was going out of the
room, he shot me in the back.”

“Do you know him?”

Walker shook his head.

Sexsmith asked, “You're sure you
didn’t recognize him?”

“He had a mask on. I couldn’t see
his face.”

“Did he look like anyone you might
know?” \

Walker shook his head again.

He was, he said, proprietor of a
restaurant only a block away and a
Patron of the bank. He had come in
during the robbery.

Sexsmith said to McCarry, “I don’t
see why they shot him unless the bandit

have recognized him.”

“He may not have recognized the
bandit because of the mask,” McCarry
said, “but the bandit may have recog-
nized him. Rather than take a chance
that he'd be identified, the bandit might
have shot.”

N AMBULANCE siren wailed and a
doctor in a white coat and duck
pants ran into-the bank. The driver
followed him, wheeling a stretcher.
Moments later, Walker was on the
stretcher and headed toward the am-
bulance. Sexsmith walked out beside
the doctor.

“and picked up the telephone connected

him. “The plates were stolen last
‘night from a Chevrolet belonging to a
fellow named Virgil Paist.”

too,” Sexsmith said. “Our big hope is
to catch them in it before they aban-
don it.”

“They haven't left the city, I’m sure
of that,” Hogan declared. “We've got
a car on every highway and the block-
ade is tight. Unless they ditch that
Oldsmobile soon, we'll get ‘em.”

“Keep after it,” Sexsmith said. “I
think T’ll go out to see the fellow whose
license plates were stolen. There’s just
a chance we might pick up a lead
there.”

“You'll find him at work,” Hogan
told him. “We checked out there by
telephone.” He gave the address of the
place where Paist worked.

The officers contacted Paist but he
was unable to give them any informa-
tion about how the plates had been
taken from his car.

He said, “As a matter of fact, I didn’t

. even know they were gone. I just got

in the car and drove to work this morn-

“pAust have been taken last night,”
Sexsmith said. “Where do you
park your car?”

“Last night I left it in front of the
house. I guess anybody could have
come by and taken them.”

“You didn’t notice anyone out there
during the night?”

Paist shook his head.

Sexsmith said to the other officers,

chance someone may have noticed the
bandits taking them.”

The longshot paid off. -

A woman across the street from the
Paist home told Sexsmith, “I saw a car
pull up behind Mr. Paist’s car last
night about eleven o’clock. I think it

i

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back it out but the wheels just spun

officers, “Have you searched the
church?”

down the neighborhood for anyone who
saw him. Get help if you need it.

up
could work on it.

driving the car got away. Have the
men use the descriptions we've got and
check for a couple of miles around here.
If we get a break, we may find out who
picked this fellow up or where he went.”

“Right,” Hogan declared. “I'll send
a@ squad out at once. Another thing:
Gamble just called from the hospital.
Walker died without talking. Gamble
is waiting to get the slug that killed
him.”

Sexsmith said grimly, “Well, we’re
looking for murderers now. Tell Gam-
ble to turn the slug over to ballistics.
Got anything on that license number I

(Continued on Page 42/


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OFFICIAL DETECTIVE, November, 1946

“A Cop Only Needs

One Break”

By Jack Heise

Special Investigator for

OFFICIAL
DETECTIVE .
STORIES

These Bank Robbers and Killers of
Spokane, Wash., Might Have Known
Their One Mistake Was When They
Stole a Loud Sports Jacket, and—

were doing from the moment they
stepped off the snow-covered side-
walk outside the Security State Bank
in Spokane, Washington, and made
their way across the foyer.

Slipping a sawed-off shotgun from
under his coat, a squat, dark man
stationed himself just inside the door.
He wore his hat pulled down to meet the
handkerchief over his eyes.

Two taller masked bandits made their
way swiftly across the room to the tell-
ers’ cages.

“Take it easy and you'll live!” one
of them said. A heavy automatic
punctuated his words.

Miss Nettie Hermans, Kenneth
Kohles and Milton Crandall started to
raise their hands.

“Keep your mitts down! Just back
up and face the wall. The first one to
turn around and take a look—it’ll be
their last look!”

The automatic swept from one to the
ws soca leaving no alternative except to
obey.

The third gunman, with a nickel-
plated pistol, made his way beyond the
low railing to the desk of Arthur Da-
vis, vice-president.

Leveling his gun at Davis, he said,
“If anyone in this joint turns in an
alarm while we’re here, I’m putting a

slug through your head! You under-
stand that?”
Davis nodded.

the bandits were in the bank.

“All right—on your feet. stupid!” the
bandit snapped. “Let's have the dough
and get it over with.”

Prodding Davis in the back with the
gun, the bandit forced him to go be-
hind the tellers’ cages and fill a canvas
bag with currency.

The operation was nearly completed
when the gunman at the door shouted:

“Hey! There’s somebody coming in!
What'll I do with him?”

The man covering Davis was ap-
parently the ringleader. “Let him
come in,” he said. “Then take care
of him. We'll be out of here soon.”

HEN the canvas bag was full the
bandit directed Davis to crawl
under a desk.

“If you poke your head up from there
inside of five minutes, Ill blow it off!”
he said. :

The bandit covering the clerks re-
peated the threat. “Don't even look
around,” he told them. “If I see one
of you turn your head, I'll put a slug
through it.”

(Continued on Page ¢)


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A few seconds later, a muffled shot
could be heard. Then silence.

Had the bandits gone?

More minutes went by. Davis
crawled from under the desk. “Any of
you hurt?” he called to his employes.

The tellers said the ‘shot had not
come near them. -

Davis threw the switch that sent in
an alarm to Police Headquarters.

At Headquarters, Chief Ira Martin
had worked out an elaborate plan to
lay a trap around the entire city for
just such an emergency as this.

The moment the alarm came in from
the bank, the plan was put into oper-
ation.

Sauap cars with Detectives George
Sexsmith, A. H. Bettinger, George
McConnell, Perry Gamble, Inspector
Frank Keenan, Detective Captain
+ James McCarry and Finger-print Ex-
pert Al Jordan roared over the snow-
covered streets to the scene of the
robbery. :

In the radio room, the operator sent
out a call to all cruising cars:

“Attention all cars ... Attention all
cars... Bank robbery! Take your sta-
tions and be ready to receive further
details .. . Attention all cars .

The prowler-car drivers knew ex-
actly what the order meant. Only a
few strategic highways lead out of the
city of Spokane. Police cars would
guard these roads.

The teletype operator jabbed at the
keys of the machine that kept outlying
precinct stations and the county sher-
iff’s office in touch with Headquarters.
His first message read:

“Flash! Bank robbery. Security
State Bank. Stand by for details and
instructions.”

Desk Sergeant Walter Hogan put
through an emergency call to Major
Robin Day at Fort George Wright.
Major Day had promised the use of a
plane in an er to spot a fleeing
car from the

The first on brought everyone
into position. The next step was for
the detectives at the bank to relay in
what information they could gather.

At the bank, the detectives leaped
from their cars and took up their duties
in a routine that had been planned
months in advance.

Sexsmith, McCarry and Keenan
questioned the bank employes to get a
rapid description of the bandits. Bet-
tinger and Gamble questioned specta-
tors outside the bank on what they
had seen and heard.

McConnell established a direct tele-
phone connection with Headquarters
to relay the information as fast as it
could be gleaned from the various
sources.

Al Jordan made inquiries about
where the bandits had been and what
they had touched and marked off those
spots to be dusted for finger-prints.

Sexsmith sent in the first report on
the descriptions of the bandits:

WOMB one: five-foot-nine:
aoe hair; brown suit; dark-
brown, snap-brim hat; nickel-plated
revolver; uncertain age but possibly
near

“Number two: five-foot-ten; blond
hair; gray suit, dark-gray, felt hat;
heavy automatic; between twenty and
thirty years old.

“Number three: five-foot-six; dark:
squat build; black overcoat; sawed-off
shotgun; age about thirty.”

The radio and teletype repeated his
message from Headquarters.

Sexsmith was just turning away
from the telephone when Perry Gamble
came running across the foyer.

“We got a hot lead!” he shouted. “A
woman spotted the getaway car and
took down the license number!”

Sexsmith snatched back the re-
ceiver.

“It’s a late model green Oldsmobile,
four-door sedan, license number
B975-325,” Gamble said.

Sexsmith repeated the information.

Getting the

bandit car was a break the police
hardly had hoped for. It meant that
the whole elaborate system of blockad-

ing the city could be put into effect

at once. The prowler cars could cut off

LeRoy Knapp: He was willing
to trade his life for freedom

the highways and hem the bandits
within the city.

The description of the car was given
to Major Day at Fort George Wright.
He and Lieutenant Laurence Heral
took off at once to cover outlying high-
ways in the event the car might get by
the blockade stations. Once in the air.
they would keep in touch with Head-
quarters by radio and any green Olds-

office and the State Highway Patrol.

Back at the bank, Sexsmith asked
Gamble, “Where's the woman who saw
the car?”

“Bettinger is bringing her in.”

Bettinger came in with Mrs. J. P.
Cunningham. She said that she had
been passing the bank at the moment
the bandits raced out and jumped into
the car. She saw their masks and
guessed that there had been:a hold-
up. She spotted the license number on
the car as it passed her and wrote it
down at once.

Mrs. Cunningham was positive that
she had taken the numbers down ac-
curately. Sexsmith thanked her and
then called Headquarters again.

“4 CHECK with. the license registra-
tion at once,” he ordered. “The
car is undoubtedly stolen but you never
can tell.”

With the first flush of the investiga-
tion over,

The detectives hoped to learn some
characteristics of the men which might
prove valuable in tracking them down.


nea

'
H
i
i
[=

LTT ONE EE IL EE

The Rattlesnake Springs area (I.) site of
the Perkins Massacre, looking southwest
from present Hanford Atomic Energy Works.

Yeager Photo

Chief Moses as he appeared about
the time of the Perkins Massacre:

by Roscoe Sheller

thing could be within sight or sound

white prospector discovered gold in that area. The find
started a rush onto and over the Nez Perce lands, with little
or no regard shown the Nez Perce owners, their land rights
or their lives.

Nez Perce Chief Joseph protested to white authorities to
no avail and when the situation became unbearable to the
Nez Perce, Chief Joseph gathered all his people, warriors,
women, children and oldsters; their livestock, goods and
chattels of every kind and struck out through Lolo Pass—
their destination: Canada.

General O. O. Howard in an attempt to stop the flight led
his army in hot pursuit. Chief Joseph was very handicapped.
He had only 500 warriors to fight a U.S. Army of greater
numbers. These same warriors had to protect and maneuver
1000 women, children, old men, livestock herds and the
tribe’s entire possessions. -

Chief Buffalo Horn of the Bannocks and a hundred of his
braves joined Howard’s troops to fight their traditional
enemies, the Nez Perce. In spite of the outnumbering power
against him, Chief Joseph fought and maneuvered his retreat
for 1400 miles, not stopping until he thought he was safely

Jim Raynor Photo

Capt. Splawn met Chief Moses in a deadly display of iron will

south of the gap through Saddle Mountains indicated by arrow.

across the Canadian border. But his reckoning was a few
miles short. Howard, with the additional reinforcements he’d
received from the East, moved in and accepted Joseph’s
surrender.

Instead of the expected dishonor because of his defeat,
the Chief was lauded for his bravery and praised for his
exceptional strategy. His people returned to Washington
Territory where they were placed on a new reservation and
presented with food and gifts.

Chief Buffalo Horn was irked. It made him jealous to see
the captured Joseph praised and honored, while he, who
had helped bring about Joseph’s defeat, was never so much
as mentioned nor his help acknowledged.

Buffalo Horn pondered the situation. Why should he, a
red man, be lending aid to the whites? They were the en-
croachers constantly driving the Indians from their long held

domain. Never again would he be such a fool. From now.

on, Buffalo Horn determined to devote all of his energies
and his life, if need be, to organizing all Indian tribes,
whether former enemy or friend, into one great force to
drive the white man from the West before his growing num-
bers would make it forever impossible.

He sent runners to all the tribes to explain his proposal
and outline his plans to begin a march at Fort,Hall, picking

‘up tribes as they went marauding, killing all whites and

destroying their possessions in their path. The plan included
working their way across Washington Territory as well.
Buffalo Horn’s Bannocks were promptly joined by the
Shoshones and then by Chief Egan and his large band of
Piutes. The 500 braves with nearly 1500 women and children
gave Fort Boise a wide detour to avoid any possible inter-
ference from that score should they be discovered.
Traveling toward their ultimate goal, Buffalo Horn, with
the now second in command Egan, picked up more tribes,
the Umatillas, Cayuses, Columbias, Walla Wallas, expecting
to add the Spokanes and others before heading for Chief
Moses’ domain in Central Washington Territory. All whites,
in the combined Indian tribes’ path who failed to get out
ahead of it, were ruthlessly killed. ;
Before reaching the Columbia River near Umatilla where
a crossing had been planned, Chief Buffalo Horn was killed.
Shortly afterward, Chief Egan of the Piutes, not much of a
warrior, was badly wounded. A few days later, he died.
Left leaderless, the Piutes panicked and fell easy prisoners
to the U.S. troops who drove them over the snow covered
terrain all the way to Fort Simcoe where 400 to 500 were
held in Agent Wilbur’s care for an indefinite period.-

The remainder of the still large force attempted to make ©

a Columbia River crossing near Umatilla, but the delay
caused by loss of the Indians’ leaders and slow reorganiza-

7


‘ pe Ss “a “i sa ibe ne
Robley Johnson Photo courtesy Harry Kinney

KYPE and SALUSKIN, Indians, hanged Yakima, Washington, 11-26-1879.

Two Indians were in the camp before the Perkins couple suspected another living

’

B*« AN ODD TWIST OF FATE, two epoch marking
events chose the same spot on a lonesome sagebrush
desert of Central Washington, each to write its separate
page of history.

The first event happened in 1878. Lorenzo Perkins and
his young wife, Blanche, heavy with her first pregnancy,
were brutally massacred at Rattlesnake Springs by seven
renegade, outlaw Indians, roaming far from their own
territory.

The second took place in 1942. The Hanford Atomic
Energy Commission built its sprawling plant to manufacture
plutonium (a critical ingredient used in the bombs dropped
on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, credited with ending World
War II) 30 or 40 miles along the Columbia River. The
Hanford territory took in the entire valley back to the Rattle-
snake Hills and so included Rattlesnake Springs as well.

Only four cattlemen lived in the entire region in 1878 at
the time of the Perkins’ murders, There hadn’t been much
change by 1942, save for a smattering of hardy souls trying
to eke out an existence along the river. The A. E. C. pur-
chased their lands and moved them completely outside the

é6 .

WESTERN FRONTIER, JULY, 1978

°

reservation, for the atomic bomb building then, was as
secretive as the stealth with which the earlier renegade killers
had approached their victims.

The massacre had not been planned. The victims just
happened to be resting at the only watering place in the
vicinity when the killers’ trail accidentally crossed the
Perkins’. The killers were escapees from several tribes which
had banded together to eliminate the whites. The rest of their
tribes had been stopped at the Umatilla crossing of the
Columbia River where many of the renegades’ relatives had
been killed. .

Perhaps the reason for the brutal slaughter of Perkins, his
wife and unborn babe took shape with the now famous
treaty of 1855. Thirty-five year old Territorial Governor
Isaac I. Stephens negotiated treaties with a number of tribes
at the Walla Walla meeting, including one with the Nez
Perce, who like the others had been allotted a reservation
where the white man would not be allowed to enter, except
by Indian-given permission.

After the Nez Perce were settled on their reservation and
were peacefully pursuing their daily lives, some snooping


tion, gave the whites sufficient time to prepare an organized
defense, one item of which was a river boat converted into
a patrol ship on which had been mounted several cannons.
It came upon the Indians as they were making their attempt
to cross using rafts, canoes or swimming. The resulting
damage was not pretty. Some got back to the south side
safely. Many failed to leave the water on either side, but
seven of the most bloodthirsty renegades reached the north
bank and as soon as darkness hid their presence, headed
north toward Chief Moses’ territory according to their dead
leader’s plans.

They had seen their tribe members, friends and. relatives
shot down beside them while attempting to cross the river
determined to annihilate all whites in the Northwest. These
seven had somehow escaped the flying bullets splashing the
water all about them as they swam, had traveled much of the
night and with but a little rest had continued on, worn and
hungry. They were in an ugly mood when they came in sight
of two white persons dismounting at Rattlesnake Springs
shortly after noon on July 9, 1878.

Lorenzo and Blanche Perkins had left their cattle ranch
east of the Columbia River where it makes its big loop
around what would later be a town named White Bluffs.
E. M. King, one of the four white men living in all of the
vast region, had ferried the pair across the Columbia early
that morning. In their conversation, King had learned they
were on their way to Mrs. Perkins’ parents’ home in Yakima
City, where Blanche would await the arrival of their first
born.

The Perkins couple arrived at Rattlesnake Springs shortly
after noon and prepared for a short rest during which time
they would have lunch. They unsaddled their horses that they
might enjoy browsing on the bunchgrass that grew in abun-
dance about the Springs. While Lorenzo built a fire, Blanche

8 -

The White Bluffs ferry powered by horses hitched to overhead sweep which operated the

a

paddlewheel.

took the food she had brought from the saddle bags. Two
Indians were in the camp before either suspected another
living thing could have been within sight or sound. The
strangers made signs they were hungry and seemed irked
that there was no more food although the Perkins gave them
all they had, without reserving a single mouthful for them-
selves. His suspicions aroused, Lorenzo went to saddle his
horse and Blanche followed his lead. j

She had her mount bridled and was reaching for the
saddle when she heard one Indian shout. Turning, she saw
the savage level a gun at her husband. The expression on his
ugly face told her this was bad. Blanche dropped the saddle
and, excellent horsewoman that she was, leaped to her
mount’s back. Her horse, sensing her danger and urgent need
to get away, was off and running instantly. She didn’t look
back from her crouched position, urging and helping her
horse do his best, although she wondered if it was a shot
she heard, or especially loud hoofbeats.

She felt she was gaining. The hoofbeats weren’t quite as

- close, when all of a sudden looming directly in her path was

a wide and deep wash that hadn’t been there the last time she
or her horse had traveled that trail. Her mount was startled
and hesitated, hardly noticeably, but just enough to lose that
margin of momentum that could have carried him across
with Blanche. :

He stumbled, his feet lacking but inches to clear the wash.
The girl nose-dived over her horse’s head into the rocks of
the dry wash bank. She lay there, motionless.

When she regained consciousness and found she could
move, she sat up and looked into the faces of several Indians.
Yet only two had come to eat their food! Who were all these
now staring at her? She begged of them, “If you must kill
someone, kill me and let my husband go.” ;

Then she saw another, harder looking Indian come up

|

customer’s name,
ugh the call, and
3 promptly veri-
‘e from 11 o’clock
» o’clock.

1 to the group
ng in the clear.
had béen using
clock and mid-

re.
head “Nobody.
» all evening. I
after midnight,
: still there this
irted out. Say,
‘s about my car,
ed, and I haven’t
it or anything.

1’t heard,” Sex-
Security State
is morning just
the robbers used
arried stolen li-

»”

it a car, a Ford
lates, was seen

rom which the
ween eleven and
Iw how do you

nt for it. Some- :
ad the numbers.

my car.”

struck an un-
var had not been
2body, certainly,
yet the woman
number seemed’

‘ way Sexsmith -

and see if any-
place heard a

) the neighbor-
everyone likely
the car go out.
aan said: “My
2s right on the
there reading

There wasn’t
d they couldn't
thout my hear-

ctives returned
1 reported to

ud, looking up
| progress have

head “Ab-
‘un down every
1ere we started
out. When we
of the car, we
ling. The kili-
wbank. There
it then, and he
found the car.
a clear+ finger-
n who took the
car must have
way, Mackling
ene at the time
2 checked and

ing with the
2 she'll think

9s she ‘'trans- -

F

and she says she’s sure she didn’t

‘we've got men ch

"posed the numbers. ‘That’s an easy —
.-mistake to make,”

Keenan said: “Oh, we’ve done that,

make a mistake. She checked it after
she wrote it down. We thought about
the numbers bei transposed and
ng now on eve
Ford coupe number, and we'll: loo
into eve
néar it.
we've

tll take a lot of time, ‘but
ot to do ‘it. We've checked

. With all the known bank robb but

' living .about

,

_ been sold- to:

the descriptions don’t fit any of them.
We're simply at a dead end, right
now.”

T was.a gloomy outlook, but jn-:

stead of relaxing’ their efforts the
detectives carried on with renewed
determination. But a week passed
before eee turned up. A farmer
miles from Spokane

came across a sawed-off shotgun ly-

-ing in a roadside ditch. He turned it
_over to the County Sheriff, who made ©

a report of the find and sent copies .to
‘all law-enforcement offices in the
area, and thus it came to the notice
of Sexsmith. a
Foremost in his mind was the ap-

parent escape of the bandit-killers, '

one of whom carried a sawed-off shot-
gun. . It seemed improbable that this
gun found so far away could be the
same one. A close scrutiny of all cars

‘ leaving town had been. continued,

and surely no one carrying such a
weapon would:have been allowed’ to
ass without first being brought to
eadquarters for questioning. Sex-

smith was. taking no: chances. He‘

wired the factory after getting the
physical facts’ of the gun, asking to
what outlet it had been sold.

He was elated when he got the re-
turn wire. It stated that the gun had
Sears-Roebuck in

investigation. Taking a couple of

: of invest That opened up a new line
det

ectives along, he went to the

’ \Sears-Roebuck store and spoke to the

manager.

“We are trying to trace the owner- -

ship of a shotgun. that we have been

- * suggested the
. More of:.the; killers might be work-.: 'd
ing, right, in the store; regardless, of ©

informed -was_ sold through your
store.” He handed the manager a slip
of new with the serial number and
make of the gun. “I suppose you have
a record of the sale and who bought
that particular gun?” he asked.

The manager scanned the slip of
paper. “Yes,” he said “we have a
record of every sale and the name of
the purchaser. But not that one.” —

Sexsmith looked at him in surprise.
“No? Why not that one?”

“Because it was never sold. It was

_ stolen from the: store a couple of

weeks ago.”

“You mean to say a man can come
in here and walk out with a shot-
gun and nobody see him?”

The manager explained the situa- °

tion. They had missedthe gun soon

after it was taken, but circumstances ‘

were such that it seemed it might
have been done by an employe, and
the store was waiting while their
detective looked into the matter. -
“I suppose nothing else. was stolen?”
Sexsmith suggested. :

The manager said that two sports
jackets had been taken at the same
time, and that didn’t look like an out-

side. job. They had their detective .

follow through on all their employes,
but every one seemed above si f

Carry took Sexsmith. aside and
ibility that' one or

one ‘that comes: anywhere

icion.

store — oy ort. “Maybe
we can find who was.

‘time of ‘the robbery,” he said.’

Sexsmith again approached “the
manager and asked if it would be

possible to find if any of their men.

were away from the store between ten
and 12 o’clock. on the 15th.

“Of course,” the manager replied.
“The time-keeper will have a record:
I'll find out for you. Wait a minute.”

He returned promptly with the re-
port that every man in their oe fed
was on duty at the time specified.

“Well,” Sexsmith said, “that lets

.them: out. How about those sports
jackets. Any more-on hand like the’

ones that were stolen?” j
“Come this way,” the manager said.
He. took them to. the department
where such merchandise was on’ sale,
inted out ‘one.. “There’s:one just
ike the two that were stolen.”
Sexsmith thanked the manager.
Then he and his men left the store.
Sexsmith chuckled. .“I knew we'd
hit it off if we kept at it long enough.
The killers threw away the shotgun,
but it’s ten to one they kept the sports
jackets. I’m sure. now that the woman

“who spotted the Mackling car was
right.. It was-Mackling’s car, and she

had. the right numbers,” .
“Say, how could he be in one it if he
was in Coeur d’Alene at the time of

‘the robbery?” .

“He wasn’t in on it—but his car
was. When I went to his house and
rang ‘the bell the young squirt that
said he was Mackling’s nephew had
on a jacket just the-dead ringer for
the one in the store, and it was brand
new. Let’s go see Mackling.” :

Al Mackling’s house nobody an-
swered the bell, but they found
their man_at the, garage. where he
worked. . “We want to talk with your
nephew, Stanle Knapp. Where can
we find him?” Sexsmith asked.
Mackling shook his head. “I couldn’t
tell you’ — now. Stan and his
brother LeRoy and a fellow named
Herbert Allen left three or four days
ago. They said they were. going to
take a trip.to California. I wouldn’t
know how to reach them, or where.
What’s wrong?” .
The question was not answered at
once. Sexsmith asked; “Did one of
the three have an impediment in his

s]
“Yeah, Herb Allen. did. He sort of
lisped. Not always, but whenever he
excited. I’ve noticed it at times.
es that mean anything to you?”
‘Tl say it does. One of the bank
robbers was like that. Not exactly
a lisp, but a funny twist to his words.
Do you know if any of the three boys

‘have ever been in any trouble?”

“Well . . . yes, they have.’ The
Knapp boys are not so bad alone, but
the three together make a bad combi-
nation. But,I don’t think they’d rob
a bank or kill a man.” thes

“Did. both the’ J (pp boys stay at
your house?” : ~ *

“No, just Stan. I had'a room: in

. my basement and'I let him have that.

He still has some things there.” .
“Mind if we look ’em over?” Sex-
smith asked.

I don’t hold with that sort o

said, as he too e officers
‘drov to the Mac house. . |
I baseme sthey, found.

“That’s the by ae ” Sexsmith -
e Keys,

a trunk, It had a simple lock, easily
‘opened. Inside they came upon three

revolvers. One,. nearly new, was a
.32-calibre automatic.

Keenan said; “They must have had
ew of firearms to leave three guns

ere. Say, this man Walker—wasn’t
he shot with a .32?”

“Sure was,” McCarry said. “And
this is probably the one. They wouldn’t

‘take a chance on being picked up with

“California, an

a hot gun in their possession. Bal-
listics can soon tell. They’ve gdt the
killer’s slug.”

It-did not take long to prove that
he was right. A test bullet fired
from the gun :was identical with the
one that killed Walker.

A general alarm was sent out to
all law-enforcement offices throughout
the country calling for the arrest of
LeRoy Knapp, Stanley Knapp . and
Herbert Allen on charges of bank
robbery and murder. Wanted bul-
letins carrying photographs of the
fugitive followed.

week passed, then another, and
still no response. Sexsmith said;
ae mind, boys, we’ll get them
ye ”

His prophecy was soon borne out.
Mackling received a card asking him
to forward Stanley Knapp’s social
security card to him at General De-
livery, Sacramento, California. He
reported the matter to Sexsmith, who
directed him to mail the card as re-
quested but without any explanation
of. the situation. *

Sacramento P ga were notified,
and co-operated by keeping an officer
at the netal Delivery window to
wait for Knapp’s arrival. A few
days later Stanley Knapp was in cus-
tod y. Gamble and Bettinger went out
to Sacramento and brought him back
to Spokane.

Stanley saw that he was trapped
and made no attempt to deny his
guilt. He explained fully the part
each one played and how the three
of them had planned the job. He
said, “I’m the one who shot Walker.
I didn’t mean to kill him. I’m just
nervous, and the gun went off before
I knew it.”

LeRoy Knapp was traced to Eureka,
captured there, and

‘ Herbert Allen’s description led to

his arrest in Williston, North Dakota.

All three were tried, convicted and
sentenced to be hanged, but before
they were taken to the Penitentiary
at Walla Walla, they broke jail and
in the chase LeRoy Knapp was shot
and died from his wounds.

And so the sensational case was
closed.. The wit of a woman who had
the presence of mind to take the
license number of a suspicious car

-furnished the first clue. After that it

~

: _ Walla, Wa

was up to the guile and persistency of
the detectives. The Law won out; as
usual, and the members of the Police
Department were grateful for the at-
titude of Mr. Mackling, who had the
courage and integrity to co-operate
with the police, even though a rela-
tive of his was involved in the crime.
Before Stanley Knapp was hanged,
on August 5, 1938, he begged, in his
“last statement” to have Allen’s sen-
tence commuted, “... as my brother
and I will have paid the extreme
penalty for the life of one man.”
Governor Clarence Martin consented

nd _°. to hear the plea and commuted Allen’s

sentence to life imprisonment. _
Some six years later Allen escaped
but soon. was recaptured, and is still
in the State Penitentiary: at Walla

shingtons 0800 or

eats
aN roe Dee


Melvin Bishop Photo

This monument marks Lorenzo D. Perkins’ grave.

Sammie James Churchill Photos

Pioneer i eave, where tapiias Perkins ai his wife, Blanche, are buried.

beside the others. “Why you stand there like women?”
Wiahnecat, who had shot Lorenzo asked, and promptly .
raised his gun and fired point blank.

HEN the young Perkins couple failed to show up for

days after they had been expected, Blanche’s uncle,
John McAllister, and a friend, Adam Duncan, left for Rattle-
snake Springs, knowing that it was the first watering place
west of the Columbia River crossing they would have to
make at White Bluffs. It was the most likely place to stop
for lunch and a breather. Examining the place carefully, the
pair located a bit of cloth that appeared to be torn from a
quilt. At another place a few feet away they kicked a piece
of broken dish from the sandy soil which gave signs of more
than two people having been there recently. But they could
find no signs of the Perkins. Going to the river they located
Mr. King who ran the ferry. He gave them the definite
assurance that he took the pair across on the morning of

July 9.

Mrs. Perkins’ mother immeditely identified the bit of cloth
and broken dish found at Rattlesnake Springs as belonging
to her daughter, a fact that aroused further fears for her
safety and that of Lorenzo. An appeal was made to Indian
Agent Wilbur at Fort Simcoe for help in tracking down the
lost Perkins. Wilbur responded with three of his best scouts,
Stick, Joe and Dick, to join with six whites from Yakima City,
led by the famous frontiersman, Jack Splawn. Together, they
set out for Rattlesnake Springs, where the last evidence of
the Perkins was discovered.

The Indian scout, Stick, had a reputation for being able
to track a shadow. His remarkable ability led him to a
“wash” made by a recent cloudburst. A miniature island had

been formed and from a pile (Continued on page 44)
; 9


ell. cates 02.

MASSACRE AT RATTLESNAKE SPRINGS

( C ontinued from : page 9)

of rocks and brush heaped against one side,
Stick saw a woman’s hand pushed up
through the top as if reaching imploringly
for help, help that never came. Other evi-
dence, as the body was removed, added to
the fact that Blanche Perkins had been
alive when buried under brush and stones.
Lorenzo’s body was found under a similar
heap on the opposite side of the tiny

island. One of the men was sent to Yakima

City, 40 miles distant for a conveyance to
transport the bodies while the others stood
guard over the remains until the wagon
arrived.

In due course the bodies were returned

to Yakima City and placed to rest in what
is today beautifully kept, exclusive
Pioneer Cemetery adjoining the present
town of Union Gap (at the time of the
burial, Yakima City).
__An intensive search for some clue to the
identity of the criminals (Stick had insisted
that there were several). revealed only one
sketchy rumor that several foreign Indians
had joined Chief Moses shortly after the
Perkins massacre.

_ Jack Splawn, who led the search party
that found the bodies, was running a herd
of cattle north of the Columbia in. the
general area of Chief Moses’ domain. They
were tended by John Edwards with a boy
named Jim Nelson. One evening an Indian
friend of both Edwards and the boy,
named Wownattee, came into their camp to
say that he knew the Perkins’ killers and
they were at that very moment in camp
with other Indians near the White Bluffs
ferry, in a big gambling orgy.. Wownattee
offered to point them out to Edwards if
he’d come along with him to their camp.

The gamblers sat in a ring facing each
other and were too engrossed in their game
to give much attention to the newly arrived
spectators. Edwards and Wownattee worked
their way slowly around the ring, opposite
each other. Edwards studied each face of
the players as the Indian pointed a foot at
each wanted killer, to be certain he could
identify all of them later, until his staring
seemed to arouse some suspicion. The pair
left, trying to control their fear as several
Indians left the game and followed. For-
tunately darkness covered their escape. Ed-
wards set out for Yakima City leaving the
Nelson boy to guard the cattle.

Riding all night brought him to Sheriff
William Splawn’s door in early morning
where he reported his discovery. The sheriff
sent a rider to Fort Simcoe to notify Agent
Wilbur, a close friend of Chief Moses, and
sent out a call for volunteers to follow at
once. Unable to wait, Sheriff Splawn, Ed-
wards and a cowboy named Gillette started
immediately for the gamblers’ camp. The
renegades had vanished, leaving no clue
save the ashes of the camp fire.

Agent Wilbur sent for his friend Chief
Moses, confident the Chief would confide
in him. Moses came and after a lengthy
conference the two set out for Yakima
City where the citizens packed Centennial
Hall to listen to whatever the Chief could
tell about the crime and killers.

Agent Wilbur addressed the gathering on
the terrible wrong in taking human life,
stressing the fact that Mrs. Perkins was
approaching motherhood. In introducing
Chief Moses, as “The Greatest in Our
Territory,” he pointed out that Moses
would be of great help in capturing the
renegade outlaws if he could.

Moses rose to speak, admitting his own
greatness which Wilbur had mentioned, but
flatly denied any knowledge of the crime

44

or criminals. He suggested that the murder-
ers might be hiding out in the lava beds
in the Crab Creek region and that if his
friend Wilbur would send Indian Police,
and the whites some volunteers, then he
would send ten of his best trackers to join
with them in hunting the criminals.
Wilbur immediately sent for ten of his
Indian Police headed by Capt. Eneas, to
come at once to Yakima City where they
would join with Sheriff Splawn’s volunteers.
Thirty men hurried to volunteer, including
John Perkins, a brother of the slain man.
To show their complete support of the
sheriff they elected Splawn captain over the
combined posse. Jack Splawn, deputy
sheriff and brother of Captain William

A Sammie James Churchsit Photo

Blanch Perkins’ monument.

Splawn, held warrants for the arrest of
the assassins.

Captain Eneas of the Indian Police
placed little confidence in Moses’ promises
and before the posse reached the Columbia
River, expressed*his fears of an ambush to
Captain Splawn. He suggested that they

cross the river at a different point than °

Moses was expecting and avoid running
into a possible trap. Splawn, realizing that
one Indian was in better position to under-
stand the thinking of another, readily.
agreed, telling Eneas to lead the crossing
and pick the camp site that would best
avoid the trap he suspected.

I THE morning’s first dawn, Captain
Eneas rode to a peak that afforded a
view of Moses’ country for miles about,
including the gap through Saddle Mountain
through which the Columbia River flowed.
A short time later, he saw Moses at the
head of a long string of painted, naked,
warriors riding single file along the narrow
trail that led through the gap. There were
not ten, but a hundred and in battle array,
as Eneas had suspected. They were not
naked for comfort since it was near
Christmas and the air was chilly and frosty.

ST TT ee ee ee ee

Eneas rushed back to camp to report his
findings to Captain Splawn who in turn
prepared his men.

When Moses and his warriors first came
over a hummock in sight of Splawn’s men,
Captain Splawn, his six-gun drawn, rode
toward them. Moses halted his warriors
and with his body guard, Bill, rode on to
meet Splawn, who hadn’t slackened his
pace at all. They met about fifty yards
from the two opposing and well armed
forces.

Splawn shoved his gun into the Chief’s
ribs, ordering him to stop and explain his
warlike act. “It’s the way I always meet
General Howard,” came the Chief’s sense-
less reply.

“If you’ve come to fight, turn loose.
We’re ready,” Splawn answered. Moses
gave a command and instantly fifteen of
his braves leveled their guns at Splawn,
whose men replied by covering each of
them. The Captain still held his gun tightly
against Moses’ ribs. “If there is a shot fired,
Moses, it means sure death to you and to
me. Give the signal to fire at once, or
order your men to move away.”

Moses lost no time in shouting an order
in his language. His braves lowered their
guns and rode back up river to enter the
gap through which they’d appeared such
a short time before. What had appeared to
be a certain bloody battle, in the flick of
an eyelash, had turned into a bloodless
‘victory through the iron nerve of Captain
William Splawn.

With Moses safely gone, the posse de-
cided to visit Chief Smohalla’s village a
few miles away. A complete search dis-
closed no hidden criminal. Only women,
children and old men were in the lodges
and the Captain reasoned that the braves
were with Moses..A watch was kept near
the village all night while the posse camped
some distance away. It bore fruit—one of
the killers, Moostonie, was captured in the
morning.

From him the posse learned that the
others were hiding in the lava beds along
Crab Creek, as Moses had hinted. This fact
clinched Splawn’s belief that Moses would
be helping the fugitives escape rather than

keeping his promise to aid their capture, so

he sent posse member George Goodwin
back to Yakima City for reinforcements.
The following evening he returned with 70
volunteers. Sheriff Schnebly of the Ellens-
burg vicinity, with several deputies, joined
in the chase, as well. Sixty headed into the
lava beds while the others guarded camp
and horses.

From a high point where scouts had
gone for a wider view, a campfire was
spotted down on Crab Creek. Quickly,
silently it was surrounded by the troops.
To the posse members’ great surprise,
Moses was there. He immediately called
out to Captain Splawn not to shoot, ex-
plaining that he was there trying to dis-
cover the criminals’ whereabouts. Moses
and nine men were captured, disarmed and
arrested.

“You’ve made a big mistake Moses,”
Splawn told the Chief. “The whites had
always thought you were truthful. Now, we
believe that you warned the murderers and
allowed them to escape.”

Big, strong, powerful Chief Moses wept!
When he had regained composure, he told
Captain Splawn how much he regretted his
act of hostility. He believed the killers
were still in the lava beds. If the Captain
and his brother would go with him, he was
sure they could find the camp.

A light snow which had fallen, made

trailing easy. They found an abandoned .

camp with ashes still warm.

aah att, 0 Nat A he Cea mnt ApS RQ IY KE

See


shed back to camp to report his
to Captain Splawn who in turn
l \.
M and his warriors first came
in . in sight of Splawn’s men,
Splawn, his six-gun drawn, rode
hem. Moses halted his warriors
his body guard, Bill, rode on to
awn, who hadn’t slackened his
all. They met about fifty yards
two opposing and well armed

shoved his gun into the Chief’s
ring him to stop and explain his
ct. “It’s the way I always meet
toward,” came the Chief’s sense-

ve come to fight, turn loose.
ady,” Splawn answered. Moses
ymmand and instantly fifteen of
3 leveled their guns at Splawn,
2n replied by covering each of
: Captain still held his gun tightly
oses’ ribs. “If there is a shot fired,
means sure death to you and to
the signal to fire at once, or
r men to move away.”
ost no time in shouting an order
guage. His braves lowered their
rode back up river to enter the
gh which they’d appeared such
ae before. What had appeared to
in bloody battle, in the flick of
4, had turned into a bloodless
rough the iron nerve of Captain
olawn.
foses safely gone, the posse de-
visit Chief Smohalla’s village a
away. A complete search dis-
hidden criminal. Only women,
n = ~men were in the lodges
a reasoned that the braves
] . A watch was kept near
all night while the posse camped
nce away. It bore fruit—one of
, Moostonie, was captured in the

im the posse learned that the
e hiding in the lava beds along
k, as Moses had hinted. This fact
plawn’s belief that Moses would
the fugitives escape rather than
3 promise to aid their capture, so
osse member George Goodwin
‘akima City for reinforcements.
‘ing evening he returned with 70
Sheriff Schnebly of the Ellens-
ity, with several deputies, joined
xe, as well. Sixty headed into the
while the others guarded camp

high point where scouts had
a wider view, a campfire was
ywn on Crab Creek. Quickly,
was surrounded by the troops.
osse members’ great surprise,
3 there. He immediately called
ptain Splawn not to shoot, ex-
iat he was there trying to dis-
criminals’ whereabouts. Moses
1en were captured, disarmed and

made a big mistake Moses,”
ld the Chief. “The whites had
ught you were truthful. Now, we
t you warned the murderers and’
em to escape.”

ng, powerful Chief Moses wept!
lg 1ined composure, he told
I; ow much he regretted his
3s... He believed the killers
n the lava beds. If the Captain
ther would go with him, he was
ould find the camp.
ssnow which had fallen, made
sy. They found an abandoned
_ashes still warm.

.

Seo iVel ern meee bb MN

Pe ee

Moses begged to be allowed to redeem
himself for his hostile act by sending his
own men after the killers. “I’ll stay here
with you to guarantee our truthfulness,
and honest intent.”

After consulting the men, Splawn agreed
to Moses’ proposal and by nightfall his
men had returned with Tomahhoptowne,
one killer, and a report that another,
Chuck-Chuck had committed suicide.

Despite this proof of Moses’ intent, he
and his men were jailed in Yakima City
where their lives were constantly in jeop-
ardy. Agent Wilbur asked that the Chief
be sent to Fort Simcoe under his personal
custody. Moses remained there treated as
a guest rather than as a prisoner, until
February of 1879, when he returned to his
tribal home.

Two more members of the killer gang
were captured near the mouth of Satus
Creek, and the last two a few miles from
Fort Dalles in Oregon. All, except Moo-
stonie who had turned state’s evidence,
and Chuck-Chuck who'd killed himself,
were tried before Federal Judge Samuel G.
Wingard, for the Eastern Washington Ter-
ritory and sentenced to be hanged. But the
sentence wasn’t carried out in exactly the
manner prescribed.

A few days after the trial they escaped,
but were recaptured in the gap a few miles
from the jail. They were brought back to
a_ reinforced jail and a few days later
effected a second escape. The posse didn’t

catch up with them until they’d traveled:

much farther. Two mud-covered Indian
boys unintentionally led searchers to their
hiding place when the boys took food to
the hiding fugitives.

When the posse had them surrounded,
Sheriff Splawn called out to the convicted
killers to surrender. Instead of complying,
the gang leader, Wiahnecat, the Indian who
had fired the fatal shot at the young Per-
kins, ran out of his hiding place. The sheriff
in hot pursuit shouted to the fleeing, fugi-
tive killer to stop or be shot.

Wiahnecat paid no attention to the
sheriff's warning. Other posse members
joined the chase. When his worthless body
was examined before burial, it had many
bullet wounds.

Aside from Tamahhoptowne, who és-
caped while the chase was on for Wiahne-
cat, the remaining three were captured in
due course and returned to the further re-
inforced jail in Yakima City.

The execution date was reset for the
remaining prisoners. A few days before the
hanging there was a third jail break. Dur-
ing the chase for recapture, one was shot
and killed. The other two finally dropped
into eternity through the trap of a scaffold
erected by eager hands of the citizens of
Yakima City.

