BEETZEL, ‘Russell St.
THE DEraGrr MEWwi, SATURDAY. AUGUST? 23 Sea .
| . mane ir
Aquatie Carnival’
| Has 600 Entries f {R LS fl
abit ERB, divers, el
a PAYS PEMA MN
WATER EVENTS
ON ISLE Ton
Record Crowd Expected
“Attend Tenth rca di
Carnival.
is staged under
‘int auspices of the
o£ Recreation and Parks and -
yards, gives promise of any
wevious effort of the kind, d-
ng fo Warren J. Frye, executive
: an.
A new feature will be a system of
troadcasting through loud
long the north shore to k spec-
ators informed of the of
ye hs ted to part 200
i whom are expected to pate
1 the contests.
acause of the unusually ths water
lagoons.
’ th
There will be ample
1d 8.000 bleacher seats hay
lived with her. The girl’s bay late later
|-—Harty J. Leahy, south weat Texas
rancher, who chanced death rather
Philadelphia Man Hanged
California; Texan’ Dee
Electric Chale.
eaieation Rewes t
retin and Gov. Young reflused to
intercede.
Testimony at Beitzel’s trial showed
he had brought Miss Mauger to Los
Angeles from Philadelphia and had
was found in the hills
been shot and an autopsy: sheen
she was soon to become a ‘mother.
two sons, Russell and. Robert, of
Lancaster, Pa. and angther to his
Beitzel left letters to each of his}.
mother. He had been | married to
Mrs. Mary Thomas, of Mc eesport,
Pa., who said he deserted
their small son five years ago.
Jean Mellinger Beitzel, | of
mia ahs Fad severe’ nar
e separated from
husband because of his friendship
for Miss Mauger. i,
HUNTSVILLE, Tex, Aug, 3—(P)
wimming, diving, rowing power than accept a 50-year igre sen-
mat, yacht and outboard | -| tence, died in the electric at
at races aap make up th¢ pro-| the State Penitentiary h -
um. The boating events start plation of the murder of . &
posite the old ferry dock. Ramsey, of Mathis.
The American Power Boat/Asso-| On Thanksgiving Day, :1926, a
ition has set its official stamp on/| Jury at George West Leahy
3 events of the carnival and any/|Suilty and assessed ishfent at
wards made in thé races will be | 90 years in the penitent . Leahy | ;
‘ognized. | | himself presented a motion for a| ‘
Seven clubs will participate as| new t which was gran with Po
lows: Bayview Yacht Club, Walk- | & change ‘of venue to Georg¢town.
iNe Boat Club, Corinthian Boat} Additional bits of eviden
He
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ais
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et ve :
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.
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Je
B@YNTON, Albert G,., white, hanged at Los Angeles, Calif,, on November 1?, 1886,
(Note: The following TIMES powerage spells last name as BAYN'TON . ).
"Probably the most ‘atrocious|aspassination ever perpetrated in Los Angeles was that
which stantled the quiet citjzehts of Olive Street, between Seventh and Eight, at 7:h5
last night, It was'a cold-blooded butchery, whereby, two persons died within the hour
and a third may probably have passed away ere these lines are read. A. G, Boynton, an
Englishman, about 35 years of age, who lives at 623 South Olive St., in a little
cottage standing far back on the west side, between Seventh and Eighth, He claims
ta be a gardener, and hasworked in that capacity at the Van Nuys, +ankershim and other
residences. . He drove a street-car a couple of years ago, it is said, Boynton's wife
was a well-proportioned young Englishwoman, evidently under 30 years of age, and with
a strikingly sweet and beautiful faces She was a good wife, and a self-sacrificing
one, toiling like a slave at the wash-tub to support the family, while 3oynton invested
his own earning heavily in sprees,. The couple had four children, aged r spectively
6 months, 3 years, 5,years and 8 years, Pretty Mrs, Baynton has led a sgrry life.
Ddspite hermzfaithful drudgery, she hasbeen abused and maltreated by the brute her
husband, The neighbors speak of her as a most worthy woman, and have long been in-
dignant at the way Baynton abused her, It was.a common thing for their little boys
to run from home and hide at the nieghbors' houses to escape the brutality of their
father, Baynton has been under arrest several times, and has been jailed for abuse :
of his family, .He has frequently threatened to kill them, Yesterday afternoon he came
home and immediately began to curse and find fault, 'Is that the kind of supper you
give me?! he snarleds and in a rage, he flung the scanty meal in all directions, He
wound up by driving his family out of the house. Mrs, Baynton went over to the Little
cottage of James B, Kipp, a feeble old man, whowas a Clerk for W, Moody, but has been
sick for a fortnight. The house is No, 63 South Olive. Being old neighbors and
friends, Mrs. Baynton asked if she might leave. the children there while she should
go up town, it being her.intention to get a policeman to look after her husband, The
leave was cheerfully granted, as it had been more than once before, and Mrs, Bayn-
ton started off,. She was met by her husband,outside, and he demanded that she come
home, .She said: 'You have.kicked me twice, and I will not come back,'' He quarreled
with her for some time, and finally started home with the remark: ,'Well, you'll never
have a chance to abuse me again,' Mrs. Bayhton went into the house, Baynton soon
returned, It is supposed that he had gone home to get his revolver, Mr, Kipp, who
had been sitting upon the porch, had gone inside, Inthe little sitting-room were
seated James B, Kipp; his pretty daughter Nettie, who is,employed by the Los Angeles
Furniture Company, and who will be 15 on the 19th of January; Georgia Kipp, aged 8,
and Mrs, Baynton, Mrs. Kipp was working in the kitchen, When Baynton returned, he
had some words with his wife at the door, which she finally shut, JBaynton suddenly
pushed it open, and stepped across the threshold with a el} caliber revolver in his
hand,- He at once began firing promiscuously and emptied the five loads as rapidly
as possible, There was a scene of frightful confusion, Poor little Mrs, Baynton
staggered to the kitchen threshold and fell dead across it, The great bullet had
struck her full in the chest, just to the right of the sternum and between the second
and third ribs. Mr. Kipp jumped up and ran out into the yard, where he fell, His
clothing was all afire, so close had the murderer stood to him, As he ran out,
Baynton clubbed him over the head with,the revolver, slightly fracturing the skull,
It is also believed that he used a knife on him, for Mr. Kipp was seriously cut in
the scrotum, and in the leg, and somehwat on the head, The ball had pierced his left
groin, entering the abdominal cavity. Nettie Kppp, who had just come home tired from
her day's work, was sitting on a chair beside the bed and facing the door, when the
butchery began, One bullet struck her in the right groin, and another in the right
thigh. At least, there is a bullet hole in each of those places, which are beliéved
to have been made by different bullets; and the girl also states that she was hit
twice, The room was full of smoke and shriekings, and Baynton stood with the smoking
revolver in his hand when the neighbors came flying to the spot. William Ingram, who
lives just across the street, put out the fire in Mr. Kipp s clothing, Frank Baker,
a Weteran Angeleno,: who,was sheriff here 15 years ago, nabbed the murderer, disarmed
him, and lugged him down to the police station, Baynton knowing his captor too well |
to attempt resistance, On the way Baynton had much to say about 'my dear wife,' 'my. |
; t t i MW 2 ~ eu odged
werEaeietey Fok esate cake Meee RES back wlth'a Pads "Reporter for ths
scene of the tragedy. «It was a sickening sight which sreeted these who stepped inside
the humble cottage. Upon a lounge by the front window lay Mre Kipp, his thin, aged
—
+ aha wecienn es _
“ys
li
1;
Ig
G
12
location of the body, and was requested to have it taken to the
Van Nuys undertaking parlors,
For an hour, Sanderson and I Pored over the files of the
Unless we were able to‘establish positive identification
through the medium of the number inscribed inside the
wedding ring, the case bade fair to add itself to the list
of unsolved murder mysteries, ,
The four white beads could not aid us. They were of
common size and texture, and I had seen similar strands
around the throats of a half-dozen girls employed in the
detective bureau.
Our last resource was to check the daily reports of pawn-
brokers and second-hand dealers in an effort to find an entry
contained an item of this kind,
Sanderson and I were just starting for the record bureau
when we were stopped by Night Inspector D. W. Longuevan,
Christenson, who drew near as he spoke. ; ‘
“Did I hear you Say you’d found the dead body of a
young woman—and a baby?” he asked in his calm, leisurely
way.
“Yes. What do you know about it?” [I demanded.
“Why, I think I may have a line on the case. You recall,
Sanderson,” he drawled, turning to my partner, “I told
ago,” Christenson went on, fumbling for his notebook.
“Here it is: Mrs. Barbour, residence on Golden Avenue . . F
and she was expecting a baby soon,”
e had hardly finished speaking when a clerk from the
record bureau hurried into the office and proffered a type-
written report. “We just found this in the anonymous com-
munication file,” he explained eagerly. “Something about a
missing woman 4d
- Sanderson reached for the sheet of paper and began a
Swift perusal of its contents.
“By George!” he exclaimed excitedly, a moment later.
“Sounds like the same case you’re talking about, Chris!
According to this, some person who refused to give her name, -
%
telephoned in a few days ago that, during the latter part
(Left) Desolate spot at Stone Canyon where girl's
body was found. (Above) Wedding ring taken from
victim's finger, and white beads found at scene
we
of June, a young girl who’d been living on Golden Avenue—
and who was expecting a baby—went for a ride with her
husband one Sunday morning, and has never been seen
Since. The husband came back without her!”
“Must be the same outfit,” I agreed. “Let’s go over and
check up.”
The. building proved to be a dwelling of four flats. One
was vacant. We rang the bell over which was tacked a card
inscribed “Landlady,” and we were admitted by a woman
who gave her name as Mrs. A. M, Murphy. When we ex-
plained our mission, she said she would be glad to help.
“There’s a mistake in the name, though,” she declared.
“Instead of being ‘Mrs, Barbour,’ it’s ‘Mrs. Barbara Bur-
holme.’ J shouldn’t be at all surprised if you find that the
body is hers. None of us, here in the house, felt Satisfied
with the husband’s explanation.”
She then informed us that Mr. Burholme had moved
from the flat about a week after his wife’s disappearance,
In answer to our further queries, she referred us to a
Mrs. Allen and a Mrs. Thompson, tenants residing on the
other side of the house, who were better acquainted with
the missing woman than herself,
We found both women in Mrs. Allen’s apartment. Mrs.
Allen remembered having seen Mrs, Burholme on the morn-
"You found her body there?" asks murderer (wearing
coat) pointing to spot as Lt. Sanderson, Chief Cline,
Lt. Condaffer, and Miss Lyman observe his reactions
taken
this
athe CP cana ne
mre meter
grec reremnenr ene ree Tyee epee rena ee ee
60
SECRET OF STONE CANYON
(Continued from page 13) great many
afternoons together, and I often felt sure
she’d been crying before I got there. But
she never spoke of her troubles. Still”’—
the woman smiled sadly—“she was always
happy when talking about the baby she
was expecting.”
“TI see,” I said gently. “Now, Mrs. Burns,
if you’ll just tell us what you meant when
you said you felt there was something
wrong the day you last saw her—what
made you think that all was not well?”
She hesitated. “Well, I’ll tell you, though
I wouldn’t for the world want to get Mr.
Burholme in trouble, if he’s innocent. You
see, I was visiting with Barbara in her
flat the day before she went on this picnic.
I thought she looked rather troubled, but
didn’t want to quiz her. Then the phone
rang, and Barbara said it was Mr. Bur-
holme, asking her to get a gun out of his
dresser drawer, and tell him the numbers
on it, so he could buy the right-sized bullets
for it.” Mrs. Burns shuddered at the recol-
lection. “Somehow, I had a feeling that that
was a peculiar request for him to make of
her.
“At. any rate, Barbara got the gun, and
I remember that we had quite a time mak-
ing out just what the numbers were. Finally
we were able to read them, and Barbara
went back to the phone and told him the
number of the gun. I asked her what he
wanted with it. She said he’d borrowed it
from a friend of his, and wanted to try
it out when they went on their picnic.
If he liked it, he intended to buy it, she
said.” Mrs. Burns stopped, a look of horror
spreading over her features.
“This is all very helpful,” I told her.
“Can you think of anything else——?”
“Oh,” she went on, as if she had hardly
heard me, “I can see it all so plainly now!
He came back alone, a little after 6 o’clock,
I believe, and I wondered where Barbara
was. I made it a point to step out on the
porch and ask him. He said: ‘You’ve said
goodby to Barbara, Mrs. Burns. She’s gone
back East to have her baby with her own
people!’ He told a rather plausible story
of her having met an uncle, and having
decided to go East with him.”
It was almost 11 p.m. when we thanked
Mrs. Burns for her very valuable informa-
tion, and left the house. We went straight
to the Metropolitan Theatre and inter-
viewed the stage manager. He declared at
once that no person named Burholme was
employed in the theatre in any capacity.
Mrs. Burns had agreed to assist us further
if we needed her. We now decided to in-
terview her again, in the hope that she
might remember additional details con-
cerning Burholme’s occupation. i
Accordingly, at 1 o’clock in the morn-
ing, we were once more seated in her
apartment, explaining our failure to obtain
any trace of the wanted man. bei
“I’ve just remembered the _ telephone
number I’ve heard Barbara call so many
times,” she said, “and when they answered,
she always asked for the engine-room.”
A search of the telephone directory dis-
closed that the number was registered to
the Metropolitan Building, instead of to the
theatre itself. We rushed back downtown,
and: made for the engine-room of the build-
ing in question, only to find all lights out
and doors locked. There was nothing to do
but wait for morning, so my partner and
I, rather weary from our strenuous labors
of the past eleven hours, repaired to our
homes. It was then about 3 a.m.
The following morning at 8 o’clock found
us at the door.to the engine-room of the
letropolitan Theatre Building.
“Where’s Burholme?” Sanderson asked
the chief engineer.
“Who?” asked that busy individual.
“Russell Burholme. He’s working here,
somewhere.”
“Nobody by that name here.”
It was necessary to reveal our identities
to the man, in order that further search
of his records might be made. But the
time books failed to reveal the name of
Burholme.
Suddenly the engineer had an inspira-
tion.
“We've had a cooling system installed
recently,” he announced, “and it may be
that this fellow was one of the crew. The
same people are installing one in the ball-
room of the Biltmore Hotel now. You
might see the foreman over there.”
We hastened to the Biltmore, where we
found employees of the cooling system
company busily at work. Locating the head
construction engineer, I asked him: “Is
Russell here?”
“No,” was the prompt response. “He’s
not working on this job. You can catch
him at the office.”
“Wolf in sheep's :
‘clothing, — said
mother of girl
he murdered
Shortly after 9 o’clock, Sanderson and
I entered the offices of the cooling system
manufacturers and were directed to a
small room, where the man known as
Russell Burholme was bent over a drafts-
man’s desk.
“Somebody to see you, Russell,” an-
nounced the employee who had shown
us in.
Burholme glanced up. As he met our
eyes, a deadly pallor overspread his -face.
“We're officers, Burholme,” I said shortly.
“Come with us!”
His only reply was a muttered, “I thought
so!”
On the way to the police station, I asked
him why he had made the remark “I
thought so!” He had by that time regained
the composure which was to be his through-
out the entire investigation. ss
“I read in the paper about a body being
found, and supposed you’d’ be looking me
up,” he replied.
“Then you killed her,” I said simply.
“I didn’t kill anybody!” he flared. “But
I’ve had trouble with my wife, and she
left me!”
“Is that any reason for you to think
you’d be accused of murder?”
“Well, I noticed it was out on Mulholland
Drive that the body was found, and it was
near there that*I last saw my wife.”
“Pretty peculiar coincidence, don’t you
think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Even if it’s her, that’s
no sign I killed her! Somebody else must
have done it.”
“Tll warn you right now, that anything
you say may be used against you. At the
same time, you're at liberty to clear your-
self, if you can.”
“T guess I won’t do any talking till I’ve
seen an attorney,” he said guardedly.
At the police station, we left our prisoner
in care of other officers, while we informed
Chief of Detectives Herman H. Cline of the
suspect’s arrest.
It was then decided to escort Burholme
to the scene of the crime.
“Tll go with you,” said Chief Cline, “and
we'll take a stenographer. Maybe he'll
break. Better get Thorpe, too—he can
get some pictures of the surrounding terri-
tory.”
Miss Nancy Lyman, expert stenographer
of the detective bureau, was chosen to ac-
company us and was instructed to take
her notes as unobtrusively as possible. She
sat next to the chief in the front seat, while
Sanderson, Burholme, the photographer,
and I occupied seats in the tonneau.
Speaking as distinctly as possible in order
that our conversation might be heard by
Miss Lyman, we began questioning the
suspect. I informed him that my hearing
was not of the best, and made him give
his answers in a clearly audible tone. He
appeared to be unaware of the fact that
Miss Lyman’s pencil was flying across the
pages of her notebook as we rode.