Bob Bunting, a brother of the late Mrs.
Perkins together with a friend, James Tag-
gart, continued their relentless search for
the last member of the convicted killers,
Tamahhoptowne. They caught up with the
last fugitive murderer in July 1880, two
years after the Perkins’ massacre. No
record of Tamahhoptowne’s hanging has
been found, although there is plenty of
evidence of his burial. Counting the un-
born babe, ten lives in all were snuffed out
during the two years from the massacre
till the last member paid his penalty.

Odd that the massacre site should be
selected for producing a force that was to
end World War II about 65 years later! @

(Editor’s Note: The author wishes to
thank Homer Splawn for permission to use
factual material from his late father’s
splendid book, Kamiakin.)

OLD MAN CLANTON
CASHES IN

(Continued from page 41)

raiders were Alex Arnett, Jake Gauze,
Milt Hicks. Bud Snow, John McGill. and
Jack McKenzie. They stampeded the
stolen herd through San Luis Pass, then
let them slow and graze in the Animas
Valley. Curly Bill and the rest of the gang
waited at Roofless Dobe ranch a few
miles away.

Five of the rustlers went to report to
Curly Bill, leaving Milt Hicks to guard the
cattle and act as lookout from the Clover-
dale ranch. The others had scarcely de-
parted when Hicks saw a suspicious dust
cloud. As it drew closer he could make
out 30 hard-riding Mexicans. Catching
his horse Hicks lit out for Roofless Dobe
and the rest of the gang. ©

The riders that Hicks had seen were
vaqueros who had been trailing the stolen
herd for two days. They found their cat-
tle grazing in the valley and no outlaws
were to be seen. They rounded up the cat-
tle and started driving them toward the
pass. When they passed the Double Dobe
ranch they added 2(() more beeves to
their original 300.

When Hicks brought the word of the
Mexican riders to Roofless Dobe. Curly
Bill and the gang rode out in pursuit of
the cattle. Although the Mexicans had 30
men and Curly Bill only 15, no time could
be lost or the herd would be back in Mex-
ico. Since the cattle had to be driven back
through San Luis Pass Curly Bill headed
directly there.

The Mexicans sent four men ahead to
drive the herd through the pass while the
remainder of their force prepared to fight
a rear guard action. They greatly under-
estimated their adversary, for Curly Bill
led his men and plunging horses in a reck-
less charge straight into the Mexicans.

This unexpected charge threw them in-
to such a panic that they broke apart and
the straight shooting outlaws began to
empty saddles all around them. Finally
the Mexicans turned and fled, the out-
laws hard on their heels. A running bat-
tle developed which continued for several
miles, or until all the Mexicans were
chased into the hills.

Then, at their leisure, the outlaws gath-
ered the cattle and drove them back into
the Animas Valley. On this return trip
Curly Bill methodically shot all the
wounded Mexicans. The results of the
battle were 14 dead Mexicans and 3 slight-
ly wounded outlaws.

Ringo. Tall Bill. Joe Hill, Charlie
Greene, Charlie Thomas, John Greene,
Jim Crane, Harry Head. Billy Land. and
Curly Bill were the members of the gang
who joined the original six raiders at
Roofless Dobe.

The 300 stole:
sold to Old. Man
However, this su;
to bring him muc

Thus far Curly |

Mexicans along
smugygler’s train ar
and had not lost
were eager for re.
outs on the peaks
Opportunity.
— Old Man Clant
fora few days th
market in Tombst
him on the drive
Gray. Billy Lang.
Jim Crane.

The plan was fe
Clanton’s ranch th
yon into the San
to the Sulphur Spr
the Dragoons to —
made in Guadaluy
of the drive.

Just as the sky |
ing of dawn Ernst
herd, noted that
even the coyotes’
ed and climbed a
might have a bett
tle had stopped m
facing the camp. E
ing amiss.

Then, without
fles broke the silen
and Crane were ¢
from their bedroll
in his blankets th
half a dozen bull
Clanton leaped uf
fore he could take
ers riddled him wi
with his face in the
ly Billy Lang mad
rocks, but even tl
evitable. The Mex
around behind hir

With the crack ¢
stampeded. Ernsh
them. Realizing t!
less the lone survi'
of brush and lay st
looked him in thei
ing up their, catth
told them the rout
had their revenge

Once the jubilan
ed, Ernshaw bega
the Cloverdale ran
ley the’ next day. V
30 cowboys rode
and Galeyville to 1

The dead men w
Animas Valley an
ed graves on the ¢
later date the Clan
of Old Man Clanto
it was interred in

IGH up the rugged mountains
' where Sauk Creek starts to wind
its way down toward Mount
ernon, Washington, small farms nes-
e in the solitude of the peaceful crev-
es and valleys. In one of these green
ttle valleys, eight miles east of the
ny city of Concrete, Mother and
ather Grimm were battling an exis-
nce from the soil. :
It was only a bare existence with
me of the luxuries. And, as the
mily grew up, its members left one
y one for the cities, where a more
yundant livelihood could be earned
ith less hardship.
In the Summer of 1935, there were
ill two boys and a girl left with the
d folks out of a family of ten. And
en, of course, there was Ernest, who
as 29 years old and worked in Bel-
igham. He came home week-ends
rery so often to see the family.
The two boys at home were Floyd,

1 GOT
LOVES

Just a "Good Big Boy’ Thought
These Simple Washington Farmers,

But The Finn's Passions Stopped at
Nothing Short of Slaying When——

By Jack Heise

Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

The Fink, lett,. founddove “onthe m
at Grimm-farmand to“Edith: Grimmy- right: Fh
‘Fifth became more than a “Sewell?” big ‘brother

22, and Howard, eighteen. Pretty little
Edith, eleven, was the baby.

Into this quiet mountain home came
Toiro Hautaniemi, “The Finn.” The
Finn had been one of the Federal
Transient Camp boys who had been
working in the mountains, building
trails for the forest service.

Floyd brought The Finn home with
him one afternoon.

‘“Ma, Dad, this is The Finn.” He in-
troduced a big, hard-muscled young
man of 23. “The camp’s busted up and
The Finn ain’t got no place to go.
Figured he might stay here and work
for his keep.”

The Finn fidgeted nervously under
the appraisal of Ma and Pa Grimm.

“You're welcome to what we got,

son,” Pa Grimm finally told him. “Most
young fellers don’t like the farms.
Don’t like the hard work. Even my
own sons up and moved out on me,
excepting Howard and Floyd.”

The Finn settled into the happy
Grimm family as easily as if he had
been a flesh-and-blood member. He
was young, strong and not: afraid to
work hard in the dirt. He gave freely
of his strength to make the farm pay
for Ma and Pa Grimm.

Am the family gave him something
he had never had in his own bit-
ter, lonely life. His mother was taken
away to the Steilagoom Insane Asylum
when he was a small boy, and his
father had been a transient newspaper
vendor.

“You’re a good boy, Finn,” Pa
Grimm would tell him, and The Finn
would grin, pleased with himself,
“You're sort of like an Old-Country


boy. You know a good home when you
got one and you ain’t afraid o’ work.”

“You are just like a son,” Ma Grimm
would tell him, after he had. brought
in the kindling for the morning fire, or
helped her with some household task.
“Landsakes, don’t know what we did
afore you come along. You do more
work than Pa and the two boys a-put
together.” ?

So Ma and Pa Grimm gave the
homeless Finn his first home. And in
the Grimm family, The Finn found
something else he had‘ never known
in his starved life before:

It was love!

strange, unnatural love for a
young man of 23, for it was love for
the little eleven-year-old Edith, with

her straw-colored hair and dancing
blue eyes. ;

Edith was nice to the big, gangling
Finn, for he did things for her that
brothers are too busy to do for a “kid
sister.” He built doll houses, and made
cradles and toy tables and chairs from
old apple-boxes in the evening. And
when Pa Grimm gave The Finn a few
dollars to go to town, he brought back
presents for Edith that would account
for most of the money. ;

To Edith, The Finn was just a “swell”
big brother. She kissed his cheek, or
squeezed him and squealed with de-
light when he would present some new
toy.
But to The Finn Edith was more
than just a sister. He was a man, and
she was his sweetheart. A baby, but
still a sweetheart. He poured out to
her the pent-up love he never had been
able to lavish on any living thing in
his life.

Little by little The Finn’s “brotherly”
kisses turned to fervent sex-starved
embraces. And the little girl, so far
away from others in the mountain fast-
ness, took the embraces with only a
half-understanding. *

Ma and Pa Grimm paid no attention’

to this strange new relation between
The Finn and little Edith. The Finn
was just a “good, big boy who did
nice things for everybody.” The two
boys were too busy with their own
affairs to bother with the kid.

It was brother Ernest, on one of his
week-end trips, who first noticed The
Finn’s interest in his little sister. He
wasn’t positive, so he kept his own
counsel until he was certain.

On December 17, 1936, Ernest went
into Edith’s room. He found The Finn
there.

“Come outside, Finn!” he ordered. *
i ‘old him. “You got a good home here

He was going to have a show-down,
and he didn’t want the rest of the
family upset about it. ;

“How long has this been going on?”
he demanded of The Finn.

“I love her,” The Finn mumbled.
“She loves me, too. I want we should
get married.”

“Married?” gasped Ernest, incredu-

lously. “You're crazy. She’s just a
baby.” :

“But I love her,” The Finn kept
mumbling.

“You will have to go,” Ernest told
him, making his decision. “It’s no use
telling the rest of the family, because
it will only make more trouble for
Edith. Tomorrow you go to town with

Because they were the last persons to suspect The Finn, Ma
Grimm and her son Howard, above, lived to hear his love story

=~. - You tell them tonight you are
ea My :
“But I like it here. It is a home and
I love Edith. Soon she will be big
enough to marry,” The Finn argued.

White-lipped, and with his fists
clenched, Ernest advanced upon - The
Finn. “You leave with me,” he threat-
ened, “or I’ll beat you within an inch
of your life. I should do it now, but I
know it would only make it harder for
Edith. Do you understand, you are
leaving with me in the morning. Come,
we go in and tell them now.”

“Yah, I’ll go with you,” The Finn
agreed, :

|7 WAS all talked over that night be-
fore Ma and Pa Grimm. The Finn
was leaving for the city in the morning
with Ernest.

“You are foolish, Finn,” Pa Grimm

and you should ought to stay. The
cities are a bad place in Winter when
you ain’t got no job.”

“Sure, you stay, Finn,” Ma .Grimm
pleaded. “Perhaps Pa will give you
a little more money and you can go
to town oftener.”

But under the stern eye of Ernest,
The Finn remained firm in his resolve
to leave the next morning.

It was close to midnight when The
Finn cautiously opened his door and
quietly made his way down the dark
hall to Ernest’s room. He called softly.

“T think something’s after the chick-
ens. It is best we go see, for I hear
them making a noise.”

Ernest slipped into his clothes. The
two men noiselessly made their way
to the yard, where a pale moon cast a
yellow glow over the white snow.
The el_of a small-caliber rifle
gleamed in The Finn’s arms.

“Maybe it’s a weasel,” The Finn said,
a cunning smile lighting his face. “I
brung my .22.”

Out to the chicken-house they made
their way, eyes alert for the marauder
in the shed.

Pop!

The .22 spat out its short coughing
seer as a shell exploded in the cham-

Ernest Grimm spun part way around,
a surprised look on his face as he saw
The Finn cradling the gun in his arm;
and then pitched face first into the
snow.

“Fool for meddling,” The Finn mum-
bled at the dead figure, giving it a
kick with his heavy workshoe. “You
think I go away. Ha, it is you who is
gone away for. good.”.

The Finn took a shovel from the
barn. He dug a deep hole in the ma-
nure pile. Into the hot, steaming ma-
nure he dumped the body of Ernest
Grimm.

Back in the house, he scrawled a
note, leaving it on the kitchen table.

Ernest and me have gone early
to catch first bus from Concrete.
Someday again I will. see you.
Thanks to you for fine home. And
thanks to little Edith, too.

(Continued on Page 42)

29


"| Got Love"

snow-

Alone, down the moonlit,
Finn

covered country road, The
plunged toward the city.

Two weeks later, back over the same
road, The Finn plodded to the door
of the Grimm home.

“I come back,” he announced. “I
don’t like the city, no more. The farm
is better. Ernest, he wants I should go
with him to California but I would
rather be here.”

“What? Ernest to California?” Ma
Grimm wanted to know. “He did not
tell us he wished to go,to California.”

“Already gone,” The Finn told her.
“When I tell him I am coming back to
the farm, he said I should tell you.”

While the body of the man he had
murdered in cold blood lay rotting in a
manure pile not a hundred yards from
where he stood, The Finn calmly lied
to the dead man’s mother. Lied to the
woman who had given him his first
home.

Ma Grimm was all ears to hear of
her favorite son, Ernest; but Pa Grimm
was more glad to see The Finn back.

“Plenty of work this Spring,” Pa
Grimm ventured. “You'll have plenty
to do, I can bet you.”

Throughout the Winter The Finn
continued his illicit love-making to his
baby sweetheart, while the body of
the only man who had known was
nearly in sight of his action. Once,
when The Finn took little Edith to the
haymow inthe barn, he could look
out and see the manure pile where he
had buried Ernest.

As Spring came to unfasten its clamp
of enforced idleness on the mountain
farms, Floyd began to talk of going
to the city to work. The slavery on the
farm paid little more than overalls and
boots. In the city a man could make
a regular weekly salary.

“What’s the matter with you boys?”
Pa Grimm would ask. “Why ain’t you
like The Finn? He likes it here. Wish
I had more sons like him and we would
have a real farm.”

But it was not all work on the farm,
for the boys went into the hills hunt-
ing. On one of these trips on March
12, 1937, Floyd and The Finn were
gone for a week-end of hunting. They
began to talk of the city.

“The country’s the baat: ” The Finn
stated doggedly.

“Aw, you’re nuts,” Floyd told him.
“What the Hell’s there on a farm? A
lot of work and no pay. Slave your
guts out and watta ya get? Nothing.”

“There’s lots of things you get on a
farm,” The Finn argued.

“What do you get?” Floyd taunted.
“What do you get besides some grub
and a bed to sleep in. You can get that
any place.”

Goaded, The Finn snapped: “I got

love. You can’t get that any place.”

Floyd laughed. “Love. Who loves
9

“There’s Ed .. .” The Finn clamped

his mouth shut, realizing, too late, his
mistake.

“Say,” Floyd drawled, slowly, tak-
ing in the full import of The Finn’s
words. “You don’t mean you have
been fooling around the kid? Say...”

HE FINN’S flushed face was answer

enough.

“Why you dirty...” Floyd | snarled.
“Say, if I thought you “had .

.His werds died in his mouth as The
Finn raised his gun. “Ernest, he tried
to meddle with Edith and me. You are
going to get the same.”

The gun spat.

The Finn dug a shallow grave in the
mountain woods and rolled the body
of Floyd into it.

The Finn made his way down the
mountain trails to the city. He spent
the few coins in his pockets on presents
for Edith and Ma Grimm and then
headed back to the farm.

“Where’s Floyd?” they asked.

“We went to town, and he said he
is going on to Seattle and look for a
job in the city. Said he was sick of
the farm and no pay. Wanted I should
go with him, but I came back.”

42

“Bah,” Pa Grimm spat. “All the
boys they want to go to the city. But
not you, Finn, you are a good boy.
You like it here, hey?”

“Sure, I like it here,” The Finn said,
looking about for little Edith.

The Finn worked hard through the
early Spring plowing.

“Guess we'll put the manure on the
lower cornfield,’ Pa Grimm said one
night. “May as well start hauling in
the morning.”

A dark night favored The Finn as he
dug into the manure pile that night.
But when he came to the body of his
victim, there was little left other than

‘the shoes, bones and pieces of rotting
‘flesh and clothes.

The Finn gathered
the remains in a canvas sheet and took
them to the root house.

The next night, to make certain of
his nefarious job, The Finn set fire
to the root house, burning what was
left of the body of Ernest.

URING the Summer, The Finn
brooded over the remaining son on
the farm, Howard.

Would Howard get snooping around
and find out about his love for Edith?

Would Howard catch them in the
barn or out in the woods some day?

Would it be better, maybe, if he got
rid of Howard like he had Ernest and
Floyd? Perhaps, with Howard gone he
could talk the old folks into letting him
marry Edith a little later. .And some
day, maybe the old folks would go too,
and he could have the whole farm for
just Edith and himself.

He continued putting off his decision
about what should be done with How-
ard. And as the Summer came along,
he and Edith would go down to Sauk
Creek for swims, and sometimes when
Pa Grimm gave him money he would
take her all the way to the city for a
motion-picture show.

It was the swimming and the trips
that were his undoing, for while he
fooled Ma and Pa Grimm and even
Howard, the neighboring farmers be-
gan to see things.

There was the time Edith and The
Finn were lying on the bank of Sauk
Creek after swimming, and they didn’t
have a stitch of clothes or their swim-
ming suits on. Just lying in the woods
naked.

And the time, on their way home
from the city, when a passing car
caught them in the gleam of its head-
lights while they were off the side of
the road.

Talk started. But it did not reach
Pa Grimm, for neighbors classified him
as an “old grouch,” who wouldn’t
thank a body for the information. The
mountain ridges formed a natural bar-
rier for the farms, and Pa Grimm did
not take to inviting his neighbors on
his property.

However, Pa Grimm “took sick,” and
despite the care of Ma and the rest of
the family, he died.

“Her being alone now makes things
different,” the neighbors decided,
thinking of the Widow Grimm and the
“goings-on” between the hired hand,
The Finn, and little Edith. They spoke
to Ma about it.

Ma was upset when the neighbors
called and imparted their suspicions.
The vehement denials of. The Finn and
Edith quieted her.

“I like Edith and some day I aim to-

marry -her—you and her agreeing,”
The Finn told Ma.

But it did not quiet the neighbors.
They took their stories to Sheriff Pat
McCarthy in Mount Vernon.

“Tarnation shame, Sheriff,” they de-
clared. “She ain’t more’n a baby and
him a grown man, ’most.”

Under their constant prodding, Sher-
iff McCarthy sent his deputy, Lester
Finsen, to investigate. Finsen brought
The Finn back with him and placed
him in jail on a morals charge on Oc-
tober 8, 1937.

It was a bad break for The Finn, for
the court would not convene until the
Spring session and there wasn’t any-
one willing to go his bond, and the

(Continued from Page 29) ogricy iy

ead It Firs

Sheriff couldn’t turn him loose while
waiting for the trial. So The Finn was
forced to wait in jail.

After The Finn had been in jail for
two weeks, Finsen called his Chief one
afternoon for a chat.

“You know, I been doing some
checking on this morals case getting it
ready for court,” Finsen declared.
“Some strange things been coming up.”

“Such as what?”

“Such as what happened to the two

Despite the tender age of Edith
Grimm, she had the growth of a

mature woman, as this picture
will show and as The Finn realized

brothers, Ernest and Floyd?” Finsen
told him. ‘Seems they both decided
to go away from here and the only one
they ever told was The Finn.”

“Yeh? So what do you figure?” Mc-
Carthy asked.

“I was just wondering whether they
really went away or not. Maybe they
oD at all.”

“Well, supposing they found out
about The Finn fooling around their
sister? Maybe he did away with them.”

Sheriff McCarthy was not ready to
accept the theory. He felt The Finn
was guilty on the morals charge but
put the rest of the theory down to the
overzealousness of his deputy. But
Finsen wasn’t to be put off. He was
back three days later.

“T checked the bus-stop here and at
Concrete. Nobody remembers Ernest
or Floyd ever leaving these parts. And,

°

+ in
DETECTIVE STORIES

what’s more, Ernest’s things are still
all in his room in Bellingham where he
worked. People there have been won-
dering what happened to him. He
never told them nothing about leaving.
And it’s funny he would leave without
taking his stuff with him.”

“What do you reckon we ought to
do?” McCarthy asked his deputy.
“Could question The Finn, but even if
he did kill ’em there isn’t much chance
he’ll crack unless we get some evidence
to put up to him.”

“No,” Finsen agreed. “What we need
is some scientific investigation.”

McCarthy laughed. “And where are
we going to get anything scientific out
here? You aren’t working for the Fed-
eral Bureau of Investigation. Didn’t
I have to kick like a steer to get the
finger-print and photograph material
out of the County Commissioners?”

“But I’ve been reading about those
lie-detectors they’ve been using in the
East. They work a lot of times,” Finsen
went on.

“Sure,” McCarthy agreed. “And
where are you, going to. get a lie-
detector’ machine?”

“Well...” Finsen hesitated. “I guess
I can’t get one, but I got an idea. It
may sound a little funny, but I think
it will work.”

He hurried on to explain:

“From what I read, these lie-detector
machines just record whether a guy
gets excited or not. You ask him a lot
of questions and show him some stuff,
and when he gets excited, the machine
makes marks because of his blood-
pressure. We could do the same thing,
only instead of having the machine, we
could watch him close and see when
he’s excited, just like the machine
does.”

“I don’t know.” McCarthy was
doubtful, but willing to give his deputy
every opportunity. “We could try it.”

Deputy Finsen made a call on. the
Grimm family that night. The next
afternoon he was ready to try the “lie-
detector test” on The Finn. He had a
dirty, muddy pair of overalls and boots.

“What are they for?” McCarthy
wanted to know.

“I got the Grimms to give me a pair
of old boots and overalls just like Er-
nest was wearing when he was sup-
posed to have left,” he explained. “I
put them in the ground last night, be-
cause I figured if The Finn knocked
Ernest off, he probably buried him
someplace.”

HEY called The Finn in for a ses-

sion of questions.

“We want to talk to you about Er-
nest Grimm,” Finsen told The Finn.

“IT told you once he went to Cali-
fornia,” was The Finn’s surly reply.

“Yes, but I know he didn’t go to
California,” Finsen stated, making a
notation that The Finn seemed nervous
at his declaration. “I know Ernest
Grimm is dead.”

He waited, watching The Finn turn
white under his heavy coat of wind-
burned tan, and making another nota-
tion of The Finn’s nervousness, just
as the lie-detector would have recorded
it.

“How do you know he is dead?”

“Because I found his body,” Finsen
shouted at him.

““I don’t believe it,” snapped back
The Finn. :
-“Look here, then,” cried Finsen,
thrusting the dirt-stained overalls and
shoes at him. “These are the shoes and

overalls I found on his body.”

He waited a moment and then
barked:

“T think you killed him!”

The Finn bent over the shoes and
overalls, examining them. “You say
they were on Ernest?”

“Yes, and you killed him and you
know it.”

The Finn looked squarely at the
deputy. “You are crazy. I didn’t kill
him and I don’t believe you found his
body at all. You will have to show
me, and even then, it won’t do you no
good because I didn’t kill him.”

06

Finsen went on questioning The Finn
about how Ernest had left, but his
questions brought him no results. The
Finn remained unshaken.

When The Finn was taken back to
his cell, McCarthy turned to his deputy.
“Don’t look like the lie-detector stuff
worked.”

“Part of it did,” Finsen countered.

“When I told him Ernest was dead, he
was plenty nervous. But then he
calmed down when I showed him the
boots and overalls. The Grimms told
me they were exactly the same kind
Ernest was wearing, but something
Se Guess I’ll have to figure
it out.”

EPUTY FINSEN was at the office
early the next morning, waiting for
the Sheriff.

“I’ve got it figured out, I think,” he
shouted, excitedly. “Come on, I think
I know how to crack this one.”

Finsen, McCarthy and a couple of
volunteers from the little County
Building drove over the rut-spotted
mountain road to the Grimm farm up
in the hills. Finsen led the expedition.

At the Grimm place, he started a
search over the farm grounds.

“There!” he cried out. “Dig there.”
He pointed to the caved-in, burned
root house.

Willing hands fell to shoveling out
the sod and burned timbers in the pit.

And amongst the ashes and dirt in
the pit came out the bones, burned
clothes and charred boots of Ernest
Grimm. _

“Doggone!” cried the Sheriff. “You
did it,” he shouted with surprise and
admiration of his deputy. “How’d you
figure it out?”

“The lie-detector business did it,”
Finsen beamed.

“But I thought the confounded thing
didn’t work,” McCarthy exclaimed.
“Seemed like a fizzle.”

“Part of it was,” Finsen told him.
“But that’s what gave me the idea of
this.”

He explained in detail.

“Remember, The Finn got nervous
when I told him I knew Ernest was
dead? Well, that meant he must have
known something about the affair. But
he wasn’t nervous when I showed him

the overalls and shoes. Well, that
meant I was on the wrong track.

“I figured he didn’t just bury him,
after that. There was just two other
things. Either he threw the body in
the river, or he burned it. I reckoned
he wouldn’t throw it in the river for
fear somebody would find it. So he
must have burned it. When I saw the
burned sod-house, I figured maybe it
was in there. And it was.”

When McCarthy and Finsen con-
fronted The Finn with the actual dis-
covery of the burned body, further
tests of the home-made _lie-detector
were unnecessary. The Finn blurted
out the truth and volunteered that they
would find the body of Floyd in the
mountain grave.

The Finn further told them that his
real name was Clifford Hawkins and
he had used the name of Toiro Hau-
taniemi, who was a distant relative
of his.

“Sure, I killed them,” he declared.
“They were a-meddling with me and
Edith. I was going to kill Howard, too.
That would just have left Ma and me
and Edith on the farm and that would

have been swell. Ma would have let
meé marry Edith after a bit and we
could have been happy on the farm
all our life with them other meddlers
out of the way.”

(The portion of this story up to the
arrest of the suspect was accurately re-
constructed for OrriciaAL DETECTIVE
Srorres from The Finn’s full confes-
sion.—The Editor.)

T= FINN showed no remorse for his
victims, and his only concern for his
baby sweetheart was that he couldn’t
marry her and go back to the farm.
The Sheriff was unable to locate any
relative of The Finn, as his mother had
been released from the insane asylum
and his father had left Tacoma.

The Finn did not have to wait for
the Spring session of the court, as he
would have on the morals charge, for
the County Commissioners held a spe-
cial session and authorized a fund to
convene the court as soon as possible
to try the confessed murderer.

And shortly before Christmas The
Finn was sentenced to hang for his
crimes.

Problem of the Milk-and-Bun. Murder (Continued from Page 33) OFFIC IAN wet ciive STORIES

have to inject glycerin under them to
smooth out the surface.”

“Okay,” I said, “and then, of course,
~ jf those remaining match any on
file.”

I locked the house and returned to
the station, where I reported the prog-
ress of the investigation to Captain
John Ptacek.

Before I finished talking to my
superior, the telephone rang. The New
Buffalo, Michigan. police reported that
a thorough investigation convinced
them that Charles Rocharek had not
left there for more than a week.

I requested that they notify him that
his brother had been murdered and
asked that he return to Chicago at
once.

Detectives who had been checking
bakeries of the district reported that
one near Twenty-Sixth Street and
Homan Avenue, a little over a half-
mile from the murder scene, placed its
buns in exactly the same kind of bag
as that found in the slain man’s apart-
ment. .

“And the shop sells Borden’s milk,
too,” added a plain-clothes man.

The baker, he said, did not recall

were near by mingling with a group of
street laborers who were engaged in
tearing up the pavement. After ascer-
taining that Lang was home we
knocked at his door.

Lang himself answered. I explained
that we were questioning all friends of
the slain man in search of a clew.

“Did he ever tell you of anyone
threatening him?” I asked.

“Never mentioned having an ene-
my,” Lang answered.

“Did you ever see a glass like this?”

I instructed, “and have the B of I
compare the prints on these glasses
with those found in the apartment.”

The curious detective said “Oh” as
if to himself. I laughed. —

A patrolman was waiting for me in-
side the station. He handed me two
keys.

“The missin’ keys,” he blurted ex-
citedly. “I fitted ‘em in the doors.
This’—he pointed to one of them—
“is for the back door. And the other
opens the front-door lock.”

one that was streaked with blood and
a black, greaselike substance. The
greasy stains, the nature of which I
was unable to determine immediately,
had been made after the bloodstains.

It was one of those little puzzles that
stick in the mind in an investigation
of this sort. I didn’t believe it was
so very important, but it kept bother-
ing me. And then that afternoon,
when I had my shoes shined, the an-
swer came in a flash. It’s amazing
how odors prompt the memory. Of
course, the stains had been made by
shoe polish!

It was evident that the killer had
first wiped the blood from his shoes
and then polished them. I recalled
then having seen a tin of shoe polish
in a corner of the Rocharek fiat.

Charles Rocharek, the brother of the
slain man, came into the station that
afternoon. He had boarded the first
train to Chicago. After a few words,
I said: “Show me your key.”

Without hesitation, he pulled out a
key identical with the two front-door
keys found near the house.

Up to the time he had left Chicago
for his vacation two weeks before, he
declared, there had been only two


70 . True Detective Mysteries

spans the Skagit River near the Grimm home. The officers
tarried, then crossed on the next ferry.

Jerry parked his car in front of the Grimm home, and
he and the girl entered the house. Officers drove on by the
place a short distance, then turned around and parked out
of sight a hundred yards from the door. Proceeding on foot
and keeping under cover as much as possible the officers
eased into the yard, but saw no one about. Stealthily slip-

ping from tree to tree they were’ within a few feet of the

house when a sudden noise halted them. The back door
opened, then slammed shut. The officers flattened behind
trees and waited. Presently they saw Jerry and Edith cross
the backyard and follow a trail along a water pipe line that
wormed through some cut-over growths. They had a shovel.

y_re the officers were waiting to give the two ample
time to get started on their mission, Jerry reappeared
and glanced eagerly about as though looking for someone.
Then he gave a low whistle. Finson emerged from cover,
went over to him. Jerry’s eyes were wide in wonder.

“Say! I came back on pretext of getting another shovel,”
he whispered to Finson. “Edith showed me the spot all
right, but gosh! I'll bet.the body’s no prospector!”

“Well, get the shovel, beat it back up there and get busy
before she changes her mind and shows up down here,” Fin-
son whispered back. ;

Jerry obeyed. A few minutes after he had disappeared
back up the trail leading into a ravine, the officers crept. to-
ward the place and slipped behind a copse where they could
see without being seen.

At a spot on the side of the ravine about 900 feet back of
the house, Jerry and Edith were digging away, he a little
carelessly; she, not realizing that a few paces away watchful
eyes were taking in every move, was working, the shovel in
earnest. It was a sight that the officers could never forget.
Jerry, slowly, methodically shov-
eling, and at the same time vain-
ly trying to appear unaware of
surveillance; little Edith, with
never a glance about, digging
laboriously, almost feverishly,
putting her weight on the heavy
shovel, sending it into the soft
wet earth, then straining herself
to lift the shovelful and pile it
to one side of an ever-widening
dark hole. A pathetic, tragic
sight—at an age when she should
have been playing with dolls, or
playing innocent games.

Presently the loose earth piled
up, got in the way of Edith’s feet.
Taking a step backward, she
hurriedly scraped the pile to one
side, then without pausing for
breath, resumed digging. Jerry
half leaned on his shovel now to
watch her, then glanced furtively
about.

The officers stepped into the
open. Sheriff McCarthy cleared
his throat. :

Suddenly Edith straightened
up, looked bewilderedly about,
then stood transfixed, her fingers
relaxing to let the shovel drop
at her feet. Rosy cheeks flushed
deeply, seemed to burn. Her
brown ‘eyes, like those of a
startled fawn, betrayed the ter-
ror in her heart. Unconsciously

her hands lifted as though to ward off a blow, then clutched °

the front of her calico dress. A sob escaped her lips as she
cringed.

“Oh, don’t hurt me—I know you're officers—don’t hurt
me. I wasn’t to blame,” she pleaded piteously.

Touched, officers approached and gently told her not. to
be afraid. ‘Then Jerry dropped his shovel and essayed a show
of indignation.

“Say, what’s the big idea anyhow? Why the devil do you
have to come prowling around, following us? Can’t you leave

Under-sheriff Lester Finsen, who ably aided the
baffling investigation of the missing brothers, and
finally persuaded the double killer to confess

a fellow alone when he finally gets out of jail?” he stormed.

“Hold it, Jerry,” McCarthy called. “I just had a hunch
yowd be up to some mischief as soon as you got out, of jail;
so I followed you. You can’t pull that stuff on us!”

Edith was now too excited to talk. She had seen the offi-
cers before, but never expected to see them now.

McCarthy stepped forward and inspected the hole but saw
only damp earth. However, the game had gone too far to
pass up any bets.

“You're both under arrest for investigation,” he an-
nounced. “Finson, you and Welts take Edith to Mount
Vernon, then pick up J. I. Holt, the photographer, and rush
back up. Ill stay on here with Jerry.”

The minute that Finson and Wells disappeared with Edith,
McCarthy and Jerry began digging, scooping out the earth
for six feet. But all they found was more earth which ap-
parently never had been disturbed since the glacial age.

“Jerry, probably Edith got her geography mixed,” McCar-
thy leaned on his shovel. ‘“Let’s go up the trail a bit further
and look around a little.”

Fifty feet up the trail they picked out a partially cleared
spot and dug for an hour, but again found nothing. This
digging without results was getting monotonous. McCarthy
decided to make a reconnaissance before doing any more
prospecting. Soon he found what seemed to be an old aban-
doned trail leading off at right angles from the water pipe
line. He and Jerry followed the faint markings for several

“feet and came to the end of an old moss-grown log.

Looking down along the log McCarthy noticed a little
mound slightly larger than the monument a mountain beaver
usually erects to its industry. The top of the mound was of
sand and gravel, indicating that the earth had come from a
depth. Inasmuch as brush and ferns were green about the
place, it was apparent to observing official eyes that the
sand and gravel had not been washed there.

McCarthy began digging in
the mound. The first few shovel-
fuls showed that the place had
been dug out, then refilled, ap-
parently some time during the
past year.

Down three feet, the shovel
struck something other than
earth. The officer now dug more
carefully. And soon he unearthed
a gruesome object—a pair of
lumberjack’s, high-top __ laced
boots. And in them were leg
bones!

Carefully McCarthy stooped
and lifted the grisly objects, then
widened the hole and dug deeper.
But he was unable to find any
more traces of a human body.

The laced boots indicated that
the victim had not been a pros-
pector, as seekers of mountain
and desert gold usually wear the
plain, hobnailed boot. This pair
was the kind that many farmers
of that community wore in win-
ter when they worked in the
woods.

The afternoon was getting
short. Soon dusk would be
sweeping in from the east. Care-
fully re-burying the remains on
the spot, McCarthy and Jerry
returned to the Grimm - barn-
yard and to kill time began look-
ing over machinery until the
arrival of Finson and Welts with Holt, the photographer.
Presently a young man showed up. It was Jay Grimm who
had been “baching” at the home. He was surprised to find
McCarthy and another man on the premises.

The Sheriff did not reveal to Jay what had been found
up the ravine, but questioned him about a prospector. Jay
shook his head. There had been no prospectors around
these parts for years.

“Well, Jay, you’re going to have company for a While,”
McCarthy informed him, “Finson, (Continued on page 89)

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90

that the Finn said he left for California!”

His amazement, his horror, convinced
officers that he knew nothing about the
crime. However, it was obvious that
little Edith did, else how could she have
led Jerry so near the spot? .It was un-
believable that a child of her age could
have any guilty knowledge. Still, al-
though so far she made no incriminating
admissions, she had obviously held herself
in check as though through some haunting
fear.

Making a search of the immediate
vicinity the officers found another old
trail through undergrowth not far from
the end of the log. Alongside this dim
trail was another slight mound.

The men began digging. A few feet
down and Finson’s shovel exposed a ghast-
ly find. A badly decomposed torso with
arms and a fractured skull!

Again Jay’ stared in_ horror, unable to
speak. But when he finally managed to
find his voice, words came fast.

“Why, that’s the remains of Sonny! I
know it—I know it is. That’s his blond
hair. That’s a piece of his old mackinaw
coat. It’s Sonny—it’s Sonny!”

‘ho advanced state of decomposition
made it impossible to determine imme-
diately the cause of death, but the frac-
tured skull could have been caused by
a bullet or a blow. Certainly there was
no doubt, as to foul play.

After Holt had taken photographs, the
officers wrapped the remains in canvas
and took them to a funeral home in
Mount Vernon. .

Mrs. Grimm was sent for, and when
she appeared in Sheriff McCarthy’s office,
he asked:, “Would you believe that one
of your sons has been dead and buried
for months right on your farm?”

“Heavens, no! Never. What do you
mean?” she exclaimed.

“All right then, Jay, you tell your
mother,” the Sheriff motioned. j

“Yes, Ma, it’s true,” Jay told her. “We
found Sonny’s body up_ there with my
boots that he was wearing the day he
left.”

Mrs. Grimm threw up her hands, be-
came hysterical. All the past weeks and
months she had been under the delusion
that Sonny was going to write, possibly
send some money from California; yet
all that time he had been dead and buried
right in sight of the house. It was too
much. For a half-hour she was unable
to talk.

The Finn in the meantime had been
kept in ignorance of the gruesome find.
He had lied about Sonny. He had known
the body was there. He had tried to
cover up by slipping word to little Edith.
The officers wanted to investigate a little
more before cracking’ down on him.

However, Edith was told about finding
Sonny’s body, and she took the news ex-
citedly, kept growing more hervous, ap-
parently wanting to talk about it, yet
obviously held in fear. Quick to sense
this, the matron spoke softly and with as-
surance.

“Now, Edith, you’ve been a brave little
girl so far: Please keep it up. Tell me
all you know about Sonny’s death. Re-
member, you're just a sweet little girl
who needs help. Don’t be afraid to tell
me. You have nothing to fear.”

“No? Not from anyone?” Her voice
became a pathetic wail.

“No, my dear, not from anyone,” the
matron smiled. :

“Bub Pm—Pm afraid that if 1 tell all
I know then he—he—” tears filled her
eyes and she flung herself in the matron’s
arms.

“Ho? Who, Edith?”

“Why—why, Clifford. He might get

True Detective Mysteries

out and then he’d hurt me,” she sobbed.

“No, no. dear, he can never harm you
now. He’s going to be sent to the
penitentiary for life. He'll never be able
to get out and harm you. Do go on and
tell me all you know.”

Edith lifted her tousled head. her eyes
blinking as they searched for assurance on
the matron’s face. And then it) seemed
to come over her that here was one
friend. a person whom she could. trust.
Her lips ceased quivering, then formed
words.

“Yes, Cliffurd killed Sonny. He told
me that he shot Sonny,” she admitted
searcely above a whisper.

“Mmm—and Ermest, what about him,
Edith?”

“Clifford killed him too!”

“And where's his body?”

“Clifford snid he buried it back of the
barn!”

Quickly came the remaining question,
“And why did he kill your poor brothers,
Edith?”

“Because—Well I think it was because
my brothers didn’t like him, that’s why.
They wanted him to go away and leave
me alone. But he liked me, so he quar-
reled with Sonny and Jrnest and then
shot them. I didn’t see him do it or
help him bury them. But he told me all
about it and then he told me never, never
to tell anybody or I’d get sent to prison.”

The words sounded too horrible coming
from such young lips. A little girl scarce-
ly thirteen years old, reciting the cold-
blooded murders of her brothers, a mere
child who, a few years hence, should be
budding into lovely womanhood and
looking forward to all the thrills and
joys of living; a child who had been domi-
nated and seduced by a heartless human
rat who had persisted in making love to
her in the very shadow of her brothers’
graves.

Right along Sheriff McCarthy and _his
deputies had suspected the Finn. Yet
when the matron’s story was relayed to
them, they sat momentarily speechless.

Early the next morning McCarthy and
his posse set out for the Grimm farm, and
there they put in the whole day digging
for Ernest’s body. They dug behind the
stable, all about the barn lot and finally
in the dooryard, but found no trace of
the victim. Had Edith told the truth
about Ernest being buried behind the
barn? Had her young mind cracked
under a horrible strain and given way
to wild imagination? Or—was it just
what she had been told by the Finn?

- ELL. where do we go from here?”

asked Finson as he wearily slumped
on a chair before the Sherifi’s desk. “Shall
we go back to the farm tomorrow and
keep on digging?”

McCarthy shook his head with finality.
“No. If Ermest is dead and buried up
there, then it means that we might have
to dig up the whole forty-acre farm. I
want you and Deputies Walter Welch and
Lou Valentine to go to the Finn and
make him talk.”

Gladly the trio sprang to the bidding.
Here was one assignment they were really
enthusiastic about.

As they entered the cell. the Finn look-
ed up indifferently. Finson began talking
to him easually and after a while. he
remarked :

“Well, Hawkins. you've lied to us about
everything. However, we're going to be
really nice to you because we still like
you. We're going to give you one more
chance to tell the whole truth. Now get
busy and fell us all about yourself and
all the things you’ve done in your life.”

The Finn began slowly. Born in Salem,
Oregon, twenty-five years ago. he had

been on his own the greater part of his
life. He had attended grade school in
Tacoma where his parents lived and
where his father had died in 1930. He
didn’t know where his brothers were.
Growing up in the timbered Northwest, it
was natural for one of his solid build and
more or less limited schooling to turn to
logging.

He had put in some time in a Federal
transient camp. Yes, he had even served
a short: term in the reformatory at Che-
halis, Washington, on a forgery charge,
then had been paroled, but guessed he
had violated that parole. Then came his
visit and stay at the Grimm home. But
this was all his own version. and no doubt
was a charitable view of his past.

“Hurry up, tell us what you know about
Sonny and Ernest) Grimm,” Finson urged.

“Well, T admit that I’ve been intimate
with Edith. But then I intended to marry
the kid some day. Sorry she got herself
in this jam. ‘here’s nothing I can do
now but plead guilty to a statutory charge
and take my medicine, even though I
know I'll get life.”

The officers nodded as,though they be-
lieved every word he said. To them it
was all too obvious just why the Finn
seemed willing to take a life rap on a
statutory charge.

“ERE GRIMM left for California in
December, 1936. The following March
I saw Sonny down in Conerete one day—
you know that mill town this side of the
Grimm home—and he told me that he
was heading south too and asked that I
tell the family.”

“Describe the boots that Sonny was
wearing the day he left,” Finson said.

“Why, sure. They were lumberjack,
high-laced_ boots.”

“Well then, take a look at this photo
and see if you recognize anything,” the
officer directed as he shoved at him a
picture that Holt had taken of the boots
with the leg bones.

The Finn stared fixedly. Then his
meaty fingers quivered slightly. “But I—
I don’t make head or tail of this,” he
faltered. :

“That’s because you’ve got the picture
upside down,”. Finson countered. “Here,
let me turn it around for you. There—
take a look at that. See? Those are the
very boots you’ve just described and
that’s what’s left of Sonny. So you saw
both the Grimm boys walking around after
they were dead, eh?”

Tiny beads of perspiration began well-
ing on the Finn’s forehead as he stared
at the photo. Finally he jerked his head
up. “Well, boys, guess you’ve got me,”
he admitted.

A little later the Finn, no longer a
cool individual, was ushered into Mc-
Carthy’s office. And there he talked. His
story made a 37-page confession of a dou-
ble murder so cold-blooded and ruthless
that it was without precedent in western
Washington if not in the entire state. In
part. this was it:

“lm known a little as Toivo Hauta-
neimi, which is a relative’s name I as-
sumed, not so much to cover up, but
because I liked 1t. But my real name
is Clifford Hawkins, commonly called the
Finn.

“After Roy Grimm, Sr., died, his sons
all began quarreling with me because I
made love to Edith. Ernie and Sonny
were the worst. They wanted me_ to
leave. And I knew that as long as they
were around the place they’d try to break
upmy-—my friendship with Idith. So
the evening of last December 17th, when
Fernie and I had been quarreling for some
time. I told him that. I saw a light out-
side the house, which looked like a prowler.

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York. I reported what I had uncovered.

“That’s great, Frank,” he exclaimed en-
thusiastically. “We can now go to Wash-
ington and lay the matter before the
FBI. Have you been able to see Gover-
nor Allred?”

I explained that the Governor was in
Huntsville when I was in Austin, and in
any event I was advised that he was fa-
miliar with the situation and was ex-
pected to approve the Board’s recommen-
dation for release if one was made.

“When you say good-by to Captain
Barnett, please ask him to tell Souther-
land and Mathis that we are backing them
one hundred per cent. I’ll meet you in
Washington Friday,” he replied.

EALIZING that the next efforts to

further the cause of the imprisoned
men would have to be made in the national
capital, I carried out Shuttleworth’s sug-
gestion. Once more I found myself at
the Houston Airport where I boarded
an airliner for the East.

Even though the plane ate up space
at the rate of 160 miles per hour, I was
inwardly tense and impatient. I saw be-
fore me the pleading faces of the prin-
cipals in this prison tragedy—behind the
bars—begging for the just freedom that
was due them.

The next day I met Shuttleworth in
Washington. Together we went to the
huge Department of Justice building on
Pennsylvania Avenue. , Soon we were in
conference with Edward A. Tamm, As-
sistant Director in Charge of Investiga-
tive Units of the FBI.

It was my first personal contact with
the headquarters of the crack crime fight-
ing bureau, and I was overwhelmingly
impressed by the courtesy and fairness
of the staff, and gained a forceful impres-
sion of men who possessed intellectual
as well as physical alertness.

Tamm was a man of few words. But
the things he did say counted.

In his office were the complete files on
the case, and he knew the contents of
every folder by heart. Completely fa-
miliar with the details, this ace G-man
confirmed the story as related by the pris-
oners to Captain Barnett. The mass of
work done by the special agents in this
case proved that not only was the FBI
concerned with vigorous law enforcement,
but was equally painstaking in its efforts
to arrive at the truth and see that Justice
was done. It was apparent that Hoover’s
men had never relented in their efforts to
get at the complete facts of the Atlanta
bank robbery.

True Detective Mysteries

- PLAGIARISM

Any one submitting a pla-
giarized story through the
mail and receiving and ac-
cepting remuneration there-
for, is guilty of the Federal
offense of using the mails to
defraud.

The publishers of TRUE DE-
TECTIVE MYSTERIES are
eager—as are all reputable
publishers—to stamp out this
form of literary theft and pi-
racy. We advise all magazines
from which such stories are
copied of such plagiarism and
co-operate with the publishers
thereof to punish the guilty
persons.

Tamm quietly informed us that, in ac-
cordance with the Director’s instructions,
the Bureau stood ready at all times to
cooperate with law enforcement officials,

“You may let Judge Bryant know that
Special Agent Fred Dunn will appear be-
fore him, if he officially requests it as
Chairman of the State Board of Paroles
and Pardons, any place in Texas he desig-
nates, and will dictate the digest of his
reports on this case as far as they con-
cern Southerland and Mathis.”

To hear those words was worth ten trips
to Texas and back, for we felt that it
meant freedom for these two innocent
men.

Having thus cleared the way for a pre-
sentation of the facts needed by Judge
Bryant before he could act, Shuttleworth
then took a step to clinch the case. On
behalf of the magazine he offered to sup-
ply or pay for a stenographer to be present
at the meeting, thus enabling the Board
to obtain a written report. This was more
important than it might appear, inas-
much as Judge Bryant had_ stated that
the Board had no funds available for a
stenographic record, and it was just. this
handicap which had been delaying action,

Immediately we notified Judge Bryant.

89

The next move was now up to him.

Would he agree to the plan?

We did not have long to wait. Judge
Bryant made an official request to the
I'BI, and Special Agent Dunn appeared
in Austin on May 2nd. For two long
days, Dunn dictated to a stenographer in
Judge Bryant’s office from the volumi-
nous findings and documents gathered by
the FBI in its four-year search to get at
the truth of this incredible prison tragedy.
Finally, the notes were transcribed, tak-
ing twenty-seven pages of single-spaced
typewriting. A telling, gripping real-life
drama!

Now for the first time, the results of
the long investigation were digested and
set forth in a single document, which
could be accepted and reviewed by the
Board of Pardons with complete reliance
on its truth and accuracy. A few days
later copies of this report were furnished
to Judge Bryant, the other members of
the Board and the FBI. And then I re-
alized that only six weeks had elapsed
since this plan of action was conceived
in the office of Judge Bryant when I
visited him personally in Austin.

While this article was being prepared
for the printer, the Board of Patdons was
reviewing these twenty-seven pages of im-
partial, irrefutable evidence—proofs col-
lected by the FBI in its long investiga-
tion to establish the innocence of Souther-
land and Mathis and to bring to the
bar of justice the real perpetrators of the
bank robbery in June 1934,

Soon, a report will be sent to Governor
Allred, topped off with a recommenda-
tion to release the men’ or to continue
their confinement. If pardon or parole is
recommended, then it is believed by most
of those acquainted with the case that
Governor Allred will grant their release.

Meanwhile, Captain Barnett writes me
that Southerland and Mathis are filled
with renewed hope and firmly believe that
the recent efforts of Trur Detective will
soon bring them freedom and full vindi-
cation. Thousands upon thousands of
officials and citizens familiar with the
amazing pattern of this great tragedy, are
eagerly awaiting the next and_ probably
final move in this incredible story.

And in Texas, two men who have so
often despaired of -hope and who have
suffered for four torturing years for a
crime confessedly committed by another,
are also waiting for the official decision
which will tell the rest of the world that
SOUTHERLAND AND MATHIS ARE
INNOCENT!

Washington’s Enigma of Missing Men

Welts and the photographer are arriving
and I’m going with them up the ravine
while you stay at the house with Jerry.”

But by the time the officers got back
up the ravine it was quite dark; also
stormy, with great heavy sheets of fog
sweeping down across the country. Photog-
raphy and further search were out of the
question for that evening.. So, with Jay
under their wing, the officers returned to
the county seat, where they placed Jay
in a single cell far from the Finn.

Later that evening the officers interro-
gated Jay.

“Jay, would you believe that one of
your brothers might be buried back of
your home?” McCarthy asked.

“My God, no!” Jay exclaimed. “What
do you mean? There’s no one buried up
there!”

“But there is, Jay. A man has been
buried there.”

(Continued from-page 70)

Jay shook his head emphatically. “No,
you’re wrong. Sheriff. I’d have. to see
the corpse to believe it.”

“And you've never heard of a pros-
pector being buried there?”

“No—never. I tell you nobody’s been
planted up there.”

“What in the world makes you so
sure? Now listen—do you know person-
ally that your brothers, Sonny and Er.
nest, are in California, or is that some-
thing the Finn told you?”

Come right down to it, all he knew
about his absent brothers was what he
had heard the Finn say. But he had
believed the Finn. Officers decided to
keep Jay in the dark a while longer.

Meanwhile, little Edith had been placed
in a cell with a matron in charge. In-
stead of confronting the girl with the
Finn’s horrible story that she had killed
a@ prospector in the act of attacking her,

the matron chatted gently and tried to
gain her confidence. But little Edith
proved a “brave kid” as the Finn had
said she was. She glanced nervously
about but did not cry, did not even
whimper as she tried to listen to the
matron’s’ conversation. Throughout the
evening the matron humored the girl,
and learned nothing.

The next morning McCarthy, Finson,
Welts and Holt took Jay ‘back to the
home place and:there in the ravine back
of the house they unearthed the lumber-
jack’s boots with the leg bones. Jay,
standing by, stared horror-stricken as he
gulped and choked for words.

“Those boots—why, they’re mine!” he
finally exclaimed.

“That so? Then what are they doing
here with bones in them?” McCarthy
asked.

“Why, Sonny was wearing them the day

wenn,

0

v4


in the barnyard. We both got rifles and
went out. I had a 22 caliber gun. Ernie
was about forty feet ahead of me, and
though it was quite dark I could see him
plainly silhouetted against the sky.

“Pm a fair shot. So while Ernie’s back
was to me I up and plugged him in the
head. But he didn’t fall down, just
recled, so I ran up and clubbed him over
the head with the butt of the rifle, break-
ing the stock. He stopped moaning.

“IT went back to the house, told the fam-
ily that Ernie had shot at a prowler,
then chased him down the road. Then
I hid the broken gun in the attic, went
out, got a shovel and buried the body
back of the barn.

“The next day I went to Concrete and
when I returned I told Mrs. Grimm that
I had seen Ernie down there and he had
asked me to teil her that he was leaving
for California to find work. She believed
it, so that took care of Ernie,

“Be Sonny was still left and still sore
about me making love to Edith. So
I watched for a chance at him but it didn’t
come for three months. Then on March
12th he and I went deer hunting. I had
a 30-30 Winchester rifle. Sonny was walk-
ing fifty feet ahead of me up the ravine
back of the house. Just as he started to
turn around I let him have it in the right
temple. And that slug fixed him.”

“Did you club him over the head to
make sure that he was dead, as you did
with Ernest?” he was asked.

“Oh, he was dead all right. I used a
soft-nosed bullet and it mushroomed and
blew the top of his head off.

“T rolled the body into the brush and
covered it with leaves. When I went back
to the house I told the family that Sonny
had suddenly decided to join Ernie in
California, and they believed it.”

“The  soft-nosed bullet explains why
Sonny’s skull was shattered, but what
about the body being dismembered and
buried in two places?” McCarthy asked.

“Well, I got afraid someone might
stumble onto the body in the leaves and
brush, so I went up there one day, hacked
it in two with a shovel and buried it
where you found it!”

“All right, but we dug up the barnyard
and didn’t find Ernest’s body,” deputies
reminded him.

“No, of course not. You see, one night
I went out and removed the body. I
buried it under the old root-house.”

“But there’s no root-house on the farm,”
McCarthy persisted. :

“There was. But I burned it down so
as to cover up the grave better. If you
dig down in that old ash pile out near
the barn you’ll find Ernie all right!”

That was his story. Having heard it,
officers wasted no more time about a miss-
ing Pelton wheel. Hardly had the cell
door clanged behind the Finn than the
Sheriff and posse were heading for the
Grimm farm. There, buried deep under
the ashes and debris of the burned root-
house they found the body of Ernest
Grimm. Jay Grimm identified it by a
key, match box and bits of clothing.

The day following his confession, the
Finn repeated the story to reporters who
flocked from far and near, then wound up
by adding brazenly: “And I would have
gotten Howard, the third brother, too, if
he had come home the Sunday before I
was arrested. I expected him home, but
he went deer hunting instead. Otherwise,
you would have found him up there with
Ernie and Sonny!”

His confession absolved little Edith of
any possible blame in the slayings, and
no-one had at any time believed it pos-
sible that she was involved anyhow.

On November 24th, when the Finn was

True Detective Mysteries

arraigned on a statutory charge, he eager-
ly pleaded guilty. But if he thought to
escape a murder trial by pleading guilty
to a charge which automatically carried
a life sentence, he was mistaken. Welts
filed a double murder charge against him,
the county commissioners voted a special
court session fund and date of trial was
set for December 14th in Judge W. I.
Brickey’s court. E. FE. Knipe, a Mount
Vernon barrister, was appointed by the
court as defense counsel,

When court opened, the Finn surprised
everyone, including his counsel, by plead-
ing guilly to the two slayings, then claim-
ing that he had shot in self defense. But
Welts succeeded in introducing a letter
which the Finn had tried to smuggle to
Edith but which Sheriff McCarthy had
intercepted. The letter cautioned the girl
not to testify that he had told her he
planned to kill Sonny and Ernest Grimm.

All testimony was bricf, the most sen-
sational and gripping being that given by
little Edith whose low voice from. the
witness chair could be heard throughout
the hushed courtroom. In simple words
she told that the Finn had seduced her,
slain her two brothers and then through
threats of having her sent to prison, had
so intimidated her that she hardly dared
to talk to anyone but him. The child
little realized the weight of her testimony,
its damning significance in branding the
Finn as one of the most despicable hu-
man jackals on record.

Four days of court, then on December
17th, just a year from the day that the
Finn had slain Ernest Grimm, a jury
deliberated forty-three minutes, and re-
turned a verdict of first degree murder
on both charges with no recommendations.
That verdict made history. For the first
time since statehood, nearly half a cen-
tury, a first degree murder conviction was
recorded in Skagit County.

Stolidly, the Finn heard the words that
meant the rope for him. “Well, who’s
got a cigarette?” he asked as he was led
back to his cell.

Nor did he show any change of mind
or heart when his attorney visited him a
short time later. He bluntly refused to
appeal the verdict. y

Lecter BRICKEY sentenced him to die
on the gallows on February 23rd. On
January 38rd Sheriff McCarthy heavily
manacled the killer and delivered him to
authorities at the state penitentiary at
Walla Walla.

Not once from the time of conviction
to date of delivery at Walla Walla did
he show the slightest trace of contrition.
Back at Mount Vernon those who had
closely followed the case, speculated on
the Finn “cracking” at the last minute,
and a letter he sent to Attorney Knipe a
week before execution date indicated that
he was on_ the verge. The criminal
who thought nothing of shooting down
two men in cold blood now decided that
life was worth living. Would Knipe make
a last minute appeal to save him? But
he had passed up that opportunity; now
it was too late. And. failing in this,
he reverted to type.

As callous as ever, he walked up the
gallows steps at noon, February 23rd, his
dull, rounded features showing prison
pallor but no emotion. With a cynical
sneer on his heavy lips he faced the
crowd of 103 witnesses, the largest num-
ber in the prison’s history.

“All I’ve got to say is—good-by,” he
mumbled. ‘

The trap was sprung at 12:03 p.m., and
the heavy body hurtled to the rope’s end,
lourteen minutes later he was pronounced
dead. Justice had at last caught up with
a ruthless killer and a treacherous seducer.

7 THAT'S NOT “OLD
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“g@eTOP making love to my sister!”
‘ The young couple on the couch straightened up
j 4 as the words were spat from the lips of Edith
‘Grimm’s elder brother Ernest. He stood in the
doorway of the living room in the farm home on the
banks of the Sauk River, in Northwestern Washington.

Tovio Hautaneimi was dark, squat and beetle-browed;
he was about 25 years old and was known in the neigh-
borhood as ‘‘The Finn.”

Hautaneimi was both good looking and industrious,
and it was little wonder that Edith Grimm was attracted
to him when he came to work on the ranch in the spring
of 1936. Vivacious, she possessed a trim little figure
topped with flaming red hair.

Little Edith Grimm had never had a beau, and she
got little affection in her own home. She had six
brothers and each of them seemed to feel it his: right
to boss her. Occasionally a slap was added to a com-
mand if the girl did not move rapidly enough. To
add to the burden of her existence, her father had long
been ill and unable to manage the household of which
he was the head. Mrs. Roy Grimm loved the girl and
Tovio Hautaneimi knew the mother was his friend.

So “The Finn” looked the brother squarely in the
eye and drew the sister closer into his embrace.

“What have you got to say about it?” he queried
sharply.

Ernest Grimm was very angry but he realized he was
no match in a rough and tumble fight with the former
CCC camp worker, whom Jay Grimm, another brother,

ct

had later gone to work there as a farm hand.

It was the night of December 16th and a bitter wind
had started blowing down from the Canadian plains,
sweeping across the Cascade Mountains and into the
valley of the Sauk. For a moment both men listened
intently to some sound they had heard outside.

“ft believe there is someone in the chicken house,”
Hautaneimi said. ‘We better take a look.”

As Ernest Grimm started out the door, apparently
letting the quarrel drop for a moment, he reached into
acorner of the room and picked up a rifle. Hautaneimi
also carried a rifle. ‘

Not more than a minute after the two men had left
the house Edith Grimm heard a shot; then later two
or three more, and finally a voice crying, “He went
‘that way.” Fifteen minutes later her lover came back
‘into the room, alone. He paused to kiss her and add
afew affectionate pats, after which he put on his rain-
“eoat and went outside again, explaining that Ernest
“had chased the thief down the road and had said he
*- was going to cross the last ferry and go to Concrete.

*. Hautaneimi prowled around outside for half an hour.
m At the breakfast table the following morning “The
am. Finn” repeated to the family what had happened and

* announced that he was going into Concrete for the
| day. When he returned at nightfall he said that he

had invited to the home the previous spring, and who -

ey Washington's Case of the Lecherous Farm-
hand and His Twelve-Year-
the Crime That Shocked the Northwest

ld Mistress—

—

GRIMM WAS THE NAME——
and grim was the crime. Above: Edith Grimm.

had seen Ernest in town and that they had renewed
their argument over Edith. Finally Ernest had told
him that he would have to leave the place.

“Ernest isn’t running this place,” spoke up Mrs.
Grimm. “He stays away from home most of the time;
you are taking good care of the farm, and it is my
business to raise Edith, not his.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way about it, mother,”
said Hautaneimi. “And under those conditions, if the
rest of the boys want me, I’ll stay on.”

The boys spoke in a chorus; all wanted the dark
youth to remain with them. Jay Grimm, 24; Earl, 16,
and Roy, Jr., 11, all liked and respected the hard work-
ing young man. Two other brothers, Floyd and How-
ard, lived away from home.

So things settled down into the old routine on the
Grimm farm and the love affair of Tovio and Edith
continued unmolested. _

Ernest Grimm did not return to visit at the farm
after that night of December 16, 1937, and members
of the family told inquiring friends and neighbors that
he had gone to California to work. This was the word
which Tovio Hautaneimi brought: them from Concrete

77


”

mother,
th Tovio
‘ave for

ieighbor
stopped
in the

said the
e black

d Floyd

over the

Hau-
1em but
ormant.
i Floyd
A week
vho had

friendly
om him
‘Sonny”
Grimm
-e other
“Sonny”

1 Tovio

n-hand.

“Where is he?” asked the mother.
“In the house?”’

“No, mother, I’m sorry, but he
wouldn’t stay,” replied the young
man. “I tried to get him to wait
for you but he just talked to
“Sonny” for a little while and then
they drove away. They said they
were going back to California.”

“I don’t see why Ernest should
feel so mad at me,’ mused the
mother. ‘After all, it is my busi-
ness to raise my children as I see
fit.”

“He’ll get over it,” sympathized
the farm-hand. “I wouldn’t worry
about it.” ;

Mrs. Grimm went about her
work. When Edith and the other
children arrived from school Tovio
and she went into the front room
and had a long talk.

Roy Grimm, Senior, now com-
pletely paralyzed, was helpless.
Hautaneimi. had become indispen-
sable to Mrs. Grimm. If he was in
love with Edith it seemed to matter
very little; and, since he had asked
for the girl in marriage, Mrs.
Grimm could see nothing to worry
about in the situation.

One afternoon in May, Deputy
Sheriff Les Finsen, from the county

THE KILLER SNEERS——
when questioned. (In circle) Above:
“He died with his boots on.”

seat, Mount Vernon, drove up to
the place with a search warrant and
said he was looking for some ma-
chinery which had been stolen from
George Peterson, a farmer near
Birdsview.

In the rear of the barn, Finsen
found what he was looking for. A
generator and a pelton wheel were
identified by numbers as the ones
stolen from Peterson.

“Did you steal these?” asked Fin-
sen, turning to Tovio Hautaneimi.

“I did not; I don’t—” Hautaneimi
began, when Jay Grimm inter-
rupted.

“My brother Floyd brought those

(Continued on page 98)

79

~~

————————=——

_ away from the farm, though he re-

on December 20th, where he said he had again met
Ernest and had given him the mother’s decision relative
to the management of the farm and Edith’s love affairs.

“He got very angry, mother,’ Hautaneimi told her,
“and said you thought more of me than you did of your
own son and he guessed he would go to California and
get work.”

“You've been better to me than Ernest ever was,
Tovio,’’ answered the toil-worn Ethel Grimm, now 56
years old. ‘We haven’t paid you much, but you have
had a home.”

“Ym not kicking,” answered Tovio, “and besides I
want to marry Edith and really be your son.”

“She’s too young, Tovio,”’ remonstrated the mother.
“Wait a little while; she’s only twelve. When she is
a little older I’ll give my consent.”

And so the days of the winter passed. When spring
approached Tovio and Edith found time at dusk to
stroll through the alder bottoms hand in hand and to
declare their love as they lay in each other’s arms in
the sweet lush grass.

Mrs. Ethel Grimm saw how affectionate the two had
become, but she said nothing against the association to
any members of the family.

HIE on the surface everything seemed to be
moving peacefully, one neighbor, Andrew Jack-
son, was not pleased with what he had seen in the
alder woods on a spring evening. Johnson was a man
of high morals and when from a distance he spied the
pretty red-head and the dark Finn in a compromising
position in a secluded dell, he told the girl’s mother.
“T don't believe you,” said Mrs. Ethel Grimm. “You
are lying because you don’t like
Tovio; any of you would hire him
away from me if you could, so you
tell tales about him.”

The neighbor left the house,
shaking his head. He was a mid-
dle-aged man and had seen much
of life and he felt he was not mis-
taken about what he had observed.

Unable to impress the mother,
Johnson one day had a talk with
one of the brothers who did not
live at home. This was Floyd, usu-
ally called “Sonny” by his friends;
he was 21 years old and had a job

turned often. Upon this particular
trip he had been called to the bed-
side of his long-ailing father and
he was amazed to see how com-
pletely the whole family had come
to depend upon Tovio and how
openly his sister and the dark youth
made love.

“Have you heard from Ernest?”
Floyd asked.

“He has never written me a line,
Sonny,” replied the mother. “He
went away angry, I guess, and has

THESE THREE BOYS——.
Jay. Roy and Earl, with their mother
Mrs. Ethel Grimm, were spared.

@
THIS SHALLOW GRAVE——

was the last resting place of a
young boy. Officials inspect spot.

78

ceased to think of us.”

“Somehow I can’t believe he would do that, mother,”
insisted Floyd Grimm. “I’m going to talk with Tovio
about that conversation they had, before I leave for
town again.”

That same afternoon Floyd Grimm met neighbor
Johnson along the country highway and they stopped
to talk. Johnson told of what he had seen in the
wildwood.

“That Finn has your family hypnotized,” said the
farmer. ‘He could make your mother believe black
is white.”

“Well, he can’t make me believe it,” replied Floyd
Grimm. “I’m going to have a talk with him.”

And that night Floyd and Tovio quarreled over the
relationship between the girl and the farm-hand. Hau-
taneimi demanded to know who had accused them but
the brother would not reveal the name of his informant.

The conversation accomplished nothing and Floyd
Grimm left as doubtful as when he arrived. A week
later he returned again to see his father, who had
grown worse.

Tovio Hautaneimi now appeared to be more friendly
with “Sonny,” and again tried to find out from him
who had told of the tryst in the dell; this “Sonny”
refused to divulge.

On the afternoon of the 11th of March, Mrs. Grimm
and her son Jay went to Concrete; the three other
children, including Edith, were in school. Only “Sonny”
and “The Finn” remained on the farm.

When Mrs. Grimm returned that afternoon Tovio
met her in the barn lot.

“Ernest was here this afternoon,” said the farm-hand.

‘Where is
“In the hou
“No, mot
wouldn’t st
man. “I t1
for you b
“Sonny” fo
they drove
were going

“T don’t
feel so ma
mother. “A
ness to rais
fit.”

“He'll ge:
the farm-h:
about it.”

Mrs. Gr
work. Wh
children an
and she we
and had a lc

Roy Grin
pletely pa
Hautaneimi
sable to Mr:
love with Ex
very little; ;
for the gi
Grimm coul
about in the

One after
Sheriff Les }


restaurant started. The .38 slugs of
the hired killers had all missed him,
but-a bullet from Lulu’s heavy .45, a
wild shot from the gun that was
guarding his life, had mowed him
down.

The wound infected swiftly and
Schultz lapsed into delirium. Detec-
tives listened carefully at his bedside
the night he died. Stenographers took
down word for word the fantastic
ravings of the dying gang lord. But
in the end, when the last breath
rattled in the Dutchman’s throat, and
the notes were transcribed, they
didn’t make sense. They supplied no
clue to the execution squad which
had carried out its assignment so ef-
ficiently.

The only clue was another shooting
which occurred the same night on
Broadway. Ninety minutes after the
Newark slaughter, Marty Krompier,
the front man of the Schultz trium-
virate, the gangster who called news-
paper columnists by their first names,
was sitting in a Broadway barber
shop waiting for a shave. He was
shaved by death.

It was a narrow shave, too. Krom-
pier hovered between life and death
for a week, but in the end he lived.
He hadn’t squeaked to detectives who

Crime Detective

Mrs. Amelia Cambron Phillips, Ken-

tucky blue blood and belle. who said

her husband had neglected to get a
divorce before marrying her.

plied him with questions during his

stay on a hospital bed and the new

gang which had.taken over New York

and the policy racket decided he

might be more useful alive than dead.

ae further attempt. was.made on his
e.

Noten who headed the new gang, the
gang which had rubbed out
Schultz and the major members of
his mob?

Well, control of policy switched
overnight to Lucky Luciano, who was
already in complete control of the
city’s vice ring.

The Schultz murder could not be
laid at the door of Luciano, of course,
for Lucky was careful about his alibi.
At the hour Schultz was slain and
later when the hired gunmen opened
up on Krompier, Lucky was sitting up
with a sick friend. He was at the bed-

side of “Bugs” Siegal in the latter’s’

suite in the Waldorf Tower. And there
were plenty of witnesses to prove it.

No, Lucky couldn’t be hooked for
the Schultz murder, but he was the
natural heir to the Schultz empire,
an empire that was crumbling under
absentee rule, but was _ quickly
whipped back into a $100,000,000 a
year racket by the vice czar.

MURDER IN THE CASCADES

things here,” said the young man. “He
told us he bought them. I know Tovio
had nothing to do with them.”

“Thanks, Jay,” said Hautaneimi. “I
never stole anything in my life, but I
wasn’t going to tell how those things
came to be here.”

“Where is your brother Floyd?”
queried the deputy.

“Somewhere in California,” an-
swered the youth. “We haven’t heard
from him since he went away.”

Deputy Finsen eyed the lad sus-
piciously; he had a hunch that some-
thing was wrong with the picture. He
couldn’t understand why one brother
should so readily reveal another’s
theft merely to protect a farm-hand.

“Who told you this machinery could
be found here?” Hautaneimi asked.

“I couldn’t tell you that,” replied
the deputy.

“Tf I had fifty guesses I’d use use all
of them on Johnson,” said the dark
youth. “He sure likes to meddle in
other people’s affairs.”

Finsen made no reply to Tovio’s
spiteful remark. The farm-hand had
guessed the truth and the deputy did
not care to admit it. Extracting a
promise from Mrs. Grimm that she
would notify the officers if she heard
from Floyd, the officers took the stolen
machinery and departed.

A few weeks later, Roy Grimm, Sr.,
died and was buried in the cemetery
in Concrete. Edith attended her
father’s funeral leaning on the arm of
Tovio Hautaneimi.

“The Finn” was now the real head
of the family. The brothers, Jay, Roy,
Jr., and Earl did his bidding; he was
“head man” on the farm. Mrs. Grimm
seemed well satisfied with the situa-
tion.

But neighbors, including Andrew
Johnson, wondered why Ernest and
Floyd had not appeared at their

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 79

father’s funeral, or written. Johnson
was now suspicious.
One day in October, 1937, the old

neighbor, strolling through the alder.

bottoms, came again upon Tovio and
Edith, making love. This time what
he saw left no doubt of their intimacy.

Edith Grimm was then but 13 years
old. Johnson went to Mount Vernon
where he contacted Sheriff Pat Mc-
Carthy and Prosecutor Richard Welts
and said he was ready to charge Tovio
Hautaneimi, with illicit relations with
a girl minor. Deputy Sheriff Les Fin-
sen, never content that he had gotten
to the bottom of matters at the farm
on the Sauk, made the arrest and
brought “The Finn” to the Mount
Vernon jail.

The young man took the arrest with
a smile and the entire Grimm family
cursed Andrew Johnson for being a
meddlesome old fool and denied there
was anything wrong in the love affair
of ee arm-hand and the pretty little
girl.

DITH GRIMM was also taken to

Mount Vernon and held in cus-
tody in an attempt to make her admit
that she had been seduced by the
handsome dark-haired youth. She re-
fused to say anything had been wrong
between them.

Believing that Ernest Grimm might
be able to tell something, a deter-
mined hunt was made for him in Cali-
fornia where relatives were located,
but not one of them had ever seen
either of the boys.

“Finsen,” said Sheriff McCarthy at

‘this stage of the investigation, “I don’t

know how much longer we can hold
this fellow, but I believe he killed
the Grimm boys and that their sister
is protecting him.”

“Why, that’s unbelievable,” replied
the deputy.

“Almost, but not quite,” replied the
sheriff. “Consider her outh, the fact
that she is madly in love with this
boy, and that he is the only one who
has ever given her the adoration she
craved. et’s put someone in Hau-
taneimi’s cell and see if we can get
him ‘to talk.”

That is-how Gerald Granville (his
real name) was put into the cell of
the silent Finn, Tovio Hautaneimi,
with instructions to make him talk
about his relations with the little red-
head. Granville had actually been
arrested on a petty charge, but he was
willing to play the part assigned to
him. How cleverly he did it can best
be adjudged by the results he got.

“That girl of yours certainly has a
lot of nerve,” said Granville, “or she
would have talked long before this.
You can’t kid me; she’s your girl or
she wouldn’t stick so tight for you.”

“Sure, she’s my girl,” replied Hau-
taneimi. ‘She loves me like nobody’s
business; I taught her the real busi-
ness of sex and I know my stuff, boy.”

For half an hour “The Finn” re-
mained buried in deep thought. Gran-
ville interrupted him.

“Well, T'll be leaving you tomor-
row, pal,” he said. ‘My time is up.”
Tovio eyed his cellmate closely and
reached a decision.

“Jerry, I want you to do me a
favor,” said Hautaneimi. “I want you
to help Edith. She is the bravest
girl in the world. Do you know, she
actually shot a man who caught us
in the alders up there on the Sauk.
She shot him with a rifle and_ buried
him in a ravine, but the folks are
going to move to Concrete and give
up the farm and I’m afraid the new
tenants will find that body. I want
you to tell her to take you to the spot
and I want you to blow that body
to hell with dynamite. She knows

where to g
into bits so
tified. Will
“Yes, for
answered G:
lieve me?”
“Can yo!
asked “The
“In my m:
So the no
ville delive:
who told t
touch with
Gerald Gra:
Grimm fe
Prosecutor

-following c

rived at thr
the road to

RANV!
and at
with the r
pair starte:
officers sur
dynamite.
The surn
Grimm ha
note in the
From. th
around to
then start«
which ran
house. Cré
the officers
ause; she
rush and,
McCarthy,
“Well, Ex
to the end
Deputy Fi
tell us. W
there. Wh
“TI don’t
answered
what you
_- Refusing
tecting he
the truth @
a man wh«
lations? I
ning. The
lodged in >
Early th
cials, acco
Holt, of t!
Vernon, ai
the spot wv
to dig. Fc
turned dir
attention
here was :
been prev
“IT don’t
ersisted J
ill anyon
Edith did.
Granville
out that >
yourself t!
Sheriff !
the trail.
log caug)
ground be
see where
called the
started to
A short
face Jay
pieces of
took a tu
few more
an arm c:
ning skull
turn, the:
pair of |
which stu
“Those
Jay Grim
the Iast ti
. the day h:
to Califor

--When her husband's-name-was br:

But, even so, how do we go about locat-
ing him?”

Mahoney’s eyes narrowed. He said,
more to himself than to Miller; “That
thin, heavy instrument. If we could
find it ... or even if we-could get some
idea of what it might be...” :

Captain Miller. pushed his chair
back from the desk and looked at his
wrist watch. “It’s half-past two and we
haven’t had lunch yet. Let’s go across
the street and grab a sandwich.”

“I'd kind of forgotten about eating
... but now that you mention it, I am
hungry. After lunch...”

The door to Miller’s office burst
open and Deputy Sheriff Jay Pollock
hurried inside.

“Murder, Chief!” and he was pant-
ing with excitement. . “Girl strangled
_out in’ the Southside! The call just
came in!”

“What's the address?”

“Two-two-two southwest one-hun-
dred and thirty-eighth.”

Mahoney cried: “That’s within a
few blocks of where the other two wo-
men were strangled!”

MILLER raced out of his office to the
radio control room. “Get every
prowler car on the Southside! Tell them
to close in on the two-hundred block
on southwest one-hundred and thirty-
eighth. Tell them to stay in their cars
and keep their radio receivers open.
I'll give instructions after I get there.”

While Miller was giving instructions
to his crews, Mahoney talked to the of-
ficer who had taken the message.

The officer said: “A woman by the
name of Winifred Thompson called in.
She’s a neighbor. She said the girl
had just been killed. The girl is in
her own home. Seems as if her mother
went to the store or something and
when she came back, she found her
dead. That’s about all I could get.”

“How old a girl?”

this mother of two..children suddenly found herself being swept into tragedy ©

&

™~.

tight sip te the Savestigaiioa by She otliciala,.

+ Ro os
“Seems to me she said seventeen or
“eighteen. ' She was so excited, it was
ei} to even get the address from
rr : ;
Mahoney ‘said: “Better notify the
coroner. Have him come out right
away.” r: ;
Captain Miller, finished now with his
instructions to his crews, called to Ma-
honey: “Let’s go!” =. Bese.

HE two investigators took the special .

» 1. elevator to the basement: garage of
the building and were’speeding across
town within minutes from the ‘time
they had the report of the new murder.

Driving out Fourth Avenue: South,
Miller asked Mahoney: “Do you think
it’s the same guy who got those other

{)

“Tt could be, but he’s changed his
method some. Both of the other wom-
.en were killed at night and in a va-
cant lot. This girl apparently was
murdered just a short time ago and in

her home. We can tell better after we-

get there.”
The address turned out to be a hous-

ing project built for war workers. The’

investigators pulled up to @ small house
where a number of people were gathered’
around the front door. :

As they got out of the car, someone
called out: “She’s inside.”

The front room, as Mahoney and
Miller walked in, showed signs of a
struggle. A chair wds overturned and
2 table lamp was lying broken on the

oor. : .

A door led off the front room to a
bedroom.

Inside, the girl’s body was sprawled .

on the floor. Her head and face were
covered with blood.’ A piece of her own
silk underclothing, which had been
ripped from her body, was knotted
around her throat. °

“There's your trade-mark,” and Ma-
honey pointed. te

Miller was studying the scene. Then:
“Attacked her in the front room. She
struggled with him until he forced her
into this bedroom where he killed her.”

Mahoney nodded his agreement.

Deputy Sheriff’s Ed Bourdage, Jay
Pollock and William Frazee entered the
house.

“What can we do, Chief?” Pollock
asked Miller. :

a“ E DON’T know much about what

happened yet. Get around to the’

rest of the houses in the area, See if you

can find out about any strangers or -

suspicious characters who have been
around here recently. The girl hasn’t
been dead long.”

The deputies went out on their as-

signment.

“We'd better find the mother and see
what the score is,” Mahoney ‘said to
Miller. be vise

The investigators walked to the front
door. There they met Coroner C. L.

Harris.
body is in the bedroom,” Miller
told him. “Apparently the girl was
beaten over the head and strangled.
You might see what else you can tell
us from the physical evidence.”
“Killed the same as those other wom-
en, huh?” Harris asked.
Mahoney nodded.. He walked past
Harris and directed his next question
_ to the crowd gathered outside the door.
“Where is the girl’s mother?”
“She’s across the street at Mrs.

Thompson's place,” someone told him. .

“It’s that house right over there.”
The officers found Mrs. Thompson
vainly trying to comfort the hysterical

mother. *
Mrs. Thompson told them: © “Mrs.

Ed Heberling listens ao Dadoos
tive Captain Wesley Miller
reads a suspect's. statement


ay a ee A 9

r
eee

Sec los Kkili=s

E By Jack Heise

Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

J [ "HE. killer lives somewhere in
this district,” Dick Mahoney
said .tiredly, pointing at an

area on the map which was spread

out in front of him.: He indicated the
section just south of the Seattle,

Washington, city limits. :

Mahoney was frowning as he looked

up at Detective Captain Wesley N.

Miller, who was sitting across the desk

from him in the Sheriff’s office in King

County. Mahoney was formerly head

of the Seattle Police Homicide Bureau

and presently under special assign-

— to the King County Prosecutor’s

office. Oe

“You're going on the theory that
both women were murdered by the
same person,” Miller said. -

“I don’t think there’s any doubt of
it; Both women were murdered in

- almost identical fashion. Take this first

case of Hazel Shaw...” '
Mahoney shuffied through a pile of
reports on the desk and laid the file
of Hazel Shaw in front of him. Hazel
Shaw had’ been a stenographer at the
Seattle-Tacoma shipyard. She lived in
the Southside district Just beyond the
city limits. She had gone downtown to
a show and returned homeward on the
eleven o'clock bus, Her body had been
found the following morning two
blocks away from the bus in ‘a vacant
lot. The killer had ripped her silk
blouse and used it to strangle her.

Where Could Seattle, Wash., Police
Find a Murderer When All They
Knew Was. He Had Watched the
Movements of the Girl He Killed?

Mahoney said: “There are two dis-
tinctive things about the Shaw murder.
First, she was struck over the head a
humber of times by a thin, but heavy
instrument. Secondly, she . was
guage: by a piece of her own cloth-

MILLER nodded. He was completely
familiar with every detail of the

murder of Hazel Shaw. He and Ma-"

honey had gone over it many times
searching for some clew that would lead
them to the killer. So far they had
gotten nowhere.: °

“Now, take the Pritchow case,”
Mahoney said. “You can find those
same two identifying features in her
murder.”

Mrs. Evelyn Pritchow, who also
lived on the Southside just outside the
city limits, had left friends in the
downtown area to go home at a little
after nine o’clock in the evening. Her
body was found the following morning.
She had been struck over the head
with a thin, heavy instrument and had
been strangled with a head-kerchief
she had been wearing.

“Tt seems more than a coincidence
that these two women were struck over
the head by an identical weapon,”
Mahoney continued, “and that articles
of their own clothing were used to
strangle them. It’s the killer’s trade-
mark.”

“But it still doesn’t give us anything
to go on.” ,

“J can tell you this. Unless we get
him ... and get him quick .. . we will
have another murder in this same dis-
trict. ‘It will be a young woman and
she will be struck over the head with
a thin, heavy instrument and she will
be strangled with some piece of her
own clothing.”

Miller gave a little shudder at the
thought, for he felt the same as Ma-
honey: That unless the killer were
caught, they had not seen the end of
the strangler’s victims.

E SAID: “I’ve got every man I can
spare in cars cruising the district.
They start in just before dark and stay
at it the whole night. Most of the
fellows are using their own machines
because I can’t pull every prowler car
off its beat. We've got the whole
county to protect.”
Mahoney pushed the files to one side

and went back to the map. “The only
clew we’ve got to go on is that the
killings both took place in the same
area.”

“But he may strike in some other
district. That’s why I wonder if it is
wise to keep all the cars on the South-
side and...”

a” | N’T think so. If he strikes again
... and he will unless we grab him
. .. it will be in the Southside. I think he
lives out there. He knows which
streets are dark and where there’s
vacant property. He knows how to get
around. And what is even more, he is
probably well known in the area and
that’s the reason we haven’t had any
reports of strangers or suspicious char-
acters lurking around the district be-
fore the time that either of the women
were killed.”
“It’s stretching it pretty thin to say
definitely that he lives out there...
although, I’ll agree that it is possible.

-2)

ye. JUBAEM

o

Oe Poa aa

Lindstrom came running in here a lit-
tle while ago screaming that something
had happened to Harriet, I could hard-
ly make out what she was talking about.
I ran across the street to see what it
was all about. After I saw Harriet, I
called the Sheriff's office.” . -

Mahoney spoke to the weeping
mother. “Won't you please try and
answer some of our questions? We
have to know some of the facts. We
only want to help you. Will you give
me your full name and tell me where
your husband is?”

ITH a tremendous effort, the wom-

- an managed to stifle her weeping
to deep sobs, She gave her name as Mrs.
C. R. Lindstrom. She said that she and
her husband and daughter, Harriet
Louise, had come from Miami, Florida,
a month previously. Her husband was

employed as an inspector in an airplane .

factory.

“Now, tell us what happened,” Ma-
honey asked her. “I know it’s hard for
you, but we need all the help you can
give us.” He paused momentarily, then:
“IT understand you went to the store
and left your daughter home alone. Is
that right?”

_ Mrs. Lindstrom nodded weakly. She
swallowed deeply and then, in a falter-
ing voice, said: “It—it was about two
o’clock. I—I asked Harriet to go with

- me.” The mother buried her face in her

hands and sobbed unrestrainedly. As
Mrs. Thompson patted her hand gently,
she looked up and went on: “Harriet
was playing in the backyard with her
puppy. We—we had just bought it for
her. She said she would rather stay
and play with ‘Snooks’.” The mother’s
hands were clenched into fists. “Oh, if
only she had gone with me!”

“Harriet was still in the backyard
when you left?” .

Again Mrs. Lindstrom nodded.

“How long were you gone?”

“About twenty minutes.” Mrs. Lind-

Officials question neighbors in front Harriet Lindstrom: If she hadn't
of the death-house for some clew that
would possibly aid them in their hunt + ha

-

strom appeared to have regained con-

trol of her emotions now. The fact that -

she was needed to bring her daughter’s
killer to justice seemed to give her
strength, “When I came back, I saw
the puppy sitting on the back steps. I
called to Harriet, but she didn’t an-
swer. I—I thought it was strange be-
cause if she left the puppy alone, she
always tied him up. She—she was al-
ways afraid he might run into the
street and be killed.”