“What was your wife’s maiden name?”
Burholme was asked.
“Barbara Mauger. We weren’t married.
She bought the wedding ring she wore,
herself,” was the sullen reply.
“Is it a fact that this woman was preg-
nant?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wouldn’t you marry her?”
It was Sanderson who put the question.
“Because I’m already married!”
“We'll let that pass for the time being,”
said Sanderson. “Where did you first meet
this girl?”
“In a department store in Philadelphia,
where we both worked a little more than
a year ago.”
“What name did you go under, when
you worked at that store?”
“My own name—Russell St. Clair
Beitzel.”
“Then your true name isn’t really Bur-
holme?”
“No. I’d gotten in a little trouble with
the store, and decided it’d be better to
use some other name out here. Besides,
I didn’t want my wife to trace me.”
(We learned later on that the “little
trouble” he referred to was a matter of
some $1,100 which he had embezzled from
his employers.)
“Well,” I continued questioning, “you
stated to me that you’d had some trouble
with your wife, or rather, the girl you
were living with. Is that true?”
“Yes, we had some arguments. She
wanted me to marry her—kept nagging
at me.”
“Did she know you had a wife already?”
“Not that I know of.”
“But she knew your real name was
Beitzel?” A
“Yes. She knew I took some money from
the department store, and understood why
I had to use another name out here.”
“What kind of a girl was this Barbara
Mauger? Had she been a good girl up to
the time she met you?”
“Tll say! Never looked at anybody else
that I know of!” He seemed proud of
this fact.
“Perhaps you won’t mind telling why you
thought the body found in the canyon
might be hers,” I suggested.
“Sure, I’ll tell you about it.” He assumed
an air of complete nonchalance. “On
Sunday morning—I think it was June 24th
—I rented a car and suggested that we
go for a picnic up in Stone Canyon. She
seemed glad to go. We started off all right,
but on the way out, she began again to
beg me to marry her. Kept talking about
the baby coming; and all that. I said I
wasn’t ready to get married yet, and we
had a quarrel.
“She started crying, and finally got so
mad she made me stop the car. Said she
wouldn’t ride with me any farther. I kidded
“Wh:
her, st
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“Whe
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of mine
decided
“Natt
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with a
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Beitze
With his
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steadily.
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“To w
“T don
"She's gone back East to
have her baby," said hus-
band of the victim (below)
$ Mr. and Mrs. Mauger (third and fourth trom left), parents
, of murdered girl, tell story of her infatuation for killer
e to Lieutenants Condaffer (lett co-author) and Sanderson
yue— ing of June 24th, for the last time. On that day, Barbara
. her had seemed Particularly happy when telling of a picnic
seen which she and her husband planned to enjoy that day
“in Stone Canyon.” About an hour later, Mrs. Allen had
¢ and : seen her run out to a car, a new Buick roadster, in which
her husband was waiting for her.
One 1 “When did Mr. Burholme return, Mrs. Allen?” inquired
card | Sanderson. ;
oman “I don’t know, exactly. But I heard him in the apartment
2 ex- the next day—Monday morning, to be exact—and he was
help. whistling and singing. 4
lared. Mrs. Thompson interrupted here. “He came back alone,
Bur- 4 about 6 o’clock Sunday afternoon,” she declared. “TI never
t the Was so surprised as when I saw him the next day, and he
isfied told me his wife had ‘gone away’!” j
“Were you an intimate friend of hers?” }
oved “Not by any means. But we all knew her by sight, and |
ance. were interested in her, as women are in such cases. She i
to a seemed to be a very nice little girl.” 5
1 the ; “How old would you say she appeared to be?”
with . “Oh, quite young! Not over nineteen '.or twenty.”
“Was she happy with her husband?” -*
Mrs. “I couldn’t say. They only lived here about two months.
1orn- Perhaps Mrs. Burns, who lives next door, could tell you
: more about them. She visited quite often with Mrs. Bur-
holme.”
We went directly to Mrs. Burns’ apartment, and were for-
tunate enough to find her in. After introducing ourselves,
we asked if she was acquainted with Barbara Burholme.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” was the eager reply. “I knew her quite
well. Why?” :
Withdrawing the four white beads from my. pocket, I
held them out toward her on my outstretched palm.
“Oh, my!” she cried. “Is she dead? I was afraid some-
be thing terrible had happened to her! Those are her beads!
I had a feeling that something was wrong, the morning
she left with him.”
As briefly and emotionlessly as possible, I told her the facts
of the case. Then I asked how long she had known Mrs.
Burholme,
“OA, quite a while. I was with her almost every day while
she lived next door.”
“Did you know her husband?”
“I met him once, when Barbara and I were downtown.
That was in front of the: Metropolitan Theatre, and I got
the impression he worked there—some kind of an operator,
His first name is Russell. Russell Burholme, and he’s about
. twenty-eight, I should say. Several years older than Barbara ‘ "
ing I’m sure.” - ‘
ine, “Did Mrs. Burholme seem to be happy? Satisfied?”
“Well, not always. We spent a (Continued on page 60)
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ssumed
“On
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hat we
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said I
and we
* got so
Said she
I kidded
her a little bit—handed her the box of
cartridges and said, ‘Here—if you're so
sore, eat some of these!’
“She got out, and that’s the last I saw
of her.”
“Where did she leave you?” I asked.
“Oh, somewhere up near the top of the
grade. I can’t remember the exact spot.”
“Somewhere near here?” I pointed to the
canyon at our right, for we were nearing
our goal.
“T really couldn’t say,” he answered, look-
ing about him unconcernedly. “I believe it
was farther up the road.”
The chief stopped the car, and we
alighted. Beitzel’s eyes widened as he ob-
served the notebook in Miss Lyman’s hand,
but he gave no other expression of surprise.
Chief Cline addressed the suspect.
“You say you left your wife up here,
and never saw her again?” he asked in-
credulously, looking about him at the deso-
late scene.
“Yes. I asked her how she’d get home.
She said someone would come along and
give her a lift.”
Chief Cline whirled on him impatiently.
“Surely you don’t expect us to believe you’d
leave a woman in her condition alone in
this forsaken place!”
“That’s what I did, anyway,” was the in-
solent answer. “She said she, could take
care of herself, and I took her at her
word.” : ,
“You haven’t seen her since, and it’s
been more than a month?”
“That’s right.”
Miss Lyman was by this time quite
frankly making her notes, putting down
every word Beitzel uttered.
“Why didn’t you report her disappear-
ance to the police?”
“Why? Well, because I was afraid I’d
get in a jam—just as I am now, you see.”
In silence, we walked down to the bed
of the canyon. .
“Here is where we found her,” I said.
An expression of unfeigned surprise
showed in his eyes. “There? You found
her body there?” he asked, pointing to the
spot in question.
I deemed it time to come to the point.
“You’re surprised to know that, are you?”
Without waiting for a reply, I went on:
“We sort ‘of figured you’d left her farther
up the hill, but, you see, coyotes may
have dragged the body down here.”
“What do you mean? I said I——”
“Where’s the gun you shot her with?
You had one, and we’re going to find it!”
For a moment he remained silent. Then
he said easily: “Sure, I had a gun. I
brought it along for target practice.”
“What did you shoot at?” Chief Cline
asked. : :
“Nothing in particular—just shot a few
times.”
“What you really mean is: you killed
her, stripped the body, and left it up there!”
“T did not!”
“Where is this gun you used in your
‘target practicing’?”
“In my desk. I borrowed it from a friend
of mine, thinking I might buy it, but I’ve
decided I don’t want it.”
“Naturally, having no further use for it,”
Sanderson remarked, and was favored
with a furious glance from Beitzel.
“What did you do with her clothes and
things, when you moved from the Golden
Avenue address?”
Beitzel started, then recovered himself.
With his usual aplomb he answered calmly:
“TI bundled them up, and shipped ’em away.”
“Where to?” Sanderson eyed the suspect
steadily. “Be sure you tell the truth—
we can trace the shipment, you know.”
“I just sent ’em to some town in Arizona
. Phoenix, I believe.”
“To what name?”
“I don’t remember. But I think I put a
Seattle return address on the package.”
“What was the idea?”
“Well, I thought I could get ’em back
again if she ever came back, or wrote
for them.”
“I suppose you realize, Beitzel, that your
story is pretty thin. Won’t hold water,
in fact,” I remarked. “Your shipping this
girl’s clothes away to a fictitious address
hardly does credit to a person of intelli- _
gence.”
“I was so worried, when she didn’t come
back,” the suspect replied evasively, “that
I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“But you were able to sing and whistle
on the morning after her disappearance,”
I reminded him.
“Well, I’m no hand to cry over spilt
milk.”
“So I see,” remarked Chief Cline. “Strikes
me you're about as cold-blooded a proposi-
tion as I’ve ever run across!”
“I have nothing to worry about,” was
the defiant reply.
James F. Colein got tired of
standing on a Washington, D. C.,
street corner waiting for a bus. He
watched five buses flash by with-
out stopping. When the sixth
came along he picked up a stone
and threw it through the wind-
shield. The driver ground to a
halt and courteously took him
aboard. Presently the bus drew
up beside a traffic policeman and
stopped. Next thing Colein knew
he was in municipal court wonder-
ing where he would get the $17 to
pay for a new windshield.
—C. G. Reid
“You may have, before you get through
with this.”
“Well, I’m not saying anything more
just now. I’m going to do a lot of de-
fending, you know.” He actually smiled,
in a superior manner.
He was as good as his word, and refused
to make any further statements. We then
decided to visit the undertaking parlors
in Van Nuys. Once more we got into the
automobile, and were driven there.
The body of Barbara Mauger lay on a
rubber sheet in a small anteroom. Beside
it was the skull of a new-born baby.
For several minutes, all of us stood by
in silence. I kept a watchful eye on Beitzel,
but the expression of his face did not
change. Finally, Chief Cline’s lowered voice
was heard: “Well, Beitzel, what have you
got to say for yourself?”
The susvect started. “Me?
ing! What should I say?”
“Do you mean to tell me you can stand
Why—noth-
there, and view the body of that girl, and
the remains of the baby, without any sort
of emotion? Are you utterly devoid of
feeling?”
“I don’t know what I am. But I can
look at such things without fainting, or
crying, if that’s what you mean!”
“You admit that this is Barbara Mauger,
do you not?”
“I couldn’t say. It looks something like
her. It may be, and again, it may not.”
We then returned to the city, where
I telephoned Dr. Frank Webb, the county
autopsy surgeon, and requested him to keep
his findings strictly secret. I particularly
cautioned him against giving the results
of his post-mortem examination to the
newspapers, as I had a theory which I
wished to keep from the suspected mur-
derer’s knowledge.
Beitzel, alias Burhplme, was then booked
on a charge of suspicion of murder, and
lodged in the city jail.
Our next step was to wire the Phila-
delphia police department, requesting them
to locate the parents of Barbara Mauger,
and inform them of the circumstances of
their daughter’s death.
Late that evening, an answer was re-
ceived, stating that Mr. and Mrs. Henry
Mauger had been notified, and further ad-
vising that Russell Beitzel was wanted
there on a charge of embezzlement, based
on his admitted defalcations while in the
employ of the department store.
The following days were marked by two
important developments. One was a visit
from B. T. Redell, a taxi driver. This
man burst excitedly into the offices of the
homicide squad, and declared he had rec-
ognized Beitzel’s picture in the newspapers
as a fare whom he had picked up at
.12:40 p.m. on July 1st, just one week after
the murder, at Fifth and Broadway, and
whom he had driven to a desolate spot on
Mulholland Drive. ‘
He gave a.graphic account of his pas-
senger’s actions during the ride, stating that
the man had evinced extreme nervousness.
“All the way out,” our informant stated,
“this fellow kept jumping from one side
of the seat to the other, and taking occa-
sional drinks from a bottle. Several times
he offered me one, but as I don’t use the
stuff, I refused. When we’d gone quite a
ways out Ventura Boulevard, he told me
to turn on Mulholland Drive, and keep
going till he said to stop. I began to get
nervous myself, thinking maybe he was
fixing to hold me up.” At this point in the
narrative, Redell wiped the sweat from
his forehead.
“Two or three times, he made me stop the
cab. He’d get out and look around; then
get back in, and order me to drive a little
farther. Finally he said, ‘Wait here. I’ll
be back in a few minutes. I cached some
liquor over here, and want to see if it’s
there.’ I told him he’d have to put up a
deposit on a ride of that length, before he
left, and he handed me $5, saying, ‘Can’t
you trust me?’ I told him no man’s credit
was good, with the meter showing what
mine did!
“Then he got out and walked back, till
he came to a bend in the road, where I
couldn’t see him. I waited about thirty
minutes, wondering what on earth he could
be doing so long out in that wild place.
Finally I saw him come running back up
the road. He looked white, and awful
scared. When he got up to the cab, he
jumped in and said: ‘Drive like hell! My
whisky’s gone, and they’re after me!’
“I drove as fast as I could. When we got
into town, he told me to stop at Fifth and
Figueroa, and asked how much more he
owed me. I said $4, which he paid, and
that’s the last I saw of him, till I noticed
his picture in the paper.”
“How are you so sure of the date, and
61
ieee aa
*
a
i ane i ERR
—
BENTLEY, James Abner, white, asphyxiated California (Fresno) on January 23, 196 36 j
a?
ay
i
“SOMEBODY SHOT |
VMIONMIMY AND DADDY!”
STARTLING DETECTIVE, November, 1962.
anes a
a
For one year the determined lawmen labored day and
night to avenge the cold-blooded double slaying which had .
orphaned four boys. Then, over a casual cup of
coffee, came the break hard work had failed to produce!
une,
HP ee gk
Medes a ne
It started out as a quiet vacation for Utha Marie and
BY LELAND HARRIS
James Welch, above, and for their children, opposite page, 1. to r.,
Billy, Tommy, Jimmy and Johnny. But violence came along.
The bewildered boys stood at the edge of the high-
way outside of Seligman, Arizona. They looked as
forlorn and desolate as the craggy peaks of the
Juniper Mountains in the background. There were
four of them, brothers whose ages ranged from five
to 12. The youngsters stood miserable and alone,
looking like four unhappy, abandoned orphans—
which was exactly what they had been for the past
three hours. ...
On Highway 66, the cars rushed past the forlorn foursome;
the traffic was headed either westward toward California
or eastward in the direction of New Mexico. The drivers, .
apparently, were too intent upon their own affairs to notice
the huddled group at the side of the road.
It was almost 7 o’clock on the morning of Friday, June
9, 1961, when Larry Salazar, a salesman from Riverside,
California, and a companion, George Klinny, drove east-
ward down the highway from the Coconino Caverns, where
they had spent the night. It was George Klinny who first
saw the four brothers.
“Slow down, Larry,” he asked his friend. “See those four
kids up ahead near the pup tent? They seem to be in some
sort of trouble.” yh
The salesman nodded and his foot pressed down on
the brake.
As the sedan came to a halt, Klinny jumped out. “What’s
the matter?” he questioned kindly. “Are you in some sort
of trouble?”
The eldest boy answered, and there was a break in his
voice as he did so. “Somebody shot Mommy and Daddy!
They’re over there in the car.”
George Klinny talked quietly to the children while his
companion got out of his own car and walked to a cream-
colored Pontiac sedan which was parked about 20 yards
from the pup tent. Cautiously, Larry Salazar looked through
the open window of the automobile and realized that the
youngster had spoken the horrible truth.
A woman lay on her back on the rear seat. Her brown
hair was matted with blood and there was an ugly hole
in her temple. Huddled on the front seat was the body of
a man; blood covered his forehead and dripped slowly down
upon the floorboards. Death had come while they slept.
The salesman turned and sprinted back to his friend.
“The kid’s right,” he muttered softly to his companion.
“There’s a dead couple in that car. You stay here with the
boys. I'll go back to that gas station we just passed and
call the law.”
Moments later, Larry Salazar swung his car into the
service station and addressed the attendant.
“There’s been a double murder down the road,” he de-
clared. “How do I get in touch with the sheriff?”
The service station employe put down the newspaper
he’d been reading. “The sheriff has his office in Prescott,” he
stated. “That’s more than 80 miles away. It'll take him a
couple of hours to get here. But one of his deputies, Perry
Blankenship, lives 15 miles from here, in Seligman. You had
better call him. He can be here in less than 20 minutes.”
Larry Salazar hastened to a nearby phone booth and put
the call through. :
Deputy Sheriff Perry Blankenship was drinking a cup of
coffee in his home when the telephone rang. His wife, Bertie,
who was employed as a waitress in a local restaurant, was
still asleep. At the sound of the phone, the deputy’s first
thought was that it might awaken his mate.
However, when he heard Larry Salazar’s excited message, :
the lawman went into action. After acknowledging the
salesman’s call, he contacted Sheriff James Cramer, of Pres-
cott County, in the town of Prescott.