“You went into the house?”

“I went inside ...and...” The
mother was unable to go on. The mem-
ory of her daughter’s mutilated body
flooded back to her. She fell sobbing
into the arms of Mrs. Thompson.

Mrs. Thompson said: “I guess she
came right over. here after she saw
Harriet.”

Miller asked Mrs. Lindstrom: “Did
you see anyone around the house either
before you left, or after you returned?”

Mrs. Lindstrom shook her head.

Mahoney turned to Miller. “I guess
we'd better get back over there and
start checking around the neighbor-
hood. This thing happened in broad
daylight. Somebody may have seen
someone going in or coming out of the

house.”

EAVING Mrs. Thompson’s house,

Miller went to his car and snapped
on the two-way radio set. He contacted
Headquarters and said: “We haven't
got anything yet, except that a young
girl was murdered in her home. Keep
the prowler cars in the district. Tell
them to pick up any suspicious looking
characters, and to watch particularly
for any person who might have blood
on their clothing.”

“Any description yet?”

“No. Tell the cars to keep close to
the district and report in the minute
they find anything. There’s a phone in
the Lindstrom house. You can get the
number and call me there.”

stayed home a killer would not have
opportunity to murder her

Mahoney and Miller went back in-
side the Lindstrom house. Coroner
Harris was completing his examination.

“Same deal as the other killings?”

. Mahoney asked.

“Almost. She was beaten over the
head with that same thin, heavy in-
strument and strangled with her own
underclothing . . . but, something new
has been added.”

“What's that?”

“She was stabbed a couple dozen
times with a small pocket knife.”

“You're sure it was a pocket knife?”

“No doubt on that score. The blade
was broken off and it’s still sticking in
her throat.”

“It'll be a darn good piece of evi-
dence when we get the killer,” Mahon-
ey said.

“Tl have it removed as soon as we

(Continued on Page 44)
23


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GO 2 Sa a ee 7

ih 1 }

4 Me rite ay {
We aes HANDS OFF MY SISTER!
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4 : (Continued from Page 14)

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THE END:

LE A INE MOTT PG RT I


ley had nothing
of the body.”
xed someone else
River?” Lange
was it, Carl

Church?” Lange
o know anything

.” Hamilton said
. Well, that night
oint to help him
3 the river.. I’ve
1 about this be-
kill me. Stanley
1ing about this.
> when I left the

ill Gentry?” the
4 have anything

was in love with
ore at Earl for

I didn’t dream
he came to my
it he had done.”

tigation proved
ent correct in
ew and his sister
‘bout the crime
ig of the body.
‘rrie Gill’s store-

> blankets found
.d Gentry’s body -

23) orrici

ighbor had not
ne of the crime.

the killer ap-
ise. What could

‘*k to the Lind-

aid: “We aren’t
is the first real
nean, the crime
light and with a
The killer only
on us, but we

oing. :
othing, looked
> walked to the

red the home
.s the girl must*
ft her puppy on
ler: “The killer
r from the back
nen to the living

2 in through ‘the

The way the
ne front door bell
ould more likely
e outside of the
there.” -

re right.”
“There's no sign
: Kitchen. They
the way into the
2 tried to attack

I don’t see that
* we could only

. tire area and if any

had been taken from her house.

It wasn’t until several days later
that George King was located. He was
found loitering near the county build-
ing in Fort Atkinson. No doubt, Lange
theorized, he had been trying to find
out if Hamilton had fingered him.

King readily confessed to killing
Gentry, and his confession was
clinched when the fingerprint expert
matched his prints with those found
on the whisky bottles and glasses.

“™ NERVED myself up to the killing

by drinking two pints of whisky,”
he told the Sheriff. “Otherwise, I
couldn’t have done it.”

King pleaded guilty and was given a
life sentence for his crime. George
Hamilton was fined $100, charged with
being an accessory after‘the fact, and
released. Stanley Hamilton and Carrie
Gill were cleared of all suspicion.

The Sunshine Lady immediately re-
sumed her hobby of trying to salvage
derelict men. In spite of the way Earl
Gentry had returned her kindness with
cruelty, she still was convinced ' that.
good men could be made from bad.

The names of Steve Martin and Ed-
ward, George, Stanley and Ruth Ham-
ilton are fictitious to protect the iden-

tities of persons not involved in the

slaying.

Read It First In

AL DETECTIVE STORIES

ute. The killer got her to come into this |

room on some pretext that wouldn’t
keep her but a moment.” .

“But what doés it all lead up to?”

“It fits the theory that I’ve had in
the other two cases. The killer lives out
here. He was known to the girl. What
is more, he was known to the rest of
the people around here. That is why
the boys haven’t been able to find any-
one who saw a stranger near here. A lot
of people may have seen the killer, but
it didn’t register with them that he is
the killer. He is just a neighbor.” .

“You think he is right here in this
housing project?” ~

“I don’t know whether he is here yet,
or not, but I do. think he lives here, or
somewheres near. Both of those other
women were killed within a short dis-
tance from here. We haven’t been able
to locate one person who saw a strang-
er near the place that either of them

were. killed. I think it is because the .

killer isn’t a

stranger.” _ :
- “It could be, but how do we go about
‘finding him?” 25 ° : i

«“We know the girl scratched him.
You saw her broken nails. We may
have to round up every guy in this en-

scratches, they’d better have a good
alibi.” ; -

“I could call the prowler car crews.

in and have them start making a check
in ong away. They are covering the dis-
trigg. . .”

“We'll have to make the check scien-
tifically. Later this afternoon we con

of them have ~

here all afternoon. They didn’t see
anyone.”

“It's because the person they saw
was familiar to them,” Mahoney ex-
plained. “Take yourself for example.
When you are in the office and a lot of
people you know are coming in and out,
you won’t pay any particular attention
to them. But if a stranger came in, you
would remember him.”

“I guess so, but how can we jog their
memories to recall who it was they saw
around here if anyone?”

Mahoney crossed the room and sat
on the davenport.

He squirmed to-one side and reached
behind the over-stuffed pillows. Some-
thing was there. He had felt it.

From behind the pillows, Mahoney
pulled out a stove poker.

Miller and Frazee hurried across the
room to look at it. They didn’t have to
examine it carefully to see that it was
stained.

“Blood!” Miller exclaimed.

Staring intently at the poker,
Mahoney said softly, almost to him-
self: “The thin, heavy instrument . . .”

“Think we can get fingerprints?”
Miller asked.

“I doubt it. This wire handle wouldn't
hold a print and the poker itself is too

‘thin to retain-a full one.” Mahoney

continued to stare at the poker. “I’ve
tried to imagine every kind of a
weapon that would fit the description
of the thin, heavy instrument . . . and
= is it. It never occurred to me be-
ore.” :

Miller said: “He has always taken .

the weapon away with him before. I
or why he left it behind this
time?”

a[t MUST have dropped behind the

cushions where I found it. He may
have looked for it and couldn’t find it.
He knew he had only a limited time, so
he had to leave without it.”

Mahoney stood up and walked across
the room to the kitchen. When he came
back, he said to the other officers:
“We're in luck. There is a stove poker
in the kitchen beside the stove. The
killer brought this poker in with him.”

Mahoney was tense with excitement.
“Not as many as you might think. All
these houses out here in the project
have been built and furnished with
major appliances by the Government.
There is a shortage of steel and they
wouldn’t. put more than one stove
Poker with each stove.”

“And you can’t buy the things now,”
Miller replied. “I know, because we

How Many Bullets to Get

— “Junior” who had ever visited the
ace,

“That looks like our best bet.” Raley
turned now to Livingston. “While we're
going, you keep working on- those kids
we've got locked up.”

A NFR ane Tete foe

need one for our place. I’ve looked
everywhere for one.”

“Exactly!” Mahoney exclaimed. “If
we are right about our guess that the
killer lives in this neighborhood .. .
then, one of the houses around here is
going to be without a stove poker.”

Catching the spirit of excitement,
Miller said tightly: “We find the house
without a stove poker. We examine
the man or kid who lives there and
find whether or not he has any
scratches on him. If he has—”

“We can start right now,” Mahoney
interrupted. “We can take the houses
in the surrounding blocks.”

Miller told Frazee: “You get the
other boys. Have them start across the
street. If you find a house that hasn't
a stove poker, send for us right away.”

Goinc out the kitchen door of the
Lindstrom home, Miller turned to
Mahoney. “We might as well start with
this house right next door.”

“There isn’t anyone home,” Mahoney
told him. “Still, if the door is open, we
Sr take a look and cross it off our

ist.”

The front door of the small house
next to the Lindstrom home was open.
The two investigators walked inside.
They went into the kitchen and looked
around the stove and the woodbox.

“I don’t see a poker around: here,”
Miller declared.

Mahoney stopped suddenly, listen-
ing; then he walked down a short
hallway. to a closed door that ap-
parently led to the bathroom. es

His right hand automatically slid
under his coat to reach for his gun in
the shoulder holster. With his left
hand he turned the knob.

The door was locked.

Stepping back quickly, Mahoney
spoke quietly to Miller. “Get outside
— cover the window. Somebody’s in

ere.”

Miller hurried out the door and‘

around the house.

“Open up!” Mahoney shouted.

No answer.

“Open up, or I’m coming in!”

Mahoney looked’ down at the lock.
It was the type that could only be
locked from the inside. Somebody had
to be in there.

Backing away a step, Mahoney sent
his foot crashing against the door. The
door splintered. The second kick broke
the lock and the door flew open.

Mahoney looked down at a man ly-
ing on the bathroom floor. Both of his
wrists were slashed. -

Standing back from him, his revolver
Still out, Mahoney called for Miller.

Miller ran inside.

Attorney W.-H. Parker and Acting
Deputy Irbie Reich, asked them to go
with Johnson to the scene of the crime
and continue searching there for pos-
sible bits of evidence which the killers
might have left behind

As Mahoney bent over the man, who
was still alive, he said tightly, “You
killed the little girl next door, didn’t
you?”

- The man looked at Mahoney, a glassy
stare in his eyes, but he refused to an-
swer.

Mahoney whipped out his handker-
chief and put a tourniquet on the man’s
arm above the elbow to stop the flow
of blood.

“Gimme your handkerchief for the
other arm and call an ambulance,”
Mahoney told Miller. “I’m going to
save this guy for the hangman.”

Mahoney wrapped Miller’s handker-
chief around the other arm and tight-
ened it with a stub of a pencil.

While they waited for an ambulance,
Mahoney brought in several neighbors.
They identified the man as Ed Heber-
ling, who lived in the house.

ambulance came and took
Heberling to the King County Hospital.
Mahoney and Miller went along with
him. They waited while the doctors
worked over Heberling.

When they were finished, Mahoney
asked: “Will he live?”

“Sure,” the doctor said. “He didn’t
lose much blood. From what you tell
me, he must have slashed his wrists
about the time you fellows were in the
kitchen. Probably heard you talking
and knew the jig was up.”

H=EBERLING remained tight-lipped
in his hospital cot. He refused to
answer any questions or saya word of
any kind.

At Police Headquarters, John Flint,
head of the Bureau of Identification,
found that Heberling had a criminal
record.

Meanwhile, Mahoney and Miller re-
mained at Heberling’s bedside. Would
the man talk? All the officers could do
was wait and hope.

Late that evening, Heberling looked
at Mahoney and nodded weakly. It
was as if he realized all at once that
it was foolish of him to deny what the
officers already knew.

“I killed her,” he said softly. “Ill
confess. Then you can get out of here
and let me go to sleep.”

Heberling dictated a complete con-
fession to a stenographer. He said he
had not gone to work in the morning
of July 10, 1944, because he awoke too
late. In the afternoon, he looked out
of the window and saw Harriet Lind-
strom playing with her puppy in the

backyard. He saw Mrs. Lindstrom leave.

to go to the grocery store. He picked up

= poker and went to the Lindstrom
Ouse. ‘ :

_ “I told the girl that her mother

Married? Continued trom Page 20) -

“What do you reckon goes on here,
anyway? What was all this surprise
business?”

“Maybe,” Raley said. “They were go-
ing to surprise their folks by getting
married.” : ;

wanted me to fix the bathroom sink
and asked her to show me where it
was plugged up,” Heberling said. “She
said she didn't know it was plugged
up, so I asked her to come in.and see
if we could find it. When we got in-
side, I tried to get familiar with her.
She_ struggled and I told her I
would hit her over the head if she
didn’t quit. She kept on struggling
and I clamped my hand over her mouth
to keep her from screaming. She
scratched and bit me. Then I slug-
ged her over the head. And then I
reached for my knife...

“I came back home and got to think-
ing what I had done. I knew if the
Police found out, I would hang. So
when you fellows came, I tried to kill
myself. That's all there is. Now I
want to go to sleep. I’m tired.”

“How about the murder of Evelyn
Pritchow and the killing of Hazel
Shaw? You may as well confess to
those murders.”

“I don’t know anything about them
...- and you can’t prove anything. I’m
not saying any more.”
oa Heberling refused to talk fur-

er. ‘

Prosecutor Lloyd Shorret charged
Heberling with first-degree murder. He
was taken to trial and promptly con-
victed. Judge Robert M. Jones sen-
tenced him to be hanged at the State
Penitentiary at Walla Walla on the
morning of December 8, 1944.

Miller and Mahoney talked to
Heberling a number of times about the
murders of Evelyn Pritchow and Hazel
Shaw. They pointed out that all three
killings were almost identical. Heber-
ling, however, refused to implicate
himself in the two previous slayings.

©* THE evening of December 7, Heb-
erling was given his last meal. He
ordered a huge portion of fried chick-
en.

Miller and Mahoney never will be
certain that the murderer of the two
women was hanged at the same time
that the killer of the Lindstrom girl
was sent to death .. . but both have a
strong feeling the cases are cleared.

piece of wearing apparel stopped with

Heberling’s arrest. ss

.

formation. “This is something! We'll
check on Littleton soon as we get to
Denison. We'll go there right away.”

So Raley and McBride left Atoka and
speeded southgan Highway 69 towards
Denison. 7 “they found the filline-


a

s

Ve VE CAME,

e—

(20)
EVE ?P1VE, APTOS 4, PEE

At

ri

pee
vale! | ais des

FFIC(Ac. LB

O

14

Killer

knew Lindstrom girl.

TIV

tT

August, 1983

Sheriff
lying
they w
depart:
the loo
The
that o:
stenogr
shipyar
edly o:
very n
strang]
fabric
The co
the boc
the att:
The!

Her

Lange and Dakin dé& lo Canvass
George Hamilton’s neiy/ors in an ef-
fort to learn if anyone had been seen
‘arriving at..or departing from the
Hamilton home in the middle of the
death-night. It was tedious work.
Lange and Dakin had difficulty in
jogging the neighbors’ memories. But

Killers Must
kes te body to the ee a
autopsy.” =

Mahoney looked down at the body

of the girl. She had light brown, wavy ~

hair. In life she had been beautiful.
Her clothes had been ripped and torn .
in the furious struggle she had put up
against the mad killer. y

“Wonder she didn’t scream,” Miller
commented. “There are houses all
around here. If she had screamed—”

Harris interrupted with: “There’s a
rag thrust down her throat. Piece of
her own clothing. The killer must have
kept his hand clamped over her mouth
until he pulled a piece of. her own
blouse loose and shoved it in her
mouth.”

Mahoney knelt on the floor and lift-
ed one of the girl’s limp hands..Then:
“The killer is going to have some marks
on him. Look at these finger-nails.”

_ The girl’s nails were torn and brok-

en.

“He'll carry some scratches, all
right,” Miller said. “I’ve already told
the prowler crews to look out for any-
one with blood on them.” :

“We’ve made photos of. the body and
the rooms,” ~Harris ‘told the other
officers. “Shall we remove the body?”

“May as well. We’ll want an official
autopsy for the case record, but I don’t
think it will reveal anything we don’t
already know,” Miller said.

: D=roty FRAZEE came into the
house. “Thought I would check with
you, Chief. We’re still making a can-
vass of the neighborhood, but so far no
luck. Plenty of people were around
here, but none of them saw anyone
near this house who looked suspicious.”
“Keep checking,” Miller told him.
“We haven’t got anything yet, either.
Tell the boys to look for somebody who
might have scratches or blood on them.
The girl put up a battle before she was
killed.”

Frazee said: “Seems nuts to me that
a@ murderer could walk right in here in
— daylight without anybody seeing

m.”

“The facts are that he did,” Miller
said. “He may not have been seen
actually entering or leaving the house,
but there is a good chance that with
as many people as there are around a
project like this, somebody saw him.
They didn’t recognize him as a mur-
derer, because they weren't thinking of
murder. The thing we've got to do is to
try and identify every person who was
around here near two o'clock today.”.

44

\plaving with a short

BuUlily Of Lire acluai cCrune, DUL tial one
< them was hiding necessary informa-
tion.

And the psychology worked.

George Hamilton nodded his head
and said evenly: ““You’ve doped it out
about right, Sheriff, and there’s no use
me denying it. Stanley and I didn’t

Sée—lo Kill
ee Oo ANI

. “Yeah.” Frazee was shaking his
head. “But you ask people if they saw
anyone ...and they say no .. . there’s
not much else you can do.” .

“T know it, but it’s our only lead.
You fellows keep checking the neigh-
eo You may turn up something
ye yas s ’

Coroner Harris and-his deputies
brought in a long wicker basket. They
placed the girl’s body in it and took it
out to ‘the white morgue truck.

AHONEY walked out to the back
porch. There he found the little
dog that’ Harriet Lindstrom had been

time before. Ma-
oney reached down and patted the

eae.

puppy.

The little dog was wearing a collar.
But. Mahoney noticed that he was not
tied ‘to the leash that was fastened to
an overhanging clothes line which
would have allowed him to romp the
length of the yard. : .

And suddenly Mahoney recalled the
words of the girl’s mother that Harriet
never had left her puppy untied except
when she was playing with him, for
fear that he would run out into the
street and be killed.

He reasoned that the girl must have
been playing with the dog at the time
the killer came to the house.

Why had she gone inside with the
murderer?

What pretense had the killer used to
lure her into the house?

Had the girl known the man who
killed her?

These thoughts whirled through
Mahoney’s head as he was patting the
puppy. He took the leash and snapped
it on to the little dog’s collar. Then
he walked to the house next door,
whose side windows faced the back-
yard of the Lindstrom home. If any-
one had looked out of these windows,
they could have seen Harriet as she
Played with her dog.

Mahoney knocked on the door. Just
then a woman who was walking by
approached him and said: “There
isn’t anybody home there.”

“Who lives here?”

“The Heberlings. Mr. Heberling
works in the shipyard. Mrs. Heberling
is downtown. I talked to her this
— when she left to catch the

jus.”

“They live here alone?”

“They have two sons, but they are
both in school.”

Mahoney groaned softly. It was a

“bad break that the neighbor had not

"UsSSZQUENT investigation proveu
2 Hamilton’s statement correct in
every detail. His nephew and his sister
had known nothing about the crime
and his part in disposing of the body.

Acareful check of Carrie Gill’s store-
room revealed that the blankets found

good men could be made from bad.

The names of Steve Martin and Ed-
ward, George, Stanley and Ruth Ham-
ilton are fictitious to protect the iden-
tities of persons not involved in the

in the death-car around Gentry’s body » slaying.

( Continued from Page 23) OFFIC!

been at home at the time of the crime.
-She might have seen the killer ap-
proach or leave the house. What could
he do now?

Mahoney walked back. to the Lind-
strom house. * .
- Miller met-him and said: “We aren’t
getting very far. This is the first real
break we've had. . . I mean, the crime
taking place in the daylight and with a
lot of people around. The killer only
had a half-hour start on us, but we
just can’t seem to get going.” ;

Mahoney said nothing, looked
around the house.’ He walked to the
back door and entered the home.
through the kitchen, as the girl must
have done when'she left her puppy on
the porch. Then to Miller: “The killer
must have followed her from the back
porch through the kitchen to the living

m. .
“He might have come in through the
front door.” :

44] DON’T think so. The way the

house is built, if the front door bell
had rung, the girl would more likely
have gone around the outside of the
house to see who was there.”

“I guess maybe you're right.”

Mahoney went on: “There’s no sign
of a struggle in the kitchen. They
must have gotten all the way into the
— room before he tried to attack

er.”

“I suppose so. But I don’t see that
it means anything. If we could only
find someone who saw...”

“I think it does,” Mahoney inter-
rupted. “I think it is a pretty signifi-
cant point.”

“T don’t follow you.” .

“Place yourself in the position 0:
the girl. She was sitting on the back
porch playing with the dog. Would she
walk into the front room with a
stranger ... particularly the type of a
stranger who would commit a crime
like this?”

“Maybe not, but we can’t tell for
sure that she was on the back porch.
Her mother said she left her there, but
she could have come in...”

“No. The dog was still on the back
porch. The mother said that the girl
never left the dog without putting him
on the leash because she was afraid
that he would run out in the street and
be killed. The girl loved that little
puppy. He would be the first thing in
her mind at all times. I don’t think she
would leave him for more than a min-

need WFirctla-
AL DETECTIVE STORIES

ute. The killer got her to come into this .

room on some pretext that wouldn’t
keep her but a moment.” .

“But what does it all lead up to?”

“It fits the theory that I’ve had in
the other two cases. The killer lives out
here. He was known to the girl. What
is more, he was known to the rest of
the people around here. That is why
the boys haven’t been able to find any-
one who saw a stranger near here. A lot
of people may have seen the killer, but
it didn’t register with them that he is
the killer. He is just a neighbor.” .

“You think he is right here in this
housing project?”

“I don’t know whether he is here yet,
or not, but I do think he lives here, or
somewheres near. Both of those other
women were killed within a short dis-
tance from here. We haven’t been able
‘to locate one person who saw a strang-
er near the place that either of them
were killed. I think it is because the
killer isn’t a stranger.”

“Tt could be, but how do we go about

finding him?”

. “We know the girl scratched him.

You saw her broken nails. We may

have to round up every guy in this en-

tire area and.if any of them have

— they’d better have a good
b: Le. . -

“I could call the prowler car crews.

in and have them start making a check
are away. They are covering the dis-

“We'll have to make the check scien-
tifically. Later this afternoon, we can

get.a building department map of the -

area that lists every house. We can
check off each house as we make the
examinations so that we'll be sure and
not overlook anyone. It’s going to be
plenty tough, because we won't find
everyone at home.”

Just then Deputy Frazee reported.

4$@TILL no luck, Chief. -We’ve talked
to everybody.around here. No-
body saw anyone around the house.”

Mahoney said: “The killer must.

have been lurking around here even
before Mrs. Lindstrom went to the
store. He must have watched her leave,
or he wouldn’t have dared take the girl
into the house for fear someone else
was at home.” He paused, then: “He
had to see all that before he could kill

in safety.”
“I don’t know,” Frazee replied. “If
he was lurking around here . . . every-

body in the block must be blind. We’ve
located a lot of people who have been

yuo Ae sadd, SACD Addocducistaal ow.
“Think we can get fingerprints?”
Miller asked.
“I doubt it. This wire handle wouldn’t
hold a print and the poker itself is too

*thin to retain.a full one.” Mahoney

“~ fore. :
* Miller said: “He has always taken .

continued to stare at the poker. “I’ve
tried to imagine every kind of a
weapon that would fit the description
of the thin, heavy instrument ... and
this is it. It never occurred to me be-

the weapon away with him before. I
emeed why he left it behind this

ype MUST have dropped behind the
cushions where I found it. He may
have looked for it and couldn’t find it.
He knew he had only a limited time, so
he had to leave without it.”

Mahoney stood up and walked across

: . the room to the kitchen. When he came

back, he said to the other officers:
“We're in luck. There is a stove poker
in the kitchen beside the stove. The
killer brought this poker in with him.”

.  Prazee said: “But if you can’t get
fingerprints . . . there are plenty of
stove pokers.”

Mahoney was tense with excitement.
“Not as many as you might think. All
these houses out here in the project
have been built and furnished with
major appliances by the Government.
There is a shortage of steel and they
wouldn’t put more than one stove
poker with each stove.”

“And you can’t buy the things now,”
Miller replied. “I know, because we

wrerey leant a.
list.”

The front d
next to the Lin<
The two inves:
They went into
around the sto.

“TI don’t see
Miller declarec

hallway. to a

spoke quietly i
and cover the -
there.”

Miller hurri
around the ho:

It was the ty
locked from th:
to be in there.
Backing awe
his foot crashir
door splintered
the lock and tt
Mahoney loc
ing on the batt
wrists were sla
Standing bac
still out, Maho:
Miller ran in

How Many Bulle

oy “Junior” who had ever visited the

place.

“That looks like our best bet.” Raley
turned now to Livingston. “While we’re
going, you keep working on- those kids
we've got locked up.”

Before the two officers left for Texas,
however, they paid another visit to the
St. Mary’s Hospital. Miss Dozier, they
learned, had not improved as expected,
and they were unable to question her
further. If they could only get from her
a description of the two young hitch-
hikers! But she was unconscious now,
the doctor explained. He would let
them know as soon as she regained con-
sciousness.

ALEY and McBride told Livingston

to be sure to get the two young men,
then held as suspects, to the hospital
as soon as Miss Dozier was able to be
seen. If she identified them as the kill-
ers, Livingston was to call the two offi-
cers at the Headquarters of Sheriff
Schmidt in Dallas.

In Atoka, Raley and McBride
checked with Chief of Police Johnson.
Johnson had stayed on duty all night.
but had not caught two youths com-
ing into Atoka.

McBride got in touch with County

Attorney W. -}
Deputy Irbie F
with Johnson t:
and continue s
sible bits of ev:
might have lef:
While the me
iff’s office at 4
through on the
ents of Stre
Dozier. Streck
leave from the
had been on h
a visit with hi
Streckenfinger
had a surprise f
mentioned whe
had said nothi:
On the othe
mother in Ok
Ann had not
finger in her le:
told her mothe:
her, but no me
type of surprise
in Austin duri:
with relatives t
her way back t
with her moth«
she was comin:
McBride reac
chewed it slow

MAN OF HABIT

As we all know by now, we are
pretty much creatures of habit.
But for a‘ criminal, habit is in-
evitably disastrous. So it was
with the-rape-killer of these three
blondes. First—and worst of all
—he got into the habit of killing.
But, before the cops ever iden-
tified him, they knew much more
about him than he ever sus-
pected. For example, he always
used the same method of mur-
der, and he always killed for the
same purpose. Nevertheless, the
police were a long way from
solving this series of brutal mur-
ders. To learn just how they did
that, we suggest you read this
' story.

HE MOMENT that Captain of
Detectives Wesley N. Miller and
Detective Dick Mahoney (tem-
porarily assigned to the Seattle
Sheriff's office) looked at the victim
lying in the vacant lot, they knew
they were faced with what-every police
department dreads—a killer-rapist on
the loose who would strike again.
The body ‘was quickly identified as
that of Hazel Shaw, a pretty young
stenographer employed in a Seattle

shipyard. She had been struck répeat- .

edly on the head with some kind of
very narrow bar, and then had been
strangled by a piece of twisted silk
fabric .ripped' from her underclothing.
The condition of her garments and of
the body made it all too apparent that
the attacker had been a sex fiend,

The two officers and their aides quick-

‘

ly learned of the events leading up to
the shocking assault. After attending
a movie performance in Seattle, the
girl had taken the bus back to her
home in Southside, outside the city

- limits. In order to get to the house, she

had to cross the lot where her body
was found—a. place which, from the
culprit’s standpoint, was ideal for such
an assault.

For weeks, Detectives Miller and Ma-
honey worked feverishly on the case.
They knew its implication: the almost-
certainty that the crime would be fol-
lowed by similar ones if the perperator
was not run down before he was again

seized with his perverted desires.

Their intensive efforts ended in com-
plete failure. As day followed day until
more than three weeks had elapsed,
their worry increased: Each passing
hour, they were sure, brought another
attack nearer. It came after a month
had elapsed. r

This time the victim was Mrs. Ev-
elyn Pritshow, who also lived in South-
side, and whose body was found not
far from the place where the Shaw girl
died.

“There’s no doubt whatever it’s the
same person,” Captain Miller asserted.
“The circumstances are almost the
same. In the first place, she lived in

Southside. Second, the attack took place

not far from the other one. And third,
both women were struck with the same
kind of thin bar, and strangled by a
piece torn from one of their under-
garments. Evidently the killer lurks
around this area to assault the first
woman who comes along that happens
to strike his fancy.”

Shortly afterward, Deputy Sheriff
Pollock picked up his receiver to hear
the hysterical voice of a woman:

“A girl’s been murdered out here!
Oh, it’s terrible! Send some police right
away! Oh—oh—”

The voice became incoherent, as

though excitement had choked back
the words.

' “Just a moment: stop the crying,”
Pollock said sharply. “Now, who are
you, and where did the murder take
place?”

“I’m a neighbor and live across the
street from Mrs. Lindstrom. She came
ae over here. She told me about

It’s her daughter. The address is
unbek 222 Southwest 138th: Street.
Its !

‘The woman kept on talking but
Pollock dropped the receiver and hur-
ried to see Mahoney, who was at that
moment poring over a map with Cap-
tain: Miller. After directing a subordi-
nate to order all radio cars assigned to
Southside to converge on the block.
where No. 22 was located, and after
instructing another aide to get in touch
with the coroner and also to have other
officials follow them, Miller and Ma-
honey raced to the Lindstrom. home.

The officers shouldered their way
through a crowd of onlookers and into
a dwelling. which, as part of a ‘war-
housing project, was similar to the
homes surrounding it.

There was no one in the front room
but it showed evidence of a fierce strug-
gle. The rugs had been kicked about, a
chair overturned, a lamp lay smashed
on the floor, some china ornaments had
fallen from a modern type of “what-.

(ee

not” and broken into bits and one

corner of a table was shoved against

the wall.

_From the front an open door led, to
a bedroom. On the floor lay the semi-
nude body of a girl of about nineteen,
a gag in her mouth and a piece of
cloth wrapped tightly around her neck.
Both of these instruments of death
were parts of the victim’s torn under-

clothes. Miller parted her thick hair
and glanced at her head. ;

“Same . killer.” he - said briefly.
“Look.”

(Continued on page 50)

He resembled a beast of prey...watching and waiting like a huge

jungle cat—to spring on his helpless victims!

FOR 3 BLONDES

sare SE aa ae ee EIS

f
i
1


Bloodlust

(Continued from Page 15)

His felluw-oficer stared at the thin
indentation in the girl’s skull, the same
exactly as un the head of Hazel Shaw
and Mrs. Pritchow. This was. murder
number three. The killer-rapist was pil-
ing ‘up a record—and he was still on the
Tvose!' y

While the two officers talked, they
continued their search of the premises.
They found no clues of any kind and
nothing of. particular interest until Mil-
ler picked up the wire-handled poker

next to the fireplace.

Rather, he started to pick. it up—
and dropped it as though it were red
hot. Here was an astonishing ‘contra-
diction. : ?

The handle was smeared with. blood.
But there was no blood whatever on the

rod itself. Flaked soot here showed that

it could not possibly have recently been
washed! On the other hand, the cor-
oner, comparing the narrow steel up-
right with the wounds in Harriet’s
skull, expressed the positive opinion
that a poker of this. same size had been
used not only on her but also on the
heads of Hazel Shaw and Mrs.. Prit-
chow. - ;

Neither, he: nor the two officers could
solve the puzzle of how there could be
bloodstains ‘on this particular ‘poker
handle but ‘none on the rest of it.

“That’s one which would stump Sher-
lock Holmes,” Pollock grumbled.

On the following morning, a man
called at a home in the northern part

' ‘of the development. Another appeared

at & house in the southern section. Both
introduced themselves ‘as _ inspectors
hired by the builder to check up. on
heating and plumbing to see if both
were all right. . ie

Gratified by the contractor’s . unex-

sos pected interest in their welfare,’ the ©
~~ householders eagerly cooperated.. They

didn’t notice that the “inspectors” paid
particular attention to the. living room
fireplace and its equipment. When
alone, the men gave detailed examina-
tion to the poker, even using a magni-
fying glass to see if it retained any
Stains other than those ordinarily made
by. soot.

It took several days to complete their
work. “We didn’t find stains which
looked like blood on any of the pokers,
or any which. looked like they had
been recently washed,” they reported.

“But,” one added, “I found one house
which didn’t have any. At least, it
wasn’t at the fireplace. Whether or not
it was somewhere elxe in the house. I
don’t know. You instructed me not -to
ask questions, .no matter: what I found
and I followed, instructions.” —

“Which house was that?”

50

The answer sent a glow of excitement
oursing through his body. “It was that
house right next door.”

The home of Ed Heberling! The
house which looked right into the Lind-
strom yard!

The following day when the children
had gone to school and Mrs. Heberling
had taken-a bus downtown after her
husband had departed for work, the
detectives entered the house with a
skeleton key, gathered up three gar-
ments and took them to the laboratory.

When the Captain received the Jab
report he experienced that thrill of
satisfaction which a detective would
not trade for money—that satisfaction
of knowing that his theories had been
proven completely accurate.

On the inside of the leg of one of
Heberling’s trousers was a long stain

which ‘the laboratory technicians ana-

lyzed as human blood.

Neither Mrs. Heberling nor the chil-
dren had returned. when the husband
and father came from work. Hidden be-
hind some shrubbery, Miller and Ma-
honey stepped forward as the ship-
worker fitted his key into the lock. He
turned as he heard them approaching.

“You're under arrest for the. . .”
Miller began.

Heberling reacted with astonishing
speed. He ripped the door open, slam-
med it behind him and slipped the bolt
into place. The officers could hear him
scuttling away’ inside. They rushed to

_ the rear door. Mahoney stepped for-

ward with his foot. The door fell back
from its hinges. The two officers push-
ed through the narrow opening. Guns
out, they went from room to room.

-, They found the bathroom door locked.

“Open up!” Miller commanded.
“Open up or we'll break the door
down!”

From the inside came a gasp fol-
lowed by groans. Miller delayed no. :

further. He hurled himself against the
flimsy barrier. It gave way easily, al-
most throwing the officer on his face.
He stopped short, nearly stepping on
Heberling, who was lying on the floor
with his wrists slashed and blood pour-
ing from his arms.

“Get your handkerchief—make a tour-
niquet,” Miller snapped to Mahoney.
“Tl take his left arm.”

Both men worked frenziedly. Heber-

‘ling lay inert, apparently conscious but

making no effort to resist or help the

- officers.

“The Lindstrom girl,” Miller de-
manded, putting his face close to He-
herling’s. “You killed her, didn’t you?
And Hazel Shaw and Mrs, Pritchow?”

The wounded man opened his eyes.
But he didn’t answer—just stared at the

Captain and shook his head negatively. -

The officers rushed him to the King

Hospital. There. to Miller’s great re-
lief. the physicians said that Heberling
had: not lost too large an amount of
blood and that he would probably be
completely recovered within a week.

The officers didn’t have to wait until
then to talk with the suspect. That
night he admitted he had slain Harriet
Lindstrom, dictated his confession to a
stenographer and signed it in a shaky
hand.

“I didn’t go to work that day,” he
said, “because I overslept. I was look-
ing out of the window when I saw Har-
riet playing with her dog. When I saw
Mrs. Lindstrom leave with her grocery
bag and T knew she was going to the
store. something came over me and |
picked up the poker and went across
the lawn to Harriet.. :

“I wanted to get her into the house
so I told her that her mother had asked
me to fix a’ place in the bathroom
which had got plugged up. Harriet
said she didn’t know anything was
wrong but would let me look at it.
When we got inside I grabbed for her—
and when she resisted I told her if
she didn’t give in it would be the worse
for her. But she kept on fighting and
began to scream. I put my hand over
her mouth and she bit my hand. This
made me mad and I hit her over the
head with the poker. And then I
stabbed her with my knife.” °

“Have you still got the knife?”

“No, I threw it in the Sound.”

“But we found bloudstains on: the
handle of the poker in the Lindstrom
house,” Miller continued. “How did
that happen?”

“Well, I was guing to leave the poker
I hit her with, and take the other one.
But just then I looked out of the win-
dow and saw Mrs. Lindstrom coming
back -and I got into a sort of a panic.

So 1 threw the poker the first place I

saw—behind the bookcase. Then I went
back to. my house, cleaned up a little,
slipped out and came back. later as
though I had gone to work.”

“Didn’t have time to put the bloody
poker inside your trousers,” Miller in-
tervened, “like you did after killing
Miss Shaw and Mrs. Pritchow, did
you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking
about,” the prisoner replied.

“I think you do,” Captain Miller re-

‘torted ...

Heberling was convicted of the mur-
der of Harriet Lindstrom ‘and was
sentenced to be hanged. He went to the
gallows on December ‘8th, 1944.

To the last, he maintained that he
knew nothing of the murder-rape of the
other two women. But since there was
no further attacks in which the vic-
tims were strangled with their own
underclothing, ,both Miller and Mo-
honey felt certain of Heberling’s guilt.

THE END


A

OFF CCA L

By Lieutenant Ted Shirran

Of the Homicide Squad, Seattle, Washington,
Police Department, as Told to

Jack

the beauty of a pearl among

pearls—a Chinese woman un-
spoiled by contact with the Occident—
and the sinister, baffling and ominous
hatchetmen of the Tongs awaited us on
the evening of December 11, 1934,

It was a dirty night. Rain slanted
down out of a black sky with the
stinging force of hammered nails. I
was pulling on the cord of the siren of
our police car as my partner, Detective
Lieutenant F. A. Himes, crouched over
the wheel with his eyes glued to slip-
pery, wet pavement unraveling before
us

A GREEN jade dragon of death,’

Himes swung the car -off Fourth
Avenue with a sickening high-speed
skid and headed toward Profanity Hill
where Seattle’s Chinatown spreads out
over the south slope.

We were on a murder call.

The call had come in a few minutes
before, at 8:50 p.m., from prowler-car
Patrolmen L. A. Whitlock and C. A.
McClure. Himes and myself were on
the homicide squad especially assigned
to the Chinatown Detail. The call had
come from the very heart of the
Chinatown sector.

The siren wailed its high-pitched
scream as we roared through the nar-
row, deserted Chinatown streets. The
nasty night had cleared them of the
usual throng of thrill-seeking visitors.
As we rushed on, the harsh glare of the
street lights flashed a kaleidoscopic
picture of desolation of wind and rain
lashing at vermillion papers streaming
from. the ornate, embellished Oriental
balconies, gay-colored Chinese lan-
terns swinging crazily from their posts.

But we did not stop in the gaudy ~

tourist Chinatown with its garish neon
signs. We were headed for the squalid
section on the side of Profanity Hill
where the Chinese really live.

R

Heise

Himes made another skidding turn
on Eighth Avenue and headed for the
lights of a police prowler-car parked
just off Lane Street at the alley. The
twin beams from the car shot into a
narrow canyon between two weather-
scarred buildings. We drew along-
side and saw McClure and Whitlock
inside the car.

“The stiff is in the alley,” McClure
shouted without getting out of the
car. “We left him just like we found
him.”

“What is he?” I called back.

“A Chink. Looks like somebody
tried to give him a shampoo with an
ax handle. We were making our
rounds when we spotted him.”

“Any dope on it yet?”

Whitlock chimed in. “Nobody’s
shown around. here since we arrived.
We haven’t got a thing and the case
is all yours. We've put in a call for
the coroner and we’ve still got a lot
of territory to cover so we’ll be seeing
you later.”

Their car backed out and pulled
away. Himes rolled our auto around
oe the headlights would illuminate the
alley.

“Lucky bums,” Himes grumbled.
“They go cruising around while we'll
-get soaked to the skin playing with
that Chink stiff.”

We both climbed out into the pour-
ing rain. The buildings helped slight-
ly to break the bitter wind. ,

The body was lying face up, head
first toward the alley entrance. It was
a young man. McClure had been right
about the cause of death—his head was
beaten to a bloody pulp.

We huddled beside the building tak-
ing in the whole scene to form a last-
ing mental picture before we disturbed
any part of it. An oilskin raincoat,
opened down the front, and a rain hat

h. SP (King County) on July 19, 1955.

crushed under an outflung arm
showed that the man had been dressed
for the weather.

Himes knelt on one knee and
brought out his pocket torch. He
played it over the mess of soggy ref-
use that covered the paving bricks of
the alley.

| OOK at this,” he called. I dropped
down beside him. There were sev-
eral footprints imbedded in the soggy
litter. “Looks like the murderer must
have stood around here for some time
waiting for this bird to show up.”
“Yeah. Little feet, too. Chinaman
or Filipino, See, there aren’t any
marks to show where the body was
dragged. Must have grabbed him—
— him on the head and dropped
im.
“Wonder why he was bumped?”
Himes mused, looking into the yellow
face, glistening under the downpour of
rain and the light from the car.
“Robbery, maybe,” I suggested.

Hatchetmen use hammers today
because they are concealed more
easily. Here is the weapon that
killed Lee Wing Quen. In inset
is Hong Yick, outer guard for
the Suey Sing Temple

DETECTIVE S70 RIES

Jone LZ, 2°57

“You mean you just hope it’s rob-
bery,” Himes flung back at me.

He was right. We both hoped it
would be an ordinary case of robbery,
which would make the solution much
easier to handle. But we knew that
there was little chance of that. These
murder mysteries in-Chinatown in-
variably carry a more sinister signifi-
cance involving their Tongs. And I
can’t think of a tougher case to crack
than a Tong murder. Witnesses re-
fuse to talk. Nobody “savees” any-
thing and all a detective can get is a
lot of wrong answers.

The Chinese have a peculiar way of
settling their own troubles. One death
is crossed out by another, It might be
a good method, for all I know, but it
makes a mighty bad record at Head-
quarters, The second murder doesn’t
solve the first at Headquarters. It
only adds another unsolved case.

Deputy Coroner Harry Johnson
drove up in the morgue wagon while
Himes and I were measuring the foot-


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prints. We helped him lift the body
into the big wicker basket and slide it
into the truck.

“Nothing we can do around here in
the rain except get wet,” Himes said,
“Let’s go down to the morgue where
we've got some good light and go over
the body. Maybe we can find some-
thing on him to identify him.”

“Okay,” I agreed, more than willing
to get out of the drenching: rain that
had soaked us both to the skin. “We'll
give another look up the alley to make
sure we haven’t overlooked the mur-
der weapon.”

“Wait till we get there before you
lay him out, will you?” I called to
Johnson. “We haven't gone over him

02

_ indicates, but it

at all yet. Yo call Doc West
for the autopsy.”
Johnson backé car out and

Himes and I

n Our electric torches
glittering in the mud
lad lain. We knelt
It was a
Even under
of our flashes we
exquisite piece of

we saw an obje
where the corps
over it without
piece of spark]
the uncertain

nches long, mold-
ed to the figure: fdragon. The tail

part of it was bre

possible finger-print
““TIt’s got blood ;
examining it clo
“So’s everything
That guy bled like%a
“But this was
“There
Id

Mstuck pig.”

ar him,” I pointed
many other blood
iknow just what it

out.
around it.

in mind.” :

We were unab
bludgeon, so we cli
drove on down to
located in the basem

D find the death
d in the car and

of the lights
e examined
urderer had
would live;
a dozen deep

taken no chance his.
he had inflicted at 1
wounds on the head.
We slipped the
body. The dead n

at from the
wore a coat,
over the top

this guy al-
“They’ve been
comb, and in a

ipped off and

hurry, too.”
Buttons had

Or Was

still were lying in the folds of the
clothes, giving mute testimony of the
accuracy of Himes’ deduction.

“They didn’t take his money,” John-
son exclaimed, pulling a purse out of
a pants pocket. ‘“Look—here’s his
purse.” He dumped it on the slab and
there was $18.76 in it.

“If he was searched, I wonder what
the murderer was after?” I spoke
aloud.

“When we find that out we'll prob-
ably have the, murder solved,” Himes
declared.

Neither of us would make even a
guess as to what the killer had been
after. It could have ranged anywhere
from a pellet of opium to secret papers
for the Chinese government.

The slayer had done a good job. We

,couldn’t find a single written word that
would give us any lead to the identity
of the corpse except for a lone laun-
dry mark on the neckpiece of the un-
derwear. Himes hacked the piece of
cloth away with his knife.

Doctor P. C. West, veteran autopsy
surgeon for King County, came in and
went to work automatically examining
the wounds, As he probed the bat-
tered skull he told us what he learned.

“Hit on the head. Looks like the
first blow on the temple killed him.
The rest are all on top of the head.

“I'd say off-hand the first one was
struck while the man was standing.
It was the one on the side of the head.
You can figure that out because it is a
pretty squarely hit blow. The rest
are all light on one side. They make
sort of a half-moon cut, showing the

killer was standing over him while he .

brought the instrument down.”

“What kind of an instrument, Doc?”
Himes asked.

“Hammer, very likely. That’s the
kind of weapon those hatchetmen are
using these days, isn’t it?”

Doctor West was right. Not so long
ago the hatchetmen used hatchets,
with the blade ground to a razor edge,
to kill their. victims. It was from this

le ET SO PEN

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Heavenly sanction to kill w

vested in this green jade
dragon, which spoke volumes
to police wise in Oriental wavs

%

weapon that they received their name.
Later, at the start of the gangster pe-
riod, the paid killers from the Tongs
took up the use of the snub-nosed
.45’s. But they learned that the bark
of an automatic attracts attention.
They turned to the use of the hammer.
A crack on the skull is just as effective
as a slug of lead and a lot more silent.
And it isn’t an offense to carry a ham-
mer—they are not classed as concealed
weapons. Most of the Tong crimes in
recent years have been done with
hammers.

If this killing were a Tong affair—
and Himes and I felt certain it was—
we knew we would have to work fast
to get the murderer or there would be
other deaths in Chinatown before the
sun rose and set many times. Ven-
geance is the code of honor among the
Tongs. :

EFORE anything could be done we

. had to establish the identity of the
victim and learn what Tong he was
associated with and his position.

We left the morgue and drifted down
to Chinatown. If it were Tong trou-
ble, we knew Chinatown would be
buzzing with the news. If it were an
ordinary murder there would be little
ado over it.

We no sooner hit Chinatown than
we knew for certain that we were in
for it. The killing was of consequence.
We could sense this—not from what
was said but from the lack of words.

Himes and I had spent a lot of our
time in Chinatown. e were treated
well and welcome to drop in and chat
at any time. But it was useless to ask
questions about this case.

(Continued on Page 34)

P|

ning and Himes and I were still
ttering away trying to find some-
ing to tie Wuhy directly to the crime,
hen a pasty-face Chinaman with a
oad nose and drooping thick lips
ime into our office.

“[ learn that you have my friend
uhy in your jail,” he said. “T have
me to tell you that he did not mur-
+» this man Lee Wing Quen. He was
siting at my room at time this mur-
1 was committed.”

“How do you know what time Lee
‘ing Quen was killed?” Himes shot

him.

“[ read in papers that murder take
lace near eight o’clock in evening.
‘om six o’clock until eleven o’clock
‘uhy was in my room.”

Himes and I just looked at each
her. It wasn't necessary to speak
hat we thought. Tf Wuhy had a per-
ctly good alibi like this, why hadn't
e sprung it on us before? The thing
wked like a frame. Chinatown had
sarned we had Wuhy and was estab-
hing his alibi for him. Wuhy had
cn smart enough not to talk himself
ut to wait until his friends fixed
ings for him.

“Okay,” Himes said. ‘Where do you
ive? I suppose we will have to check

“Room No. 8, Suey Sing Temple.”

“Suey Sing Temple?” I asked. “Are
you a Suey Sing?”

“Yes. I am_ outer guard for Suey
Sing Temple. Many of my friends see
Wuhy come to my room. You ask
them and they tell you.”

But I wasn’t listening to him. Cap-

tain Dolphin had said the jade dragon
was from the Suey Sings.

When I looked at the Chinaman
again T thought for sure To had the
whole explanation.

“ve got an idea,” I whispered to
Himes. “I haven’t got time to explain
it right now, but you hold him here
and I will be back in a few minutes.
See that bandage on his hand. You
probably know what I mean.”

IMES whispered that he had the
same hunch.

The City Emergency Hospital is lo-
cated just a floor above the detective
division in the Public Safety Building
in Seattle. I went down the hall end
up the stairs to the hospital. I found
Doctor H. L. Hartley.

Doctor Hartley handied many of our
police cases and was familiar with the
things we were up against. We could
always depend upon Doc to come
through with anything we wanted.

I expla'ned my idea to him.

“We'll be up in a few minutes with

him,” I called out as I left. “Lf hepe
it works out the way I've got it
planned.”

“T1] do my best,” Doctor Hartley
promised.

We brought this new Chinaman—he
gave us the name of Ilong Yick-—to
the hospital. Hartley had everything
ready in the operating room. There
was a big X-ray machine pulled out in
the middle of the floor and several
small microscopes on a table. Test
tubes were strung along the front of
the table. There was even a violet ray

Salvatore Ossido—Inhuman

ty in this case—just overdeveloped
sexuality.”

But Doctor James L. McCartney, a
psychiatrist in the employ of New
York State, made a much more useful
contribution to the problem. He is the
expert who gave John Fiorenza a men-
tal test prior to the murder of Mrs.
Nancy Titterton and declared that
Fiorenza had homicidal tendencies.
Analyzing Ossido, the Doctor pro-
nounced that he “probably showed fif-
teen years ago that he potentially was
a pervert.”

Doctor McCartney was the first to
point out that Ossido was not a native-
born American but a quota immigrant
from Italy. He criticized the immi-
gration authorities for failing to weed
him out and deny him a landing permit.

The slip-up, despite all our sup-
posed severity in testing immigrants,
was grave indeed. But the Federal
authorities had no proof of Ossido’s
sex abnormality. He was a young lad
at the time and his examiners were
not pathologists. It is far worse that
when he landed in Welfare Island Jail
for brutalizing a seven-year-old girl
he escaped even a psychiatric test,
much less _ sterilization. In 1931
“psyching” was not as yet obligatory
4 = lesser penal institutions of the

ate.

ONTINUING, Doctor McCartney

said: “The pervert sex offender is
very likely to be a repeater. To re-
lease such an offender from prison is
playing with fire. A good prison rec-
ord is no guarantee of what he will
do afterwards.” It was the Doctor’s
opinion that violators of children often
make model prisoners because—unless
they are homosexual—they have no
opportunity behind bars to practise
the debaucheries they crave.

Aroused by the Ossido horror, Spe-
cial Sessions Justice Thomas F. Doyle
of Brooklyn put the matter still more
strongly. He declared:

“When a man has once committed a
criminal attack on a child he always
repeats, even after a jail sentence.”

And Judge Franklin Taylor, also of
Brooklyn, said bluntly: “Sex criminals
upon first conviction should be subject
to commitment to State hospitals, not
for a definite term but until cured.”

Indignation and good counsel have
their value. Action, however, is what
counts most. Remarking, “I’ve never
seer Brooklyn citizens in more ugly
temper!” Police Commissioner Valen-
tine launched a drive against perverts.
Offenders out on parole were ordered
checked. Special vigilance in detect-
ing new cases was imposed on all
plain-clothes men as their first duty in
the next few days.

Excellent results were obtained. In
less than a week eleven men charged
with serious violations either had been
indicted or were held in bail for fur-
ther hearings. Because these arrests
grew directly out of the Ossido case
and because they throw a light on the
calamitous pathology of that horror I
or a give some of the records in de-

il.

Harry Miller was seized on March
23, three days after Ossido. He had
been molesting several young girls on
East Seventh Street, Manhattan. . He
was 69 years old but looked much
younger. In Magistrate’s Court the
hard-eyed runt was identified as a
pervert who had been convicted six
times, dating back to February, 1905.
Four of his offenses had been indecent
exposure. There had been an at-
tempted rape in Detroit in 1917, for
which he had served 60 days. On De-
cember 16, 1935, he had been sent to
Hart’s Island Penitentiary, New York
City, for impairing the morals of a
minor, and he was paroled after he
had done fifteen months of his eight-
een-month stretch.

This miserable creature was out of
jail only a scant week. The parole
board had given him 25 cents for car-
fare when he was released. He had
managed to live by panhandling and
had hoarded the 25 cents until the day
of his arrest, when he had spent the
sum on cheap whisky. Then he had
sought a crowded street where there
were children. He had sought to at-
tract the attention of some girls by
lewdly unbuttoning his clothes.

“Something just comes over me all
of a sudden,” he whimpered. “It’s like
hot whisky in my brain—and I often
feel it after I’ve been drinking. Then
I do crazy things. Then all of a sud-
den the feeling is gone and I’m better.”

Of course Miller had a story to ac-

sun-liamp over on cu side of the reora

“The Doctor wants to examine your
hand,” I told) Hong Yick.

Doctor Hartley unwound the band-
age from the man’s hand. ‘Then ln
started the X-ray machine going and
turned on the violet ray light. It was
certainly an impressive sight. For fif-
teen minutes he peered through glasses
and microscopes, examining Hong
Yick’s hand.

“How did you cut your hand?” Doc-
tor Hartley asked Hong Yick.

“T work in restaurant. I cut my
hand on knife while I peel petatoes.”

Doctor Hartley shook his head.
“Strange,” he said. “This is glass in
the wound.” He held up a fine piece
of glass in a pair of tweezers.

“What kind of glass?” I asked him

He took it under the microscope
again, “Looks to be a piece of green
jade,”

I turned to Hong Yick.

“Did you hear him? He says he
found green jade in your hand.” 1
brought the broken green jade dragon
out of my pocket. “Ever see this
before?”

Hong Yick just looked at it. His
pasty, yellow face went even a more
sickly color.

“You cut your hand on this,’ T ac-
cused him. “You fell and it) broke.
The edge of it cut your hand.”

Hong Yick nodded.

“I found this under the body of Lee
Wing Quen. You weren't with Wuhy.
You killed Lee Wing Quen. You
killed him, didn’t you?”

Hong Yick looked down at his cut

4
‘

Monster (Continued from

count for his misdeeds. Every single
one of these perverts is full of self-
justification. According to Miller,
though I have not been able to con-
firm his statement, he lost his wife and
four children in the burning of the
excursion steamer General Slocum on
June 15, 1904. This disaster cost 1,021
lives and ranks as a major horror of
the present century.

“I was all right until the General
Slocum business,” Miller vowed. “That
broke me up and the following year I
began to get into trouble with the law.
I’ve never wanted to hurt children—
kill them, I mean. And the bad thing
a I do very seldom comes to my
head.”

Te origin of his affliction is pathetic,
if true. But it only explains his
present social inadequacy. The de-
struction of a man’s family can cause
him to lose his mind; it cannot make a
pervert of him. The tendency would
have had to be there in the first place.

Harry Miller was held by the Magis-
trate without bail, charged with in-
decent exposure and parole violation.

Considerably more sinister was the
case of two men trapped in the Red
Hook section of Brooklyn by detectives
of the Juvenile Aid Bureau. They
were Robert Kennedy, 49, a long-
shoreman, and Nicholas Ranieri, a
butcher. They were accused of having
debauched seven girls between eleven
and thirteen years of age. Working
together, their method had been to
entice the children into their living
quarters. Kennedy would offer silver
coins, sometimes as much as a dollar.
Ranieri gave them frankfurters and
bologna sausage from his shop, pea-
nuts and, occasionally, coins.

Later Joseph Corruba, 48, was ap-
prehended and charged with having
been associated with Kennedy and
Ranieri in their vicious practises.
Once they had a girl in their clutches
they would terrorize her into submit-
ting to abuse. Sometimes she would
be forced to accept the advances of all
the men in succession.

Kennedy, a thoroughly depraved
type whose sex obsessions colored
every reply he made to the Magistrate,
admitted his guilt. Ranieri and Cor-
ruba said they were innocent. The

band. ob killed Lee
rdavitled “Heo stool 4
Iwas outer guard and he sicle
yership record. Unless 7 kili hin,
would fight, Maybe miainy bil,
It suered for me to kill”

“Let's take him downstairs and have
a stenographer get down this confcs-
sion,” I suggested. Himes went ahead
with him while IT hung back to talk
to Doctor Hartley.

Wing Quen’
popers Fromm

“Nice piece of acting, Dec. You
even had me fooled.”” I complimented
him.

“Yoah, well, you fellows owe me
four dollars. T had to break one of
my test tubes to get that piece of green
glass. Why didn’t you tell me you

had that jade dragon and I could have
broken a piece from it?”

“J didn't think about it,’ I had to
ndmit. “Rut it was worth four bucks
to solve this one.”

In our ollice Hong Yick dictated a

complete confession. He explained
that he was charged with the sacred
duty of guarding the Suey Sing Tong
records and that Lee Wing Quen hac
stolen the membership papers. He

recovered them when he killed Quen

Before the trial we learned from
Chinatown that Hong Yick really had
averted a bloody Tong war by recover-
ing the records. Nevertheless he went
to trial for murder and was convicted.

On July 19, 1935, he walked up the
thirteen steps at the Walla Walla Peni-
tentiary and dropped through the
hangman’s trap. He was the first
Chinaman to be hanged at Walla
Walla.

Page 31)

three were held in $25,000 bail each,
a sum which contrasts ironically with
the $1,000 on which Ossido went free.

On March 24 a shameless repeater
named Louis Romanowsky, 53, was
trapped in the vestibule of a subway
train in Brooklyn. Exhibitionism of a
sexual character, directed at women in
the adjoining car, was the offense
charged. He had a record of five pre-
vious arrests for similar. behavior and
had just finished a six-month term
in the Welfare Island Penitentiary.

Within a few hours John Daken, 30,
also was collared in the Brooklyn un-
derground, accused of making indecent
gestures before three school girls.

William Flanagan, the subway spe-
cial officer who arrested Romanowsky,
declared in court:

“The subways are full of degenerates
like this one. Last week alone I saw
fourteen. Prosecution is difficult be-
cause only about one woman in a hun-
dred will make a complaint.”

For the deplorably common offense
of seeking to lure young boys for im-
moral purposes Alfred Simon, an un-
employed butler, and William Roach,
a neatly dressed clerk 32 years old,
were held for trial. Roach confessed
that he had been paroled four days
previously after serving all but eight
months of a two-year sentence. His
crime, needless to say, had been of the
same homosexual nature.

Henry Hunink, 57, who spent six
months in jail in 1928 for impairing
the morals of his own fourteen-year-
old daughter, was arrested on com-
plaint of the mother of an eleven-
year-old girl. She said Hunink, a
janitor, enticed the girl into his apart-
ment with 20 cents. He was held in
$2,000 bail.

Now I do not mean to say that all
the degenerates captured in this New
York City drive were lust murderers
at heart. But they were potential
monsters of the Salvatore Ossido
breed. A few more months or years
of unnatural vice, with mal-function-
ing of the glandular system, and any
one of them might have developed into
a blood-thirsty maniac. They stand in
proof of the need of sterilizing every
pervert the moment he is officially
known to be one.

Age seems to have small bearing on

The June I5 Issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Will Be on Sale Friday, May 2?

or


HONG YICK, Chinrse, hanged WASP (King) July 19, 1935.

By Harry Johnson

Deputy Coroner, King County, Wash. .

AS TOLD TO FLOYD COPELAND

“Tec WAR!” The words sent a chill running through ~

our little group huddled in the dark alley that was more

penetrating than the damp fog that blanketed us in an.

ominous shroud. : :

Heads turned in furtive glances at the mention of ‘the
words, as if half expecting to see the flashing glitter of a
tong axe, or the barking of an Oriental’s automatic.

-* -_ ; NI r PAN Ce ee ggg a ‘gt agi ieee fa
‘ fe fa a Tne Gez Cl imank

fi-y

For in Seattle, Washington, the gateway to the Orient,
with a Chinatown that has been literally transplanted from

‘the Far East, we. have had more than one experience with

the deadly, bloody warfare when rival tongs settle their dif-
ferences by counting corpses.

At our feet, grotesquely sprawled across the narrow slit
known as Canton Alley that cuts through the ancient build-
ings in Chinatown, lay the body of a Chinese man. Dark
streaks of crimson coursed down the yellow of his mask-
like face from his battered skull. The swirling fog that blew
in from Puget Sound, curling among the rotten old buildings,
seemed to carry a message of death to the whole sinister
sector.

“Tong war, sure,” Lieutenant Ted Shirran of the homicide
squad spat. “These babies all belong to tongs.”

“Tf it is, it’s only the start,” Lieutenant F. A. Himes, his
partner, added. “When these tongs get started killing each
other, there’s no end.”

“Remember the battle between the On Leongs and the Hip
Sings in 1906?” Shirran recalled. “There were hundreds

&

Deputy Cor
cementing °
in Chinese

killed in every
were twenty-tw
It wasn’t even
“In 1925 I }
morgue wagon
Himes voice:
get this killer
battle here, su
murderer and
to avert a seri:
We all agre
it were two gi
mighty tough «
It was close
11, 1934. Can
off Lane Stree
Chinatown.
In customary
tator gathered
part of town,

~ Where a dashing tail apparently
s missing.
t was Himes who finally thought of
ptain Charlie Dolphin.
‘If anybody knows what this darn
ng means he does,” Himes ex-
imed.
Jolphin was a retired police cap-
a. During the bloody carnival of
ith in 1906 when the Hip Sings
1 the On Leongs waged war all over
country, Cap was employed by the
ree Brothers Tong as a “protector.”
ere is probably no other white man
the city of Seattle who knows more
vut the inside workings of the Tongs
n Captain Dolphin.

WAS close to one o’clock in the
norning when we dialed his tele-
me number.

Sorry to wake you, Charlie,” I
ke to him over the telephone. “But
ve got a tough one on our hands
! we want to get into it as fast as
sible. It’s a Chink murder. We
ik it may be messed up with the
igs.”

Come on out and tell me about it,”
invited. Within a few minutes we
‘e speeding over Capitol Hill to his
1

e.
1 the front room of his house, while
» sat in bedroom slippers and a
vy silk kimono deeply embroidered
1 rich threads, we told him the
y as completely as we could assem-
it

Let me see the jade dragon,” Char-
asked.

imes unrolled it from the handker-
f. Cap stared at it for a full

ute.
3o0ys,” he said slowly, “you’ve got
ough one on your hands. That
son is the death emblem of the
y Sing Tong. It is a Tong killing
right.” Cap stopped for a minute,
dering.
Inly one thing I can’t: make out.
vy come that dragon was left at the
ie It isn’t according to Tong
Nhat do you mean?”
Chat dragon is supposed to be held
he hand of the hatchetman. It is
‘ way his license with his God to
The dragon takes away all the
th of the Gods, for it signifies that
killing is an honor slaying and
t be done to purge a wrong.
ky that you found it. Your man
Suey Sing.”
viaybe the killer stumbled and fell
1 it in his hand. That would ac-
it for the blood and its being
cen,” I put in.
Jur problem is pretty nearly
ed,” Himes laughed sarcastically.
we have left to do now is find
iey Sing man who bumped this guy
. and somewhere along the line
out who the dead guy happens to
Looks pretty soft to me.”
fou’re right,” Dolphin said. “It is
ugh job. And what makes it even
‘her, you’ll have to hurry or you’ll
that there may be more than one
der to work on,”
\ny tips you can give us?” I asked.
‘here’s one way that may gain you
w hours. Start in tomorrow circu-
ig a rumor that you have a bum
1il whom you have pinned to the
ic. It will throw the dead man’s
g brothers off the track for a little
e. You might even get a bit of in-
ation from them if you make them
‘ve it. Otherwise you may have
isty Tong war that will end up in
zen murders,
‘hat fracas I was in, the On Leongs
Hip Sings knocked off close to
Tongmen all over the country be-
old Mock Duck, head of the Hip
‘s, and Tom Lee, mayor of China-
1 in New York and the guiding
it of the On Leongs, signed a peace

nere wasn’t much else that Cap-
Dolphin could give us and when
left, Himes and I decided to get
e sleep. We agreed to meet early
next morning.

t Headquarters the following day
planned our campaign. First we
ided to check the identity of the
d man. We took the laundry mark
went through the scores of Chi-
> laundries in the South End. We

visited sixteen before we came to the
Sing Fat laundry at Seventh and May-
nard.

Two old Chinamen were spurting
water out of their mouths in a fine
spray to dampen clothes while they
pressed away with heavy irons sus-
pended on long poles from the ceiling.
A Chinese youth, wearing a sweater
with an athletic emblem from the
Garfield High School, stood at the front
counter wrapping bundles.

“This your laundry mark?” I asked
the boy.

He took the bit of underwear and
studied the ink markings. He turned
to the two old Chinese and cackled
away in Cantonese, then turned back
to us and shook his head.

“Me no savee,” he shrugged.

Himes looked at him for a second.
Then with a growl he shot out his hand
and grabbed the youth by the neck of
the sweater and pulled him around in
front of the counter.

“Listen, punk,” he shouted. “Don’t
go pulling any of that Chinese hooey
on me! You’ve been to school and
you can talk English and you’d better
start talking in a hurry.” Himes
doubled up his fist and thrust it under
the youth’s nose.

“Start talking,” he said. “If you
don’t you’re going to get a fistful of
fingers right in your puss. Do you
savee that?”

The boy cringed. Realizing his mis-
take, he weakly whispered, “Yes, sir,”
in very good English.

“Let’s go outside,” he suggested.
“My father and uncle don’t understand
the ways of the American police. I
will tell you everything I know if you
will go outside with me.”

We walked out to the sidewalk. '

“T want to help all I can but my
father gave me strict orders to say
nothing. He believes in letting the
Tong take care of all difficulties,” the
boy went on. :

"pe YOU recognize the laundry
mark?” I asked him.

“Yes. It belonged to our laundry
and it comes from the clothes of Lee
Wing Quen.”

“Who is he?”

“He lives just up the street a ways.
He is a waiter in the Shanghai Res-
taurant owned by Harry Lou down at
No. 1 Second Avenue South.”

“Do you know he was murdered last
night?”

“Tt is well known in Chinatown that
Lee Wing Quen came to a sudden
death last night at Eighth Avenue and
Lane Street. It is regrettable but not
astonishing.”

“Why not astonishing?”

“It has been said that Lee Wing
Quen has long been tempting the Jeal-
ous God of Domestic Tranquillity to
visit vengeance upon him. The Jealous
God is the guard of the Outer Third
Heaven who ‘protects the peace and
happiness of a tranquil household.”

It was Himes who brought the youth
back into line again. Himes can act
mighty tough at times although he is
a good-hearted, peaceful fellow. But
when he puts on his fog-horn voice
and starts talking out of the corner of
his moyth he can make a stage de-
tective look like a lily.

“Listen,” he snarled. ‘Don’t feed
us a lot of phoney lines. We want the
information straight with names. What
was Lee Wing Quen doing that he was
asking to get himself knocked off?”

“I have understood he was living at
Room No. 3 in the Hip Sing Temple
at No. 420% Eighth Avenue.”

“He’s a Hip Sing?”

“Yes,”

“Well, what’s so strange about him
living at the temple?” '

“It is these same rooms that are the
abode of. the very beautiful Mrs. Lee
Chong.”

“And Papa Chong?”

“He is visiting in Denver. Nearly
two years he has been gone. Many
say he does not want to return to see
his precious flower that has been soiled
by other hands than his own.”

Himes summed up the situation
pretty clearly:

“So everybody has been waiting for
Papa Chong to come home and ask the
God of Domestic Tranquillity to knock

off Lee Wing Quen for inessing around
with his wife. By the way, what Tong
does Papa Chong belong to?”

“He also is a Hip Sing.”

“You’re sure he isn’t a Suey Sing?”

“No, he is a Hip Sing.”

“What does the embiem of the Jeal-
ous God look like?” Himes asked. “It
isn’t a dragon, is it?”

“It is a Buddha-like statue with a
thousand eyes to see that no man shall
take the most sacred possession of an-
other.”

The set-up of Lee Wing Quen play-

Captain Charles Dolphin, veteran
of many Tong wars, was able to
read the secret of the dragon

ing around with a married woman and
getting murdered was perfect. The
only thing that didn’t match was the
green jade dragon. I felt certain that
the dragon was mixed up someplace in
the case. But we decided to overlook
it while we ran down this new tip.

We left the Chinese boy and headed
for the Hip Sing Temple.

The Hip Sing Temple looks as little
like a temple as is possible. It is a
dirty old building with yellow, aging
posters painted in the jumbled tracks
of Cantonese plastered on its walls.

The front door was open and we
made our way up a dark stairway to
the second floor. A pot-bellied little
Chink was sitting in a chair at the top
of the steps. He was the outer guard
for the Temple.

I flashed my badge. “We want
Room No. 3.”

The fat Chink only grunted and
pointed a thumb down the hall. We
went to the door and rapped.

The door swung open. A_ squat,
heavy-set Chinaman bowed.

“We want to talk to Mrs, Chong,”
Himes told him.

It was dark in the hallway. I was
fighting to focus my eyes and get a
better look at the man. There was a
vague stirring in my memory that I
had seen this fellow before.

“Who, may I tell the golden butter-
fly of all blessed virtues, is to honor
her with their presence?”

IMES flashed his badge. “Who are
ou?”

But I had it.

“I know him,” I said. “And listen,
Wuhy, forget that fancy lingo. We’re
here on business.”

_Turning to Himes I said aloud:

“This bird is a punk dope runner.
Went up to McNeil’s a while back on
a hop charge. He’s out on parole now.
Let’s frisk him.”

Himes slapped Wuhy’s pockets with
experienced hands but Wuhy was
carrying no weapons. Wuhy was
known under the names of Lee Wuhy
and Lee Fat.

“Won't you come in and I will call
Mrs. Chong for you,” he invited. His
words were well chosen and his man-
ner courteous, although there was a

sneer in his voice. fe must have felt
he was trodding on pretty firm
ground. We walked into a luxurious
room. The floors were carpeted with
thick Oriental rugs and the rich fur-
nishings were of ebony inlaid with
mother of pearl. Bric-a-brac filled the
side walls.

A cloud of heady Oriental incense
curled from the grinning lips of a big,
bronze, slant-eyed idol in a corner of
the room. Wuhy tapped a silver gong
suspended under a miniature pagoda
on the table. In a moment a beautiful
Chinese woman walked in from an ad-
joining room.

I’ve heard a lot of Chinese describe
their women as pearls and jewels and
other fancy names but this one lived
up to all of the most fanciful descrip-
tions. She was young, with a smooth,
topaz-colored skin and full, rich lips.
Her dark hair was coiled back in a
graceful line from a doll-like face.

“Do you’ speak English, Mrs.
Chong?” I asked her.

HERE wasn’t a_ single betraying
flicker on her face to indicate she
understood.

“I will have to interpret for her.
She doesn’t speak any English. Her
husband, Lee Chong, as you can guess
from this room, is pretty wealthy. He
bought her down in San Francisco a
few years ago. They have places down
there where they keep young Chinese
girls unspoiled by contact with the
Occident,” Wuhy explained.

“Where do you fit in this picture?”

Wuhy gave a sly smile. “Lee Chong
is old. This precious butterfly is
young. I, too, am young. Need I say
more?”

“And how about Lee Wing Quen?
Where does he come in?”

Wuhy smirked again. “Another
worshipper of this beautiful flower.
But not so fortunate as myself. His
adoration was not appreciated.”

We put our questions to Mrs. Chong
and Wuhy interpreted them for us.
She verified the story that Wuhy had
told us—at least Wuhy claimed she did.

After a bit I turned to Himes.

“How’s it look to you?” I asked
him. “I’ve got it doped out this way.
Wuhy, here, beat old man Chong’s
time with his wife. The old man
moved out to save his face. Then
Wuhy goes up for a stretch for ped-
dling hop. Lee Wing Quen moves into
the picture with Mrs. Chong. Wuhy
gets out of stir and comes back sore at
Lee Wing Quen. He probably gets
himself full of hop and bumps him off
to get even.”

“It is good enough for me,” Himes
said. ‘“Let’s take Wuhy to jail until
we get the rest of the details straight-
ened out.”

Wuhy protested. “You are making
a mistake,” he insisted.

“That’s where you are wrong,”
Himes told him. “You made the mis-
take. Come along.”

Wuhy put on a long face and went
back to his Chinese lingo.

“It is lamentable that I must go with
you, but the paths of even the right-
eous are filled with stones. I agree
that you have found a worthy motive
but you have found no evidence. I
will be free shortly.”

On the way to the station I asked
Wuhy what Tong he belonged to. I
still had in mind that jade dragon we
had found under the body of Lee Wing
Quen,

“I am one of the very few Chinese
who belong to no Tong,” he told us.

When we had Wuhy in jail Himes
and I went over our case. Wuhy cer-
tainly had a suitable motive but he
was dead right when he claimed we
didn’t have any evidence.

There was just one possible explana-
tion. Captain Dolphin had sworn the
dragon was a death emblem from the
Suey Sings. Wuhy wanted Lee Wing
Quen out of the way. He could have
paid a Suey Sing man to kill him.

But one thing was certain. We had
to find evidence, and in a hurry, to
support our theory or Wuhy would
be out of jail and gone. We did not
have enough to hold him on a murder
charge once he got a clever lawyer
working for him.

It was close to eight o’clock the same

35


1

They Had to Find Nero's Denarius (Continued from Page 28)

in this case in their exact chronological
order as several different lines of in-
vestigation were proceeding at the
same time. Sheriff Veale, for instance,
issued another circular which included
samples of the fugitive’s handwriting.
I was conducting a quiet semi-official
search of my own.

Through much correspondence and
as much traveling as I could do I
learned that the killer had succeeded
in disposing of all the coins except one.
Some of them he passed as ordinary
currency on unsuspecting storekeepers.
Other pieces he sold for a fraction of
their value. But none of the pawn-
brokers or jewelers he approached
would buy the “Denarius of Death.”
The reason had nothing to do with its
sinister history, which few, if any, of
them knew. It was merely that the
coin was irregular in shape, and didn’t
look very impressive. It wasn’t listed
in ordinary coin catalogues and either
through ignorance or fear the killer
kept away from coin collectors.

Meanwhile, Bill Veale, Joslin and
Joseph hung around the Santa Cruz
poolrooms and dives seeking a lead on
the murderer.

One day, through skillful questioning
of a chance acquaintance, Veale learn-
ed that our man sometimes stayed at
the Denver Rooming House. He went
by the name of Mexican Dan now.

HE three of them hurried to the

rooming house.

“We wanna see Mexican Dan,” Veale
told the landlady.

She eyed them suspiciously.

“There ain’t nobody here by that
name,” she said.

Veale described the man to her.

“You’re absolutely sure there’s no
one here looks like that?”

She hesitated. Then reluctantly she
said, “Well—I think I know the guy
you mean, He stayed here for awhile.
Only his name was Dan Droesch. But
he ain’t here now. He came in last
night and told me a couple of cops
gave him the bum’s rush and he had to
beat it out of town. I think he went
to Watsonville, but I ain’t sure.”

Again the handwriting on the regis-
ter tallied with the previous specimens.
But the detectives were at least twenty
hours behind their quarry.

All the underworld haunts in Santa
Cruz and Watsonville were turned in-
side out by local police, but not a sign
of Mexican Dan was found.

Meanwhile the three officers in Santa
cruz had been pursuing their first line
of attack to find the bus driver, Leslie
3etz. A thorough canvass of other
lrivers yielded exactly nothing. Betz’
whereabouts were either not known at
ul or only vaguely known. Ques-
jioning company despatchers and in-
spectors brought no better results.

At this point they determined to do
iome digging. They went through the
jus company’s records of its drivers
ind after considerable search they
ound Betz’ address.

Locating him, they learned that their
‘uspect lived in Merced, about 75 miles
iway.

Veale went there while Joseph and
‘oslin continued to keep watch at
janta Cruz and Watsonville.

In Merced Veale found Louis Fragie
f the Merced Police Department, who
cnew the suspect well.

“Droesch isn’t his real name,” Fragie
old him. “His father never married
tis mother. He deserted her when the
oy was just a little shaver. Dan’s
aother afterwards married Droesch
nd Dan was given his name. But his

mother died soon after her marriage
and Dan has been on his own ever
since. Later he took the name of Har-
ris and that’s what we know him by.”

“Well,” Veale sighed, “I’m sure glad
we got him pinned down at last. I’m
dizzy keeping up with his aliases. This
makes the sixth. Is he in town now?”

“Nope, we haven’t seen anything of
him'*for some time.”

Veale explained that Harris was
sought for Whited’s murder and told

Fragie about the trail they had been |

following.

It developed that Harris had a crim-
inal record in Merced. It disclosed
theft, forgery and small robberies ex-
tending over a period of twenty years.
He had done time in reform schools,
county jails, and one short stretch in
the State penitentiary.

Supplied with this information,
Sheriff Veale at once broadcast an-
other circular containing the fugitive’s
real name, picture and finger-prints.
The Jewelers’ Security Alliance offered
a reward of $1,000 and the Sheriff
S00 added a personal reward of

But Dan Harris still remained at
large. i

Then we found two more aliases
Harris had used, making a total of
eight.

The search had assumed the pro-
portions of a national man-hunt. Cir-
culars were being distributed through-
out the country. Thousands of trained
men were on the alert for the killer.
But days passed, weeks passed, months
—and no fresh clews appeared. It
seemed as if Dan Harris had managed
to flee the country, either on some ves-
sel or across the Mexican line.

One day Sheriff Veale summoned
me to his office.

“Meaney, we've got to get Harris,”
he said. “If we fail it will be a black
mark against us.”

“But we've tried everything, Chief,”
I said.

He shook his head. “That’s just the
point! We haven’t tried everything.
There’s still something we can do. So
far we’ve appealed only to the police
elsewhere to help us. But there’s a
vast number of civilians all over the
country who’d be willing to help if
they knew how.

“Hell’s bells, Chief,” I exclaimed. . “It
would take a fortune to reach the
whole country.”

He looked at me quizzically.

“No, it won't,” he said. “The cost
will be quite small. Look at this.”

He brought out a press release
containing Dan Harris’ picture, the re-
ward offer and all the information
in the official circulars but written in
newspaper style.

“I’ve had a number of these pre-

- pared,” he explained. “I’m going to

send them to every newspaper in the
country. Of course they’ve all carried
stories of the murder, but many of
them haven’t published Harris’ picture,
the reward offer, or his description.
These will start one of the biggest
man-hunts in history.”

This was one of the first times that
the general public was directly ap-
pealed to, through the newspapers, to
aid in the capture of a criminal. In
the Lindbergh and other famous cases
the papers published news of the
crimes, but didn’t ask readers to take
an active part in the hunt.

Several days later the first response
to the newspaper campaign was re-
ceived—and it came from the Sheriff’s
own town, Martinez!

The proprietress of the Upton Hotel

read the newspaper story. She said that
Harris registered at her hotel on the
night of December 3, 1932, two days
before the murder. He used the name
of A. Randall this time.

Later that day, Tony Miller, night
clerk of the hotel, reported that Harris
had also registered on the night of
December 2 as G. Oliveras. The hotel
register corroborated this. The hand-
writing was identical in both signa-
tures.

Following this we received dozens
and hundreds of “clews” from all
over the country. Harris was reported
in Portland, Maine and Portland, Ore-
gon; in Chicago; in New Orleans; in
Boston. These tips were faithfully in-
vestigated by police in the various
cities, but proved valueless of course.

Then one day the Sheriff got a long
distance phone call from Captain Mc-
Grath of the Phoenix, Arizona, police.
He said they had Harris locked up.
Veale, thinking that Harris must
have put up a battle, asked if any-
one had been killed in capturing him.

McGrath laughed. Harris’ capture
paralleled all the other weird features
of this weird case.

“Hell, no!” McGrath said. “One of
my men caught him stealing buns from
a bakery wagon and brought him in.
We recognized him after he came to
Headquarters.”

Naturally, all of us were overjoyed.
But our joy was short-lived. In fact
we found our troubles had just begun.

Just as Harris had managed to
elude pursuers in his erratic way, so
he very nearly managed to escape
paying the penalty for his crime. The
crazy part of it was that he himself
made no effort, at first, to obstruct
justice. He waived extradition, made
a full and complete confession, even
helped build up the circumstantial evi-
dence against himself. Yet he was only
convicted after a long, bitter battle.

His confession cleared up several
points which had puzzled us. He had
been in Crockett and Martinez some
time before the murder, having been
attracted by a girl whose name is not
pertinent to this story. She knew no-
thing about his criminal record.

Harris was, of course, the “very dark
man” who had been arguing with
Whited, but we were never able to
find out what the argument had been
about.

The morning of the murder, strolling
along Loring Avenue, Harris said he
saw Whited leave his shop and go to
a cigar store,

EAGER for a chance to pick up some
easy money, Harris darted into the
jewelry store and began rifling the
cash register.

Just as he was about to leave Whited
returned. But instead of summoning
help, Whited tried to capture Harris
himself. ,

The two men fought, Whited at first
getting the upper hand. Then, becom-
ing desperate, Harris pulled out a
sheath-knife which he carried, struck
Whited repeatedly about the head and
face with the butt of the handle. It
was the handle that had left the pecu-
liar scars, not the butt of a gun as we
first thought.

In spite of these terrific blows, Whit-
ed kept on fighting. Harris then sank
the .blade of his knife into Whited’s
throat and sawed it almost around his
entire neck.

Since the fight had attracted no at-
tention and the street was deserted due
to the foggy weather, Harris cleaned
out as much of the jewelry as he

could and fled. He had the blood re-
moved from his clothes in a Japanese
“while you wait” cleaners. Harris
told the Japanese he had been killing
chickens.

ATER he threw the knife into Car-

quinez Straits. It has never been
recovered.

In his wanderings, Harris fell in
with a former prison acquaintance
who robbed him of what liitle loot he
had left. Broke, desperate, starving,
Harris drifted into Phoenix, tried to
steal a few buns out of a bakery wa-
gon, was captured.

Another strange thing happened as
Harris was arraigned before Justice
of the Peace R. H. Standish. Although
he had been searched several times
before, as a matter of routine I ran my
hands over his clothing as we entered
the courtroom. In the front corner of
his coat I felt a hard object. I pulled
it out. It was the “Denarius of Death.”

This sinister coin, once the property
of Nero, bloodiest murderer of them
all, helped to convict a modern killer.
It was the sole piece of evidence left
br Harris’ person, out of the whole

oot.

In California a murder confession
means nothing unless supported by
other evidence. In spite of the fact
that there were no eye-witnesses to
the crime we had an abundant mass
of circumstantial evidence. But instead
of progressing to a clear-cut conclu-
free the case was in doubt to the very
ast.

After a dramatic and bitterly fought
trial the first jury disagreed, was dis-
charged.

Harris then claimed that his confes-
sion had been obtained from him on a
promise of immunity from the death
penalty. After an investigation this
was proved false.

Then he claimed insanity. A jury
found that he had been sane on the
day the murder was committed.

Next, the State Assembly passed a
bill abolishing the death penalty. The
Senate defeated it by an overwhelming
vote,

Through all these legal maneuvers
Harris maintained a clam, detached
attitude as if he was watching a play.
He had little to say outside the court-
room. He acted as if he had some
sort of ace in the hole.

The second jury was impanelled and
the second trial got under way. Before
the opening of this trial Harris’ counsel
quit the case and new ones were ap-
pointed.

The jury finally brought in a verdict,
of first-degree murder without recom-
mendation for leniency. It became
mandatory upon Judge C. W. Miller to
pronounce the death sentence.

The only thing Harris said was, “I’ll
never hang.”

Two stays of execution were granted
by the Sate Supreme Court. A year
passed. A year filled with legal mo-
tions and counter-motions. Harris
fought desperately to make good his
boast.

On July 6, 1934—more than a year
and a half after the murder of Harry
Whited—Dan Harris slowly walked out
onto the warm sunshine of a court-
yard in San Quentin prison.

His bare head was bowed. His feet
dragged across the floor.

Heavily he climbed—thirteen wood-
en steps. A black hood dropped over
his head. A moment later there was a
noisy clatter.

Dan Harris had paid for the murder
of Harry Whited.

Tale of the Talking Dragon (Continued from Page 9)

“Know a Chinaman was knocked
ff tonight?” we would say.

A bland face with a stony stare
vould reply, “No,” in a tone that could
mply either yes or no.

We went to great lengths to de-
cribe the man. The answers were all
he same. “Never see such a China
oy.”

4

We gave up after a couple of hours.
Even our best contacts in the section
wouldn’t speak. The word had been
passed that it was a Chinese affair and
would be dealt with in the Chinese
fashion. The police were not wanted.

We went back to Headquarters to try
to piece our case together. All we had
in the way of clews was the broken

jade dragon and the laundry mark that
Himes had sliced out of the underwear.

"WE CAN check up on the laun-
dry mark in the morning,”
Himes said as we sat at Headquarters.
“But how about this dragon?”