“I’m on my way to the murder scene,” stated Deputy
Blankenship, after giving his superior the details. “I’d sug-
gest that you bring the coroner and the county attorney Aas
when you come.”
peek
The deputy hung up, buckled on his holster and gun
and climbed into his squad car. He made the 15 miles from
Seligman to the scene of the crime in less than a quarter Ae
of an hour.
With expert knowledge, Deputy Sheriff Blankenship ex- — i
amined the bodies in the cream-colored Pontiac. It seemed
clear to him that both the man and the woman had been-
shot at least twice; the bullets had been fired at close range
into the head of each victim. He avoided disturbing the,
position of the corpses. This, he would leave to the coroner. ©
Meanwhile, he turned his attention to the children.
"Oey
rf
oe
‘
Press te te Low
The murdered couple, he learned from the boys, were
James and Utha Marie Welch, of Spencer, Oklahoma. The
spokesman for the pathetically orphaned children was
Jimmy Welch, 12 years old; his brothers were J ohnny, Billy
and Tommy, aged five, seven and eight, respectively. The
three younger boys hardly realized the significance of the
to stop and help us.”
Deputy Blankenship was touched by the tragic plight of
the little fellows. “You're a brave boy, Jimmy,” he com-
mented. “But I’ve got to ask you some questions so that
we can find the person or persons who did this to your
folks. Now, think hard. Did you see or hear anything during
the night?”
Jimmy Welch went on to say that, shortly afterward,
he had heard an automobile door slam and he had seen the
lights go on in the family car. “But I didn’t Pay any atten-
tion to it,” he stated. “I thought Dad had got up for some
~ reason or another.”
Deputy Blankenship was impressed by the youngster’s
going to help,” he said approvingly.
“Now, you just wait here a minute. I'll be right back.”
Using the two-way radio in his car, Deputy Blankenship
sent a message to the police chief of Kingman, a town near
the California border. The Arizona deputy requested that
After Deputy Blankenship explained that Yavapai County
had a double murder on its hands, he asked the California
Tight-lipped and obviously fighting back tears, the 12-
year-old boy told Deputy Blankenship that his family had
left Spencer, Oklahoma, two days previously, on Wednesday,
June 7, 1961, for a trip to California. They had spent that
first night with relatives in Amarillo, Texas.
“Daddy said,” stated the saddened
were too expensive, so he brought along this pup tent for
us kids to sleep in, while Mommy and he slept in the car.”
At this point, the sound of a screaming siren blasted into
the air from the west. A few moments later, a cruiser pulled
up at the edge of the road. In the automobile were Sheriff
James Cramer, himself, Undersheriff Sam Saum and County
Coroner Daniel J. Condon. .
While the doctor made a preliminary examination of the
bodies in the cream-colored sedan, Deputy Blankenship
briefed his colleagues on the details of the double tragedy.
Sheriff Cramer shook his head sympathetically, “The poor
kids,” he remarked. “How are they taking it?”
“Young Jimmy’s hit hard,” replied the deputy. “But he’s
acting like a real man. I think the other lads are too young
to realize completely what has happened.”
lawman to admire the new suit the youngster was wearing,
commented the sheriff. “It’s brand.
“It’s never even been washed,”
he replied. “But Mommy’s dress will have to be cleaned. It’s
The lawmen were silent for a moment. Then Dr. Condon
beckoned the sheriff to the car. “The man has been shot in
the head four times,” he Stated, “and the woman three. I’d
; Bragging that murder of couple asleep
in their car along roadside, opposite page, would
never be pinned on him, convict, below,
was in for a shocking surprise. Pup tent was where
victims’ sons slept on that tragic night.
aes
an ambulance to carry the remains to the mortuary in
Prescott, where the legally required post-mortem would
take place. . ;
Next, Sheriff Cramer noticed that Utha Marie Welch’s
jewelry—three rings and a wrist watch—had not been stolen
by the killer or killers. Then, when the dead matron’s body
was moved to the ambulance, the sheriff found a purse,
containing $147, lying on the seat of the sedan. However,
a thorough search of the car and of James Welch’s clothes
revealed no trace of the male victim’s wallet.
_ Again Sheriff Cramer spoke to his star witness, young
Jimmy Welch. “Your dad must have carried a billfold,
didn’t he?” was his question. bs ae
- “Sure. It was a brown leather wallet,” the boy replied.
“He kept all his papers in it, and his money.” 3h ib
“Did he have any cash in it yesterday?” Gil.
“More than $60. The last time we stopped for gas, Mommy
gave Dad $65 out of her purse. He paid for the gas and
put the rest of the money in his wallet.” }
While Sheriff Cramer was talking to the courageous lad,
Undersheriff Saum and Deputy Blankenship had conducted
a painstaking search of the area. However, they were un-
able to find any helpful clue at all.
Now, the sheriff made a suggestion to his deputy. “Perry,”
he remarked, “I think you’d better drive those poor kids
to Seligman. Buy them some breakfast and see if you can
find some woman to take care of them. Later, I'll send a
car to take the youngsters to Prescott. The county attorney
will want to talk to them, and I have a few more questions
I, myself, will want answered.”
Deputy Blankenship piled the orphaned boys into his
cruiser and drove them to the cafe in Seligman where his
}
“The terrible tragedy had affected him deeply. _.. ee
By the time the boys sat down to the hearty luncheon
wife, Marie worked. She was later to play a key role.
As they were eating, Mrs. Mae Gibson, the Seligman
- correspondent for the Prescott Evening Courier, came into
the restaurant. She had heard of the double murder and
wanted details from Deputy Blankenship to send to the
newspaper.
“You can have all the information I’ve got about the
crime,” the deputy told the reporter. “But I want a favor
in return. I want you to look after these boys until the
sheriff sends a car for them.” ;
Mae Gibson was more than willing. After jotting down
the data Deputy Blankenship gave her, she took the chil-
dren to her home, where the three youngest boys were soon
put to bed. Jimmy Welch sat silent and uncommunicative.
which the kindly Mrs. Gibson had prepared, Sheriff Cramer
was back in his office in Prescott, conferring with Under-
sheriff Saum and Yavapai County Attorney George Ireland.
“In spite of the fact that we found Mrs. Welch’s jewelry
intact, along with her purse,” commented the sheriff, “the
motive for these murders appears to be robbery. The killer
or killers, of course, didn’t see the purse because the woman
was lying on’ it. However, there doesn’t seem to be any
doubt that the slayer or slayers made off with James
Welch’s wallet.” ; :
The county attorney agreed. “You found nothing at the
scene of the crime?” he. asked.
discharged cartridges?”
' The sheriff shook his head.
“However, tomorrow I’m going to organize a posse to cover
every inch of the terrain.”
“No murder weapon? No 4
“Nothing at all,” he replied. :
[Continued on page 90]
Calif. {Los Angéles County) on
white, hanged
+f Dechy fe
BEITZEL, |Russell’s.,,
August 23s _
The Horror in
Stone Canyon
By L. E. Sanderson
Detective Lieutenant, Los Angeles Police
Department, Homicide Detail, as Told to
E. Hutchins
444 OOK, Ed, what’re those big
Owe. teas” s
is " unno for sure,
Vern, but they look like buzzards.”
“You mean the kind that eat dead
; Wadd *
“Yeali.” * ,
The two boys—Edward Hitchcock
and Vernon Johnson—had parked their —
ancient jalopy on the rim-road edg-
ing Stone Canyon, near Los Angeles,
It was the late vacation season, Thurs-
day, August 2, 1928, and the two six-
teen-year-old Boy Scouts. were lazing
away the long Summer day. Heedless
of the blistering sun, they lolled back
in srl apl watching the flight of the
ig . :
The buzzards, with extended wings,
wheeled. in the air currents rising from
he sun-baked canyon. The circle of
heir flight narrowed. Often one. or
nore of the birds swooped low and
lisappeared in the trees of the valley.
Chere must have been at least ten or
welve,
“I wonder what’s down there?”
“Let’s go see,” Vern suggested.
The boys jumped out of the car’ and
egan crawling and sliding down the
ock and gravel grade to the canyon
‘elow. It was warm work, but it was
n adventure. Soon they were brush-
ing away the thick undergrowth at the his tracks. His mouth dropped open,
base of the grade. They pushed deep- but he couldn’t speak. He pointed—
Actual Detective
2=-23-193
er into the woods,. always with their
eyes on the great birds wheeling
overhead. ,
It had been warm on ‘the road above,
but down here, where all breeze was
trapped in the mesquite and chapar-
ral, it was like a furnace. The noise of
the boys crashing through the under-
growth and the saw-like buzz of cica-
das were all that broke the valley
quiet. ‘ .
“What's that awful smell?”
.« “Well—” Vern laughed—“you know
what the buzzards are after. Gosh,
it’s bad, ain’t it?”
At that moment Ed stopped dead in}
Finally from ashen lips he managed to
whisper:
“Vern, Vern, look . ...’’
Vern looked at the spot were Ed
was pointing. ‘His left hand went to
his nose and his right clasped Ed’s
elbow in a vise-like grip. With white
faces the boys looked into each other’s
eyes. Then they turned and ran as
fast as they could through the thicket.
At one point Ed had to stop—he was
sick. Soon they were back at their
car. . .
“What’ll we do, Ed? Who do you
s’pose it is?” :
“I dunno. I guess we'll have to get
gtories of Women in Crime Magazine,
tee
odor of decaying flesh mixed with. a
decided smell of some powerful de-
odorant such as formaldehyde. Un-
witingly; the: hair stiffened on. his
neck. S
“See. that?” he called. Bok. oe
The others grouped themselves about
the roots of a large tree stump. The
Captain was pointing at an object en-
tangled in the root fibers—a dried
human scalp with practically a full
head of bobbed, slightly faded blond
hair still attached to it.
The small party made its way down-
ward. . Mesquite tore at ‘their faces,
their hands and their clothing. Finally
they came to it. ;
The boys had told the truth.
“Don’t touch anything,” cautioned
Captain Bergendoff after a quick
glance. “This is a case for the Police.
Rygaard, you and the boys stay up
there on the road and watch this place
while I put in a call.” :
Detective Lieutenant Frank Condaf-
‘fer and I were in the Homicide De-
tail office of the Los Angeles Police
Department when Bergendoff’s frantic
call came * through. Condaffer, ace
crime investigator of: the Department,
Slain Before Her Baby Could Be
Born, How Was This Girl to Know :
. Its Father Had a Habit of—— a
¢
to the police as fast as we can. I feel
better now— She didn’t have any
clothes on at all.” - \
“Yeah ... and her leg...” :
corner of Laurel Canyon and Mul- -
holland Drive. There Ed and Vern |
repeated their story to Captain A. F.
Bergendoff. i
“All right, boys,”
finished, “we'll
PUT in a call for Police Photogra-
pher Harry Thorpe and was ready to
go with Condaffer when we were
joined by Detective Lieutenants Frank
James and Bert Jones of the Central
Detective Bureau. It ‘was only mo-
ments later when two police. cars
roared away from Headquarters. %
As we rolled along the bumpy road-
way of Mulholland Drive, we were
hailed down by a small knot of men.
Fire Captain Bergendoft stepped for-
ward. ‘
he indicated’ two
he said when they
leave your car here
and drive back in a patrol car.”
Together with Rygaard they climbed
into the Captain’s car. With sirens
Screaming, a uniformed fireman chauf-
feured the big’ car up Mulholland
Drive. The buzzards still circled—
ominous silhouettes against the sun-
flooded sky of late afternton.
Now that the boys had suggested it,
the three men were instantly aware
of a pungent, distasteful odor seeping
upward from the bottom of the Steep
ravine. As _ they slid down, the
Mauseous smell became stronger. Cap-
tain Bergendoff recognized it as the
“These boys—”
young fellows standing near by—
“turned in the report,” vs
Condaffer approached the white-
-faced youths, os
“I am Vernon Johnson,”
one of them
said. “My friend here,
Ed Hitchcock,
This Is the only existing picture of Barbara Mauger,
killed by the gun shown below. with the ring she wore
‘said Condaffer
| penetrate the thicket,
downh
‘and I saw some buzzards flying ov
the canyon and there were 50 mai
we thought we’d see why. -And—y
found a dead woman. She looked av
-ful—she didn’t have any clothes on
“Thanks, boys. I’m glad you turn
ina report SO soon.”
. you, sir.”
Condaffer nodded to the boys aga
and then we began to climb down tl
sharp incline from the grade. Ju
before we got out of sight, Detecti\
_ Lieutenants William Thompson ar.
Pat Murphy of the Valley Divisic
showed up.
WE STOPPED at the tree stum:
where Captain Bergendoff poini
ed out the scalp. We made a close ‘ir.
spection of the ground, finding the soi
in an area of about six feet by thre
feet, stained and apparently saturate
by some pungent substance. :
“T think that’s formaldehyde,” Berg
endoff said. .
“Seems more like creosote to me,
after he had smelled
handful of the earth. :
we left the scalp for the time bein,
an
it had been there for
some. time—ex.
posed to whatever rays
of the sun coul
to the wind anc
to the merciless rodents and small ani-
mals. The body, with the head slight];
ill, was completely nude. W;
held handkerchiefs _to our perspirin;
BAYNTON, Albert George, hanged Los Angeles, Cae, 1886 = Continued,
On Oct. 1, 1886, pleaded guilty to murders of wife and Kipp. TIMES, Los Angeles, CA
Oct. 2, 1886 (f2.)
Sentenced to be hanged on Nove 12, 1886. "eeeBaynton maintained a perfect coolnesseeeecece
Baynton's desire is that there shall be no unnecessary delay, and the span of life
allotted him by the court is perfectly satisfactory. He says himself that his deed
was the most atrocious thing he ever heard of," TIMES, Los Angeles, Oct, 3, 1886 (h)
face rigid and ghastly, his breath and pulse faint and fluttering, Over him hung the
despairing little wife, with her arm under his pillow and her face laid to his, patting
his wan brow with her hand, and saying: 'Oh, papal Speak to me once,! Upon the bed
lay curled a ddspairing 8-year-old boy, crying as though his heart would break, Across
the threshold of the kitchen lay Mrs, Baynton upon her back, her fair, sweet face
eolorlkess from pain, and her white bosom blurred by the gasping pullet hole. In the
Little side bedroom was Nettie Kipp, her strong young constm&tution and her fearful
wound struggling for mastery. Kindly neighbors with moist eyes and shaky voices were
ministering such friendly services as they could give, and Drs. T. B. McCarthy, Will E,
Lindley, %. P. Percival and H, B, Ellis gave medical and surgical assistance,. At 8:5
an hour after the shooting, Mr. Kipp breathed :his last in the arms of his wife, Nettie
was holding her own fairly, and had a chance of living, though the odds were strongly
against her, The bodies.of Mr, Kipp and Mrs, Baynton were taken to Sutch & Orr's
undertaking establishment, At 2 o'clock this morning, Nettie Kipp's condition showed
no change, and it was still impossiible to tell whether she can live,
BOYNTON TALKS
", TIMES reporter interviewed Baynton in the city jail about 2 hours after the tragedy
had occurred, He was confined in cell No, 3. As the reporter approached the cell
|
- goor, he heard Baghton groaning as he paced forward and backward on the cell floor,
'Baynton is there anything we can do for you?! saud the reporter in ordér to attract
the man's attention, 'Oh, no,t was his reply; 'they say my wife is dead. .I hope to
God it ain't so, for she was a mighty .nice little woman,' By this time he had come
up to the wicket of the cell door, so that his face was visible, He has a short,
square face, short reddish whiskers, but.the faint light did not permit much of a
description to be obtained of him, In response to the question .how the matter
happened, Baynton gave a rather-dry, disjointed story at first, but a little cues-
tioning drew out his statement as follows: He had a little 'miff' with his wife
yesterday morning, as he called it, and went off to work at Mrs, Masterson's on
Hill Street.- In the evening he returned home, His wife was at Kipp's place,
attending a spiritual seance, so he-claimed, Baynton went to the house,.but a big
black dog of Kipp's-cothing out in the yard, he went back home, and got his pistol,
and returned to Kipp's,. At the gate he tore a picket off the fence to protect him-
self from the dog, and went to the door and knocked, Kipp came to the door and
opened its and Baynton said that he then saw Kipp and his wife in a line from him, and
that at the thme moment the dog appeared on the steps in front of the door between
him and Kipp. The latter asked, 'What do you want?! and Baynton said: ‘what does
all this mean; anyway?! Baynton then fired at the dog he said, but he.also said
that the'moment he fired at the dog Kipp and his wife were all in.the range of his
pistol, He said he did-not remember seeing Miss Kipp. He kept firing till all
the shots were gone, and then he said he clubbed Kipp over the head with his revolver,
striking him several times, This was all that Baynton had to say of the murder di-,
rectly, He said last night that he did not know if his wife was dead, that it was
Kipp he was after. Kipp coazed his wife over to attend the seancese He hopedhis
wife was alive, as they had a fine 6-months-old baby, and 3.other children besides,
He said once that he went over to see what the spirits were doing with his wife, and
again he said that when he shot, it was at the dog, The pistol is a Webely make,
and is ll caliber, center fire, and six chambered, In response to the inouiry if
he had been drinking, Baynton at-first said 'No,' and then said he had a glass of
Glaret and a glass of beer during the day, but claimed he was perfectly sober at
the time he went to Kipp's. No liquor could be smelled on his breath, He bitterly
regretted hfs deed, if his groans are to be accounted, One of the Baynton children
was missling last night. The police made a diligent search, but could not find the
child, They report that Baynton had been in the habit of going on sprees, and abus-=
ing his wife when he came home, On such occasions the children would run out and
hide, and it is thought this is what the missing child has done this time, Yesterday
morning’ Baynton said he would, take the child out and shoot it and they would see what
he would do with him, Some thought last night hat he had probably fulfilled his
threat, but this is not probable,": TIMES, Los Angeles, CA, Sept. 18,. 1886 (1128 3)
"..eYesterday he (Baynton) deeded his property, consisting of a house 2nd Jot on Olive
St. valued at about 4,500 to his children, Two years ago, when in, the service of
_the Central Railway Company, Baynton was discharged on account of his insulting treat-
“ment of passengers." TIMES, hos Angeles, California, September 21, 1886 (L43.)
in Hollywood.
to them. They scrambled down
through the thick underbrush
toward the spot over which the
buzzards floated. © j
“Gosh Almighty!”’’ exploded
Hitchcock, as he paused for breath.