“Tl bet it’s the key “to the whole
mystery,” I said. I remembered see-

ing a similar dragon somewhere in
Chinatown, probably at one of the
a headquarters but I couldn’t place
t

It was a peculiar carving. The
dragon’s fangs were bared and its body
arched to strike. It had four legs with
five long claws on each foot. It was
broken off shortly behind the back


the pattern of a_ tiny CANTON ALLEY

dragon. Arrow points to the spot in the dark
“Trouble afoot!’ I and narrow. alley where Lee Wing
breathed. Quen’s body was found. As usual,

I ’ Chinatown “kept mum” about the
t wasn’t green glass.

It was green jade.
“What is it?’ Himes
snapped.

“A Chinese license to kill,” I told him, fingering the pieces.

“What are you talking about,” Shirran asked. “A Chink
license to kill?”

I nodded. I’ve been in the King County coroner’s office
for going on twenty years. In that time I have been on
more than one call to Chinatown, particularly during the
1925 massacre. I had seen the little dragon many times
during that bloody siege. They are peculiarly carved, with
the body of the dragon arched to strike and the fangs bared.
They are just about the length of a man’s hand.

“They hold them in their hand whenever they kill an
enemy,” I explained. “This one looks like the one the Suey
Sing tong uses.”

“But what did you mean by a license to kill?” Shirran
asked.

“Tt means the killing is an honor killing,” I explained.
“The Chinaman holds it in his hand when he slays his enemy,
and it tells the gods that he is doing it for the honor of his
tong, or the honor of his forefathers. In other words, it
means he’s avenging some kind of a wrong.”

“Then it really is a tong war,” Shirran said. “I hoped
maybe we were wrong and it might be just an ordinary kill-
ing over a robbery or something.”

“Not with that emblem,” I said. And I was sure of the
words I spoke, for the green dragon meant the Suey Sings
were on the warpath.

“Lucky I found it,” Himes said. “Maybe if we keep our
mouths shut about this until we grab the guy, they won't
know about it, and ”

“Did you ever hear of anyone keeping a secret from China-
town?” Shirran broke in. ‘“They’ll know, all right.”

“Let’s get going, then,” Himes said, helping me load the
basket into the back of the morgue truck. “We'll meet you
at the morgue and take a good look at this guy.”.

HEY WERE waiting for me when I drove down under
the County-City Building to the morgue in the basement.
First I put in a call for Dr. P. C. West, the autopsy surgeon,
and then spread the body out on a slab.
Doc West lost little time in getting to the morgue. By
the time I had the body undressed, he arrived.
His experienced hands went over the skull. “Blunt in-
strument—probably a hammer. Skull’s cracked like an egg-
shell. Must have been hit a couple of dozen times, Any
one of the blows would have been enough to cause death.”

“Typical hatchetman stuff,” I declared.

The hammer and hatchet are the favorite instruments by
which the paid killers of the tongs deliver death. Either is
swift, sure and silent. And beside this, the two instruments
have another value. They aren’t classed as weapons. While
they are carrying them, they don’t run the risk of being
arrested for carrying concealed weapons.

While Dr. West was making his examination, Himes and
Shirran went through the clothing. There was a little money,
and nothing else. Not a single identifying piece of paper.

But—stamped on the inside of the underwear was the mark
of a Chinese laundry.

A break? Maybe. Chink laundries in Seattle are like
flies around a cake. They are everywhere. Every slot in
the wall that’s big enough to stretch out an ironing board
and a washtub is filled with a Chinese hand laundry.

In the morning, when we started to make the rounds of
the laundries, we began to realize what a task we had before
us. Not only did there seem to be an endless number of
the places, but the: news that there had been a tong killing

30

slaying when quizzed by officers. .

Caught with a cut hand, Hong Yick
began to be sorry that he had tried
to furnish an alibi for a_ friend.

seemed to have spread rapidly, and every Chinaman sud-
denly forgot every word of English.

“No speak English . .. no talkee ’melican .. .”

“Damn funny you birds could talk all right yesterday !”
Himes raged at them.

There was nothing to do but keep searching in the hope
that we would run into a laundry that would admit the mark
or recognize it. We visited twenty-three Chinese laundries
before noon. It was close to one o’clock when we trudged
into Sing Fat'’s hole-in-the-wall on Maynard Avenue. Two
fat Chinamen were pushing heavy irons that hung from long
poles from the ceiling.

Himes pulled the piece of cloth he had cut from the under-
wear out of his pocket and handed it to one of the Chinamen.

“That your mark?”

The Oriental spat out a mouthful of water that he had
been spraying through his teeth to dampen the clothes, and
looked: at it. ‘Me no sabe,” he said.

At the same time, a Chinese youth walked up from the
back of the shop. He was wearing a sweater with a big letter
“B” across the front which signified that he was from the

1. Bal

cy” ae Ss!

Broa
“y

mark
Ty

Hime

quic}
by t!

goin
snaq

S
unde
old 1
cern

we

out t

exp]
affai


sud-

> hope
mark
indries
rudged
Two

m long

under-
inamen.

he had
es, and

om the
g letter
m_ the

In search of clues, Lieutenant F. A.
Himes (shown) and his companions
quizzed dozens of Chinese laundrymen.

Broadway High School and had earned a monogram there.

“Hey! You!” Himes shouted at him. “Is this the laundry
mark from this dump?”

The boy looked at the two old Chinks, then turned to
Himes.

“Me no sabe.”

“The hell you don’t!” Shirran snorted. There was a
quick movement, and Shirran had jerked the startled youth
by the front of his sweater.

“You must have learned some English while you were
going to high school. Now, start using it, and make it
snappy, or I'll...”

Shirran left the end of his threat open, but the youth well
understood what was implied. He looked back at the two
old men who were still pushing their irons, apparently uncon-
cerned with what was happening.

“Come outside and I'll talk,” the boy said. We walked
out to the curb.

“My father and uncle have old country ideas,” the boy
explained. “They feel that it is not best to talk about these

affairs.” ‘

“What do you mean, ‘affairs’ ?” Himes demanded.

“That laundry mark belongs to Lee Wing Quen,” he ex-
plained. “It is known in Chinatown that Lee Wing Quen
died last night.”

“Died!” Shirran snorted. “He was bumped off.”

“Tt was expected,” the Chinese youth said quietly.
“Now-we're getting somewhere. Why was it expected ?”
The boy was silent for a few seconds. He finally appealed
to Himes. “Look,” he said. “I’m willing to talk. I know
it is the American way to do things—to let the police solve
crimes. But it isn’t the Chinese way. If I tell you what
you wish to know, will you promise that no one will know
I told you? My father would be very angry if he was to
know I talked to you.”

“Bank on us, kid,” Himes told him. “Give us the lowdown,
and ‘we'll work it out ourselves. You won’t be mixed up in
it at all.”

“Thanks,” the boy, said simply. “What I’m going to
tell you, I’ve overheard my father and uncle discussing.

“Tt has been said that Lee Wing Quen has often been seen
in the lodgings of Mrs. Lee How. Mr. How has been away
for some time, and many have wondered what would happen
when he returned.”

Himes whistled through his teeth. “Go on,” he said
softly.

“Tt explains the jade dragon,” I remarked. “A killing of
vengeance.”

“Where does this Mrs. How live?” Shirran asked.

“She has a dwelling in the Hip Sing Temple at 420%
Eighth Avenue.”

“Tet’s be on our way and see Mrs. How and her hubby—
if he’s still around,” Himes said.

E WALKED a few blocks to the Hip Sing Temple.

'¥ There was only one thing wrong with the picture as
we had’ it. I was positive that the “license to kill’ dragon
we had found was from the Suey Sing tong, yet the Hows
lived in the Hip Sing Temple. However, I put this aside
until we could talk to Mrs. How.

The Hip Sing Temple was located in an old brick build-
ing that looked ready to tumble down. Like most Chinese
buildings its: outside appearance belied the elegance of the
interior.

A guard sitting on the stairway grunted that Mrs. How
lived in Room 302. We made our way up to the third floor
and rapped on the door.

The heavy panel swung back, and in the entrance to 4
luxurious, heavily-scented room, a sleek young Chinaman
stood smiling.

“Whom have I the pleasure to welcome into my most
humble dwelling?” he purred. But his eyes gave the lie to
the words he spoke, for they darted from face to face like
that of a snake ready to strike. “Please honor me by enter-
ing,” he invited.

I have never seen a room to equal the one we stepped into.
I have heard of the palaces of Chinese mandarins, and this
one equalled anything I had ever heard of. Walking on
the rugs felt like stepping into a cloud. The walls were
hung with paintings in gold frames. Everywhere there was
ebony, lacquer and jade.

“Please, gentlemen, may I be of service in my most humble
ANG. ee .

“Can it, Wuhy!” Shirran snapped. I was startled and
so was Himes. “Never mind the fancy lingo,” Shirran
went on. “I know you, and you're just a cheap hop peddler,
so don’t put any dog on for me.”

Shirron reached for his gun. “Search him, Himes,” he
directed. ‘The last time we jumped him he was packing
a rod.”

Himes’ experienced hands ran over the Chinaman. He
had no gun. :

“FJe’s Lee Wuhy, or sometimes he goes by the monniker
of Lee Fat. He’s been doing a stretch (Continued on page 60)

31

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INSIDE DETECTIVE

Clue of the
Jade Dragon

(Continued from page 31)

for peddling hop on the street,” Shirran
explained. Turning to Wuhy, he asked,
“Where’s Mrs. How?”

Wuhy was unruffled by Shirran’s words.
He clapped his harids)s A woman came
through the door. She glided in without
seeming to walk, and she was the most

‘beautiful Chinese woman I’ve ever looked

at. Her skin seemed almost transparent,
and her eyes were ‘sheathed in long black
lashes. For a moment we just stared at
her.

Himes spoke first. “Can you speak
English?”

There wasn’t a flicker in her face to
tell that she understood what had been
said.

“She hasn’t been spoiled by the Occi-
dent,” Wuhy informed Himes. “She speaks.
no English and understands no American
es She’s purely Oriental, and price-
ess.

“Then what are you doing here?” Shir-
ran said. “You’re a punk hop peddler. You
don’t belong in a place like this, or with
a woman like that woman seems to be.
What are you doing here?” ‘

Wuhy smiled broadly. “I am the lady’s
choice.”

“How about old man How?”

“He merely bought her,” Wuhy grinned.
“I am the one enjoying the benefits of
the beauty the gods gave her.”

“Beating the old man’s time, huh?” Shir-
ran said.

“Precisely,” Wuhy declared, pleased with
himself.

“All right,’tell us about it,” Himes urged,
seeing that Wuhy was proud of the fact
that he had stolen the wife of Lee How.

Wuhy explained that Lee How had made
a fine success of business in America, and
in his mature years had decided that he
should have a wife. With the money he
had saved he returned to the Orient,
bought. himself the finest wife he could
find, and brought her back to Seattle.

“But he made one mistake,” Wuhy de-
clared.

“And that is?”

“He did not give up his business and
devote his entire éfforts to the enjoyment
of the prize he had purchased. *For six
months he has been-in Salt Lake on busi-
ness. And I, gentlemen, have given the
lady the attention that her own old hus-
band did not give her.”

“You're not the only one. How about
Lee. Wing Quen?” Himes said, throwing
out the first hook.

“He doesn’t bother me. I’ve gotten. rid
of him.”

“UH say you have,”’ Shirran snapped, “I
see the whole picture now. First old Lee
How goes to China and buys a_ beautiful
wife. You come and chisel in. Then, you
got a rap and went to the pen. Along
comes Lee Wing Quen and makes eyes at

the old man’s wife. But you get out of.

the pen and are burned because Quen beat
your time. So—you killed him last night
to get rid of him!” :
“That sounds like the dope, all right,”
Himes agreed. “How about it Wuhy? Is
that why you knocked off Quen?”
“You are mistaken. I did not kill Quen,”

Wuhy declared. “I’d heard this morning _

he was dead, but I did not do it.”

“You'll have to make twelve people on
a ‘jury believe that,’ Shirran told him.
“Come on. We're off to jail with you
on a charge of murder.”

_“That bears out the dragon business,
too,” I spoke up, turning to Wuhy. “Do
you belong to the Suey Sing Tong?”

Wuhy shook his head. “I don’t belong
to any tong. I never have. I am one
of the few Chinese who don’t.”

That stumped me. Where did the Suey
Sing “license to kill” dragon come from?
I. pondered over this, but the case against
Wuhy seemed to be perfect, so I dismissed
1t.

E TRIED to “break” Wuhy when we

got him to headquarters. He was calm
and indifferent about the accusation of
murder.

“You've made a mistake,” he repeated.
“You have no evidence, and I know I shall
be free soon.”

The following day a little Chinaman
came into headquarters. I was in the office
at the time talking to Himes and Shirran
about the case. :

“T have read in the papers of the charges
with which you hold my friend Wuhy,”
he said. “They are not true. At the time
you say the murder occurred, Wuhy was
at my home.” :

“Yes?” Shirran told him. “You say

so, and who else?”

“T can bring friends who will tell you
the same thing,” the little Oriental said.

“Who are you?” Himes -asked him.

“I am Hong Yick of the Suey Sing
Tong.”

As soon as he said that, I began to think
about the “license to kill” dragon. What
was the tie-up between Hong Yick and
Wuhy?

Himes had Hong Yick wait in his office
and we went up to the jail to see Wuhy.

“Hong Yick just came in,” Himes told
Wuhy.

“That is of little concern to me,” Wuhy
declared.

When we left the jail, Shirran’ said:
“Now, can you beat that! Why should
this guy Hong Yick want to make an alibi
for Wuhy?”

All the while I had been thinking about
the dragon. Suddenly I had an idea.

“Did you notice that this Hong Yick
had a bandage on his hand?” I said.

Both Himes and Shirran had noticed
it. I explained my idea to them.

Before we returned to the office, which

is on the second floor of -the Public Safety.

Building, we stopped on the third floor
which is the City Hospital and picked up
Dr. H. L. Hartley. We explained the
plan to him, then went on in to the detec-
tive office.

“How did you hurt your hand?” Himes
asked Hong Yick.

“T cut it with a knife while I was work-
ing yesterday,” he said. “I am a, cook
in a restaurant.” .

(20..e a

Die steno

ras

t
‘
‘
:
;
+
N
<
§
t
a
.

“Take these Christmas ties along too,
or I'll shoot!”

AM 0S an

“This is
dicating |
a look at

Hong \
Dr. Harti

From |}
tweezers a
A few se
minute, he

“Ts this
boys?” he

There w
in the pow

“That's
Yick? 7
got the re
body of Li
dragon w
hand.”

There \
while Hor
the jaws «

“Ready
“We know

“Ves,”
him.”

“Why ?’

“T was «
Yick deci:
while I w
bership re:
less I got
war betw«
killed him
him. I
and I di
for what |!

Himes
Hong Yic

“That
ward, “but
for it if w
off those
the doc fir
it look lik

Hong \
during his
that he ki
He was c

At high
dropped tt!
yard at tl
tiary, the
gallows in

Eprtor’s
tnnocent p.
Lee Hox

actual but

H<
Le

((

on your s
Ashen-fz
scream a |
Half faint
the courtr:
But the
out friends
save him,
of the jur
Douglas, (
The agit
refused to
the executi
of escape {
Who wa
The she:
duty flatly
if forced t
was erecte
no one wo
It was 1
pointed da

Orient,
1 from
‘e with
ir dif-

yw slit
build-
Dark
mask-
at blew
iildings,
sinister

omicide

nes, his
ng each

the Hip
undreds

A LICENSE TO KILL? -

Deputy Coroner Johnson, co-author of this story, is seen
cementing together the pieces of the jade figure. Wise
in Chinese ways, he knew it meant an “honor slaying.”

killed in every city in the country. And then in 1917 there
were twenty-two of them knocked off right here in Seattle.
It wasn’t even safe to walk down King Street.”

“Tn 1925 I picked up a couple of dozen myself in the old .

morgue wagon,” I added.

Himes voiced what we were all thinking. “We've got to .

get this killer and get him quick or we'll have another tong
battle here, sure as fate,” he said. “If we can grab the
murderer and see the tong chiefs in time, we may be able
to avert a serious tong battle.”

We all agreed—but agreeing and doing something about
it were two greatly different things. For tong killings are
mighty tough cases.

It was close to three o'clock in the morning of December
11, 1934. Canton Alley, where we found the body, is just
off Lane Street above Weller Avenue, in the very heart of
Chinatown. ;

In customary Oriental fashion, there wasn’t a single spec-
tator gathered at the darksome scene of death. In any other
part of town, the streets would have been filled with the

“LITTLE SHANGHAI"

A bit of the Orient transplanted to America. Seattle’s
Chinatown had often known bitter tong wars. Was
there to be mother feud of the hatchet men?

curious at the first sign of the police car and morgue wagon.
But the lack of apparent interest didn’t mean that the murder

* was unknown to. the inhabitants of the dark-fronted build-

ings. News travels quickly and quietly in Little Shanghai.
We knew that already behind the lacquered doors sing-song
voices were discussing the crime—and likely the revenge

for it.
“Let’s get him down to, the morgue,” Shirran suggested.

“First thing on tap is to get him identified, and find out what

tong he belongs to. We can work from there.” .

While Himes held his electric torch, Shirran and. I lifted
the limp body and tossed it into the wicker basket.

“Hey !”

Himes dropped to his knees in the filthy litter of the alley.
He came up with an object in his hand. Under the flashlight
we could see that he had picked up several pieces of glittering
green glass.. They seemed to be pieces of an image of some
kind.

Himes passed Shirrani his flashlight, while he juggled the
pieces to try and make them fit. They formed together in


ot

HE voice of the jury foreman
cut through the tense silence
in the Pierce County court-
house in Tacoma, Washington,
that afternoon in October, 1942.
“We, the jury,” announced the
foreman, “do hereby find the de-
fendant guilty of first degree mur-
der. We do not recommend
mercy.”
The prisoner at the bar turned a
ghastly white. His legs became
rubbery and he swayed as if struck

26

on the chin by a powerful fist.
“Mother of God!” he sobbed,

then collapsed to the floor.

His iron will finally had been
shattered. No longer was .he the
arrogant, cocksure murderer who
had defied the law. No longer was
he laughing at the efforts of the
prosecutor to avenge the merciless
slaying of two of Washington’s finest
police officers. .

Yes, the brutal, needless murders
were avenged ... but only after

PLETE DETECTIVE, March, 1943

TION WAS AN IRON-
CLAD ALIBI. BUT A
MODERN DELILAH CUTS
A COLD KILLER'S
STRENGTH AND TURNS
HIM INTO A SNIVEL-

BY LARRY WARREN

seven years of relentless, deter-
mined detective work.

The sun hung like a _ copper-
colored ball against a backdrop of
cloudless blue that sultry noon of
July 15, 1935.

Leslie Stone, young and capable
cashier of the State Bank of Orting,
Washington, was at his post, hum-
ming a popular tune during the
noon-time lull.

A tall, erect man entered the

LESLIE
State E
holdup:
ages o:

establ
Stone
“Td
he sai
“Cer
polite]
But
check,
matic
“Ok
a stick
in the
busine


OLD

Git™
HALL

MUSEUM

jazgeeas

L433dS0ud

CENTRAL S

FLORA ST. :

e CHAMPION

STE ET

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boca
FRASER RIVER STAMPEDE 87

Work on the proposed E street wharf was rushed during the boom.
Previously a stock company was formed for the purpose of constructing a
1,500 foot pier, later increased to 2,300 feet. John E. Peabody* donated the
right-of-way, May 24, 1858. Winter storms partly destroyed the new wharf,
but it was repaired with lumber left by the departing miners after the boom
collapsed.

“NorTHERN Licut, July 17, 1858: Supposed to be Drowned or Murdered.
Matthew C. C. Murphy, U. S. Deputy Surveyor, requests us to state that
Dr. D. Hunt, also a U. S. Deputy Surveyor, left his camp near Whidbey’s
in a canoe on Monday, 5th inst to come to Whatcom. He was seen passing
the Indian camp near the north end of Swinomish Pass at noon Tuesday,
since that time nothing has been seen or heard of him. His canoe was picked

_ up adrift in that vicinity the following day.

“Mr. Hunt was about forty years of age, and had on a gray pair of
satinet pants, a black wool hat and blue overcoat. He had also some money

‘about his person, a silver watch and Colt’s revolver. In the canoe was a one

gallon blue-painted water-keg and black leather valise. The canoe paddles
were marked ‘D.H.’ The discovery of any of these articles may afford some
clue to Mr. Hunt’s fate.”**

THE NORTHERN LIGHT
Vol. 1. Whatcom, Whatcom County, W. T., July 24, 1858. No. 4

“Deputy Postmaster—Mr. J. G. Hyatt has received the appointment
from R. V. Peabody, of Deputy Postmaster, and has removed that institu-
tion to the new building of T. G. Richards & Co., on Center street, where he
has provided a hundred boxes, at private expense, for the accommodation
of the public. He assures us that the arrangements of the office are now such
as to occasion no delay in the delivery of the mail matter, and as not to be in
any manner interfered with by other business transactions of the contiguous
room.

(The T. G. Richards and Company building mentioned was a frame
structure erected at the edge of the tideflats on Center street a half block
southeast of the site then being cleared on E street for the same firm’s brick
building. Center street, according to the original blueprint, was a forty foot

*In December 1856, John E. Peabody bought 85 acres in Whatcom precinct from
R. V. Peabody.

**Two Skagit Indians were arrested and hung in Whatcom for the murder of Surveyor
Hunt. A pole was placed in the crotches of two trees on the opposite sides of the Military
Road near the Pickett Bridge. This served as a gallows. According to James Taylor, Charles
Wolfe, deputy sheriff, officiated.

The first sherif of Whatcom County, “Yankee” Ellis Barnes, was drowned off Fort
Bellingham in 1858, while scuffling with some friends on a boat in which he was taking

them to his ranch at the mouth of the Lummi River. William Busey, who succeeded him, ©

was sheriff during the gold rush. He formerly had been teamster for Captain Pickett. His
deputy, Charles Wolfe of California, was of the western border type, carrying guns and a
bowie knife in sight.

OPPOSITE—Diagram of the community around Whatcom Creek.—Drawn by the author.

ROTEC-

'S AN IRON- YJ

iBI. BUT AY

‘ELILAH CUTS
KILLER'S
AND TURNS

© A SNIVEL-

VEAKLING

Y WARREN

relentless, deter- 4
work. ;
ng like a copper-

ainst a backdrop of
that sultry noon of

young and capable
state Bank of Orting,
as at his post, hum-
ar tune during the

t man entered the

LESLIE STONE, cashier of the Orting
State Bank, who was not unprepared for
holdups. He had devised dummy pack-
ages of cash to meet bandits’ demands.

establishment, walked briskly to
Stone’s cage. - :

“T’d like to get a check cashed,”
he said, flourishing a slip of paper.

“Certainly, sir,” the cashier said
politely.

But instead of presenting the
check, the stranger thrust an auto-
matic pistol through the grating.

“Okay, pal,” he barked. ‘‘This is
a stickup! Hand over all the dough
in the joint. And don’t try no funny
business.”

The startled cashier hesitated mo-
mentarily. His first urge was to
reach for the rifle he kept concealed
inside his cage. (He had bought the
weapon after the bank had: been
held up on two previous occasions,
the second robbery netting $2,000
to the bandit.) But Stone wisely
realized that he had no: chance to
thwart this brutal-faced gunman.
A false move would mean instant
death. So he picked up the bundle
of currency on the counter and

pushed it toward the gunman. The
single bundle of currency, however,
failed to satisfy the intruder.
“Come on,” he snapped. ‘Let’s
have the rest of it. There’s more in
that drawer under the counter.”
Stone reached under the counter,
opened the drawer and drew out
two bundles. Had the bandit known
that these packages were only dum-
mies, with pieces of currency on top

and bottom and only worthless
paper strips in the middle, the
27

pe 9 ar


cashier's life wouldn’t have been
worth a plugged nickel.

But the robber wasted no time
inspecting the loot. After herding
Stone to the back of the bank, he
raced out the front door with $500
as his “take.”

The cashier rushed back to his
cage, scooped up the rifle and ran
to the street. A car was flashing up
the town’s main street and Stone
knew it was carrying the holdup
artist to freedom. But to shoot at
the fleeing machine would be to
endanger the lives of pedestrians
and motorists.

Cursing his bad luck, the cashier
dashed back into the bank, snatched
up the telephone and put in a call
to police headquarters at near-by
Puyallup.

Since the gunman had headed
toward the valley highway, Stone
reasoned that he would pass
through Puyallup and Sumner, twin
cities only eight miles from Ort-
ing.

Chief of Police Frank Chadwick,
a fearless officer with a score of
years in the service to his credit,
received the call at the Puyallup
station.

Stone relayed the details of the
holdup, adding: ‘‘The guy got away
in an old blue Buick sedan with
Pierce County license plates. He was
too far away, though, for me to
catch any of the numbers.”

Then the cashier described the
bandit: Tall, wearing blue denim
overalls and blue shirt opened at
the front; armed with an automatic
pistol.

Chief Chadwick slammed down
the phone, summoned Patrolman
Harry Storem and tersely outlined
the situation. Then, armed with
high-powered rifles, the officers
rushed from the station and climbed
into a squad car.

HILE the Puyallup officials

were taking up the chase, the
bank cashier called Chief Morris
Nelson at Sumner, repeating the
information he had given Chief
Chadwick.

Although alone at headquarters
at the time, Chief Nelson took up
the hunt single-handed, though he
realized the chances might be
heavily against him if he were to
encounter the gunman. i

Hardly had Nelson passed the
city limits of Sumner when he
spotted a blue Buick sedan racing
toward him, closely followed by
another car. But before Nelson
could block off the approaching

KILLER: A hardened criminal, he snaked
his way through police dragnets and
sought refuge behind a woman's skirts.
But slippery as he was, he couldn't win.

28

LUKE MAY, famed criminologist, gave the
"dope" on the murder gun—a .32—and
tested the rods of many thugs in attempt
to match a weapon with the lethal slugs.

machine, it turned off the high-
way and slithered along a_ side

‘road.

Nelson’s foot pushed the brake to
the . floorboard and his vehicle
screeched to a near-stop. Then he
set out in the direction taken by
the two cars.

A moment later he rounded a
wide curve on the country road.
His foot jammed on the brake as
his eyes swept a scene of blood-
curdling horror. There in the mid-
dle of the pavement lay the pros-
trate forms of Chief Chadwick and
Patrolman Storem, blood spurting
from ugly wounds. Ever-widening
pools of crimson were visible on the
concrete. The rifles of the inert
officers were at their sides.

BILL MAHA
the infamou
a hot suspe
the killer w
to be one

Chief N
in time tc
away. W
revolver,
ing car.

When
from viev
fallen col
communit:
fire, assist
ferring th
squad car
perate rac

Chief C
the Valley
Patrolman
hour later
sciousness

Neither

DEPUTY SHE
by the despe
case, which «

of a chan
slayer. Th
were unfir«
the cold-b!
crime. Ch
shot throu
the chest,

Grimly,
that the k
that he wo

John Peabody: “I
guess he never saw
me or he might have
shot me dead, too™

“If You Don’t Convict Him He’ll

Gome Back and Kill Me, I Know

,

It. He Said That If I Ever Told the

Real Story My Number Was Up”

A shot roared.

Storem pitched face first onto the pavement.

Rounding the front of the car, Chadwick tugged
at the gun in his holster. He had been driving and
unable to get it out before.

A second shot blast into the quiet countryside.

Chadwick reeled backward. His knees buckled.
He fell headlong into the roadside ditch.

The bandit’s car leaped into action. A few hun-
dred feet ahead, it left the highway and swung
down a dirt road.

Chief Nelson arrived at the scene a second later.
For a moment, he hesitated. Should he give chase
to the bandit’s car which was already out of sight,
or aid to his fellow officers? The thing that decided
him was the fact that the bandit had left the
highway. The blockades would keep him in the
district.

Chief Nelson jumped out of his car. One look at
Storem told him the man was dead. The slug had
caught him squarely in the left eye. Chadwick, too,
was dead. The bullet had got him through the heart.

A man in dirt-soiled overalls came up. “I saw it
all. I was working in the garden.” He jerked his
head to the farm across the road. “Have you got a
pencil? I remember the license number of the car.”

The man, who identified himself as John Pea-
body, a farm hand on the estate of Charles W.
Orton, a regent of the University of Washington,
gave the license number.

Chief Nelson ran across the street to the Orton
home. He called Sheriff Severyns in Seattle and
Sheriff Bjorklund in Tacoma. After giving them the
information about the murder of Chadwick and
Storem, he said:

“The killer left the main highway here and took
to the side roads. We'll still be all right if the
blockades stay up at Enumclaw, Puyallup and Sum-
ner. Telephone the men there and give them this
license number.”

Nelson repeated the license number Peabody had
taken from the bandit’s car. He added, “I think the
cars should gather here and we can start a search
from here for him.”

Severyns and Bjorklund promised to radio their
cars and send them to Nelson.

Finishing his calls to the sheriffs, Nelson called
the bank in Orting. He told Stone about the killings,
and added: “When the cars show up there, send
them out here.” ‘A

Nelson’s final call was to the coroner.

Tom Smith, Chief at Enumclaw, was first to reach
the death scene. He had come straight through from
Enumclaw to Orting and arrived a few seconds

26

Deputy Sig Kittleson and
other officers who arrived
at the scene of the kill-
ing sought in vain for
some clew which would
identify the double slayer

after Nelson had called into the bank. Glen Barton,
whom Chadwick had left in charge of the blockade
in Puyallup, arrived next. He had heard of the kill-
ings and turned the blockade over to Patrolman
William O’Connor.

Standing in the road, looking down at the dead
bodies of the two men who had been his closest
friends, Barton vowed: ,

“T’l] never stop until the murderer who did this
is brought to justice.”

“You can count me in, too,” Chief Nelson said,
solemnly. .

*“And me,” Smith added.

17, WAS a simple and sincere oath of revenge the
three rural peace officers swore as they stood in
the sunlight of the road, stained with the blood of
two of their fellow officers. And it was a vow that
none of them forgot.

“What do you think we ought to do first?” Barton
asked.

Nelson said, “The guy went down that way.” He
pointed to the side road. “He’s off the highway, but
he won’t be able to get through the blockades.”

“Unless he drops the car and tries to go out on
foot through the fields,” Barton said.

“That may be the reason he left the main high-
way. He knew that Chadwick and Storem spotted
him and the rest of us could too, He may ditch the
car.”

“It would take him a long time to walk out.”

Smith broke in. “I’ve got an idea. This whole
country is covered by the radio stations in Seattle
and Tacoma. Most of these farmers listen to their
radios every night. It’s their only amusement.”

“I follow you,” Nelson said. “Put the killer’s de-
scription on the radio?”

“And the car, too. If anyone sees him, we'll be
that much closer to him’ I’m sure the radio stations
will give us what we want.”

Smith put through a call to the stations. They
were anxious to do what they could and agreed to
put out a broadcast giving a complete description
of the killer and his car every half-hour during the
evening.

When Smith returned to the road, he found that

Sheriff Severyns: His men moved
out from Seattle to stop the killer

‘ | He Earned the
Noose

(Continued from page 25)

“I’ve been making a study of that
banker,” said the sheriff. “He’s one
of the most conscientious men I’ve
ever met. I don’t believe that he,
just on his own _ identification,
wanted to be the one to send a man
to the gallows—and he -figured he
might be mistaken since that girl
had given Jacobs what seemed like
an airtight alibi.”

“I see what you are driving a .
mused the prosecutor. “And now?”.

“Anna Wade must be questioned
again,” declared Bjorklund. “Per-
haps now since Jacobs was sent to
prison, and since she learned he
“already had a wife, she may have
had a change of heart. At least,
that’s our only lead.” f

The girl, now married and living in
Tacoma, was interviewed by Pa-
trolman Jack Crooks and Marshall
McCormick, chief criminal deputy
prosecutor of. Pierce County.

“What do you mean?” —

crime, until Tuesday, the day after
the murders,” she said. “He told me
he was going to Portland, Ore., to
get money from an aunt.
came back, he was nervous and said
he didn’t get any money.”

Faces Gallows

That cracked the case.

Jacobs, who was out of McNeit
Island prison, was working in Tuk-
wila, Wash., where he was arrested.

Stone positively identified him as
the bank bandit.

“All the time, I knew it was the —

man,” he said, “but ‘I refused to
identify Jacobs positively if I was
to be the only man to do so. I did
not want to be the only witness to
say ,, This is the man who held me
up. a9”

When Jacobs went on trial for

his life on October 19, 1942, in Ta- >

coma, five witnesses identified him.
They were Stone,

mussen, the berry rancher; Fred
Carnahan, who testified he had al-
most picked Jacobs up in his car;
and C. N. Shriver, the Milwaukee
freight conductor, since retired; who
declared Jacobs was the man who
got into the box car at Sumner and

When he .

-—but on cross-examination she ad--

John Urdea,
-who had seen the murders; S. Ras-

wife who had divorced him, testified
against his former stepfather. ’ “Hi
declared that about a month before’
the robbery Jacobs had discussed the
possibility of robbing the Oring
bank.

In _ his die Jacobs catered ‘a
general denial. He put the blonde
and now buxom Anna on the stand, ~
In direct testimony she said Jacobs
was with her the day of the murders’

mitted she had told officers and
signed affidavits declaring that Ja.
cobs was not with her. Jacobs’ at-
tempted alibi backfired in court. »

A sister of the defendant also said
she had seen him in the Kelso area
the day of the murders.

But on Thursday, Oct. 29, the jury _
took just three hours to find Jacoba
guilty of murdering Chief Chadwick. ©
The jury decreed that Jacobs should
be hanged in the state prison at
Walla Walla.

At this writing, Jacobs is planning
an appeal. And Sheriff Bjorklund
is finishing out his term as sheriff,
proud in his belief that, after seven
years, the killer of his fellow officers —
has been prevent to justice.

This time she broke down.
“The truth is that he was away
from euneey oe oo ae the

HE district attorney told the court that he would first
prove the corpus delicti.” 0 = cone
That’s a sentence you ‘are apt to see in Foner of

T

‘criminal trials, but it’s not likely to mean much to you |

unless you have a thorough understanding of the term 4
‘corpus delicti, Because corpus sounds so much like re
to Mecrpee” and is, in fact, the Latin word ‘for body, many ~
people think corpus delicti means only the body of the |
victim in a murder case. Actually, there's a porpus

_ delicti in every crime. ©

v4

Study these questions and see whether ie can answer
them on the basis of your knowledge of the corpus ‘delicti.

“If you can, you rate an E for excellent in your legal
w eoucetion. = : :

i delich and what other proposition? y
~ 3. In a homicide case how does the victim's
ee cin the proof of the corpus delicti? _—

4. Circumstantial evidence strongly indicated that J Verce =

e-: killed Barker, and while nobody had seen Barker’s _
mm body there was convincing evidence that ‘Barker was un-.

‘accounted for. Is this sufficient proof of the ¢ corpus delicti?

“of the corpus delicti?._

left it at Renton junction.
Fred J. Freese, logging engineer
ues abe ones Ore,, son of secon s

charred bones and hairpins were found in the furnace. The ©
district attorney proved all this, but the court said it was
on sufficient to establish the corpus. delicti. | Why? Ree

deceased had been heard ating “God hel me, ‘bors there | 3
_is fire in here!”.

‘5. The headless torso of a ‘man was found, It was iden- :

tified by tattoo marks on the chest. ‘Is this sufficient Proof = proof of the corpus delicti?

Eprror’s Note: To spare possible
embarrassment to an innocent person,
the name Anna Wade, used in this
sous is $ not Eee but fictitious.

attorney need to prove the corpus delicti by separate Sprookt? E
8. The accused ‘confessed killing a girl who had disap-
peared two months before and burning her body in a
furnace. Bloodstains were found in the. basement, and

What more is needed to prove the corpus _

‘sustain a conviction without iadepends


When the trail of the gunman
who knocked down little Shirley
Maitland, right, disappeared,
County Detective Gamrath,
above, was sure he had holed up

By Jack Ward

Special Investigator

/ EVENTY, eighty, ninety, one hundred.”
Bank Teller Leslie Stone counted softly un-
der his breath as he fingered a pile of bills.

He slipped a rubber band around the bundle and

started deftly thumbing through another pile.

“Twenty, forty, sixty—”

“Don’t bother counting it, Bub. Just pass it out.
T’ll count it later.”

The voice was low, almost laughing. Stone for a
moment thought it was one of the townsfolk hav-
ing a joke. He looked up.

The ugly snout. of the automatic was no joke.
Nor the grim face and cold eyes behind it. Stone’s
eyes darted around the small bank.

It was ten minutes before noon. Stone had been
alone in the bank before the gunman entered. The
unmasked man stood at an angle to hide his action
from the windows looking out toward the street.

“Pass it out or I’ll let you have it, and come in
for it myself.’”’ The gunman’s voice was unhurried,
but the clipped words carried force.

Stone knew a high-powered rifle hung under the
desk at his knees. He hesitated a moment, cal-
culating his chances to dive for it.

The bandit’s hand raised and Stone could see
the fingers tightening on the gun. He accepted the
situation and pushed the bank notes through the
grille.

“Smart boy. Stay right where you are and you
won’t get hurt.” With the gun‘still concealed from
the view of the window, the bandit backed toward
the door.

Tense, Stone watched him. As he passed to the
street, Stone dropped to his knees. He snatched the
rifle and swiftly crawled along the floor to the win-
dow. He cautiously raised above the low black
curtains.

The bandit was crossing the street. Stone raised

24

his rifle just above the curtain top and took aim.
He drew a bead, and—cursed.

The bandit in his hurry had bumped into a little
girl. The child went sprawling on the sidewalk.
Stone dared not fire. He might injure the child. The
bandit slid into a car parked at the curb in front of
Knight’s Garage.

Stone still had to hold his fire. Several men were
standing in front of the garage. The car moved from
the curb. Stone followed it with his gun. He waited
until the car passed the child on the sidewalk. For a
second the target was in the clear.

Stone fired.

Even as he squeezed the trigger, he knew he had
missed. The front part of the car had gone beyond
his vision from the window. The bullet had struck
only the rear of the sedan.

Stone dropped his gun and ran to a telephone.

“Operator. Get me Chief Chadwick in Puyallup.
Hurry, there’s been a holdup. And; operator, while
I’m talking to him, get me Chief Tom Smith in
Enumclaw.”

Several persons, attracted by the shot, raced into
the bank. They shouted questions. Stone ignored
them. He knew what he was doing. He had realized
before that some day the bank might be robbed.

Only two roads out of Orting, Washington, lead
to main highways. One, through Puyallup, goes to
Tacoma and Highway No. 99. The other, through
Enumclaw, connects with Highway No. 410, run-
ning southeast.

If the bandit could be trapped within the district
inside Puyallup and Enumclaw, the job wouldn’t be

too tough. .The flat countryside is webbed with roads

to the many berry fields, but no escape exists to
the outside except through Puyallup and Enumclaw.

“Chief Chadwick?” Stone said as the operator
completed the long-distance connection. “This is

Stone at the Orting State Bank. We’ve just been
robbed. The bandit, a lone man, drove away from
here, heading your way, in a blue Buick sedan with
gray fenders. It’s several years old. The man looked
to be about twenty-seven, clean-shaven, medium
build. He’s wearing a blue-denim shirt open at the
throat with a white undershirt showing.”

The description was complete and to the point.

RANK CHADWICK said, “I'll put a blockade up

here in Puyallup and then leave at once to try
and intercept him. You’d better call Chief Nelson
in Sumner to be on guard.”

“Just as soon as I call Chief Smith in Enumclaw.”

Stone broke the connection, and pounded on the
receiver prong to get the operator. “Is Chief Smith
ready? Good. And, Operator, while I’m talking to
him, get me Chief Morris Nelson in Sumner. After

Sheriff. Severyns, stand-
. ing, and Chief Deputy
Bodia were certain the
cop killer was from Ta-
coma when they learned
a license, a car and a gun
had been stolen there


In this photo-diagram an
artist shows how the bandit
robbed the bonk in Orting

Chief Frank Chadwick: He and
his partner were slain before
they had a chance to meet
the wanted man on even terms

I finish with him, I'll want the Pierce Coun!
Sheriff’s office in Tacoma and the King Coun:
Sheriff’s office in Seattle.”

In Puyallup, Chief Chadwick leaped up from |
desk and called to his men. To Glen Barton, |
shouted, “Blockade the road south of town. Sto
all cars and watch for a blue Buick with gra
fenders. A bandit just stuck up the Orting Stat
bank.”

As Chadwick, with Officer Harry Storem, ran 1
his waiting car, he gave Barton the bandit’s descrip
tion. He said, “Harry and I will head toward Ortin;
The guy may try to circle in on one of the sid
roads.”

In Enumclaw, Chief Smith gave similar orders t
his men, Chief Nelson in Sumner ordered a blockad
there and left in his car toward Orting.

Sheriff John Bjorklund in Tacoma _ receive
Stone’s message of the bank robbery. By radio h
contacted his cruising prowler cars and heade
them toward Orting. Sheriff William Severyns i
Seattle gave like orders to his deputies.

Stone had done his job well. The officers of th
law, like a huge, seine net, were closing in.

Chief Chadwick and Storem, first to receive tl
message and closest to the scene, were in the lea:
Chadwick drove at a wild pace, braking only wh«
he saw an approaching car. At the county far
Chadwick jammed down on the brake pedal as
car came into view.

“It’s him!” Storem cried.

HE sedan, a blue Buick with gray fende

whizzed ky. Chadwick turned the wheel and spi
the police car around. He straightened it out on 1!
road and pushed the accelerator to the floor boar«
The police car was a better machine than t!
bandit’s auto. Chadwick drew closer to him.

Chief Nelson passed them going the other w:
in their flight. He stopped, turned, and joined t)
chase.

Chadwick drew closer, Storem leaned out int
the whipping wind for a shot. He fired. The ca
ahead started to sway crazily as the brakes wei
applied.

“I must ’a got him!” Storem sceamed above t!
whine of the wind through the open door windo

Chadwick struggled with the steering wheel :
the car in front weaved from side to side. It slit!
ered to a stop on the right side of the road. Cha
wick pulled the police car to a halt opposite it «
the left side of the road.

Storem, gun in hand, leaped out of the car


HOES Oe : 4 ¥ Pais : 2 cE PST reenact Dee 2 Go ole
f Cie ; z - g 2 : : Po ae

we:

UNCENSORED DETECTIVE

Throw him into Jacobs’ cel], We'll his men, “that’s what I wanted. Pm Suddenly there’s a knock on the
give him three or four days to get ready to go to trial. --There’s just — jury room door. ‘The marshal hur-
acquainted. Then [J] tell you the one more thing,” Tollefson added. - ries and unlocks it, For a moment
rest of my plan.” 5 - “Bodia tells me that Jacobs was flat there are whispered words. Then

The Prosecuting attorney’g order broke: When he arrested him, and he rushes to the judge’s chamber,
Was Carried out. Jacobs and Potts that he had been that way for some It’s all over. They’ve reached a
ecame friendly and bragged free- 4yS prior to the arrest. In other verdict. Guilty or not guilty, I Wwon-
yY about their Own exploits in the wor 8, he didn’t flash any money der? I go bac OMmy seat and wait.
criminal world, around. And we haven’t found the Jacobs, anked by our officers,
Mg How wey’ write : gun. I’d hate to have that brought comes in the court room. He’s not
WBE oe tet ys ] CLLEFson asked Crooks and Up In court against me,” - 80 cocky now. -The jurors haven’t
TIEN ee, ARMEN- _ Kittleson to come to his office. uy Crooks studied for a moment, « been out long. Not even an hour,
SOD PES ink,” the Prosecutor said “the ink I know how to circumvent that at looks bad for the Prisoner

eS on PARADE ime’s ripe. Take acobs out and ac- argument,” he replied thoughtful] mayb :

Peer CL URE MA ARe noah ing cuse him of some. minor crime. “Give me a couple of days on that.” The slow ee: of the*law ‘goes
write army Marit dine wheats, aerap $400 Something really small, like chicken Three days later he brought sey- on as we all waif) for the fateful
Sa only 81-00—but eG 1 Stealing. Keep after him for an hour eral people into the Prosecutor’s of- words. Thgr Follofson is a little
Pub. €0., Dope Gg or two and make it sound realistic. fice, “These folks can. tell you,” he nervous. THére has not been a death

“KEEP "+ eng LAUGHING,”

7
| Don’t Mention the murder in any = said, “that they’ve heard Jacobs Sentence given in Pierce County for
5 Send C.0.D, plus Postage. |
|

Shape or form.” oe brag a number of times that he’ nearly 50 years. And that’s what he
Crooks asked, “What's the idea?” never be caught with either the loot had asked for, Would the jurors
Tollefson grinned. “Aq] crooks or the- gun, if he pulled any hold- rather let him go than break that

are vain. It’s part of their distorted ups.” He turned to the ‘Witnesses, long record? “Death or freedom!

make-up. If you let him feel that “That's right, isn’t Le oe Tollefson h d pleaded. Now, what

we think he’s nothing but a small They nodded. The day of the trial was it? .

Potato, he might let his guard” was set as October 21, 1942, When the verdict was read, Ja-

ea

a. ae te

NOW GET TOUGH
DOUBLE. QUICK)

: Port st 1 Sent ae and shouted his denials like a are thinking. Maurice Kadish, the When he Passed me as they led

ee eine amiaring tow, eee haughty little Schoolboy, When defense attorney, has made his last him back to his cell, I saw that his
sey REE eae gas Co., 500 Sherman | finally the officers let him 80 back plea. Now Tollefson is repeating his eyes were lifeless. Hig lips trem-

Street, Department cago. 1. fe hia cell, Jacobs’ face was red with charges in clear, concise words. And bled and his whole frame Seemed
R U PTU R E D THROW AWA VF | anger and indignation, the judge charges the jury. Shrunken, [| knew [’d never have
| YOouRTRUuss! “Damn those cops,” he snarled As they file into the jury room, I that glass of beer he had Promised
F Ee Fe E “covery. ng Airrazing. ie hae Over and over, pacing up and down can See doubt in the Prisoner’s eyes to have with me. The verdict had
Why sea: € narrow cell. “Wha Oyouthink for the first time. But ¢ at is only been remorselessly definite “Guilt
y with rupture? You need mever wear a Q = F : i :
your truss again! You will be amazed at the they re trying to PIN on me now? fora moment. Judge Ernest M. Card of murder in the first degree, with-

covery” work eereaetal NPoitively coho™, this, die Chicken stealing! And me with two . has declared a recess for lunch. Ag out recommendation of clemency,”

a8: No obligation. Juss fill in Coupon! murders to my name, [ killed those Jacobs Passes me, I gee his lips Jacobs had lost his bet.
| are ini, bt ans tos Prose dirty so-and-so’s and I'd like to get move. I can’t hear the Words very Next Saturday Judge Card must
I Sena Discovery ATE Plain seal me under’es Amazing 1 | a Jot more of them. I will, too,” he distinctly. But I know he igs Saying, Pronounce the death Sentence,
| tay added, “just as Soon as I get out of “Hell, I’ve got them licked.” ta a
] Ee OC COAG ana ere.” : the long hall nobody Speaks (Editor’s Note: Arthur Burr, oes) cod
L When the result of hig Strategy now. It’s in the hands of those 12 Harnett and Mary Howe are fotitiA
SA was brought to Tollefson, the prose- men women. Wonder Ween well Sauce * ¥
LEC cutor smiled, “Okay, boys,” he told kno @ anawaw9

Stainr 5 Waterproof! Women buy on
Sight 'Y gorgeous Datterns! Thar.
expen! bated ae

_—


Damn those cops!" he snarled,
acing up and down small cell.

eoee ae

Tollefaon went into a huddle, “Our
only chance,” the prosecuting at-
torney deciared, “is to start at tne
bank and backcrail the killer stop
by step. Dig out every witness wno
might have seen him, We'll alip
every little plece of Information
into place like a jigsaw puzzle un-
til wo got a complete picture of the
killer, When we have that, we’ll
start looking for the man,”

“It's a certainty,” Kittleson add-
ed, “that this punk’s been in the jug
before and very likely since. If
that’s true, we ought to be able to
identify him.” j

During the following months’ the
men brought little pieces of infor-
mation to the prosecutor.

“Leslie Stone says,” Kittleson re-
ported, “that this man’s forehead
was exactly even with the top bar
of the little window at his cashier’s
cage. I’ve experimented some and
according to that dope, the killer’s
approximately five six or seven. At
the most, five-feet-eight.”

Thus, little by little, more details
were put into place. He had a soft
voice. -His eyes were dark. Either
blue, brown or very dark grey. His
hair was light brown. The face was
narrow. Cheekbones were high. He
was skinny. Weight perhaps 140 or
150

Of course not every witness
agreed with every point of identifi-
cation. The officers had to average
it. But finally there was a com-
posite picture. :

“First of all,” Tollefson sug-
gested, “we ought to eliminate the
suspects who were picked up seven
years ago. Get busy and relocate
those men.”

That was easier said than done,
but neither Kittleson nor Crooks
hesitated. Two of them were once
again put through the grill. - But all
to no avail.

Crooks said, “This guy’
Jacobs comes nearest to. fit the de-
Scription, except that he’s far too
tall. More’n six feet, according to
the records.”

“Where is-he?” Tollefson asked.

No one knew. “I checked with the
Seattle Police Department,” Crooks
reported. “Jacobs was picked up in
Portland, Oregon, on a Mann Act
charge and sent to McNeil Island.
He’s so skinny and. tall, that Stone
could not have mistaken him.”

“How about Hursh?”

“He’s in the clear, too. I’ve re-

eos

eo ee
ya aes |
2 4
ae

we. bse
ae

oie 3

. " +
ay ee

ae Rees |

lusive bandit, center, awaiting Cashier Leslie Stone on steps
he verdict, flanked by officers. of bank where death trail began.

checked his allbl and there's no
loophole in it.”

That left the oMcers with only
one thing to do, All of them knew
it and all of them dreaded it. Fin-
ally Kittleaon growled, “Okay, let's
yel to work. It's the mugbook for

8 ”

llour after hour, day in and me
out, the deputies thumbed throug
the huge books in every neighbor-
Ing headquarters, They didn't only
look at the mugs. They had to read
every description,

Finally they had 15 possibilities.
“T’m bleary-eyed and never want to
see another mugbook,” Crooks grum-
bled. “And I’ll be madder’n a wet
hen, if all our suspects fizzle out.”

They did just that. When finally
each and every one had _ been
checked and rechecked, no one of
the suspects could possibly have
been at the scene of the hold-up.

“What's next?” Kittleson asked.

“T still think one of our first sus-
pects is the killer,” Thor. Tollefson
replied. “Let’s drive to Seattle and
talk to O. K. Bodia.” :

ODIA recalled the day of Jacobs’
arrest quite well. “Some one
tipped us off that Jacobs was a like-
ly suspect. I went on his trail and
discovered him in Kelso. When we
knocked on his door at three in the
morning he was in bed.”

“Did he make a fuss? Do any-
thing that might seem suspicious?”
Tollefson asked.

' “Not a thing. He came along will-
ingly and I had Leslie Stone look
him over. Stone said he was much

x

gel, we'll shoot back if you give us a
chance.”

McCormick glanced over the
group, "1 think you're nuts, but if
iv’il nelp, ’ll try it.”

‘Tolletaon anid, “Now watch, Keep
your eyes peeled. And | hope I’m
right.”

McCormick came in, Hin gun was
in his hand. He looked tough. His
body waa bent at the middle, Hia
legs were spread wide apart. Before
he could yell about this being a
= Tollefson jumped to his

eet.

“That's it!” he exclaimed. “That's
the solution!”

Kittleson nodded. “Sure. And we
should have thought of it long ago.
Marshall here got five or six inches
shorter when he crouched that way.
Jacobs was short too, when Stone
saw him.”

- “Right!” Crooks agreed. “Now
let’s find him.”

While Crooks and Kittleson were
busy on their end, Tollefson dug
_ Jacob’s past. It wasn’t pleas-
ant.

It started with bootlegging in
Cowlitz County in 1919. Two years
later, he was tried for hitting a man
rd heed cay! —_ a ge and
sentenced to the Monroe Reforma-
tory. Lucky for Jacobs, his victim
didn’t die until after he was sen-

' tenced, or the charge would have

too tall, but looked otherwise like -

the bandit.”

“What did you do with him?”

“We couldn’t hold him forever, so
we had to let him go.”

The three officers didn’t say much
on their way back to Tacoma. All
of them were wondering just where
the flaw was in their work.

“We’re falling down in some little
detail,” Prosecutor Tollefson said
when they were back in his office,
“and I think I’m beginning to see
some light.”

He called in his Criminal Deputy.
Marshall McCormick. “Marshall.”
he said, “for a moment you're ele-
vated to the position of hold-up
man. I want you to come in here
through that door and really give us
three the works. Put your heart
into it. .Make it realistic. Don’t for-

‘hunt for: Jacobs.

been murder.

Then in 1926 he was tried for the
murder of the city marshal of Yam,
a small community in Western
Washington. The jury hung, ten to
two, for conviction.. He was never
retried on that charge..

In 1935, shortly after the Orting
Bank hold-up and the murder of
Chadwick and Storem, he was tried
for and sentenced to McNeil Island
on a Mann Act violation.

Using every means at their dis-
posal, the two veteran officers,
Crooks and Kittleson, went on the
After his release
from McNeil Island, the suspect had
gone back to Kelso, but no one knew
of him now. Then through under-
ground channels, Kittleson heard
that their man might be found in
Seattle, 30 miles north of Tacoma.
Seattle isn’t exactly a small village
and finding their man looked like an
impossible task. But Lady Luck
smiled on the two officers. O. K.
Bodia ran up against Jacobs by ac-

(Continued on page 48)

Ruthless killer unwittingly

engineers perfect crime,

but it wears thin in seven

years as police resolve

fails to die, and shrinking

clue regains normal size


ithout it. The purse was one of
...ose big, folding leather gadgets.
Last time I saw it it was crammed
with papers.”

The sheriff’s party returned to
Marysville and McCoy telephoned
Tobiasson. “We found out one
thing,’ McCoy said. “Stuart’s
watch, a Hamilton ‘Railroader,’ is
missing. Looks like the killers took

“And we got a line on Stokes,”

cident. He was working at the Acme -
Meat Packing Company.

On order of Prosecutor Tollefson,
Bodia arrested him. Crooks and Kit-
tleson took their prisoner to Ta-
coma.

“We'll get every doggone witness
to pick him out of the line-up,” Kit-

tleson said. “That ought to con-

vince any jury.” :
But Tollefson shook his head.
“When I go into court with this

charge, I want to be sure. I don’t >

want to be told that the memory of
no man after seven years is reliable.
I want more evidence to tie this bird
to it, if he is our man. Or I want
to be sure that he isn’t.”

ACOBS laughed at .the officers

when they charged him wit! the
murders. “Swell chance you’ve got
to get me on this rap,” he jeered.
“T’ll get a mouthpiece that’ll make

“We want to look throug! okes’
things,” McCoy said.
The woman led them to an up-

stairs room and opened the door.

“I guess it’s all right,” she said

‘somewhat doubtfully.

With methodical care, McCoy and

his deputy searched the closet and

bureau drawers. They were almost
ready to give up when: Wilcoxen
thrust his hand under the clothes
in one of the drawers and pulled

side. He said we’d find a shovel
in the tool shed. It was his idea
that we dump Stuart down the mine
shaft.

“While I was looking for the
shovel, Stuart came to. Malcolm
had a gun, a .82 revolver. He put
the muzzle down by Stuart’s ear and
fired twice. Then he dragged the
body over and pushed it down the
shaft.

“The ground was frozen and we

* Ls

Fenley insisted. > Sald Stuart
had a lot of mo...,. He was out
of a job and wanted to make some
dough so he could get his wife
back.”

Franklin Stokes and Malcolm
Fenley both pleaded guilty to first
degree murder. On September 29,
1940, Judge Warren Steel of Yuba
County sentenced the youthful kill-
ers to spend the rest of their nat-

‘ural lives in San Quentin.

“ILL BET A BEER | DON’T

you look like bad little boys hunting
for glory.”

Witness after witness picked him
out of the line-up. Leslie Stone, when
shown how much shorter Jacobs
would look in a crouching position
admitted, “I’ve always thought he
was the bandit. But I didn’t want
to be the only one to send him up
for life. That responsibility was too
much for me. But now that others
identify him, I say without hesita-
tion that he is the hold-up man.”

Jacobs sneered. “You’re a dumb
cluck, Stone. You let these cops put
words in your mouth. Wait till my
lawyer gets you on the stand. He’ll
make you eat them.” ;

Tollefson had Jacobs formally in-
dicted. But he wasn’t satisfied with
his evidence. “I’ve got a hunch,” he
told Crooks, “and I’m going to fol-
low it.”

He went to Portland and inter-

(Continued from page 7)

viewed the officer who had arrested
Jacobs on the Mann. Act charge.
“That always struck me as a queer
deal,” the officer told Tollefson. “A

‘phone call came in saying that a

Roy Jacobs was in a tourist camp
with Mary Howe, whom he had
brought across the state line from
Washington.” ,

The officer dug up an old note
book. “Look, here’s my note on it:
‘I believe that the man who phoned
me, was the man whom I arrested,

Roy Jacobs.’ Now why would he do.

that?” .

Tollefson nodded. “I think I know
the answer. Jacobs figured it might
be a good idea for him to be out of
circulation until the Chadwick-
Storem murders died down. At
least, that’s how I figure it.”

When Tollefson got back to Ta-
coma, Kittleson brought a man into
his office. “This is interesting,

¢

HANG”

Thor,” he said to the prosecutor.

The man, who had been located in
Dallas, Oregon, said that he knew
Jacobs quite well in 1935. “In fact,”
he continued, “Roy propositioned
me several times to help him crack
the Orting Bank. But I knew it

couldn’t be done safely and I told

him so. I think he tried it by him- -
se ae -

That testimony was definitely to
the good, but Tollefson wanted
more. “I’d like a confession out of
Jacobs,” he told his investigators.

“How?” both Crooks and Kittle-
son asked. “Don’t forget, he’s an
old hand at this game. We can’t
<a him. And force, of course, is
ou "id a

“I think I know a way of doing
it,” Tollefson said, “We’ve got Roy
Potts, alias Jack Morgan, in the
tank. downstairs. We’re holding him
for his home state in the east.

a

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Throw him in
give him three

acquainted,

UNCENSORED DETECTIVE

or f

rest of my plan.”

‘The prosec
Was carried
| became friendly a

A about the

out. J.

ir own

criminal -world,

Shape or form.”
- Crooks asked, “

Tollefson

grinne

to Jacobs’ cell. We
ays to get
Then [’]] tell you the

uting att

our d

- “All crooks

are vain. It’s part of their distorted

we think he’s nothing
he might let

The plan

and Kittleson gave J acobs the works

The tall, lanky

angrier and
and

, Jacobs’ face

prisoner became
angrier,
his denials

He Snapped

like a
oolboy When
him go back

Was red with

anger and indignation,
6

€ cops,”
Over, pacing up

the narrow cell. “What do you think

When the
was brought
cutor smiled.

trying to pi

result
to Tolle
“Okay

n on me now?

of his Strategy

fson, the prose-
» boys,” he told

his men, “that’s what I wanted. I’m.
ready to go to trial. --There’s just

one more thing,” Tollefson added. -

“Bodia tells me that Jacobs was flat

Crooks
think I know how to

pulled any hold-
witnesses.

hey nodded. The day of the trial
Was set as October 21, 1942.

Jacobs passes me, [
move. I can’t hear the words very
distinctly, But I- know h

“Hell, I’ve got them licked,”

hall nobody speaks
hands of those 12

Wonder when we’]]

_, Suddenly there’s @ knock on the %

The marshal hur-
ora moment -
‘words. Then
the judge’s chamber.

Jury room door.
ries and unlocks
there are whispered
he rushes to j

?

The ‘slow process of the*law ‘goes
On as we all waj for the fatefy] :
words. Thdr #eison is a little

nervous. T

long record? “Deat or freedom!’
Tollefson had pleaded. Now, what
was it?

When the verdict was read, Ja-

“cobs snapped erect. He Swayed like

been remorselessly definite, “Guilty
of murder in the first degree, with-
out recommendation
Jacobs had lost his bet. we
Next Saturday Judge Card must
Pronounce the death Sentence,

(Editor’s Note: Arthur Burr, Treacher
Harnett and M, fictitious

HORROR

REIGN

{Continued from Page 27)


This reward circular showing

Relative position of the two cars when

plates of death car was sent officers were murdered. Police car is
out in effort to trap killer. at the right. Chadwick fell by wheel.

Pigeon

Bill Mahan, big time bank robber, who
was sought in connection with crime.
Cops picked him up on another charge.

follow and grabbing a rifle from a rack as he passed toward the
police car which was parked in the driveway beside the station.

Chief Morris Nelson, of Sumner, twin city of Puyallup, their

corporate limits touching, was the second officer called by
Stone. He was given the same information as Chadwick had
received. No patrolman being present Chief Stone started out
alone, .
So swift had been Stone’s action that when Chief Nelson
reached a point beyond the junction of the highway to Puyallup,
and about two miles from Sumner, he spotted the Puyallup
police car chasing a blue sedan half a mile ahead. Not more
than 100 yards separated the police and bandit car; Nelson
swung in behind them; on two wheels they turned into a side-
road,

The highway which the three cars now traversed was a wind-
ing one, through a rich and populous valley where tulip bulbs,
head lettuce and berries were produced in trainload quantities.
The road was bordered with shrubs, trees and holly-hedged
estates. Taking dangerous chances, Chief Chadwick was gain-
ing rapidly on the Buick,

The two cars disappeared around a bend ; Nelson stepped on
the gas; a few seconds later, breaks screaming, he ground to a
stop in the center of the pavement.

Nelson jumped from his car and had just time to fire one
futile shot from his police pistol at the fleeing blue sedan before
he turned toward a scene of carnage at the left edge of the
roadway,

PATROLMAN HARRY STOREM, alive, but bleeding

from many wounds and unconscious, was slumped down in
the seat on the right side of the car, Frank Chadwick, faintly
breathing, his hand still clutching an unfired rifle, lay stretched
on the concrete on the driver’s side of the automobile.

Chief Nelson, assisted by nearby residents, put both officers
in his car and sped to the Valley Hospital in Puyallup, Chief
Chadwick died on the way in; Storem, without regaining con-
sciousness, died in the hospital an hour later.

Sareea

K
AL: 22
nee EN

— aneeng

The bank teller
was tired of hav-
ing his till robbed
and got a gun for
Protection. It
didn’t stop thug.

with a good $5 bill on the top and bottom
with cut pieces of paper between. Thus
there was but one package of genuine
money—a total of $500—on the counter
when a few seconds before noon of July
15, 1935, a strange young man ap-
proached the window with what appeared
to be a check in his left hand. The
cashier, alert, noted that the right hand
was being carried rather suspiciously be-
hind the man’s back.

Leslie Stone was just at the point of
reaching for his rifle when a wicked
automatic was shoved through the win-
dow .and a sharp voice commanded,
“Hand it over !”

The cashier shoved the package of
good currency, which was in plain sight,
across the marble slab through the wicket:
window. :

“Open that drawer beneath the counter
where you keep the rest of the dough,” the bandit snarled.
“Don’t try to hold out on me.”

Already Stone had been struck by the resemblance of this
man to one of the desperadoes who had previously held him up.
It was now evident that this robber knew his way around the
bank. The cashier realized it was no use to lie; he handed out
the two dummy packages which had but $20 of real money in
them, :

“Back toward the vault,” he commanded and as Stone took
a few steps in the direction ordered, the hold-up man ran out
the front door.

y ‘ “

Chief of Police Chadwick
gave his life in effort to
catch the robber. Brother
officer was also murdered.

Leslie Stone, cashier, was
able to take a shot atter
the fleeing car, He saved
money for the depositors.

Leslie Stone went into action. An auto-
mobile which had been standing at the curb
with motor running was just turning the
corner of the bank when he blazed away at
it through a window with his 30,30 rifle.
At the next corner the bandit car swung to
the left and raced for three blocks through
the residential section of the town until it
again swung onto the main highway and
roared away toward the valley towns of
Puyallup and Sumner, eight miles from
Orting.

"Stone dropped his rifle and reached for
the telephone. He knew the desperado
would have to come out down the valley
somewhere and he realized he had time to
notify the police in many of the small cities along the route be-
fore the robber could reach a cross-state highway.

The first officer whom Stone reached was his friend and
lodge-brother, Chief of Police Frank Chadwick, of Puyallup,

“He’s headed for the junction, Frank,” said Stone. “You
should be able to head him off. Driving an old blue Buick
sedan with King county plates, numerals unknown. Tall, wear-
ing a cap, blue denim overalls with a blue shirt open at the
neck. Armed with an automatic pistol.”

“O. K., Les,” snapped Chadwick as he hung up the receiver
and turned to Patrolman Harry Storem, motioning for him to

41


a

He went to death
eight years after
he took the lives
of two policemen.

As the Killer looked at the As the killer looked at the
time he was brought to trial. time he committed the crime.

1

(US, PENITENTIARY

11876-M

12-4 35

nenged Washington State Prison (Pierce Co.)
’ 17 Ge be ty

OBBING the State Bank of Orting, in the state of Wash-

R ington, was seemingly becoming a habit. Held up first

in August, 1931, it was attacked a second time while a

part of the force was again out for lunch on September 14, 1934
with a loss of $1,920, ,

Leslie Stone, young cashier of the institution, tired of looking
into the muzzles of bandits’ guns, had made up his mind that if
another ever tried to take his money he would be prepared for
him,

Stone had bought a fine 30.30 caliber rifle and during the
noon hour when he was in the bank alone he kept it right at
hand. He had also Prepared two dummy rolls of currency, each

’


Patrolman Jack Crooks worked
on the case and refused to
give up after many failures.

Neither man had ever had a chance.
Storem had been hit in the right wrist,
the chest and the eye. Chadwick had
been shot through the neck and one bul-
let had smashed into the badge which he
had proudly worn over his -heart for
fourteen years.

By the time Storem had breathed his
last, the Puyallup Valley was alive with
police officers summoned by Sheriff John
Bjorklund of Pierce county, Tacoma,
and Sheriff William Severynns of King
county, Seattle (the valley connects the
two cities). They were augmented by
uniformed members of the Washington
State Patrol, ordered into action by
Chief William Cole. Nearly every officer
who now heard the sad and terrifying ©
news of the murder of two of their com-
rades had known and loved them. It was
a grim-faced posse which now began the
search for the killer.

There were eye-witnesses to the double’
tragedy and from them it was possible
to learn something of what had happened,
What they told left no doubt that the bandit was not only a
cold-blooded murderer, but also an unusual marksman.

Chadwick and Storem had brought their ‘car to a halt across
the pavement and slightly in advance of the fleeing blue Buick
which had stopped suddenly after rounding the bend in the road;
the officers had been so close behind that they could not stop
sooner than they did. ‘

“It looked to me like the gunman started across the road
with his hands up,” said John Urdea who had come to the house
for lunch and was in a driveway not more than 50 yards from
the tragedy at the time of the shooting; he could see both cars
and the bandit quite clearly. :

“Suddenly he fired*three quick shots and then two more. He

Cops wanted Two-Gun Mulhern
who was believed near by at
the time of the bank robbery.

Shirley Maitland saw the man
trun from the bank. It was her
tip which lead to the killer.

of the original investigators
who was a friend of dead men.

ran back, jumped into the Buick and

high-tailed it down the highway. The

whole action didn’t take more than 20

seconds.” :

Chief Criminal Deputy O. K. Bodia,
of King county, and Chief Criminal
Deputy Jimmy Malone, of Pierce county,
joined hands in an all-out effort to catch
the killer before he escaped from the
immediate vicinity, As the two men
listened to the story told by John. Urdea
they arrived at the same significant con-
clusion.

“Urdea’s story explains why neither
Chadwick nor Storem got in a shot,
Bodia,” said Malone, “They would have
covered the man except for one reason,
even if he was apparently surrendering.”

“They knew him and they thought
some mistake had been made,” said
Bodia. “They didn’t think he was a man
who would hold up a bank.”

“My idea exactly,” replied Malone.

“Then while the posses are working

, through the valley we better find out
what ex-con there is around Puyallup whom Chadwick knew
well but couldn’t conceive of as a bank robber,” suggested Bodia.

“Glenn Barton can tell us about that,” suggested Malone. ©

The man to whom Malone referred was also working in
Sheriff Bjorklund’s office at this time. He was another veteran
officer and a walking fount of information insofar as convicts
sent up from Western Washington were concerned. The two
men now sought him out.

“There are two men on parole here in the valley whom I think
should be made to account for their presence at the time of the
robbery and the murders,” said Barton. “These are Bud Gibbs
and Lynn Lane. I think either of them capable of this job and
Chadwick knew them both. He was [Continued on page 58]

43

Deputy Sheriff Bodia was one


charged. He sneered at the charge and
told newsmen, “I know a little law my-
self. They haven’t got a thing on me. Not
a thing.”

However, Logan hadn’t been told about

those four bones the sheriff had found.
He grinned in derision as the preliminary
evidence was brought out, telling how he
had won Mrs. Janson’s confidence, got
her to come as his housekeeper, then
promised her marriage.
.. But his confidence seemed to fade vis-
ibly. when medical experts identified on
the stand the four bones found in the fire
as part of a human body. His grin fur-
ther diminished when firearms experts
attested that the three empty cartridges
found in the ashes had been fired by his
German naval revolver.

H's UGLY FACE darkened when Mar-
garet Ahern took the stand and iden-
tified the brooch as a prized possession
of Agnes Janson. Prosecutor Kirkpatrick
then painted a vivid picture, telling how
Logan must have slain the woman, built
the fire, put her body into it, then stoked
the flames for many hours until he was
certain nothing remained.
Logan was obviously ‘staggered. He
leaned over and whispered to his attorney,

. Henry Martin. Martin thereupon imme-

diately asked for an adjournment, saying
his client was ill.

alone, that he (or she) had ridden for
one and a quarter miles, and that the

fare had been 55 cents. The tape further

revealed that Prickett had driven another
half mile after turning off the meter,
which he would have done upon dis-
charging his Passenger.

LEUTENANT. McMAHON gathered his

aides around a map of the city that he
had posted on the wall of his office. Using
the Rush Street cab stand as a center, he
drew a circle with a radius equal to one
and a quarter miles.

“According to the meter tape,” he said,
“the ride ended at some point near the
circumference of this circle. Just where
is what we have to determine.”

McMahon’s men didn’t look impressed,
“What you’ve shown us is interesting, but
I don’t see that it helps us much,” said
one of them, “There are at least 30 streets
cutting into that circle. Streets jammed
with apartment houses, some with hotels.
vHow are we going to narrow it down to
one street, one address?”

“Tl show you,” McMahon said. “We also
know that Prickett drove half a mile after
leaving his passenger. And of course we
know where he collapsed and died.”

The lieutenant drew another circle, its
center the point at which Prickett was
found. Its radius was equal to a distance
of half a mile, and its circumference in-
tersected the curve of the larger circle
at two points.

“These two points are what we're
interested in, “McMahon went on. “These

That night Logan’s attorney summoned
two medical men to his client’s cell, Dr,

' L. B, Harvey of Colville and Dr. M. F.

Setters of Spokane.

“There is something wrong with my
brain,” Logan told them. “I am not a sane
man. I will tell you about it.”

He recounted to them a rambling story
of his life, trying to bring out evidence
of derangement. He had an obsession that
he was being pursued and persecuted, he
said. He described some 20 murders he
had committed in Germany, South Africa
and America, claiming he did so in a help-
less frenzy. Neither of the physicians
could detect any signs of insanity, and
they told him so flatly, refusing to testify
for him. Thereupon Logan cursed them
roundly and shrieked, “I am insane, I tell
you—insane!” ; ,

In court the next day, he apparently
decided to follow the insanity plea de-
spite the absence of expert evidence in
his favor. Several witnesses were called,
among them Ed Lewis, who testified to
his erratic behavior and their belief that
he was not normal. Then James Logan
got up and made a wild speech.

"I killed Agnes,” he shouted. “I shot
her and threw her into the fire. Some-
thing told me to do it and I could not stop
myself.” ‘ ;

“Sit down,” Judge Carey ordered him
sternly, “and continue.”

RING AROUND A MURDER

(Continued from page 35)

locations are the only two in the éntire
city that fit the bill. They each are a
mile and a fourth from the cab stand
and half a mile from the death spot.”

His aides nodded. “Now it adds up,”
said one of them. “At or near one of those
two - locations, Prickett was shot. The
next move would be to canvass both
areas.”

The two areas were run-down districts
with high rates of petty crime. The resi-
dents, law-abiding or otherwise, were
rarely cooperative with police, so in-
quiries had to be made quietly and with
tact.

While this angle was being investigated,
McMahon and his aides were trying to
probe other possibilities. One of them was
that Prickett had been shot by a jealous
woman rather than a heist artist,

Fellow cabbies didn’t think much of
the theory,

“No, he was a clean-living family man,”
they said. “He left the dames alone. Why,
he was such a straight guy that he didn’t
even like to listen to off-color jokes.”

Prickett’s wife gave further evidence of
his quiet habits. “Roy was a steady man,”
she told detectives. “He didn’t drink or
gamble. Three months ago he had a seri-
ous stomach operation, and the doctor and
hospital bills were so high that we're
still paying them off. Roy had been put-
ting in extra time trying to catch us up.”

She was asked if her husband had had
trouble with anyone recently, if perhaps
he’d been threatened by anyone. The
woman’s answer was no. She said Roy

. cab holdups.
. months ‘a man-and-woman team had stuck

~

Logan sat down. “I killed James Lo-
gan,” he went on. “I hid the body in a

, culvert so.good it was never found. I

killed Dave Shively too. I took him to
Spokane and gave him a glass of whiskey
in a hotel room. There ‘was poison in the
whiskey. Then I put his body in a trunk
and shipped it back to the ranch. Maybe
the bones are still buried in the hill where
I left them unless the coyotes got them.

“My real name is Frederick Jahns, and
T have killed many other people. In South
Africa I murdered eight men andgtook
their diamonds. In Canada I killed a man
named Bush, and even the Mounties
couldn’t catch me. I killed others I don’t
even remember their names. I did all
this because I was out of my mind—
couldn’t stop myself.”

It was a pretty good spéech, and the
jury seemed interested. But in the end

they decided that James Logan, or Ro-. ~

mandorff, or Jahns, always seemed to kill
for. a very good reason—profit. They
found -him guilty and he was sentenced
to hang. ;

Logan swung from the gallows on April
21, 1911, Hundreds came to see the event
with anything but sorrow. One of the
Northwest’s most evil men’ paid the -pen-
alty for one of his many crimes, and the
law had to admit its ignorance of how
many other dozens or hundreds he had
committed,

always made it a point to. mind his own

business. In answer to another question,
she said she had last seen him at 1] p.m. ©

the previous night, when he’d come home
for supper. ° x

. “He had to be careful of what he ate
because of his physical condition,” she
said. “That’s why he came home instead

of going to restaurants. After the meal

last night, he took’ our dog for a walk,
kissed me goodbye and left.”

Another phase of the investigation, in -

progress.almost from the start, was a
check of reports filed in connection with
During the previous two

up at least 20 taxis, and it was possible
this team was responsible for Prickett’s
death, ‘ ‘

Patrolmen Frank Blust and Kenneth
Johnson~checked the reports but were
unable to come up with descriptions of the
criminals,

“They’re careful, that. pair,” Patrolman
Blust reported to Sergeant Samuel Spinelli.
“They risk no chance of being seen. They
always walk up to the taxis from behind
and hop inside before the drivers can
turn around. They warn them to keep
their eyes straight ahead. So we have no
descriptions of them.”

The pair did not restrict their opera-
tions to one or two areas, but hopped all
over the city, and frequently. changed the
way in which they worked.

“First, both rode in the cabs to lonely
spots and pulled the robberies,” Blust
said. “Then, after word got around about

oeeteentieneneninemesnon:


>= ——

your wife and boy,” Cody said. “What
have you got to say for yourself?”

Azel began to cry, holding a handker-
chief up to his eyes. “Yes, I did it,” he

_ sobbed. .

The house was searched, the officers
finding two suitcases belonging to Gal-
braith. One of them contained a .32 re-
volver—the death weapon, Azel confessed
—and two lead slugs. He had picked them
up from the floor after the killings.

At headquarters he made a complete
confession. “I don’t really know why I
killed Jennie,” he said. “She was a won-
derful wife to me. But she was getting
suspicious of my frequent trips to Den-

» ver. I was crazy about Lottie, all right,

but that wasn’t why I did it. I had spent
and gambled away all my money . . . and
a lot that didn’t belong to me.-Mr. Rich-
ardson had learned I had held out some of
the boys’ salaries at the mine and spent
that, too, and I just couldn’t stand for
Jennie to find out what a fool I had been.
I just couldn’t stand the disgrace.
“It was March 10. Jennie and I were still
in bed, and my boy had gotten up and
gone out to play. I had the 32 Colt under
the pillow, and when Jennie turned her
head away I drew it out and shot her be-
hind the right ear. Shé died instantly.

“I pulled the covers over her head,” he
went on in a shaky voice, “and got up and
called Donald. I told him to come and lie
down with us, that I wanted to talk to him.
I said his mother was still asleep. After a
few minutes I pointed to a bird outside the
window., When he turned to look at it, I
shot him too. He also died without a quiv-
er. Then I got up and started to drink.

“I killed them because I had been
brooding over money for weeks and I

° \

That was a big relief to Graham. For
Davenport was the seat of Lincoln Coun-
ty, west of Spokane and almost straight
south of Cedonia. ne

It appeared that Logan, instead of high-
tailing it out of the country, was instead
going around in a large circle. Whether
he did it because he wanted to throw off
possible pursuit, or whether he had some
business in Davenport, Graham didn't
know, but he meant to find out. .

However, he discovered that the next
train for Davenport did not leave for five
hours. Rather than cooling his heels and
reading magazines; he put the time to ‘good
use by going on into Spokane. There he
looked up Mrs. Margaret Ahern, named
as Agnes Janson’s sole friend in the area.
He found Mrs. Ahern to be a pretty bru-
nette housewife. ©

“Of course I know Agnes,” she said.
“She came to this country from Germany
only a year and a half ago, and stopped
to visit with me last summer.”

“Do you know if she was acquainted

. with a man named James Logan?” the

sheriff asked. 2

; “Oh, yes. She met Logan on the train
J’and they became friendly. He — could
speak German, and Agnes liked that be-
.cause she had trouble with English. I

wins alow eeSam. in bait

thought they’d be better off dead. No one
helped me and no one else knew anything
about it.”

Asked why his wife had phoned the
Central City hardware dealer about the
gun and why she had sounded worried
over the phone, Galbraith said she was
anxious to have the weapon for her pro-
tection. “With me away so much, she
thought she’d feel safer if she had a gun.
So I ordered a light pistol for her, that .32
you found in my bag.” ;

Galbraith collapsed when he had fin-
ished. He was put to bed at the city jail.

Lort RUSSELL then was questioned.
She knew nothing about the murders,

she said, and the officers believed her. She
admitted that she and Galbraith had been
lovers for more than a year, that she had ~
made a trip with him East when he had to
take care of some business for Mr. Rich-
ardson. «

Lottie Russell said she knew Azel was
married, but he’d given her to undergtand
that he was unhappy with his wife. Lottie
“believed him to be wealthy and had no
idea he had stolen any of the money he
had spent on her. It was not until recently
that she had got a glimmer of the truth—
Azel admitted to her, she said, that he’d
forged several checks and was unable to
make good on them.

The unhappy young woman was held as
a material witness. :

When Galbraith was brought to Central
City by train, there was a large and angry
group of miners and townspeople waiting
for him. Many of the men had spent the
morning in saloons and were in a mood
for a necktie party.

“Stand by me, sheriff,” Azel pleaded.

THE PERPETUAL SNEER

(Continued from page 45)

must say I didn’t like the man, he was so
—well, so ugly-looking. But he called on
her here several times, and seemed ver
attentive to her.” :

Agnes Janson’s husband had died in
Germany, Mrs. Ahern explained, and had
left her considerable’ money. Some time
after his death, the widow had left the
old country and come to America. In
Spokane, Logan had taken her to. the
theater, to dances, to a beer garden.

“About seven weeks ago, on September
3,” the housewife went on, “Agnes told
me she was leaving me. I asked her
where she was going and she seenied
somewhat embarrassed. But finally she
said she was going out to keep house for
Logan. She admitted that if they got
along, she intended to marry him.”

Sheriff Graham brought out the brooch
with the image of the Saviour and showed
it to her. “Have you ever seen this be-
fore?”

“Of course I have!” she exclaimed. “It’s
Agnes’. She was very proud of it. It was
a gift from her late husband.”

“I am sorry, but I’m afraid your friend
Agnes is dead,” Graham said; “What’s’

» more, I feel sure Logan murdered her.

It’s my opinion he’s a thoroughgoing ras-
cal, that he learned about her money and

“You won't let them get me, will you?”

“No, they won’t get you,” Cody said
firmly. “I’m going to see to it that you live
to stand trial. If you swing at the end of a
rope, it'll be legal.”

Cody and his deputies hustled Galbraith
to the county jail in Central City. That
night the mob, now greatly increased in
size, clamored for Galbraith. Finally Sher-
iff Cody, wearing a single six-gun, slowly
walked out to meet them. He was one
against five hundred.

“Go home, boys,” he said, “unless you
want another sheriff in Gilpin County. I
don’t want to hurt anybody, but I swear
Pll kill six of you before any of you get
through this door.”

One of the mob shouted: “Let u8 at him.
Azel Galbraith deserves to swing. Are you
standing up for a murderer, Cody? You're
no better than he is if you do that.”

The. crowd began to surge slowly for-
ward.

“The Law will handle this job,’ Cody
said. “The Law is bigger than me, bigger
than any mob. Hell, boys, you are the Law.
You ‘can’t do this to yourselves.”

The words seemed to sink home. There
were mutterings and shouts, but slowly
the crowd grew quiet. Then, by twos and
threes, the men began to disperse. Sheriff
Cody had won.

Azel Galbraith lived to stand trial, as

Cody had promised. The legal proceedings
took only a day and a half. The jury found
Azel guilty of murder and the judge sen-
tenced him to death. On March 6, 1905, he
was hanged at the state prison at Canon
City. .

Epitor’s Note: The name Al Olson, as
used in this narrative, is fictitious.

that he resolved to get his hands on it.”

MES. AHERN shed a few tears at that,
but she could throw no light on Lo-
gan’s background. The man had_talked
very little about that, although he had
spoken rather grandly about having large
holdings in real estate and other proper-
ty. Agnes Janson was a somewhat naive
and trusting soul, and Mrs. Ahern had
strongly advised her to make sure about
Logan before taking the final step of
marrying him. Agnes said she was de-
termined to do.this and that working as
housekeeper for Logan would give her an
excellent opportunity to satisfy herself on
that score. But after leaving Spokane on
September 3 to join Logan at the ranch,
she had not written to Mrs. Ahern. It
seemed all too apparent that she had
come under the influence of the sinister
Logan and had become putty in his hands.
“Where did Agnes Janson have her
money?” Graham inquired.
“Most of it was deposited in the Nor-
den Bank of Berlin,” the housewife re-

plied. “She showed me her passbook. -

She had 18,000 marks there, and had ar-

‘ranged to have it forwarded here on her
’ order.”

s

+ The sheriff thanked her and went on

\


, as

Sanne On ee ee

mee:

his way after asking her to be ready to
testify in case of need. He had a strong
hunch that Logan’s first step would be to
try to get possession of that 18,000 marks,
He would know better than to make this
effort in Colville, where he was known,
Possibly that was why he had gone to
Davenport, where he might succeed in
passing himself off in some fictitious iden-
tity.

‘ Graham headed for the nearest tele.

phone and called the State Bank of Dav-
enport, the only financial institution in the
town. He was connected with the cashier.

“Has a mean-looking fellow. been in
there,” he inquired, “asking to have money
forwarded from a bank in Berlin?”

“Why, yes,” the cashier replied, sur-
prise in his voice. “He was in here just
yesterday. His name is George Janson
and he speaks with a German accent.”

“Did you give him the money?”

“Not yet. There are some technicalities
involved. We told him we would have
to discuss it with the bank president, and
also clear it with the Norden Bank of
Berlin, which might take a couple of days.
Janson was plenty mad—did some tall
cussing—but he said he’d wait in town.”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Graham
snapped. “That fellow. who gives his
name as Janson is wanted for murder
and several other crimes. Don’t under
any circumstances let him have the mon-
ey: Get hold of your sheriff right away
and have him locate Janson wherever he
is and put him in a good strong cell.

The startled cashier agreed. Graham
hung up and hurried to Hillyard, where
he caught the next train to Davenport an
hour later. When he’ reached the Lin-
coln County seat, he made it on the dou-
ble to the local sheriff's office. .