“That’s an awful ‘smell! Sure’s
somethin’ dead down there!”
“Look!” gasped the other, point- .
ing ahead where a large dark stain
spread over a bare stretch of
ground in a small Freredecd “S’pose
that’s blood?”
“Gosh! I bet ’tis. ‘We best not
go any closer. We gotta tell the
guys at the Ranger station.” And
two very frightened scouts ran
panting up the hills to their old
flivver.
A short distance down the high-
ie
It was an old story
way they met one of the private
estate Rangers riding his patrol.
Howard Rygaard listened carefully
to the .excited boys, then leaving
his horse by the roadside, climbed
into the Ford with the lads who,
with thoroughness of scout train-
ing, had marked the place where
they had first seen the buzzards.
Like a Nemesis, a lone buzzard
still floated over the deep ravine.
But as the Ranger and the lads
scrambled down the bank, the nec-
rophagous bird, as though knowing
its work was finished, soared with
flapping wings and disappeared
into the blue.
The spot.which the scouts had
thought to be blood, Ranger Ry-
gaard said was heavy oil and he
was turning away when his glance
fell on what ap-
, peared to be a full
scalp of golden hair hanging from
the broken branch of a stump. Hor-
rified at the discovery and sickened
_at the stench that poured up from
the ravine below, the trio continued
slowly down to the spot “fingered”
by the circling buzzard: There they
found the badly decomposed body
of a woman. : rat
Without touching a thing, Ry-
gaard and the boys hurried back to
one of the telephone patrol boxes
on the scenic highway that winds
its way
overlooking the movie capital.
Foe a long time, Detective Lieu-
tenant Sanderson and the other
officers studied the hideously twist-
ed body, while the two scouts,
handkerchiefs to their faces,
watched wide-eyed. Then detail-
ing Detective Lieutenants William
Thompson and Pat Murphy of the
along the mountainside a
_WPetective Sanderson patiently and
horoughly sifted the ashes in ange .
cinerator which yielded an im-¥%
portant clew. An interested witness &
Van Nuys division -
(Con’d on page 47)
looks on.
ae Captain of Detectives, L.
derson: He tackled one of
toughest murder cases in his
Career,
the toy
“Another victim of illicit love.”
(Specially Posed)
doi d ELS ae
renters) RACES) PMY at fies
md. £. Oraasch, clerk o e court,
rapped for order. Then Judge Wood-
ward stated in measured tones that
the defendant “has been found guilty
of murder as charged in the indict-
ment. ; el
“Because evidence as to the degree
of guilt is largely circumstantial—ex-
treme penalty will not be imposed. . os
who had joined the other officers, to
search the surrounding hillside, San-
derson and Condaffer began a minute
examination of the body.
Apparently the woman had been
young, a blond with even white teeth.
Height about five feet five; weight
perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds.
The eyes were gone, the ribs on the
right side exposed and the right leg
was missing from the hip. All the in-
ternal organs were also missing. Not a
shred of clothing remained on the body.
“Whoever pulled this job wasn’t
taking any chances on the clothes
being identified,” muttered Condaffer
as he studied the body.
“Hold your horses!” retorted San-
derson.
hand.”
“Well, you can bet your last bot-
tom dollar, it won’t tell us much, prob-
ably a phoney from the dime store—
a guy who was smart enough to take
away every piece of clothing wouldn’t
pull a boner and leave a ring that
could be identified,” said Condaffer.
Death had seemingly come from a
shot through her head, just under the
bridge of the nose. The missing right
leg had either been. hacked or torn off.
This was indicated by an almost ver-
tical line of dried parchment-like skin.
A thorough search of the surrounding
area failed to locate the missing leg,
but the officers did find a pelvis bone
with flesh still clinging to it half way
down from the spot where the scalp
had been found and where the skele-
“There’s a ring on the left
.ton rested.
“Same odor. It’s from the same
body,” said Lefty James. “How come
; The judgment of this court is. that
you, Dominik Sutter, be and you are
hereby sentenced to serve the re-
mainder of your natural life at San
Quentin Prison.” ;
To his dying day, Dominik Sutter
will be unable to free himself of the
memory of that skull which grinned
mockingly at him from across the
‘courtroom. Meanwhile Stockton offi-
i
MICTI
the body’s scattered all over the land-
scape?”
“Must have hacked off the leg up
at the first spot,” Condaffer reasoned,
“then dragged the body down here
and the loosened pelvis bone was torn
off on the way down.”
“But why take off one leg?” de-
manded Lefty.
“Might have been going to cut up
the whole body and got scared away,”
surmised Bert Jones.
‘“Why tear off the scalp and hang’
it up there?” asked Sanderson. “This
job has a lot of funny angles to it
and no foolin’.”
Mrs. Gertrude Reibling had a hunch. It was
a lucky one—for the police—but not so good
for a certain murdering Lothario.
A sudden shout from a member of
the searching party drew the detec-
tives’ attention. Lieutenant Thomp-
son had come across two small oval
shaped bones—bones that seemed to
be from the head of a very small child.
These bones, to all appearances, had
been exposed to the elements for
about the same period of time as had
the woman’s body. _ ;
“We seem to have two murders on
our hands now, Sandy,” said Con-
daffer. :
“It should make identification
easier at any rate,” said Sanderson.
“A woman and child missing narrows
the search. Looks like it was a baby.
Hope we can find more of the bodies
before dark.”
But they didn’t. ‘
A careful search of the area where
the scalp was found seemed to indicate
that the woman’s body had lain at
‘
cials are attempting to locate the
mother and sister of the murdered
man. Proceeds of the recovered
Mazenauer property will be sent them
as soon as proper court action can be
taken, the district attorney announced.
Ee RRO Re Nate
Me. pagel) 2.
that spot for some time. Possibly
hanging across the stump that pro-
truded from the bank, then gradually
slipping down to the ground and tear-
ing off the scalp as it dropped. Close
under this stump, for a space of about
five by three feet, the soil was sat-
urated to a depth of fully three inches
with a greasy substance incident to a
decomposing body. ;
“That body must have been in a
bad way before it was moved on down
the gulch,” effered one of the news-
paper men. “How do you figure it
was moved, Sandy?” :
“Animals, perhaps,” replied San-
derson. “What puzzles me is how that
leg was amputated. Cutting off a
leg isn’t what you’d call an easy job
under any circumstances.”
Reasoning that the body had been
rolled or dragged down from the high-
way above, the officers and newspaper
men searched every foot of the inter-
vening area. But without results,
until at the edge of Mullholland. high-
way and directly above the spot where
the scalp hung, Detective Condaffer
came on four small white beads. Just
the ordinary dime-store variety from
a string which some woman had worn
around her throat in life—but they
helped put the noose around the throat -
of her murderer.
While the evening extras blazoned
—‘Body of Nude Woman Found in the
Hollywood Hills”; “Girl Murdered and
' Stripped”; “Ring Sole Clue to Mur-
der’—Chief Cline and his detectives
studied the meager clues—the white
gold wedding ring and the four or-
dinary white beads.
The picture as: Sanderson and
Condaffer pieced it together was that
the woman had been killed at the
edge of the highway or had at least
struggled there breaking the string
of beads she had worn. That her body
had been thrown down the steep bank;
rolling fifty feet, it had lodged across
the protruding stump. Sometime later
it had been carried or animals had
dragged it a hundred feet farther
down into the dense chaparral that
covers the hillside.
pelvis bone had been pulled loose.
These facts stood out: The head had
rested on or had been dragged across
the stump tearing off the scalp—the
body had lain by the stump for some
time—the leg had been cut off before
the body was moved. It seemed logical
to believe the amputation of the leg
had been carried out at some time _;
after the actual murder.
The murderer then had returned :
to the scene of his crime and removed
the leg—but why?
missing leg? _. ‘
Then came news from the “Eye” .~
Bureau—under a powerful magnify-
ing glass, the number 1047 was found e
At this time the - ~
Where was the === =
~
_cypneg cneere ~ | 7: he ee _. a lost calf that’ll soon be dead. Wish
we had time to see what those fel-
lars have .got.” =~. £3
. -- “Maybe we oughta’ take’ ‘time. ;
~~ “Let’s.” Vernon Johnson swung ~ as
‘out of his ancient Ford without
troubling to open the door. . 4%
Together, the two boys climbed
the low embankment at the edges
of Mullholland Drive and looked —
down the steep declivity that”
dropped away to the narrow ravine *
over which the buzzards were cir-~
cling. Far below them stretched”
Hollywood—the alluring siren to
ee ee i pig eta — ate. - whose arms men and women flock
etecive mn er ie: poin' Oo gun WOHic. e ve erson 8. owing oO ra ae
Mauger’s parents. The gun with which their daughter was killed. : pearing pesceful. aad Wee oP
“ing in golden sunshine.
But the boys were not interested
Es
EY f Four Tittle white heads and a 1 white gold wediies ring | proved the ‘undoing fe a ruthless
- ~ murderer.
ai :
oa Tine J Seg
Ses pre
Overlooking glamoréus Hollywood are the Hollywood Hills, scene of a sordid brett
which shook the film capital to its very foundations.
Had the ia el signed his name on the slug, it could not have been plainer to the modern ee i 4S po
Vivacious, aT haired Barbara Mauger.
ee expert, than the “burrs” which marked the fatal bullet. Picture on left shows section
of gun barrel. The fatal bullet is in center of picture on right. as she looked while rollicking on the beach
16
3
SER eR Ee ete sei i etna
scratched on the inner side of the
ring. It had probably been pawned at
one time. But where.
Sol Zamansky, president of the
Pawnbrokers’ Association was located
> . -at his home and gave the information
that this 1047 was a code number used
by a shop at 557 South Main street.
The owner of that pawn-shop quickly
furnished Sanderson with the infor-
mation that the ring in question had
been pawned three months earlier by
a woman who gave the name of Bar-
ber and her address as 841 Golden
Avenue. ne
Sanderson and Condaffer hurried to
~ the Golden Avenue address but found
the flat vacant. Questioning the neigh-
bors, they learned that the place had
last been occupied by a Mr. and Mrs.
Russell Burholm. The Burholms had
been gone two months and had left no
forwarding address.
The manager of the building, Mrs.
M. Laird was positive that none of the
tenants knew where the Burholms
had gone.
“Why, we talked about it many
times,” said Mrs. Laird. “You see,
Barbara—that’s Mrs. Burnholm’s name
—was such a cute little tyke. She
was—was going to have a baby in
about a month and we’”all thought
she’d let us know how she stood the
trip east.”
“A baby!”—“The trip east!” Sander-
pe and Condaffer broke in at the same
ime.
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Laird. “She
= went east very unexpectedly and
....luand 0’ Goshen, she never even said
= good bye, ‘so we women folks thought
she’d surely send us a picture postal
or leastways write us about the baby. |
She _allus seemed to be so friendly
Bete ie LEK, ges
“=... “Did her husband go with her?”
‘Condaffer queried. .
“No, sir.” Mrs. Laird shook her
head vigorously. “Barbara and Rus-
sell—that’s her husband’s name—went
to visit an auntie in Long Beach—
I dunno as I ever heard tell of the
auntie’s name—and they found the
auntie was going back east and little
Barbara on the spur of the moment
decided to go back and be with her
Ma when the baby came. Russell, he
came home and packed their things
and moved downtown. We never
seen hide nor hair of him since. If
we women have talked once, I’ll bet
we've talked a dozen times, about not
hearing from little Barbara. We won-
dered about her and the baby.”
“’m wondering about her and her
baby,” muttered Condaffer turning to
his partner.
Convinced that they were on the
right track, Detectives Sanderson and
Condaffer worked through the night,
interviewing the tenants of the flat
building where the Burholms had
lived.
Mrs. Mae Burns, a housekeeper at
one of the large downtown hotels, had
been Mrs. Burholm’s closet friend.
There was much she could tell the
officers. Barbara Burholm had ex-
pected her baby the last of July or
-the first part of August. She had made
loving preparations for the event, pur-
chasing many tiny garments and fash-
ioning others herself. At times the
girl had seemed overjoyed at the
prospect of the baby and on other
occasions oddly downcast.
Mrs. Burns had met Mrs. Burholm
by chance on a real estate excursion
and had later moved into the same
building with the girl. They had be-
come fast friends. Barbara had cried
4 ana
a great deal of late and that had an- |
noyed the husband, Mrs. Burns re-
called.
“What about Burholm? Did he want
the baby?” questioned Sanderson.
“And were the Burholms happy?”
--“T wouldn’t say so at all times. He
didn’t chase around with other wom-
en, but he would stay away from home
a lot and he left her at home alone.
She told me she married him in At-
lantic City and that she knew no one
out here when they first came to Los
Angeles.” sie ga ah ee OEY baci tend
The part of Mrs. Burns’ story that
was of most interest to the detectives
was the events of the last few days
before Barbara Burholm went away.
Barbara, it seems, told Mrs. Burns
that she and Russell were planning
a Sunday picnic up in Laurel Canyon
in the Hollywood Hills. She recalled
_ how thrilled the girl had been at the
thought of the picnic. They were going
into the hills so Russell could do some
target practice—Russell had borrowed
a gun from a friend. .-
“Did she tell you this?” Sanderson
broke in sharply. “Are you certain?”
“Well, I was in her apartment that
Saturday afternoon and the telephone
rang,’ Mrs. Burns said slowly. “Bar-
bara talked with Russell. Then she
turned to me and said, ‘Honey wants
me to tell him the make of the gun
he brought home. He’s got to get
bullets for it.” Then she got the gun—
a long, dark-colored one—from a
dresser drawer and I helped her find
out the name printed on the barrel.
Then she phoned him and repeated the
name of the revolver.” - .__.
“Tll be a son of a gun! Did you
ever see so many lucky breaks in a
murder case?” Sanderson pulled his
hat down over one eye and grinned
at his partner. “Let’s see if the other
neighbors have good memories.”
When questioned again, Mrs. Laird
recalled that Burholm claimed he was
a motion picture operator at the
Metropolitan Theater, Sixth and Hill
Streets.
“I believe we are after the right
bird,” Sanderson muttered as he and
Condaffer high-tailed it to the thea-
tre in question. But this time they
were out of luck. No one by that
name had ever been employed there.
Back at the Golden Avenue address,
Mrs. Laird was positive Burholm had
said the Metropolitan Theatre but she
also recalled seeing Russell working
over some blue prints and drawings.
Sort of remembered it was a refrig-
eration system, she thought.
“We didn’t try the engine room,”
suggested Condaffer.
No luck at the engine room of the
theatre. Again the police car made
its run back to Golden Avenue. It
was two A. M. as Sanderson eased’ the
sedan to the curb. As the officers let
themselves quietly into the apartment
house, a door at the far end of the
hall opened and a woman thrust her
head out, and in a frightened whisper
queried, “Who’s there?”
“Police officers,” Condaffer an-
swered, and although he tried to whis-
per, his voice, with its peculiar deep
resonance, reverberated sepulchrally
down the dim corridor. The ‘whisper’
earried through the far apartment
and a woman within began screaming
shrilly, so that it was some time be-—
fore she could be quieted. ~— “
All the tenants knew nothing about
the Burholms. Very soon the detec-
tives had the story—Burholm had
rented a car—he had been seen driv-
ing away with his wife for a picnic in’
high lights—Russell Burholm ‘cha a
“made with -such loving care -for
“Sanderson and Condaffer returned
in a year.
bed
the hills—he had returned late es
night and had told the story of an?
aunt in Long Beach making a hurried’= =
trip east and taking Barbara with her.™
Then to the picture was added ‘the
ting happily with the neighbors, tell<3
ing them how glad he was that ‘his=
wife would be with her mother when
the baby came—the slender, good-
looking husband whistling as he
packed his wife’s clothing in bundles
and sorted over the tiny garments
coming baby—the prospective father
carefully packing the little garments
in boxes, whistling happily all the
time—jovially giving the supply ‘of @
groceries to the friends his wife had
made—then after cordial good-byes, 7
with a package under each arm, ja 3
ily walking out of the picture. ©
No one had heard from either of the
Burholms after that day. “veers
The detectives were about to leave~
when Mrs. Burns touched Sanderson’s
arm. “There’s something I forgot to
tell you. I remember the number that =
Barbara called when she told Russell
the make of the gun,” said Mrs. Burns.
“You do? Swell!” ee
. “She wasn’t used to our dial phon
and had me call the number for her.
re called it before so I can remembe
it.” “ j tee
“You can?” Before she could re-
peat the mumber Sanderson had
stepped swiftly across to the telephone ~
and even as she repeated Mutual
1525, he had dialed information. ~ <)/%,
“Well, Pll be hog-tied!” Sanderson 4
eased the receiver back on its hook
and turned to his partner. “That’s the
engine room of the Metropolitan The-
atre.”: 2 Se,
“Let’s go!” . Condaffer inne
broadly. ‘Make a few more dents in
that trail to the theatre you were talk~
ing about.” And then he muttered,
“We're getting to be regular stage- ~~
door Johnnies,’ as he and Sanderson “5
shoved open the door leading back
Stage at the Metropolitan... ae ss dioal
“There’s somebody around. I can
hear voices,” said Sanderson as they -
made their way to where a faint glim-
mer of light and scattered scenery
threw Gargantuan shadows. “S18
The voices belonged to a couple of
stage carpenters who were preparing
to leave. They knew nothing about
any past employees. Wearily the two
officers returned to Central Station. =
There the Missing Person detail had
some pertinent information for them.
Mrs. Gertrude Reibling, 1315 No. Ave. -
54, had been visiting friends at the ~~~
Golden Avenue address about ten days
before, and had reported to the police
the story of Mrs. Burholm’s unex-
pected trip east which she thought
sounded very phoney. The Missing
Person detail had made a report. 0
what the neighbors thought of #
occurrence but the matter had”
been followed up. - Now, the.
loomed large. ae
Shortly after six the next mo
to
the engine room of the Metropolitan.
Chief Engineer E, L. Sargeant W’ of
positive that no one by the name 0).
Burholm had worked for the “piank~
But when questioned ¥7 |
Sanderson as to who might have DES" g
using the telephone to receive Ms",
sages, recalled that a company had Ih
stalled a cooling system about tw@
months before. Eagerly turning to.
records, he told the officers. thats
Carrier Engineering Company ha
stalled the system, and that th
ning
2
a “e ee
iad murder in mind
Jong for the ride
1 confessed any-
cide, the general
as that he would
‘o official report,
juoted as saying
i the couple’s in-
ob.”
; Bear and Field
‘sted the couple,
me and the pair
stioning.
les talked freely
cf iat
pire Ge
—
Se
“Homer Bryan, while they sat outside in their car.
x :
lice quoted Chapple, Bentley and Waldo discussed holding
up another liquor store. “But it was toa well lighted, and
they decided not to try it.”
- According to Chapple, as quoted by the detectives; Waldo,
who had served time with him at-the California Youth Au-
( thority institution in Ione, had lived with the Chapples in
. Winton, Merced County, for,a short time and Bentley had
joined Waldo there the day of the Modesto holdup. ‘
_ After abandoning the idea of the Calwa City holdup, they
‘all drove back to Modesto, the Chapples assertedly told the
detectives. There Bentley and Waldo picked up another
car. The Chapples then drove back to their home in Winton,
» threw their belongings into their car and drove to Modesto,
“hoping to hide from Bentley (Continued on page 75)
“Yes,” they were quoted by the detectives, “we were
along with Bentley and Waldo the night of the Fresno slay-
ing.” But they were forced to go, they insisted. The pair had
threatened them and their baby if they did not accompany
them in the Chapple car. But they only sat outside in the
car. They did not go into the liquor. store, they asserted.
They also allegedly admitted having been in the car with
Bentley and Waldo on the May 2ist holdup of the Red.
Carpet liquor store in Modesto. Bt it
Detectives Papeleo and Lauters also quoted the Chapples ™
as admitting they had heard the shots which took the life of
é
ete
Bentley and Waldo ran out and jumped into the car and
they drove to Calwa City, just south of Fresno, There, ‘pos
apse
In his jail cell Bentley (1.) reportedly had twice attempted suicide. ‘Manacled, he and Waldo were returned by plane to Fresno
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| up details of the case, they unexpectedly
| Smith was held up,
acquired six more witnesses. Phoenix au-
thorities informed the Fresno officials that
six teenagers had come to police head-
quarters and reported that they had been
forced to accompany Waldo and Bentley
to the service station the night young
assaulted and kid-
naped. The teenagers said the two men
had “threatened them with a belt” if they
did not go along on the trip.
And, most important to the Fresno au-
thorities, all six teenagers recalled that the
pair had bragged about shooting and killing
a California liquor~ store owner. State-
ments, with their names and addresses,
were taken from the six Arizona young-
sters and they were told they probably
would be taken to California. to testify.
Another link was forged when, from
Modesto, Police Inspector Harry Gorman
reported that the clerk in the Red Carpet
liquor store there—the young man who >
had been pistol-whipped by two gunmen
the night of May 21st—had identified
Bentley and Waldo as his assailants.
Detectives Papeleo and Lauters still
were not satisfied with Billy Joe Chapple’s
story. As a minor, Chapple had been in-
volved only in very small crimes around
Modesto. His record had earned him a
short stay in Preston, but he did not seem
the type of criminal to make the jump
from that to a killing. dn their first: in-
terrogation of him, Detectives Lauters and
Papeleo had “gone easy” with him, not
wanting to risk silencing a potential wit-
ness against Bentley and Waldo. But with
the evidence they had gathered in the case,
they now were anxious to get the full
story from Chapple.
Perhaps, the lawmen agreed, a session
with the polygraph would do it. They
knew, of course, that California courts do
not permit the findings of the machine to
be used as evidence against the suspect,
but few officials doubt the reliability of the
polygraph needle when the machine is
monitored by a competent examiner.
They put the question to Chapple: “Will
you take a lie detector test?”
The young man hesitated, “I don’t know
about that,” he said doubtfully.
Carefully they explained it to him. It
was ‘just a routine,” they assured him. The
results of the test were not used in the
courtroom. And if his story of being an un-
willing accomplice in the crime was true,
he had nothing to fear.
They waited, while he thought over what
they had said. Experience had shown them
‘that a combination of bravado and the be-
lief that he can beat the machine usually is
enough to persuade a Suspect to take the
test. If Chapple was innocently involved in
the crime, it would strengthen his testi-
mony as their star witness. If he was
guilty, they did not propose to let him get
away with murder. !
“Well—all right,” Billy Joe Chapple said
at last, “I’ll take it.”
They took him to the room where the
machine was set up, introduced the expert
who would conduct the examination, The
expert talked easily with Chapple, ex-
plaining in layman’s terms the principle of
the electronic truth-seeker, As is usual in
such a preliminary interview, ‘even the
questions he would be’ asked were ex-
plained to the nervous young man, with
the purpose of calming his fears, It would
be useless to give the polygraph test to an
extremely nervous person, He would show
marked’ reactions on the machine, even if
only asked the time of day. :
This “conditioning” conversation ap-
peared to be successful, After a short while
Chapple’s nervousness vanished and he ap-
proached the machine with apparent calm
and confidence. He sat easily in the chair
while the examiner adjusted the straps.
Then the questioning began, But now
ey eek
they came in a different sequence. The
room was very quiet. As Chapple watched
the jumping needle making its telling red
marks on the running graph, little beads
of sweat broke out on his forehead. In an-
Swer to some of the critical questions, the
marks jumped higher, and higher
Suddenly, halfway through the test, the
officials later revealed, Billy Joe Chapple
broke down; trembling, sobbing, he now
admitted he had helped plan the Modesto
and Fresno holdups. “But I didn’t know
they had murder in mind,” he was quoted
The test was halted and a tape recorder
was turned on to take his statement. As
disclosed by the Officials, Chapple said in
this statement that his wife Linda knew
that he and Bentley and Waldo were plan-
ning the robberies and she went along,
“because I told her to,” Waldo and Bent-
ley, he said, “believed they would be able
to avoid suspicion if a woman and a baby
were in the car,” so they took the baby
along too.
The statement also affirmed that Bentley
and Waldo had bet $15 on who would be
the first to shoot Bryan. As the car sped
away after the shooting, Bentley told them
he had shot Bryan in the stomach as Bryan
tried to slam the door. Then, as Bryan lay
on the floor, Waldo shot him in the head.
The statement confirmed Bentley’s story of
the three-way split of the money from
Bryan’s cash box.
Still quoting from the ‘ tape-recorded
statement, Chapple said that after the four
of them returned to Winton, Waldo and
Bentley dyed their hair black, “so they
would not be recognized,” The quartet split
up in Modesto, after Waldo and Bentley
obtained another car,
On July 10th Fred D. Waldo and James
A. Bentley were arraigned on charges of
murder and armed robbery before Fresno
Municipal Judge Kenneth Andreen. The
next day the accessory charge against Billy
Joe Chapple was dropped and replaced by
a murder and armed robbery charge. Dis-
trict Attorney Savory said he was at pres-
ent undecided whether he would request
the death penalty for Chapple. The three
men were held without bail.
Linda Chapple, still facing the accessory
charge, lost a chance for temporary free-
dom when her bail was hiked from $1,000
to $10,000.
Arizona officials stated that, for the pres-
ent at least, they were satisfied that Waldo
and Bentley were not involved in the mur-
der of the Welch couple near Seligman, but
they were continuing their investigation.
At Winton another search was instituted
for the barrel portion of the .22 pistol, the
butt of which was recovered by skindivers
in the Merced River near Chapple’s former
home. Two mine-detector experts from
Fort Ord, Monterey County, joined Deputy
District Attorney Carter .and Detectives
Lauters and Papeleo in the search.
Meanwhile legal proceedings continue, to
prepare the prosecution of the case against
Waldo, Bentley and Chapple for the alleged
murder of Homer Bryan. A combined trial
for the three accused is expected to begin
before the end of the year. It is expected
that Mrs, Linda Chapple will be tried sepa-
rately on the accessory charge.
As of now, the four young defendants re-
main in their Fresno County jail cells.
They have time now to reflect that they
might not be there, but for a costly boast
in Arizona, a young man’s memory for
faces and names, and the skill and dogged
determination of detectives in three states.
And, most of all, it may occur to them
that they might not be in their present
plight but for one cool night on the out-
skirts of Fresno when a man’s life, which
had been risked for them over Germany
while they were still in grammar school,
poured out over a hardwood floor and a
bunch of magazines. oe
An Urge
to Kill a ¢
dropped by to see he
of the popular all-ni¢
on busy Pine Aven:
Long Beach’s § garis!
ocean-front amusem:
less and didn’t fee}
one thing, the finance
ening to repossess h
for delinquent payme
wise to keep on the
for a few minutes
he’d “drive around’
have something to ea
3:30 a.m.
It was shortly afte:
son climbed into his s
sports car in front
drove off. It was a su!
Jay was dressed ca
slacks and a_ short-:
shirt that bared his |
with their bulging n
disk of a full moon \
the Santa Ana Mou
the corner into Ocear
toward Rainbow Pier
An hour and a halt
after 1:30 Thursday
nurses at Hillcrest C
on Cedar Avenue at '
northern section of Li
Hill, were startled
pounding on their wi
for help. The big s:
tive one-sto¥y moder:
of several sprawling \
lonely, sparsely settle
limits, surrounded bs
with a few oil-well a.
Quickly slipping o:
nurse switched on the
blinds. Wisps of coas
after midnight and
but she could make ot
ing figure of a man in
“Help me!” he shi
close to the lighted
sake, help me! My G
killed a woman! Call
He pressed his big
and the wide-eyed
gleaming wetly in the
peated his plea in
Then he reeled away {
fell on his face.
The two nurses we)
tained their professi
The head nurse r
called the Long Bea
was logged at 1:32 a.
about killing someon
over him.”
The head nurse and
ly donned their w
switched on further lig
grounds, but they wi
going outside or open
police came,
When Radio Patrolm
C. M. Copulas arrived
utes, the man was w:
under the window, bea
his fists, muttering and
ly. He was a husky,
fellow in sports clot!
arms and his green
with fresh blood. “My
over and over. “I kille
The two nurses haste
policemen. After Pat
tained that the strang
the head nurse bent ov:
aR AR
the faculties
iy—the rare
before it be-
ical ability to
vay as it un-
began when
r questioning.
‘ prelude and
d, including
death-dealing
$s grip
piay was to
reader in the
t as close as
1e to the eye-
rate fugitive
tenant Grun-
them a five-
how he had
le. Detective
Miami police
‘xpressed no
ne is worried
is talking
were dead.”
son indicated
s at Interna-
1 when he
* Leeds.
the gover-
ssued to ex-
told Florida
lition.
inclothesmen
slayer. On
30 am., De-
nd Detective
(ta Airlines’
as the same
‘lorida three
ding the air
isoners, ar-
urn Jackson
ns and Han-
il with their
morning, at
> that nféht
Jackson was
the next
ton and ar-
30 p.m.
Daily News
vho met the
Stevens,
car. He was
to a belt
stevens told
cooperative,
ted himself
ne slayings.”
Jackson al-
secretary,
details of
ctives Stev-
ackson, and
r his paper,
how he re-
but found
police dis-
he re-
> the man
ire: patch
vill always
sband was
ough, was
nfession, as
employe of
was fired
two weeks’
[ felt like
instead, he
and finally
he bought
then went
e store and
said he
¢ tabled
talking
ASIA erceressahe noted + ie
to friends and visiting various bars.
“Were you intoxicated?” Sergeant Stev-
ens asked Jackson.
“I don’t think so, I didn’t drink that
much,” the prisoner said.
Jackson told police that about 5 a.m. he
walked past the car rental firm Mrs. Lar-
ken managed and found a car with the
keys in it. He said he phoned Mrs. Larken
and asked to talk to her. When she agreed,
he related, he drove to her home.
According to the statement taken from
Jackson, he and Mrs. Larken reportedly
stood on the patio and discussed his being
fired. When she protested his driving one
of the company cars off the lot, an argu-
ment ensued and Charles Larken came to
the door. “Then I knew it was time for
me to leave, so I told her she was too
angry to talk, that I’d talk to her later,”
he was quoted. About that time, Jackson
allegedly said, she grabbed him and said
they would “talk now.”
As quoted from his statement, Jackson
said that he shoved Mrs. Larken away
and her husband came forward and slapped
him. More argument followed and Larken
suddenly “turned and ran into the house.
I stepped inside the screen door and told
him not to pick up anything. He turned, I
thought he was going for a gun, I shot
him.” According to police, the confession
continued: “Mrs. Larken began to scream.
{ turned and shot her. Then I pulled her
inside the door.’ In the meantime, Charles
Larken was running through the house,
screaming—so “I shot him again.”
Jackson said he had considered giving
himself up. and also had: contemplated
suicide, but decided against both. Instead,
he planned the trip to Cuba. “I thought
about a man I admired so—Fidel Castro.”
The statement quoted Jackson as saying
that all the way to Florida on the plane,
killing Charles Larken “who had not been
concerned in the trouble” bothered him.
“That’s what was on my mind, on my con-
science.”
Jackson reportedly told police and the
secretary in his confession that he had
hoped the Miami airport police would kill
him. “I could have killed them, but I
didn’t. I couldn’t harm anybody else. I
thought they would kill me, get it over
with and I'd feel no pain. But they didn’t.”
The next day at 1:30 p.m., in Municipal
Court, O. C. Jackson was bound over to
the grand jury without bond on two counts
of murder in the first degree. He was trans-
ferred from the city jail to the Mont-
gomery County jail.