“We got your man,” the sheriff told him.
“Found him at the Davenport Hotel. Was
he mad when we pinched him!” :

Graliam went. to the prisoner’s cell. He
found Logan seated there, sourly whit-
tling on a stick.

“You led me a merry chase, Logan,”
Graham. observed. “Right now we'll get
rid of your claim to be George Janson. I
know who you are.”

LOGAN, WHO WAS chewing a wad of

tobacco, glanced at the officer bale-
fully, then spat on the floor. “Maybe you
will explain why I have been arrested,”
he growled, making no comment about
his fictitious name. He spoke with a noe
ticeable German accent.

“For murder. The murder of Agnes
Janson.”

“Ha!” Logan sneered. “Fairy _ stories
you are telling. Agnes is alive and well.”
“She’s alive and well, eh? Where?”

' “That I cannot say. If she chose to run
away from me, I cannot help it.”

“That won’t do, Logan. You drove away
from the ranch with her, telling her you
would marry her. She disappeared most
mysteriously, and the next thing we find
you running off alone and trying to get
hold of her money. Maybe you don’t
know it, man, but you’ve got some tall
explaining to do.” :

Logan shrugged. Never had Graham
encountered a man who struck him with
such an overpowering impression of evil.

“It is easy to explain,” he replied, ap-

WHO KILLED THE HEIRESS?

AUGHTER of a .
wealthy Phila-
delphian, Mrs.
‘Anne Van Ryne
was seen “around
town” in Carson
City, Nev., with
. William Boswell; a
bartender. When
Mrs. Van Ryne was
found strangled in
Boswell’s former

apartment, and the :

bartender was

gan for him.
Boswell was \
_picked up a few Hii
- days later at his iy
wife’s home in Mid- een
dlebury, Vt. Mean-
while, Mrs. Van
Ryne’s husband
was serving a term
in California on a
bad check charge.

¥

Pretty’ Mrs. Van Ryne, only 22 when murdered.

Vermont troopers take. William Boswell in for questioning.
i ease ES Pee ia an. Mae

missing, search be- ier


parently very sure of his ground. “It is
true that Agnes and I planned to be mar-
ried in Spokane. Before we left the
ranch, I deeded to her two of the houses
I own in Chicago. In return, she turned
over her German bank account to me.

“As we headed for Blue Creek Station
in the wagon, one of my horses got sick
and couldn’t go.on. I didn’t want Agnes to
stay there with me in the cold while I
worked on the horse. A man came along
in a;buggy and agreed to take her on to
Blue Creek. I agreed to meet Agnes in
Spokane, where we would be married.
Well, when I finally got.to Spokane, she
did not meet me.”

“Tll bet she didn’t,” the sheriff agreed.
“She was burned to fine ash by that time.
But go on with your story.”

Logan disregarded the -barb. “I waited
for her in the Spokane station where we
had agreed to meet,” he went on. “When
she did not show up, I thought I knew thie
reason. She had decided not to ‘marry
me after all, but to take the property I
deeded to her. Naturally I wanted to get
her bank account in return, which was
due me.

“So now,” he finished, grinning wolfish-
ly, “Agnes has run off somewhere, I can-
not get the money: that is rightly mine,
and you have put me in jail.”

“Tommyrot!” Graham exploded. “Lo-
gan, you didn’t even go to Spokane. You

-changed trains at Hillyard and went on

here to Davenport. Agnes couldn’t meet
you for a very good reason. You shot her
and burned her body up there at Herge-
sheimer’s place. I’m taking you to Col-
ville, and the charge is murder!”
Logan shrugged. He smiled a ecokced
smile. “Have you got her body, sheriff?”
“We'll get it,” Graham snapped.
a: is my understanding,” the man went
, “that it is necessary to have a body
in Sa to prove a charge of murder.”
The scoundrel actually seemed to be
enjoying himself, and despite his bold
front the sheriff knew he was on uncertain
ground. So far he didn’t have any rem-
nants of a body, although he was as sure
that Logan had, murdered Agnes Janson
as that he was sitting there in his cell. He

- ‘left the prisoner and turned to an exam-

ination of his luggage—a traveling bag,
two trunks and a wicker basket contain-
ing an assortment of feminine articles.

It WAS APPARENT that Logan had’

made off with Agnes’ belongings. In
the basket was also a huge German naval
pistol, undoubtedly the one that had im-
pressed young Cline. But it was in one
of the trunks that Graham unearthed a
mass of puzzling evidence.

The trunk clearly belonged to Logan.
It contained a jumble of assorted articles
mortgages, deeds, fake notary seals, rub-
ber stamps of banking firms, many differ-
ent types and colors of ink, a supply of
ink eradicator, and a man’s money purse
bearing the name “F. E. Romandorff.”
Much of this equipment indicated that
Logan had carried on a large business in
forging and altering deeds and other aol

» papers.

«There was a small diary Sbheisice a

-long list of property owned by Logan in

many parts of the United States. In the

‘diary was also a notation that “there will

arrive from the Norden Bank of Berlin
a draft to pay $1,150 in notes at the Old
National Bank in Spokane.”

The trunk further contained a _ will
which decreed that all the property listed
as owned by Logan was to be inherited
by one James Hilton. The sheriff also
found many personal letters addressed by

‘relatives to the missing David Shively.

Even more puzzling was a deed transfer-
ring the ownership of Shively’s valuable
ranch to the same James Hilton.

Graham was now convinced that Logan
had followed a long practice of engineer-
ing crooked land and property deals. He
was furthermore persuaded that Logan
had murdered David Shively and taken
over his property. But who was_this
mysterious James Hilton? Whoever he
was, it was apparent that Hilton was to
take over Logan’s property when Logan
pulled his disappearing act, and was to be
trusted to handle his affairs.

Taking the prisoner to Colville, the

sheriff locked him in a cell. Then he

rode out to Logan’s ranch to search the
place for possible evidence and to ques-

’ tion Ed Lewis and Jack Tish at greater

length. The search turned up nothing of ,

‘ importance, and Tish said he knew noth-

ing whatever of Logan’s background, hav-
ing worked there only a few weeks. But
Lewis had something startling to say when
Graham questioned him about the elusive
James Hilton.

“‘!'m James Hilton,” he paid. “That's
my real monicker. I changed my name
to Ed Lewis because I got into a little
trouble in Montana a few years back.”

“But why would Logan make you his
heir?” Graham demanded.

“That’s something I can't savvy,” Lewis‘
claimed. “He never said anything about
it to me. Another thing I don’t under-
stand is this deed saying I bought the
ranch from David Shively. I never bought
any ranch—never even heard of Shively _
until now.”

The machinations of James Logan were
indeed obscure and complicated. Graham
was sure the man had engineered one big
fraud after another, but the details were
foggy. The problem became even more
formidable when Prosecutor Kirkpatrick
conferred with the sheriff.

“T’ve charged Logan with first degree
murder,” Kirkpatrick said. “That'll ‘hold
him for a while, but we can’t keep him
forever without a corpus delicti.”

“And how much do we need for a cor-
pus delicti?” Graham asked.

“Enough to convince the jury, that there
is a body, and that murder has been com-
mitted. Maybe only a bone or two would
be enough in this case.”

The sheriff shook his head forlornly:
“We already looked through most of that
fire, and all/we found was ashes and the
remains of clothing. But we'll look
again.”

NEXT DAY he received a visit from

Sheriff Andy Williams and Deputy
Tom DeHaven, just arrived from Bell-
ingham, Wash:

“We saw pictures in the paper of the
prisoner ‘you have,” Williams said. “We
got a shunch about him. Like to look him
over.”

cell, then returned to the office. “It’s as
we thought,” Williams. nodded. “Your
prisoner isn’t James Logan. He’s Frank
Romandorff.”

Graham remembered the purse with
the name of Romandorff on it. “Let's
have the story,” he suggested.

“Well, back in November, 1906, both
Logan and Romandorff lived in Belling-
ham. They went out together one day,
and neither of them ever returned. We
hunted high and low for ’em. All we
found was “Logan’s horse, shot through
the head in the Nooksack Valley. We
didn’t know whether one of the men killed
the other, or whether both of them were
dead. We been looking for them ever
since. Now I think I know the answer.
Romandorff must have murdered Logan,
then took Logan’s name.”

“I can fill you in on that,” Graham said.
“In this fellow’s trunk we ‘found a record

, of the sale of James Logan’s property in

your county to a man named Frank O.
Rankin. Then Rankin sold it to George
Hawn.”

“Hawn is the man who owns it now!”
Williams exclaimed. “I think I get it.
This Romandorff fellow kills people, then
takes over their property and sells it.
Romandorft and Rankin’ are one and the
same.”

That made three apparent victims of
the surly prisoner—Logan, Shively and
Agnes Janson. Yet not in any of the cases

“was there a corpus delicti—proof of

murder.

Taking with him a deputy and several
volunteer aides, Sheriff Graham next day
made the trek up to the Hergesheimer _
place. They spent the remainder of that '
day sifting the ashes of the fire and wash-
ing them through a sieve. They camped
overnight and continued their work the
following day.

When they returned to Colville, Graham
was carrying a cigar box. In it were four
charred pieces of bone salvaged from the
fire—one small unidentifiable bone, two
pieces of skull-and a fragment of verte-
bra. He showed his trophies to Kirk-
patrick,

“That. should do it!” the prosecutor ex-
claimed. “Especially when: they are con-
nected with the belt buckle, hat frame

“and the brooch belonging to.Mrs. Janson.”

Two surgeons examined the bone frag-
ments and said they were unquestionably
from a human body. .

Kirkpatrick and Graham questioned the,
prisoner repeatedly during the following
days, but made no headway with him.
Romandorff, alias Logan, stuck to his story
that Agnes Janson had “run away” from
him. He insisted that he had bought
David Shively’s ranch from him, and had
no idea of what happened to Shively after
that.

“It is not my business to keep track of
these people for you,” he smirked. As for
the disappearance of the man in Belling-
ham, he refused to say anything at all,
nor would he explain his motives in will-
ing his property to James Hilton.

When he went:on trial for the murder
of Mrs. Janson early in January, 1910, in
the courtroom of Judge D. E. Carey in
Colville, the accused man was officially
known as James Logan, for it-was under

They took a good look at Logan in his , this name that he had been arrested and

f

cutting
with a;
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sheriff.
The sheriff in turn made a routine
report on the gun that went to the
police department and Sexsmith saw it.
His mind was still occupied with the
robbery and murder and he said, “One
of the bank bandits had a sawed-off
shotgun. I think this is worth a check.”
The first step

A return wire told them that it had
been delivered to the Sears-Roebuck
store in Spokane.

S=<SMITH and McCarry went to the
store and talked with the manager.
They asked him about the gun and
whether there was a record of the per-
son to whom it was sold. ;
The manager said, “That gun was
not sold. It was stolen. It was not
sawed off here, either. That must have
been done by the person who stole it.”
“How long ago was it stolen?”
“About two weeks ago. We hesitated
making a report on it because—well,
here is the whole story. At the time
the gun was stolen, two sports jackets
disappeared. It seemed impossible that
anyone could have walked out of the
store with the gun and the jackets. And
at the same time if the store had been
burglarized, we felt that more mer-
chandise would have been taken.”
“Just what did you figure happen-
ed?”

“To be frank with you, we suspected
that maybe one of our employes took
the things. We have our store detective
working on that angle.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“NO. WE'VE gone over the various

employes in our minds and there
is no one we could point to with sus-
Picion.”

McCarry said to Sexsmith, “You
don’t suppose that the bank bandits
could be working right here in the
store?”

“Stranger things have happened,”
Sexsmith said. He asked the manager,
“Do you have an attendance record of
your employes? I'd like to see if any
of them were off on the morning of
February fifteenth.”

“Our timekeeping department would
have that.”

“Wait a minute,” Sexsmith said sud-
denly, recalling something. He looked
up the manager again.

“You said that two sports jackets

jackets in the store we could see?”

“We have a number of them. I'll
show you the exact model that was
taken.”

He led them to the department and
pointed out the jackets.

Sexsmith looked for several moments
and then let out a low whistle.

“What is it?” McCarry asked.

“Right now,” Sexsmith said, “we're
a re! to get somewhere.”

“Huh?”

“Remember Mackling and his Ford
coupe?” _ ‘
“The one the woman spotted but was

mistaken about the license number?”

“She wasn’t mistaken.”

“Stop talking in riddles. What's the
answer?”

“I went up to the house and a kid
came to the door, a relative of Mack-
ling. He was wearing a sports jacket
exactly like this one. It’s just too
much of a coincidence that the coat
should be the same, the shotgun should
be stolen and the woman spotted the
license number. I think we are on the
trail now.” .

“But Mackling had an alibi.”

“The kid didn’t. We didn’t even
question him. The kid might have
sneaked the car out without anyone
knowing anything about it. I’m for
hauling the kid in right now.”

The two detectives sped out to the
Mackling home. No one was there.
They went to the trucking concern that
employed Mackling and located him.

“I want to talk to your nephew,”
Sexsmith told him.

“You mean Stanley Knapp? He left
about three days ago.”

“Where did he go?”

Sexsmith asked, “Did any of the
boys lisp or talk rather thickly when
he was excited?”

“That sounds like Herbert Allen. The
boys used to kid him about lisping and
when they did, it only made him
worse.”

41 CYNE of the bank bandits lisped that
way,” Sexsmith said.

Mackling thought for a moment. He
said, “I hate to believe that the boys
could be the bandits or could have
killed that man. But they’ve been in
trouble before. When they are to-
gether, they get in trouble. I'll be glad
to help you locate them and either

Police examined ci the

of the third of Rags 5 3 Saha’
five victims, Hugh Price—but
found nothing to aid them in their
search for the killer, which is de-
scribed in the story on Page 12

prove them to be innocent or guilty.”
“Stanley lived with you?”
“Yes. He had a room in the base-
ment.”
Blawnss we go out and search the

“Here's the key to the house. You
are free to go through it.”

McCarry and Sexsmith went out to
Mackling’s house. They searched the
room in which Stanley Knapp had
lived. Hidden in the bottom of a trunk,
they found three guns. One was a 32
caliber automatic.

Sexsmith said, “Walker was killed
with a thirty-two. Ballistics has the
bullet that was taken from his body.”

“Holy smoke, you don’t think this
could be the gun?”

YNA/ ELL find out in a short time.”
The detectives returmed to

Headquarters with the guns and gave

the .32 to the ballistics department.

Several hours later, the ballistics de-
partment brought in two greatly en-
larged photographs of bullets. One
was of the bullet found in Walker’s
body, the other of a test shot fired from
the gun.

“Notice the marks made in each slug
by the rifling in the gun barrel,” the
expert pointed out.

“Looks to me like they are identical,”
Sexsmith said.

“They are,” the expert declared. ~

“Then this is the gun that fired the
shot that killed Walker?”

P “Tll testify to that in court and prove
t.”

“Youll get that chance soon—I
hope!”

Within an hour the wires were hum-
ming with the news that and
LeRoy Knapp and Herbert Allen were
wanted for the robbery of the Security
State Bank and the murder of Wil-
liam Walker.

The following day, “wanted” bulle-
tins with the pictures of the trio were
sent out to every police agency in the
country.

And there the case, which had been
running hot and cold, cooled off again,
rapidly. The three youths could not
be found.

Two weeks went by and Mackling
called Detective Sexsmith. He said. “I
promised you I’d help you find Knapp
regardless of whether he is innocent or

“Yes?” Sexsmith said.

“I got a card from Stanley today.
He's in Sacramento, California. He
wants me to send him his social securi-
ty card. He left it here.”

“Send it to him,” Sexsmith said.
“What address did he give you?”

“4 E eae general delivery.”
“That's okay. You go ahead and
send it.”

Sexsmith called Sacramento police
jong distance and gave them the story.
They promised to put a man on the
general delivery window of the Ppost-
office to wait until Stanley Knapp ap-
peared.

Four days later, Sexsmith received
a wire.

STANLEY KNAPP BEING HELD AS
INSTRUCTED WAITING FURTHER
INSTRUCTIONS FROM YOU

Detectives Bettinger and Gamble
went to Sacramento and returned
Stanley Knapp to Spokane. Knapp
made a complete confession, implicat-
ing his brother and his friend. Herbert
Allen.

He said that he had been the guard
at the deor and had fired the fatal shot
into the back of William Walker.

“TI really didn’t mean to kill the old
coot,”’ he related in his confession. “I
guess I was just nervous. I had the
shotgun in one hand and the revolver
in the other and the revolver went off.”

43

KNAPP, Stanley, wh, hanged WASP
(Spekane) August 5, 1938

(T

I

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*"“line up v
sides. Stay
Obedien
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pulls it bef:
He then
at gun-poi
produced a
currency.
There wz
The job
sawed-off :
wants in.
Without

ve
f

A woman's wit and men’s persistency brought to justice the young hoodlums
who stuck up a Spokane bank and fatally shot a man who got in their way

THE LAW TRIUMPHS—

In photo below, Herbert Allen, bank robber, is shown
in jail as H. E. Polk (right), publisher of Williston, ;
North Dakota, shakes hands with Sheriff Buckley. 4

DEATH

Z INNOCENT

By ‘
“ CLAUDE STUART HAMMOCK

NEW fall of snow spread its clean white mantle

over the streets of Spokane, Washington, as though

nature intended blotting out the past and starting

all over again. In patches here and there the wind

had whisked the soft snow away, baring the coating

of ice underneath and rendering both walking and

driving hazardous. Few pedestrians were on the streets

as only those faced by necessity ventured out to brave
the wintry blasts. :

Inside the Security State Bank there was the mid-
morning lull: that precedes the busy banking hours.
There were no customers in the bank at the moment,
and Vice President Arthur Davis and his three assistants
.—Nettie Herman, Milton Crandall and Kenneth Kohles
were busy with their routine duties.

The door suddenly opened and three men stepped
inside, quickly closing the door after them. One, who
was armed with a revolver and a sawed-off shotgun,
remained to guard the door as the others stepped
briskly forward with drawn revolvers. One covered
the tellers while the other approached Davis’ desk and
said: “Tell your gang to do just as they’re told and
you'll not get hurt. Make one funny move and we'll
blast every one of you.” Pi

Davis turned toward’ his helpers and said: ‘Do just
as you are told.”

“You three over there,” the leader told the tellers,

ae STATE SECURITY BANK— } ON THE EVE OF DEATH—
| This is the building where a bank customer who just The misguided young man who fired death shot wrote
happened to come in during a stickup was shot dead. message (on opposite page) while awaiting gallows.

vl

° ig

. Ca [Mg
DETECTIVE

February 1947


“I'd say he was of Chinese extrac-
tion, yes.”

So the mystery of Jammy Croft re-
mained as big a puzzle as ever. Where
did he come from? Where was he?
Had he left the hotel for good? Was
Croft the killer. or were the officers
following a blind clew of a man who
accidentally had dropped a half-empty
box of sleeping pills near the scene of
a double slaying?

(HILDERS was still definitely inter-
ested in Croft and he assigned three
patrolmen to wait in the lobby of the
Western Hotel.

But the interest in Croft dimmed at
7 o'clock that Wednesday morning
when Chin Yu Ping did not return to
the Field when his two-day pass ex-
pired.

Chin’s motive didn’t appear too
strong—jealously over a rating and
the fact that he had been accused by
one of the victims of cheating in a card
game. Still, with the Chinese, honesty
is a Matter of national pride. The ac-
cusation of dishonesty might unloose
some very powerful emotions.

Childers learned that Chin had gone
to Evergreen, a resort town 25 miles
west of Denver, to visit a sick friend.
The Captain got the name of the
friend, and telephoned him.

“Chin?” the friend asked, surprised.
“Why, he left here yesterday afternoon,
to go back to Denver. I don't under-
stand it.”

Neither did Childers.

But at 7:30 Chin telephoned the of-
ficials at Lowry Field and said he was
near Conifer, a small mountain village
ten miles south of Evergreen. He was
with a friend whose car had broken
down. He just then had been able to
get to a telephone. He was catching
a bus in ten minutes and would come
straight to the Field, he said.

Chin arrived in Denver on the bus at
9:30. But when he was questioned
about the double slaying he said he had
not heard anything about it.

“After I left Evergreen yesterday, I
went with another friend to Colorado

r

Springs,” Chin said. ‘We checked in
at a hotel there about eight o’clock and
didn’t leave until half-past four this
morning. We took the road through the
mountains and our car broke down this
morning about half-past five. We did
our best to fix it, but couldn’t so I
caught the bus and came on in.”

Childers got the name of the hotel
in Colorado Springs. He checked the
alibi. It stood up. Chin had been at
the hotel at eight the night of the kill-
ings. The two cadets had been shot at
8:15. Colorado Springs is 70 miles
south of Denver.

Not only that but Chin was wearing a
size 912 shoe. The footprints found
near the hospital had been made by a
man with a size 812 shoe.

But to be entirely on the safe side,
Childers had Doctor Kobyashi take a
look at Chin—to be sure that Chin
wasn't “Jammy Croft.”

He wasn’t.

Later Wednesday’ afternoon Chief
Bruce telephoned from Colorado
Springs. He had been unable to trace
the AWOL cadet, Tien Yuan-Fu.

AMMY CROFT still had not returned

to the hotel. And there the case
bogged down. Childers had only two
suspects, neither of whom was con-
nected too closely with the homicides.
Worse than that, he couldn’t find
either. Was this case to remain un-
solved? Was he on a false lead?

At 7 p.m. Wednesday, Frank Kyono,
manager of the Western Hotel, believ-
ing that Croft would not return to his
room, went upstairs to prepare it for
another guest.

A few minutes later he was back in
the lobby. He hurried up to Sergeant
Steve Allison.

“Something’s
“Croft's room—”

“Yes, what about it?” Allison asked.

“It’s locked from the inside. Some-
one must be in there. Maybe Mr.
Croft slipped up the fire-escape and got
in through the window.”

Allison turned to Patrolman Merle
Huttenhow. He said, “Call for more

wrong,” he said.

men. We may be about to run into

- something.” -

Allison went with Kyono up to Croft’s
room. Kyono showed him where the
fire-escape was—how a person could
climb up the escape and enter Croft's
room through a window.

The room was dark and quiet; Alli-
son could hear nothing.

As soon as Huttenhow had finished
calling and joined Allison, the Ser-
geant explained his plan. Huttenhow
would knock on Croft’s door and de-
mand entrance. Allison would go on
to the fire-escape, outside the window,
in case Croft tried to make a getaway.

Allison was leaning against the outer
wall of the hotel a moment later when
he heard Huttenhow pound on the door.
For a moment nothing happened. Hut-
tenhow called out.

“Open up or I'll break the door in!”
he yelled.

This time a voice from inside an-
swered him. “Come in and get me if
you want me that much!”

A shot sounded, Then two more in
quick succession.

Allison jerked open the window and
climbed into the darkened room.

“All right, Croft!” he said. “You'd
better give up! The game’s over!”

A weak groan answered him.

Allison flicked on his flashlight.

On the floor in front of the small
dresser at the far side of the room, the
light beam stopped suddenly, focused
on the prostrate form of a young man
about 21 years old.

H= WAS lying on his back. His glazed

eyes were staring at Allison. Blood
poured from a gaping wound in his
forehead. In his right hand he held a
.38 caliber revolver.

Allison quickly switched on the room
light, unlocked the door. Huttenhow
and the other officers who had arrived
at the hotel walked in.

Huttenhow explained that he had
shot twice at the lock on the door. But
his aim had been down, he had not
wounded the man.

It was obviously suicide—and a mo-

“A Cop Only Needs One Break" (Continued trom Page 6)

gave you when I called you before?”

“Sure thing. It belongs to a guy
named Oscar Mackling. It was issued
to a Ford coupe.”

“That checks. The woman saw it on
a Ford coupe.”

Hogan gave him the address of
Mackling.

‘4 A NOTHER thing.” Sexsmith said.
“Get the engine number from
the Olds and check it. It’s a cinch it was
stolen. but we'll want to know where it
came from. We'll go on out to see this
guy Mackling and I'll call you later.”

On the way to the home of Mackling
the detectives discussed their plan of
action.

Inspector Keenan said, “If that
woman actually saw Mackling’s car at
the time the plates were being stolen.
this fellow Mackling will have a lot of
explaining to do.”

“That's right.” McCarry said.

“If he’s home. he may be tough.
The whole gang may be there,” said
Keenan.

“YT hope they are.”

“But we've got to figure on how to
take them without getting into a shoot-
ing battle if possible.”

Sexsmith said, “I'll go up to the door
and pretend I’m just checking on the
car. I won't even tip him off that we
suspect anything. The rest of you can
surround the house. If it looks hot,
Til leave and we'll call in a squad to
help.”

“I think that’s best,”’ Keenan de-
clared. “You'll have to be careful. If
the killer is there he may try to rush
you.”

“In that case, I'll be depending on
the rest of you.”

“We'll be ready.”

Sexsmith let the other detectives out

42

of the car a block from the house and
then circled several blocks until they
could take up their positions. He drove
up to the house and went to the door.

A young man in a bright, checked
sports jacket answered the bell. He told
Sexsmith that Oscar Mackling was not
at home.

“Who are you?” Sexsmith asked.

“I'm Stanley. Knapp. Mr. Mackling
is an uncle of mine. Is there any mes-
sage I can take for him?”

“Td like to find him right away.”

“He drives a truck.” Knapp looked
at his wrist-watch. “He should be get-
ting in soon. Do you want to wait for
him here or catch him at work?”

Sexsmith said that he would try to
locate Mackling at the garage of the
trucking company and took the ad-
dress. He picked up the other detec-
tives and went to the garage.

After a short wait there, Mackling
came in. He readily admitted owner-
ship of the Ford coupe. .

“Where were you at half-past eleven
this morning?” Sexsmith asked him.

MACELING thought for a moment,
then said, “I was in a feed store in
Coeur d’Alene. Why?”

“Can you prove it?”

“I guess I can, if you call there. I
unloaded some grain and went to lunch
about noon.”

“I think we'll check just to make
sure,” Sexsmith said.

A long-distance telephone call was
put through to the city of Coeur
d’Alene, Idaho. The merchant there
recalled that Oscar Mackling had been
at his place from 11:30 until 12 noon.

“I guess that puts you in the clear.”
Sexsmith told Mackling. ‘Who was
using your car last night about eleven
o'clock?”

“No one. It hasn’t been used at all.”

“Are you positive?”

“It was in my garage all evening. I
didn’t go to bed until after twelve and
it was there when I got up this morn-
ing and drove to work. What is all this?”

Sexsmith explained about the bank
holdup and how a woman had spotted
a Ford coupe with the same license
number as Mackling’s behind the car
from which the license plates had been
stolen.

“I can’t understand it,’”’ Mackling
said. “There must be some mistake.”

1! THERE must be,” Sexsmith admit-

«ted reluctantly. “If you’re positive
your car was in the garage last night,
then .the woman must have been mis-
taken.”

The detectives went back to Mack-
ling’s neighborhood. A neighbor whose
bedroom opened over Mackling’s drive-
way told them that he had not heard
Mackling’s car the night before. He
was a light sleeper, he said, and if the
car had been backed out, he was certain
he would have awakened and heard it.

At Headquarters the detectives re-
ported to Chief Martin.

“All our leads have gone up in
smoke,” Sexsmith said.

Inspector Keenan said, “Our first
break was getting the license number
on that getaway car, but they drop-
ped it before we could nab them in it.”

“There weren’t any finger-prints in
the car?” Chief Martin asked.

“Only smudges. Jordan said he
wasn’t able to raise enough to send
them to the FBI.”

“How about this car the woman saw
where the license plates were stolen?”

Sexsmith explained how Mackling
had established a perfect alibi. i

Chief Martin asked, “Have you

ment later Allison found definite proof.
The dying man had written a note,
confessing that he had killed both
cadets in the hospital. They had made
life unbearable for him, and caused
him to be disgraced in the eyes of his
= and his countrymen, the note
id

“I am not weak,” the note continued.
“TI will not beat anybody but I will not
let anybody beat me. I am so ashamed
to be abused. I cannot live with these
animals beside me. My mind is very
clever.”

The note was signed “Tien Yuan-
Pu.”

Jammy Croft was really Tien Yuan-
Fu, the cadet who was supposed to be
in Colorado Springs.

Do°crTor JOHN J. O'HEARNE was
called in a vain attempt to save
Tien Yuan-Fu’s life, but the youth was
too badly wounded. He died soon.

In Tien’s pocket, Allison found a bus
ticket to Colorado Springs. Tien had
not used it.

Major Chang came from Lowry Field
and definitely identified “Jammy Croft”
as Tien Yuan-Fu. .

Ballistics tests proved the gun Tien
held in his lifeless hand was the one
which had been used to kill the two
cadets, and to end his own life.

Tien’s foot size was 814.

Why Tien hated both cadets when he
had the fight with only one of them
probably never will be known.

The Denver officers marked the
chemistry laboratory case closed.
Presence of the note indicated to them
that Tien had planned suicide even be-
fore the police arrived.

The bodies of both victims and the
killer were shipped to Fort Bliss. El
Paso, Texas, for military burial. Final
disposal of the remains will await the
desires of the next of kin and the
Chinese Government.

The names of Chin Yu Ping, Charles
Artuccio and Alfred Charter are ficti-
tious to save embarrassment to persons
innocently involved in this case.

Read It First In
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

checked with the woman again?”

“We talked to her but she’s positive
she took down the license number of
the Ford the way she saw it. There is
a chance, though, that she made a mis-
take in a number, or may have trans-
posed one of the numbers.”

“You're checking that?”

Sexsmith nodded. “It’s a plenty big
and tough job. I’ve got a number of
men going through the registration
books taking down all license numbers
of Ford coupes—and just try and guess
how many of them there are. They're
checking them against the numbers we
have. We'll go out and investigate
every one that is similar in any re-
spect. I don’t know whether it will do
any good or not, but at the moment it’s
about all we have.” :

“How about the vhysical identifica-
tion of the bandits?”

“Murderers,” Sexsmith corrected
him. “We brought im all the people
from the bank and they're going over
the pictures we have of known bank
bandits. But there isn’t much chance
they’ll turn up anything. All three
wore masks and kept their hats down.”

iit at is your next step?” Martin
asked.

“Chief, I don’t know,” Sexsmith ad-
mitted. “I hate to say that a trio of
bandit-killers like these have us stop-
ped, but at the moment it’s the truth ”

“That's bad.”” Martin said.

“se KNOW it. but I feel we'll get the
breaks and if we have our eyes
open, maybe we can make something
out of it. A bandit has to have all the
breaks to get away with a job like this.
A cop only needs one break—if they
make one mistake we'll nab them.”
For several days the detectives ran
down untold leads that all fizzled out.


Stanley also told how he and his
brother and Allen had stolen the shot-
gun and the jackets from the Sears-
Roebuck store.

Stanley said that they had used
Mackling’s Ford coupe to get the stol-
en license plates. “It was a cinch to
take it without him knowing,” he said.
“We simply rolled it out of the garage
and pushed it down the block before
we started it—just to be sure no one
would hear us.”

LeRoy Knapp was captured a short
time later in Eureka, California. Her-
bert Allen was captured, through his
description, in Williston, North Dakota.

The trio was tried, convicted and
Sentenced to be hanged in the State
Penitentiary at Walla Walla. While
waiting for the death sentence, they
made a break for freedom. LeRoy
Knapp was shot in the attempt and
died from the wounds.

Stanley Knapp was hanged in the

prison grounds on August 5, 1938.

As he went to the gallows, he
pleaded:

“My brother is already dead and I
am willing to die, but I beg that Her-
bert Allen be spared.

“I fired the gun that killed Walker.
LeRoy and I talked Herb into coming in
on the job with us. The only last re-
quest I have is that Herb not be
hanged.”

The appeal was taken to Governor

Clarence Martin who commuted Al-
len’s sentence to life. ;

On June 5, 1944, Allen made a break
from the prison and was free for sev-
eral days before he was recaptured. At
the present time he is still behind the
walls of Walla Walla Penitentiary
serving his sentence.

The name Oscar Mackling in this
story is fictitious to protect an inno-
cent person,

Clew of the Amateur's Bomb Continued from Page 17): opesciat bareetiee cronies

Gusler shook his head. “As I told
you, it was a very poor job. Whoever
had done it placed the bomb in a lower
drawer of my desk and led the wires
into the small electric heater I keep in
the office. I just happened to notice
them one day. It was a poor job of
wiring. Do you think the same man
planted the bomb on Smith?”

“I don’t know,” McCray said. “Who
do you think would want to get both
you and Smith?”

USLER said, “Not long after I

turned that bomb over to you I
fired a man named Clark Seamon. Got
a little suspicious of him, but couldn’t
Prove anything. That’s why I didn't
report him to you.” .

McCray wrote down the name. He
asked Gusler to aid in the reconstruc-
tion of the death-room and attempt to
trace the exact wiring of the exploded
bomb. Then he returned to the rub-
ble. Officer Gray and Deputy Wells
had collected a small box of tiny frag-
ments.

“The brown, waxed pieces of paper
are dynamite containers—tampettes,”
explained Gray. “The metal fragments
come from the pipe. Best we can fig-
ure, the bomb that went off was direct-
ly behind the wood oven, between the
wall slats. Does that mean anything
to you, Obie?”

The Chief of Police scratched his
head. “Not much. Why?”

“It means a lot,” said Wells. “For
one thing this room was kept locked
constantly. The only man who had ac-
cess to it was Smith. Whoever planted
the bomb had to saw out a piece of
the wall, wire the bomb, then replace
the wall. That would take a lot of
time. And this place is in plain sight
all day, every day, including Sunday.”

Gray said, “It must have been some-
body who had access to the plant at
night and either picked the lock on
Smith’s office door or worked from the
wall in the main lumber-room. A good
man with a saw could finish the job in
four or five hours.”

“The thing to do, then,” said Mc-
Cray, “is find out the names of men
who had access to this place at night.”

He sought out the personnel officer
and obtained a list of a dozen men who
might have been in the plant after
working hours. Most of the names
were those of executives—but at the
bottom of the list was Clark Seamon!

JOW about this Seamon?” McCrav
asked. “I thought he was fired
once.”

“Yes, Seamon was fired by Gusler
several weeks ago,” the personnel offi-
cer admitted. “Then. a short while
ago, Seamon came to me and said his
argument with Gusler had been foolish.
He asked if he could go back to work
again. I didn’t want to upset Amon
Gusler, but at the same time we need-
ed men. SoI put him on under Smith.”

McCray said, “First he works near
Gusler, and Gusler finds a bomb. Then
he works near Smith—and a bomb kills
Smith. Where is this fellow?”

“At home, I guess. He’s on a vaca-
tion right now.”

McCray sent Officer Koontz out to
question Clark Seamon. Then he re-
turned to the scene of the blast. Wells
was there alone.

“Gray is trying to find out where the
dynamite came from,” he said. “And
Sergeant Krupski is at work now on the
unexploded bomb we found, trying to

at

lift some finger-prints. One other
thing. I checked through the records
of lumber deliveries for the last four
months. Only two shipments were wet
enough to need the drying-kilns. That
means that only on two occasions did
Smith have to use that small pilot
oven.”

McCray said slowly, “Then the
killer, in wiring up the oven, knew it.
He knew a lot about the operation of
this plant.” a

The two men talked over the names
of various section chiefs and foremen
who had keys to the plant, access to it
at night, and sufficient technical
knowledge to construct the bomb.

“I think we can discount about
ninety per cent of the people here,”
McCray said. “That leaves us the car-
penters, electricians and foremen. And
Clark Seamon.”

By late afternoon, Officer Gray
checked back to Headquarters. He said.
“I think I found where the dynamite
came from. Come on!”

THEY sped to the Blue Ridge Hard-
ware and Supply Company, a brick
building practically adjoining the Bas-
sett plant. The firm dispensed farm
machines, a general hardware line,
blasting equipment and accessories.

Gray introduced thé manager and
said, “Tell Chief McCray what we
found out.”

“We usually keep two or three cases
of dynamite on hand,” the manager
said. “Forty per cent strength stuff.
Sometimes farmers use it for stump
blasting and occasionally we fill emer-
gency orders for road crews.”

McCray asked, “Do you keep it

under lock and key?”
+ “That’s just it.” replied the man-
ager. “Ordinarily we do. But about two
months ago one of the Bassett Com-
Pany storage sheds right behind our
property burned down. In order to re-
build it, they were forced to go through
our store.”

“The Bassett employes?” asked
McCray.

“Yes. The electricians and some of
the laborers. We left our back door
open. The room-where we stored our
dynamite adjoins that and, in the day-
time, we simply left it unlocked.”

“Meaning,” said McCray, “that
anybody passing through during the
day could have grabbed up a supply
unseen?” .

“We've checked our sales slips
against our inventory.” the manager
said. “Eleven sticks of dynamite and a
box of percussion caps are missing.”

McCray felt a sudden, queasy feeling
in the pit of his stomach.

Then dynamite was still missing!
Already one man had died and an-
other had been threatened. Were more
to die?

“There were about three sticks in the
bomb we found under the desk,”
Gray said. “Two in the bomb Gusler
found and three in the bomb which
exploded. That leaves three sticks
missing. And several dynamite caps.”

A HURRIED conference was called
in McCray’s office.

“I've asked the FBI to aid us in re-
constructing. the bomb situation,”
Sheriff Davis said. “They'll probably be
able to tell us more about it, and they
might be able to trace some of the
‘material to the killer. But we’d save a
lot of time if we could locate him
through his motive. What motive

ste nc aura te a mh mR

would anyone have for killing Smith?”

Noah Koontz said, “I checked at
Clark Seamon’s house. He’s gone to
spend a week on a farm near Dan-
ville. The police there will talk to him.
His argument with Gusler was over a
refusal to do some wiring Gusler gave
him to do.”

“Did Seamon have any grudge against
Smith?” McCrey asked.

“He never has said a word against
Smith, as far as I could find out,”
Koontz said.

The conference resulted in a plan.
McCray, Sheriff Davis and Deputy
Wells were to concentrate on.deter-
mining what motive may have existed
in Smith’s private life for the murder.
Gray, Koontz and the others were to
continue to work at the murder scene.
hoping to find a witness or some
definitely incriminating evidence.

BY LATE evening, one phrase of the

investigation produced: electrifying
results. Gray, stripping away the last
vestige of flooring in the instrument-
room, uncovered the missing three
sticks of dynamite taped to a floor-
board. Wired to each end were
enough blasting-caps to blow a man
in half. This newest device had not
been connected to a circuit.

“That accounts for all of the dyna-
mite,” Gray said. “And something else,
too. Look at the metal cup holding
those blasting-caps. It’s not a flimsy
job. It’s an excellent piece of metal-
work. It took machinery to make that
cup.”

Koontz said, “There are hundreds
of machines in the factory.”

“Not this kind,” said Gray. ‘The
bits which drilled the holes have to
be high-speed steel. And the rim of
that cup was turned on a metal lathe.”
He pointed to tiny markings in the
metal. ‘'Those were made by a vise.
If we can match these markings with
those found on the other bomb, we
might be able to trace this work to
one vise.”

MEANWHILE, the other phase of the

investigation was making little
headway. Sheriff Davis wracked his
memory for any information he may
have gleaned previously on the hand-
some, dashing lumber expert. Thirty-
nine years in office had taught Davis a
lot about the people of the mountain
country. He had been associated
closely with them for more than half
a century—his father and uncle had
held the sheriff's job for seventeen
years before he was elected.

“Was Smith ever picked up for any-
thing?” Davis asked McCray, almost
in desperation.

The burly Chief nodded. “He was
never formally arrested, but about a
year ago there was a ruckus at his
house. .Too much noise. They were
holding some kind of a mill celebra-
tion. Gusler was there and a couple
of other mill hands. We just quieted
“em down.”

“Any recurrences?”

“None so bad. But they had parties.
Mrs, Smith could tell us who was at
them.”

Before the officers could leave for
the Smith household to follow up this
possibility, a telephone call came in
from Danville, Virginia. Clark Seamon
had been found outside of that city.
He was surprised at learning of Smith’s
murder.

“And his alibi is iron-clad,” a de-
tective said by phone. “He definitely
has been out on that farm for the last
few days.”

“Makes no difference,” responded
McCray. “In this case the killer didn't
have to be at the scene. Has he said
anything significant?”

M4 A yt one thing. Even though he

was surprised he said he should
have expected it. He said somebody was
out to get Smith.”

“Who?”

“He didn’t say,” replied the Danville
detective. “He's willing to come back
there and talk. Says a couple of men
at the mill have had reasons to hate
Smith.”

“Send him along,” said McCray.

McCray and Davis stopped at a road-
house which they knew Smith had fre-
quented, before they visited his. house.
The tavern-keeper said, casually:

“Smitty used to come in here now
and then with a woman—and she
wasn’t his wife.”

“Who was she?” McCray asked.

“I don’t know. A stranger to me,
but a looker.”

The two officers exchanged glances.
McCray said, “If it wasn’t his wife—
maybe it was somebody else's.”

At the Smith home his widow was
Still distraught. She permitted an ex-
amination of the dead man’s confiden-
tial papers. These were letters and
notes but none threw light on the mys-
tery.

“Was he home every night?” Mc-
Cray asked.

She said, “Yes. Why?”

McCray shrugged. “Just checking.”

By the next morning Deputy Weils
had completed an exhaustive question -
ing of numerous mill hands who knew
J. Russell Smith quite well. One man
Substantiated the story Seamon had
told in Danville.

“Smith was worried.” this man said
candidly. “He said somebody was try-
ing to get him.”

Wells asked. “Did he say why?”

“Sure. He said some fellow was an-
noying his. wife. He found out who it
Was and warned the man. Mebbe the
guy beat Smitty to the punch.”

“And who is that man?”

The worker shrugged. “I ain't Say-
ing—because I ain’t sure. Just watch
the plant, that’s all.”

Acting on the vague tip, officers set
Up a casual scrutiny of the dead man’s
home. McCray, deciding on a bold
approach, questioned the slim Mrs.
Smith again.

“We have information that your hus-
band was upset because some man was
annoying you,” he said. “Who could
that be, Mrs. Smith?”

SHE seemed baffled. “I—I don't

know,” she said. “He never said
anything like that to me.”

“Who was at the parties you gave?”

She reeled off a list of names of men
at the plant, added insistently: “But I
barely knew any of them!”

Back at Headquarters several addi-
tional facts had been unearthed.

“We figured out that the metal cup
on the last bomb we found was a piece
of good work,” Gray told the Chief. "Tt
required high-speed tools. Now. who
had access to such tools in the Plant?”

McCray shrugged. “Smith himself.
Amon Gusler, the electrician.”

“That's just. it.” cut in Gray. “Gus-
ler, the electrician. In his private office