Chief of Police Paul J. Price praised the
work of his department. He told Detective
Lieutenant Richard C. Grundish the co-
operation between the uniform and plain-
clothes division was outstanding. What-
ever punishment might await Jackson, un-
der the law, Chief Price indicated, he could
be sure that he would receive the due
process of justice in respect to the charges
against him. Until he has had his day in
court, the suspect must be considered in-
nocent. oo4¢
“lll Bet $15
1 Kill Him First”
(Continued from page 43)
and Waldo.” The pair had thrown the
murder guns into the Merced River near
his Winton home, Chapple was quoted.
And, according to the official report, Billy
Joe Chapple disclosed that before they en-
tered Bryan’s liquor store Waldo and
Bentley had bet each other $15 on who
would fire the fatal shot.
Billy Joe Chapple and Linda Chapple
were booked on charges of being acces-
sories to the murder of Homer Bryan.
Deputy District Attorney Carter and Ser-
geants Papeleo and Lauters then returned
to Phoenix to question Bentley again. And
this time they elicited more information.
Told of the arrest of the Chapples and
their statements, Bentley now allegedly
admitted his part in the Modesto service
station holdup and in the Fresno holdup-
murder, implicating Waldo in both, and as-
serting that the Chapples were not forced
to accompany them but went of their own
accord. In fact, Bentley was quoted, Billy
Joe Chapple helped plan both the Modesto
and the Fresno holdups. At the Bryan
store, Attorney Carter and Sergeants Lau-
ter and Papeleo quoted Bentley, he “shot
twice as Bryan tried to slam the door;
then Waldo entered and fired the .22
pistol into Bryan's head.”
Told by the investigators that Bentley
had confessed, Waldo still was reluctant to
talk. Allegedly, he finally admitted par-
ticipating in the Phoenix service station
holdup, but he persistently denied any
connection with the Fresno slaying. He re-
fused to comment on Bentley’s statement.
After a conference with the Arizona
authorities, it was agreed that California
had the stronger case against the pair.
There murder and armed robbery charges
had been filed against them on June 29th.
Arizona had a_ possible death-penalty
charge against the pair, since the holdup-
assault on Phoenix service station atten-
dant Smith involved “kidnaping with
bodily harm,” a violation of their “Little
Lindbergh Law.” But, conceding that the
California case was shaping up better,
Arizona Officials agreed to the extradition
of the pair.
While the legal red tape of extradition
was being ironed out, a team of skindivers
from the Fresno sheriff’s office went out
to the Merced River near the Chapples’
former home in Winton and, guided by
Billy Joe Chapple, they found in a few
feet of water a .32 caliber pistol and the
butt of a .22 pistol—the two guns allegedly
used in the shooting of Homer Bryan.
Meanwhile other officers found in the
Chapples’ former home Bryan’s small
metal cash box, emptied, the authorities an-
nounced.
Both Bentley and Waldo waived extradi-
tion rights, thus speeding up the process
of returning them to California. And on
July 7th Attorney Carter and Sergeants
Papeleo and Lauters returned by plane to
Fresno with the pair. The officers reported
that during the trip Bentley had affirmed
“Spider” Chapple’s story of the $15-bet
between them on who would kill Bryan.
Waldo, however, had remained silent dur-
ing the entire trip.
But, two hours after the officials had
landed in Fresno with their prisoners,
Waldo broke down, they reported. They
now quoted him as admitting he was in-
volved in the holdup-slaying, but he re-
fused to discuss any details of the crime,
except to say the Chapples had not been
forced to go along.
During further questioning of Bentley,
the young gunman now reportedly stated
that the money from the Fresno holdup
was split three ways—one for him, one for
Waldo, and one for the Chapples. He also
was quoted as supporting Chapple’s story
of driving to Culwa City and then aban-
doning the planned holdup of a liquor
store there because the place was too well
lighted.
As Fresno authorities worked to wrap
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Sgts. Field (t.) and Bear searched their nickname files for name ‘Spider’
filed against Waldo and Bentley, as soon as the officers re-
turned home. The three then headed back for Fresno.
There Carter and Detectives Lauter and Papeleo were in-
formed that Fresno police had got a tip that relatives of
James Bentley were believed to be living at a certain ad-~
dress in Fort Scott, Kansas, and Kansas officers had been
requested to keep an eye on the place, in case Bentley
chanced to show up there,
That tip paid off. On June 29th Fort Scott officers spotted
the wanted man going into the house. Guns drawn, the offi-
cers entered the front door, just in time to see the fugitive |
darting out the back door. Dashing after him, an officer
fired a warning shot over his head. The running man
stopped short in the middle of the street, holding his hands
high in the air. Handcuffs were clamped on him and he was
taken to the Fort Scott police station, just a block away,
There he maintained a stubborn silence. Questioned about
the attack on young Smith, he had nothing to say. Asked
about the Fresno murder, he was quoted as saying only,
“That poor, poor man.” Later he was taken to Phoenix,
where he was booked on the same charges on which Waldo
was held—kidnaping, robbery and assault with a deadly
weapon in the holdup of young Smith. SPOR Fi
The first night after his arrest Bentley reportedly itwice
attempted suicide in his jail cell. He first tried to sever an
artery in his wrist by rubbing it raw on the rail of his bunk.
A jailer found him in time, and strapped him with leather
handcuffs. Somehow Bentley managed to remove the strap
from the cuffs and, later that evening, he was found hang-
ing from the top bar of his cell. Cut down, he was discov-
ered to be uninjured and was handcuffed to the lower bars
of his cell,
Meanwhile the Fresno detectives were fitting together
the various bits of information gathered by all the agencies
working on the case and other bits that trickled in. One
Fresno merchant’s memory was jogged by pictures of
Waldo and Bentley in the Fresno Bee. Police quoted him as
disclosing that from the pictures he recognized a pair who
had tried to buy .32 caliber’ ammunition in his ‘store
shortly before the Bryan murder, And, poring over the de-
tailed report of Edward Smith, Deputy District Attorney
Carter commented that the boasts of the pair on the night
of the Phoenix service station holdup closely described the
Fresno crime. : ; 9 i
/
ct
mind
ek.
Spider didn’t know pals had murder in
As yet neither Bentley nor Waldo had confessed any-
thing. But from Bentley’s attempts at suicide, the general
belief among the investigating officials was that he would
soon break.
It happened the next day. According to official report,
Bentley, under further questioning, was quoted as saying
that Billy Joe Chapple, Linda Chapple and the couple’s in-
fant daughter had been “in on the Fresno job.”
Informed of this in Modesto, Detectives Bear and Field
hastened to the Chapple home and arrested the couple,
Their infant was placed in a receiving home and the pair
turned over to the Fresno officers for questioning.
Unlike Bentley and. Waldo, the Chapples talked. freely
with the officers,
The slayer felt pretty sure of his
ability to cover up his crime.
Expert detective work made his
obliteration of evidence useless
whispered an invitation for her to lunch
with him
“T want to talk to you about some-
thing,”’ he said
Barbara found it difficult to keep her
mind on her work that morning, for she
beheved the words could mean only one
thing, and that he was at last about to
propose to her. She caught herself hum-
ming a gay little tune several times before
noontime came. When they were at last
seated opposite each other in a small
cafe, the voung man began earnestly
“Barbara, | have not told you that |
loved vou, nor asked you to be my wife,
because I’m not ready for marriage. |
want to see the world and have adven-
ture before 1] settle down. But 1 do
love you, and wonder if you don’t also
feel that wav ?”
Her blue eyes widened, and she hastily
wiped away tears, as she replied in a low
voice
“T’ve waited so long to hear vou say
you loved me, Russell.’
“Do you mean all those things you
said about not wanting to be a suburban
wife and of wanting adventure?” he
asked seriously
“Oh, ves,”” she told him vehemently,
“T do mean them.’
“Tf I leave the store and head for
South America, will vou come with me?”
he inquired
ER voice was low, as she answered
without hesitation, “I’d follow you
to the ends of the earth.’
That evening she told her parents that
Russell had invited her to spend the
week-end with his mother, who lived out
of town, and asked permission to do so.
Her parents agreed. They liked the man
even better for wanting their daughter
to meet his mother. Barbara looked
radiant as she kissed her family good-
by and stepped into the taxi he had
waiting at the door. They both waved
until the cab turned a corn
On Monday morning Barbara did noi
return home on schedule. The mailman
brought a letter from her, however,
which the mother read in bewilderment
The gir! had written
34
I am the happiest girl in the world.
I am sorry I told you the little fib
about going to spend the week-end
with Russell’s mother, but I was
afraid you and father would not
understand and might prevent our
carrying out the plan we had made.
You see, we are madly in love, but
neither of us want to have a conven-
tional life. We want romance and
adventure and we’re going to travel to
South America.
We'll be married soon and then I’ll
write you again. Please forgive my
not confiding in you, but as I say, I
was afraid you would not approve of
what I was doing
As the mother, with a chalk-like face,
stared at the words, her daughter and the
man she loved were skimming over the
highway in a second-hand car they had
purchased, heading westward. Barbara’s
Lieutenant A. C. Christenson fur-
nished a clue to the slain girl’s
identity when he told of re-
ceiving an anonymous message
Lieutenants Condaffer (left)
and Sanderson (right) dis-
cuss the tragedy with Bar-
bara’s parents, Mr. and Mrs.
Mauger, while Madeline
Kelley jots down notes
golden hair was flying in the wind: st
her eyes were bright with the dawn
a new experience. She felt that Russe!
had lifted her out of a conventions! [it:
and opened vistas about which ordinar
people knew nothing. She was complete!
enamored of him, and thrilled te tn
sitting beside him, sharing his |ic
When the car broke down thev ex
changed it for another. At lst they
reached Los Angeles, where Russel! 1
formed her
“We'll have to stay around here unt
1 can make some more money; then we
go to South America.”
She felt vaguely disappointed ut thi
news, but smiled bravely into his fac:
He had said nothing more about marr
ing her, and she bhadn’t brought up the
subject. They had been living in tourn-
houses and camps and now she Jonge
for a little apartment. The young mar
agreed readily. They found a comfortabl:
three-room suite. Within a few davs hi
had a good job as draftsman with a firn
installing cooling systems in building-
The pretty girl, with her gay simi
soon won friends in the apartment hous:
Her next-door neighbor gave her advices
when she needed it, which she often dyi
as she had had no experience running
home. One evening she perched on thr
arm of Russell’s chair as he sat reading
In an embarrassed voice, she pleade:
“Darling, don’t vou think we could }«
marned now”
He put down his paper to send her
startled look. “Why do vou bring ths
up and spoil everything?” he demande:
“] thought we were on an adventur
That’s what you agreed 1:
“T know,” she rephed with a eateh a
her voice, “but something has happene:
that makes it different °
“What?
“I’m going to have a baby,” she wins
pered. Then, seeing his expression, shv
hastily added, “This is an adventurs
Russell——a new kind of adventure Wh,
don’t we look at it that way”
The voung man in the chair shumpe:
back, his gaze fixed intently on her. Sh:
sat mgid, stunned by his silence. Atte:
a long pause, he said
MASTER DETECTIVE
par
thing
wy
, e
“The
money
unable
attention
license, «
x LOW
the
him. He
“Then
but an ¢
IN a stra
“No, \
ture idea
“How
“Only
to make
suddenly
slender
intense |v
me for |
left. Ic
“T won
mean,” |
here and
Then we’
baby and
I love VO
She no.
sisted up
under. the
holme. \
they wer
herter to
not seen
not argues
\
\s the
felt as ut
vely tron
oersell >
for she h:
mother b¢
much. By
the detect
were prot
At the
wear
of tt
Nancy
raphe
VEBRUARY
Figueroa = Streets, The chauffeur
stopped, collected his full bill and
watched the other tear around the next
corner as though the devil had been at
his heels.
Reddell produced a small greasy
memorandum book, in which he kept
a record, of all transactions. The en-
try for July 1 tallied with the in-
formation given.
The taxi-driver was conducted to
the cell block where Beitzel-was being
held. “That’s the man,” he said dra-
matically, pointing a finger at the sus-
pect.
He walked cl§se to the cell door and
greeted Beitzel: “Hello, Buddy! Re-
member me?”
REITZEL stared back stolidly at the
chauffeur and declared he had
never seen him before.
A little later, Reddell went with us
in a police car to Mulholland Drive,
directing the man at the wheel as to
turns in the route. He found the exact
spot on the Drive. He recalled it from
the proximity of a large advertising
billboard, at which he said he had
gazed as he sat waiting for his fare
to return from the canyon.
Reddell’s welcome evidence clicked
all along the line, and would stand up
in any court. We were elated.
This also helped us account for the
smell of formaldehyde around the
body. A week after killing her, Beit-
zel returned to the scene to be sure
that the body was well hidden. But
it wasn’t. Broiling in the hot sun at
the mercy of the elements and the vul-
tures, the odor of the body was now
overwhelming. He had expected that,
so he took along a can or bottle of
formaldehyde or similar deodorant
and poured it over the body to kill
the odor, prevent detection until the
body had disintegrated’ beyond discov-
ery and recognition.
Then a hunter reported finding a
box of .38 caliber revolver cartridges
the hands of some person other than
a regular patron of the college.
While this work was going forward
we turned to more dynamic action. We
reviewed the directions given in the
kidnap note and prepared to act upon
them.
At daybreak we made a quiet survey
of the place where the final note of in-
structions was to be expected. There
was no doubt it had been picked with
a great deal of attention to detail.
The winding pavement known“ as
Montecito Drive whips its way leisure-
ly up the side of a narrow ridge. The
roadway has been cut from the steep
side of the hill and a retaining wall
oP mpi the drive along the upper
side.
Reaching the crest of the ridge the
pavement turns around sharply toward
the eastward for about 600 feet, where
it crosses a narrow “saddle” in the
backbone of the land it follows. Just
before reaching the saddle there are a
few houses on the ridge, and beyond
the point some 500 feet a half-dozen
cottages occupy the crest of the ridge.
Te retaining wall ends just before
reaching the saddle. This undoubt-
edly was the pay-off spot,
With this information we returned
to our investigation in Highland Park,
about two miles from the pay-off place,
However, we left a “stake-out” of offi-
cers hidden about the hills to spy upon
any person who might appear in the
vicinity. Throughout the day nothing
occurred there to add to our accumu-
lation of information.
Promptly at 5:30 p.m. Monday, Doc-
tor Skeele climbed into his little coupe
in front of his house carrying a dum-
my package. Apparently he was alone,
but Lieutenant Kopytek was hiding in
the rumble seat compartment ready
for any emergency. ‘
Arriving atop the ridge the Profes-
sor stopped his car at the right of the
pavement as instructed. He was care-
ful that no one was observing his move-
ment, At the right side of the road he
42
‘a_ kitten.
in Stone Canyon, some time prior to
the finding of the body. There had
been 47 cartridges in the box. Three
were missing, or had been used. The
significance of this became over-
whelming when X-ray photographs of
Barbara’s remains were developed,
‘showing in addition to the wound be-
hind the eye-sockets, two bullets—
one lodged at the base of the skull and
the other in the spine. Three shots
had been fired at her as she clung to
the lip of the canyon. (This scene is
i on the cover of this maga-
zine,
The gun retrieved from the drawer
of Beitzel’s desk, the two bullets from
Barbara’s body and the box of unused
* cartridges were rushed to Captain E.
C. Crossman, a famous ballistics ex-
pert.
The inquest was held on August 6,
Mrs. Burns, who had already rendered
so much valuable assistance to the
authorities, made a positive identifica-
tion of the body as that of her neigh-
bor, “Mrs. Burholme.” A grocer, N.
D. Mitchell, testified that the woman
he knew as Mrs. Burholme had been
a customer of his. He had given her
Some days after he had
last seen her at his store, a man who
said he was her husband brought the
kitten back to Mitchell, announcing
that his wife had gone East, that he
would be living alone for a while and
could not take care of it.
Mitchell gave striking testimony
when he particularly identified the
hand of the dead woman. He said he
had often noticed Mrs. Burholme’s
tapering fingers and would: recognize
them anywhere.
Beitzel merely repeated his earlier
statements, that he did not know
whether Barbara Mauger was dead
and that he could not place this body
as being hers.
The next day Captain Crossman re-
ported his findings. Test bullets fired
from the gun admittedly in Beitzel’s
found a broken piece of tile, and be-
neath it was a note—the second.
The message was similar to the first
in that it was constructed of words
clipped from various publications,
Doctor Skeele was trembling with
excitement, Although he knew he was
under the watchful eyes of a police
officer with a loaded revolver, he feared
other eyes, likewise, watched. He
ope hastily at the note and re-
urned to the car. Nothing had hap-
pened so far!
Doctor Skeele spread the note out
on the side of the car, careful not to
handle it too much and thus smudge
any possible finger-prints it might
carry. The note read:
“Walk to your Lerr ACROSS
STREET to Bank Here Will be A pox
IN HOLE IN Bank with FINAL mstruc-
tions. We like tricks... but we pre=
fer to keep them out of business.”
Doctor Skeele looked about him. Was
he being watched? He didn’t know.
Neither did Lieutenant Kopytek in the
rumble seat.
“Shall I cross the street,” Doctor
a whispered, his lips barely mov-
8
. “I guess you might as well. Buck
up, Doctor, nothing’s going to happen.”
“Okay.” The Doctor squared his
aging shoulders and moved slowly
across the street. There he found the
third note. It was planted in a cracker
box hidden in a slight depression at
the roadside. Lying beside the box was
ae of a strong string. The note
read:
“Tie package Thoroughly To This
end of String and GO ON.”
By this time members of the stake-
out force had been notified of the find.
We had an elaborate system of signals.
The temptation to follow the string
was great.
“But,” as Koyptek pointed out, “if
we do we'll give the whole game away
possession at the time of the murder
matched perfectly the two taken from
the body. The barrel of the revolver
had been shortened by sawing off part
of it, possibly to attach some type of
silencer, possibly to make it more
convenient for handling. But the
amputation of the barrel had left in-
finitesimal teeth on the edge, some of
them pointing toward the inner side
of the bore. These minute teeth, or
irregularities, had stamped their tell-
tale marks on every bullet fired from
the gun. The usual lands and grooves,
so important in ballistics detection,
were also present. The whole formed
a complete picture on every bullet, as
damning as a human finger-print, and
just about as individual.
One question: remained to be an-
swered: Why ‘had Beitzel cut the
right leg off the body? .
The question was answered by
Mr. and Mrs. Mauger, parents of the
slain girl, who came to Los Angeles
to help us. They told us that when
Barbara had been twelve years old,
she had ‘undergone an unusual opera-
tion on her right foot and ankle.
Beitzel knew of this operation, of
course, He also knew, we reasoned,
that if the body were found intact,
evidences of this surgery would es-
bos ng Barbara’s identity beyond a
oubt. ’
THEREFORE, he had removed the
leg!
We never found it because Beitzel
never admitted killing the expectant
mother, and wouldn’t tell us where
he’d hidden it or her clothes.
It was about this time that we
learned from Philadelphia police that
Beitzel had eloped with another girl
prior to running away with Barbara.
On that occasion he had gone to
Georgia, where he deserted the girl
upon learning that she was pregnant
—the information fit our picture of his
sex-madness, and we felt we were
$10,000 for Your Wife (Continued from Page 33)
om perhaps endanger Mrs. Skeele’s
life.”
There was not an officer there who
felt that the kidnapers were not at the
other end of that slender twine. But
where they were or how far away we
had no way of knowing. It was an
unusual situation, but as Kopytek had
inferred our first duty and considera-
tion was the safe return of Mrs. Skeele.
Instead of following the string at that
moment we left the stake-out detail to
watch the dummy package which Doc-
tor Skeele had tied to the twine.
This package had been prepared
with great care and was of exactly the
right size and weight it would have
been had it contained the actual ran-
som money. ;
Doctor Skeele and Lieutenant Kopy-
tek left in the coupe. Things were
quiet. The officers lay in hiding in
the hills. Every eye was trained on the
package which had been tied to the
string. Each eye strained to detect the
slightest movement. Would the kid-
napers start pulling their end? Would
the dummy bundle start moving away,
pulled by the unseen hands?
The wait was long and uncomfort-
able—and disappointing. The package
continued to rest where Doctor Skeele
— placed it. The kidnapers failed to
ac ;
After a few hours the officers came
out of hiding.
“Guess we might as well follow the
string,” said one.
“Yeah,” another agreed. “Let’s go.”
I was notified and joined the stake-
out detail. We trailed the string to its
farthest end. It led across the ridge
to the north and down a sharp decline
about 700 feet away to a spot where
another pavement led up a canyon,
But no one was there. It was appar-
ent, from the location chosen, that the
kidnapers had hoped to pull the string,
detach the bundle of money and escape
in a car,
Monday night found Doctor Skeele,
his son Franklin, and his daughter
Mrs. Walter Humphreys keeping a
now ready to bring our prisoner be-
fore the court,
Accordingly, on August 7, he was
formally charged with murder: on two
counts. Homicide could be proved, as
we saw it, regardless of any technicali-
ty the defense might throw up as to
whether the body was or was not that
of Barbara Mauger. The gun which
had been in Beitzel’s possession had
killed the woman whose remains had
been found.
Beitzel pleaded not guilty, with a
secondary plea of “not guilty by rea-
son of insanity.” Thirty days later
the case came up for trial.
The jury was composed of seven
men and five women. Through the
early days of the hearing, Beitzel re-
tained his offhand, assured manner.
Alienists engaged by the defense tried
to prove him insane, alleging that he
had been injured in an airplane acci-
dent some years before and that his
brain had been affected.
But the well-known calm demeanor
of the prisoner vanished when Captain
Crossman took the stand as a witness
for the State. The ballistics expert
brought out the facts which have been
cited above. He exhibited photographs
enlarged to huge proportions, which
drove home every point in his testi-
mony.
Concluding argument for the prose-
cution was made by District Attorney
Clifford Thomas. He pronounced
Beitzel’s crime to be one of the most
heinous in the history of California,
and demanded the extreme penalty.
On September 24, 1928, Russell St.
Clair Beitzel was sentenced by Superi-
or Judge Charles S. Burnell to hang
by the neck until dead. If the gal-
lows terrified the monstrous killer, he
did not show it. On August 2, 1929—
one year to a day after the body had
been found—he was led to the gallows.
He had recaptured his aplomb, and
remained a sneering stone image to
the end.
nervous vigil at the Skeele home.
Anxiously they were going over the
case, each trying to find some helpful
thought to add to our meager infor-
mation, Each was trying to comfort
the other in their time of distress—all
were hoping for a telephone message
which might end the terrible suspense.
The clock struck the hour.
“Eight o’clock,” young Skeele re-
marked in a low voice. “A whole day
since mother disappeared, and still
no word from her.”
He hardly had noted the time be-
fore the front door-bell rang. The jan-
gle brought them all to their feet with
startled faces, What was this?
Nervously Franklin hurried to an-
swer the summons, scarce knowing
what to expect. Maybe, he thought,
one of the police officers had come
again; maybe it was a neighbor drop-
ping in with a suggestion or.a word of
sympathy. He had a greater surprise
and, as he threw open the door, he all
but fainted.
“Mother!” was all he could say as
he swept into his arms the frail wo-
man standing before him.
|t WAS the kidnap victim, herself—
Mrs. Mary Skeele!
Almost. exhausted, the frail woman
was borne into the house for a joyous
reunion with her family.
The police were notified immediately
and within a few minutes the entire
detail working on the case was await-
ing the orders expected after we had
obtained Mrs. Skeele’s story. Captain
Thomason took our station stenogra-
pher, Miss Helen Dixon, to the Skeele
home to set down every word of the
account,
“They just released me a few min-
utes ago,” Mrs. Skeele explained. “They
brought me blindfolded to within a
couple of blocks of home, then ripped
the bandage off my eyes and sped
away.”
“You are home, that’s the big thing,”
Captain Thomason declared. “Now if
we can catch the people responsible,
AD6
BEITZEL,
MASTER DETECTIVE, February, 1940
Russell S., wh, hanged CA (Los Angeles), August 2, 1929
bbingiyaeigeiaes
make restitution, and start life anew.
‘ A\ p! But that ‘was not enough for the
j ae : man who had decided she must die
In lonely Stone Canyon, near
adventure” was terminated by m
N that bright April morning,
blonde Barbara Mauger smiled
happily as she walked briskly
toward Blaumer’s Department
Store in Philadelphia, where she was
cashier. People along the streets turned
to glance at the pretty girl, whose eyes
twinkled as if they held some happy
secret.
Reaching her desk, she ran the comb
through her waving hair. A streak of
sunlight slanted across it, giving it a
golden tint, almost like a halo. At a
sound she turned her head. The new
eredit manager, Russell Beitzel, was
standing looking at her appreciatively.
As their eyes met, he came forward to
ask in a businesslike tone:
“Tt’s about this item, that I wish to
speak to you.”
She bent over the sheet he placed on
the desk, and for the next fifteen min-
utes they talked in low tones, their heads
close together. He came to the office
frequently these days, the other em-
ployees had noticed, and Barbara’s man-
ner showed clearly that she was in-
fatuated with the handsome young man.
That evening when the girl emerged
from the building, another youth stepped
up beside her. She stared at him, then
asked:
“Why, George, what on earth are you
domg here?”
“T wanted to talk to you,” the young
man told her, “and I can’t seem to get
MASTER DETECTIVE
‘Pretty Barbara Mauger promised to |
overlook her sweetheart’s dishonesty, |
Angeles, the infatuated girl’s “g
CALIFORNIA’S
a date with
“Ob,” sh
walk down
“Come ot
George. “‘]
you.”
“T’m sort
go right h¢
and mother
“All right
are you avi
of weeks ag
you out se
can’t get ni
“Well, I
lamely.
“Another
“Perhaps
At that n
store and |
bara blushe
men. She t
to George ar
the credit-n
on the side
his rival, a
face.
When B
turned to he
you come in
As he ent
her younger
the hall to
favorite of
parents.
During di
ENIG
FEBRUARY. 1%
ra Mauger promised to
sweetheart’s dishonesty,
ion, and start life anew.
s not enough for the
i decided she must die ]
y Stone Canyon, near j
the infatuated girl’s “g
ce’ was terminated by muf
ight Apml morning,
bara Mauger smiled
she walked briskly
vumer’s Department
hia, where she was
ing the streets turned
retty girl, whose eyes
held some happy
xk, she ran the comb
i hair. A streak of
cross it, giving it a
t hike a halo. At a
her head. The new
Russell Beitzel, was
her appreciatively.
he exme forward to
ce tone
item, that T wish to
he sheet he placed on
the next fifteen min-
low tones, their heads
e came to the office
davs, the other em-
d, and Barbara’s man-
ly that she was in-
handsome voung man.
hen the girl emerged
inother youth stepped
ve stared at him, then
vhat on earth are you
ik to you,” the young
id IT can’t seem to get
ORNITA’
WASTER DETECTIVE
Pring Pot
a date with you any more.”
“Oh,” she said, making no move to
walk down the street with him.
“Come out to dinner with me,” urged
George. “I have something to say to
you.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. I must
go right home. We’re having company
and mother needs me to help her.”
“All right then, answer me this: Why
are you avoiding me? Up until a couple
of weeks ago you were letting me take
you out several times a week. Now I
can’t get near you.”
“Well, I’ve been busy,” she replied
lamely.
“Another man?” he queried.
“Perhaps,” she admitted.
At that moment Russell came from the
store and headed for the couple. Bar-
bara blushed as she introduced the two
men. She then said a hasty goodnight
to George and walked rapidly away with
the credit-manager. The lone man stood
on the sidewalk, watching the girl and
his rival, a strange, twisted smile on his
face.
When Barbara reached home, she
turned to her escort and invited, “Won’t
you come in?”
As he entered the house with the girl,
her younger brother and sister ran into
the hall to greet them. Russell was a
favorite of theirs, as well as of her
parents.
During dinner Barbara was more silent
,
rEBROARY, L941
Four small white beads and a wedding ring she had
purchased herself, were the only clues to the victim’s
identity found at the crime scene
than usual, and when Russell had left,
her mother asked:
“Tg anything wrong, Barbara?”
“No, Mother—nothing,” she replied,
then started up to her own room
Her mother’s voice stopped her. “By
the way, George telephoned again to-
day, but I told him you had an en-
gagement this evening.”
“Yes, I know,” said the daughter, and
went on to her room. She was a sen-
sitive girl, and she realized she had hurt
the other man. It had bothered her all
evening. She had never been mean to
the boys who had paid attention to her,
and she wondered what had got into her
that had caused her to treat George
with such coolness. Up until a few
weeks ago she had been glad enough to
accept his invitations, but now she could
not bear to go out with any man but
Russell. ;
She undressed slowly and got into bed,
where she lay in the dark, trying to
think things out. She was hopelessly in
love—of that there was no doubt. But
Russell had said nothing about marrying
her, nor of being in love with her. He
behaved as if he were interested, al-
though he didn’t say it in so many words.
She felt thwarted, and unhappy. Each
day she expected him to make some sort
of declaration, but the days and eve-
nings passed and he still kept silent on
that subject.
During the next few weeks, as spring
became summer and the days grew warm,
members of her family invited Russell
to accompany them on several little ex-
cursions. Her mother and father liked
the young man better and better, and his
good position impressed them. They as-
sumed he intended to marry Barbara,
and liked him for being slow to men-
tion it.
Their daughter, meanwhile, was becom-
ing increasingly infatuated. “He's not
the usual type,” she decided, ‘‘and that’s
why he fascinates me. He doesn’t want
to just marry and settle down like all
the other men do; he wants something
more—romance, adventure. And_ so
do I.”
He frequently spoke of leaving his
job and traveling to South America and
other far places. “I don’t want to be
a mere clock-puncher,” he told her.
“Neither do I,” she had replied with
enthusiasm.
He had sent her an appreciative glance,
but that was all. Perhaps she was too
young to really interest him. She was
only eighteen, while he was ten years
older.
One evening when she returned home,
she found a note from George in which
he told her he was miserable without her,
and asked her to be his wife. She wrote
a hasty reply, telling him frankly that
she loved another an.
It was the next morning that Russell
came to her desk on some excuse and
ENIGMA OF THE HONEYMOON TO DOOM
yey
do
heavy tangle of vines. Paralyzed with
horror, he was unable to pry his eyes
from the sight before him. Finally he
raised a trembling finger and pointed,
mute. Johnson, peering over his shoulder,
drew a long, shuddering gasp.
Lying there on her left side, huddled
and twisted as if flung on the mountain
slope by a giant’s crushing hand, were the
grucsome remains of a woman’s slender,
nude body.
“Hurry! Let's get the police or some-
body!” shouted Johnson.
They took to their heels and ran toward
Stone Canyon where they located Howard
Rizaard, a fire ranger. Rizaard verified
their excited account and notified Chief
of Detectives Herman Cline at Los An-
geles police headquarters. :
By 4 o’clock that afternoon of August
2, 1928, Detective Lieutenants LeRoy E.
Sanderson and Frank Condaffer were at
the scene with a police coroner.
A cursory examination indicated that
death had resulted from a bullet wound
in the woman’s right temple. The coroner
knelt down and gently moved the head to
turn the face upward. The eyes were gone!
The victim was not yet a complete
skeleton, but little flesh remained upon
her body. The right leg was gone from
the pelvic socket. The ravages of sharp-
beaked vultures made it impossible to
know immediately whether the woman ©
had been the user of an artificial limb.
Also missing were the intestines and
all internal organs. Yet nearby lay three
skull sections, infinitely small and almost
parchment-like in their fragility.
“Ts that possibly the skull of a baby?”
asked Condaffer, pointing it out.
“If [’m not mistaken it’s something
even more tragic,” replied the coroner.
“That’s the skull of an unborn child!”
‘The two detectives exchanged glances.
“So the woman was an expectant —
mother!” Sanderson said. ‘Well, it’s a
motive that’s spelled death for many a
’ disillusioned woman in the past. Have
discovery of the nude
JUNE, 1940
you any idea how old she was, Doctor?”
“She couldn’t have been much over
twenty,” the examiner replied.
He turned the body over. Beneath the
shoulders three tiny pearl beads lay par-
tially embedded in the ground. The cool
protection of the earth had preserved the
left arm and hand. The obviously youth-
ful hand had been well cared for. The
burnished gleam of a plain gold wedding
band was reflected in the warm glow of
the August sun,
Both detectives were enthusiastic over
the find. “Any markings?” demanded
Condaffer as he took it from the coroner’s
rubber-gloved fingers.
He peered inside the golden circlet.
“Love Eternal” was etched there. Below
the words was a number, 1047.
“What luck!”? Sanderson exulted. “That
probably is the file number of some
pawnbroker. The ring must have been
in hock at one time or another, and there’s
bound to be a record of it.”
Then, turning to the coroner, Sander-
son put the question which was upper-
most in his mind. “About how long has
she been dead?”
“Hard to tell without scientific tests,”
replied the examiner. “But from the stage
of decomposition I’d say about three
months.”
“Maybe a missing persons report from
three months back will give us a lead,”
suggested Condaffer.
The girl’s height was estimated to be
five feet four inches. In life she probably
had weighed about 130 pounds. From her
coloring and blonde hair, the investigators
agreed that her eyes must have been
either blue or gray. In this manner they
compiled a physical description of the
victim to be checked against the card-
index file of women listed with the miss-
ing persons bureau.
Hundreds of missing persons are listed
every month in Hollywood and Los An-
geles. The hope of fame and fortune in |
the movies is a magnet which draws lovely
girls from farms and cities throughout
the entire nation. Unfortunately many
innocent young women become victims
of vice vultures and disappear. The mere
physical act of checking information in
the files was no small task.
Assuming that the murdered girl had
been dead three months, the detectives
listed all girls answering the blonde’s de-
scription who had been reported missing
during the month of June. The list, when
completed, had fifteen names. By a proc-
ess of elimination it was hoped that
positive identification of the victim could
be made quickly. Parents and relatives
of the fifteen missing blonde girls, all of
whom resided in the Los Angeles area,
were asked to call at the morgue to view
the remains.
EANWHILE A SURVEY of local
pawnshop records was being made.
At one of Los Angeles’ largest loan estab-
lishments, at Fifth and Main Streets, the
number 1047 was uncovered. The name
beside the number was “Mrs. Barber.”
Three dollars had been advanced on the
wedding band, according to the transac-
tion sheet. :
“Mrs. Barber was young, blonde and
very pretty,” the pawnbroker recalled.
“She told me a hard luck story such as
would bring tears to your eyes. Of course
most of them do that, but this one—well,
she was different.” ;
“How was she different?”
“Well, she was soon to have a baby.
That’s why she was so worried. She told
me all about how her husband was seeing
another woman on the side, an usher ina
big downtown picture house. Mrs. Barber
said her husband was planning to go away
with this other woman. She didn’t have
folks here or anybody to help her out.”
The pawnbroker spread his hands and
sighed. “To me they come for help—
always! Ain’t it so? Like this girl, she
said her marriage comes to be a joke and
she wants to get home to her mamma to
corpse high on a hill above the movie colony
17
o~
The murder victim and her husband lived in on apartment in the rear
of this building. She was an expectant mother.
have her baby. She had a little money, but not enough to take
her East. But she said three dollars would help. Can you
imagine my face when she comes in hardly a week later to re-
deem the ring and say everything is okay, that she and her hus-
band had patched up their trouble?”
“Did the girl say where her mother lived?” asked Sanderson.
“Let me see, now.” The pawnbroker scratched his head and
gazed ceilingward. ‘It was either Philadelphia or
Pittsburgh. Those cities always mix me up, but
I’m sure it was one or the other.”
The officers’ faces mirrored their disappoint-
ment and the pawnbroker noticed it.
“Say, there is a little something else that might
interest you,” he continued. “Just happened to
think of it. I don’t believe Barber was her real
name.”
“Why not?”
“Well, when I asked her to sign the register,
she hesitated a minute and said, ‘All my married
names start with a B, so I guess Barber’s as good
as any.’ I didn’t know what to say and when I
asked her for her address she said, ‘You couldn’t
find me anyhow! We’ve moved five times in as
many months and heaven only knows where I'll
be tomorrow!’ ”
This bit of information, the detectives agreed,
was interesting. But unless the dead woman had
used that name somewhere else, her identity was
far from being established.
“Well, there’s always the city directory!”
Six detectives were assigned to pursue the
“Barber” angle. Police in surrounding suburban
centers were cooperating completely. But a most
painstaking interview with each and every Barber family listed
in the directory failed to uncover a lead to the slain woman.
Obviously the name “Barber” was fictitious.
On the strength of information given by the pawnshop keeper,
the missing persons bureaus of both Pittsburgh and Philadelphia
were wired a description of the girl “thought to have been either
deformed in the right limb or the wearer of an artificial leg.” In
no other way could the complete absence of the right member be
accounted for. The news of the discovery of the nude body near
Mulholland Drive drew many curiosity seekers to the scene. One
of these persons came across a box of .38 caliber shells hidden
18
This is one of the slugs
removed from the girl's
body. Bullets fired
from a gun found in
the suspect's posses-
sighed Condaffer. “Come along!” sion had the same
markings.
in the underbrush. He promptly turned it over to the police.
The box had originally held fifty shells. Eight had evidently
been used, for there were forty-two cartridges remaining. The
box had been handled so much that it was impossible to obtain
definite fingerprints. The only chance: was to find the shop
where the shells had been purchased.
An X-ray of the body resulted in the recovery of three bullets.
One was found in the right forehead, one in the
right jaw bone and a third in the upper vertebra
section. They were of .38 caliber. .
Where had the shells been purchased? It
seemed reasonable now to assume that the box
of ammunition had been procured for the deliber-
ate purpose of taking the life of the young
expectant mother. :
The investigators covered all sporting goods
shops and hardware stores, Finally in a store
in the downtown Los Angeles district Officers got
= their first “break” in the case.
The shells in question, according to the records,
had been purchased on June 23, which was a
‘Saturday, by a young man whom the salesman
was able to recall because of certain unusual
characteristics. The man had a hooked nose
which stood out. rather prominently.
“The fellow seemed to be pretty much of a
greenhorn about firearms.: Admitted it, in fact,”
the salesman explained without urging. “While
he was here he telephoned his wife so she could
give him the caliber of his gun. When she read it
back to him she gave him the serial number, too.”
“You have the serial number?”
“Sure, right here.”
Eagerly the number was transferred to the officer’s notebook.
Ownership of firearms, they well knew, could usually be traced
through manufacturers. eis.
“Happen to know what number or exchange he dialed?”
Condaffer asked.
“No,” replied the clerk, “but I heard him address his party
either as ‘Bee, honey,’ or ‘Babs, honey.’ Later: he seemed
irritated because’ he had to wait, as she had trouble finding
the caliber stamped on the gun and had to call in a neighbor
to help her locate it.” j ;
The salesman described the man as being about five fect
HEADLINE DETECTIVE
The "X" indicates’ where two Boy
Scouts found evidence of murder.
An invest
the
“Hy
where
wo Boy
murder.
An investigator points to bullet hole in
Bes
ea, ~<
dee
~
ert
ti
oo
i
‘
the skull of Barbara Maugher.
ten inches tall, dressed neatly but inconspicuously in a dark
business suit.
“His eyes were sharp and brown,” the clerk recalled. “He
had brown hair, parted in the middle. I’m sure of the middle
part because when this fellow talked he had a habit of pushing
his hat far back on his head. His build
was what you’d call athletic, I guess,
and in a way he might be called hand-
some. He looked to be pretty much of
a ladies’ man.”
As is usually the case after publication
of news stories about a murder, anony-
mous tips flooded the detective bureau.
Some persons called to leave informa-
tion they thought might prove helpful.
Among these was Ernesto Bradley, a taxi
driver.
“Maybe I’m nuts, coming to you like
this,’ Bradley apologized, edging forward
on his chair and twisting his black-visored
cap in his thick hands. “But you know
how it is. Sometimes us taxi drivers
pick up some peculiar fares.”
“Of course,” agreed Condaffer. “Now
tell us what’s on your mind.”
“Well, this one fare I picked up on
Sunday night, July first, it was. I drove
him to Mulholland Drive. I have the
slips here,” he said, extracting the record
from his pocket. “Mileage, forty-four
miles.
“I wouldn’t have thought much about
Detectives, with Russell Bietzel, alias Burholme (wearing coat), stand
at the scene of the picnic which ended in tragedy.
to have a little security. So he handed me a five spot and said
he supposed it did look funny, the way he was acting, but that
he had a valuable cache of liquor over the hill that he suspected
had been bothered and he wanted to check up on it.”
“And the package-- "interrupted Sanderson. “Did he take
that with him?”
“Sure, and he didn’t bring it back with
him, either. When I read in the paper
about one leg of the “oman being missing
I wondered if maybe—” :
“It’s possible. But why, if he did have
a limb in the package, should he take it
out there?”
It seemed very puzzling, the driver
agreed. :
“How long was he gone?” demanded
Condaffer.
“T don’t know exactly. I dozed off, it
was so quiet up there. Probably about
forty minutes in all, I’d say.”
Ernesto Bradley’s description of his
passenger tallied with the description of
the young man who had purchased the
box of ammunition at the sporting goods
store. The taxi driver said he had dropped
his passenger off at the corner of Seventh
and Hope Street in Los Angeles.
HE DETECTIVES revisited the
morgue. They wanted more positive
assurance as to the probable length of
time the woman had been: dead. And
it, except that he carried a bulky package Neighbor women said Barbara Maugher, now, after final tests, the coroner was
and acted very nervous. He kept looking shown above, worried because her ready with his statement. “Approximately
out of the rear window like he was afraid husband ‘threatened
he was being followed. He drank liquor
from a pocket flask and was so jittery
that I finally decided he was ‘hopped up’ with dope.
“He kept telling me where to go, and when we got on Mul-
holland Drive he asked me to pull over and stop. It was near
where the blonde girl’s body was found.
“T went back out there today to be sure of the place. Well,
after I stopped that night, this screwball hopped out and told
me he had a little errand to do. I told him that on account
of the distance and all, I couldn’t take a chance, that I’d have
JUNE, 1940
to leave her. six weeks,” he told them. “And there’s
been no identification as yet,” he volun-
teered. ‘But a couple of women who re-
ported a woman friend missing will. be in shortly. Want
to wait a minute?” .
The sleuths waited in the hallway, meanwhile discussing the
mystery. If the murder had occurred six weeks before, it was
near the date the ammunition purchase had been made.
“Probably the guy got jittery about what he’d done,” ob-
served Sanderson, “especially if he’d amputated a leg and had
it in his possession.” (Continued on page 38)
19
LOVE ETERNAL
(Continued from page 19):
Condaffer leaned his weight against the
wall near the morgue entrance. “I guess a
week of living with that crime on his mind
would be enough to make the murderer
suspect he was being followed !”
A few minutes later two women entered
the building and walked toward the chamber
of the dead. Their faces were strained and
fearful. Silently the detectives followed them
into the morgue and observed an attendant
lead them to the shect-covered remains which
lay on a wheeled porcelain table.
Suddenly an agonized scream pierced the
silence of the room. “It’s Barbara!” one of
the women screamed hysterically. “It’s
Barbara Burholme!” f
The two women identified themselves as
Mrs. George Allen and Mrs. Mae Burns,
tenants of the apartment house where the
murdered woman had resided at the time
of her strange disappearance.
“I reported her missing the night of June
24,” sobbed Mrs. Burns. “J .knew something
was wrong when she didn’t come back from
the picnic. Her apartment is still unoccupied.
If you'd like to look around—”
It was the best break yet in the mystery.
The address to which they drove was 4
modest apartment building located) on
Golden Avenue.
“When did Mr. Burholme move out?”
asked Condaffer.
“The early part of July. The first, I
think,” replied Mrs. Allen. “He only stayed
a week after Barbara left.”
Asking for complete details about the young
couple, the officers learned that the Bur-
holmes had moved into their Golden Avenue
apartment the last week in April. Burholme
shied away from making friends in the apart-
ment house, and he had urged his wife to
keep to herself, too.
Barbara Burholmc, however, was expect-
ing to become a mother. The probable date
of her confinement was set for the latter part
of July or the first of August. Much of her
time was spent in fashioning exquisitely
dainty baby clothes to be added to an
already large layctte, which was described
as being “terribly expensive.” It was only
natural that she should wish for the com-
panionship of another woman at such a
time. So the motherly Mrs. Burns became
her friend and confidant.
“At times the poor girl was very des-
pondent,”-Mrs. Burns explained. “She cried
a lot because she was so lonely. Her hus-
band left her alone a lot. She told me she
was sure he didn’t love her any more.”
“Did she say why?”
“She thought it was because of the baby
they were expecting and he had fallen for
some girl who worked as an usher in a big
theater downtown. This other girl was be-
ing transferred to a theater in San Francisco
and Burholme was dead set on leaving
Barbara and following her. Barbara was
worried sick about it.”
“Yes, and about plenty of other things,
too,” Mrs. Allen added cryptically.
“Such as—?”
“Well, for instance Barbara thought it
was funny that they had to move so often.
She told me they skipped out of apartments
five times in five months, in the dead of
night, without Barbara knowing an hour
ahead that they were going. She couldn’t
understand why.”
“Hm-m! Sounds like this husband was
afraid some one was on his trail, even then,”
Sanderson observed.
The description the women gave of Bur-
holme tallied with that given by the taxi
driver and the salesman.
“Did anything unusual happen on Sunday,
the day you reported the young wife miss-
ing?” asked Condaffer.
38
“Yes, plenty! Then’ and before,” replied
Mrs. Allen. “On Saturday Burholme phoned
from downtown and asked Barbara some-
thing about a gun he had at the apartment.
He wanted her to find the number of the
caliber so that he could get some cartridges.
Barbara told me they had _ settled their
troubles and were planning a picnic for
Sunday. She ‘mentioned the fact that her
husband was crazy about guns and that he
wanted to practice target shooting.”
“Did the Burholmes have a car?” asked
Condaffer, remembering the taxi incident.
“No, but on Sunday he drove up about
10:30 in a yellow roadster. I helped Barbara
fix a little picnic lunch and she was the
happiest I’d seen her in weeks. She said that
she felt like her husband was her sweetheart
again. Oh, I wish I’d warned the poor girl
not to go with him!” Mrs. Burns said, wip-
ing the tears from her eyes. “From the min-
ute I knew about that gun I was afraid for
her. And when he came back without her, I
just knew something terrible must have hap-
pened.”
“How did Burholme explain her absence
to your”
“He said that Sunday afternoon, after the
picnic, they were driving through Long Beach
when they saw his aunt on the street. It
was on Ocean Boulevard, and he said his
aunt was carrying a suitcase and walking
toward the Pacific Electric Station.
“Burholme said he didn’t have the slightest
idea his aunt was on the coast and it was
just luck that he saw her, especially when
she was leaving to go back to her home in
Philadelphia. ‘Barbara wanted to go home
to her mother in Philadelphia to have her
baby, anyway,’ Burholme told me, ‘so I
bought her ticket and told her to make the
trip with my aunt. I told her I’d mail her
clothes and the baby’s outfit the first of the
week"
“A likely story!”
“That’s what I thought, tog,” agreed Mrs.
Burns. “And that’s why I reported her miss-
ing. I’m sure if Barbara arrived in Phila-
delphia, she would have written to me. We
were very close.”
“Do you know the name of Barbara’s
mother ?”
“No, she never told me what her name
was before she was married.”
“Now, about the missing right limb,”
Sanderson began. “Was the girl in any way
deformed ?”
“Yes, she was,” Mrs. Burns replied. “She
had a growth on the top of her foot, sort
of an extra bone. Barbara was sensitive
about it. She told me it had been like that
since she was twelve years old and said
doctors X-rayed it and planned an opera-
tion to remove it, but that it had never
been taken care of.”
Following Burholme’s report of his wife's
sudden trip. East for the birth of her child,
the young husband busied himself sorting
out her clothes for mailing and packing his
own belongings so that he could move into
a single room and cut’ down expenses. He
disposed of much trash in an incinerator in
the rear of the building and gave his wife’s
pet kitten, “Mewsie,” to the neighborhood
grocer.
Detectives knew they were fortunate in-
deed in finding the Burholme apartment had
not been made ready for new tenants. Every-
thing was as it had been at the time the
husband moved out.
jaa capaci AND Condaffer went to
work with a vengeance. Only a few
cluttered odds and ends remained in the
dresser drawers and cupboards. Sanderson
flung back one side of the worn rug. There
was nothing on the floor beneath but a thin
film of dust. He jerked back the other half.
Four slips of paper fluttered into view. The
detectives grasped them with eager fingers.
Three were post office receipts for regis-
tered packages!
na
All of the parcels had been mailed to
Phoenix, Arizona. One was addressed to
A. A. Stone, Box 104; one to A. Y. Stone,
Box 136; and a third to R. J. Stone, 340
Fourth Avenue. The sender’s name in each
instance was given as R. R. Stone, Box 219,
Seattle, Washington.
“Must be receipts for Barbara’s clothing,”
Mrs. Andrews said brokenly. “Oh, I knew
he lied when he said she had gone to Phila-
delphia !”
The fourth slip was a storage receipt from
a Los Angeles storage house.
“Can either of you women tell us where
this Burholme worked?” Sanderson asked.
Neither of the women knew.
“fe was close-mouthed,” Mrs. Burns said.
“But I did get’ the idea he was an elevator
operator.”
“And I thought he drew plans or some-
thing of that sort,” Mrs. Andrews said.
“Didn't his wife ever talk about his
work?” Condaffer asked. “Think hard!
Didn’t she ever have occasion to telephone
him or do anything that would give you
some idea where he could be located?”
“Oh, wait a minute!”
Mrs. Burns flew out into the hallway.
Soon she was back.
“Barbara used to call her husband at
Metropolitan 1525. I just remembered that
she wrote the number under the telephone
where it wouldn’t be scrubbed off during
cleaning.”
“If you find Burholme remind him that he
left. a lot of dirty laundry behind,” Mrs.
Andrews remarked, “I took it out of the
hamper and stuffed it in a bag in the closet,
thinking he might come back for it.”
Detective Condaffer whistled softly. “Let’s
see it!” ;
In the bag the detectives found a man’s
bloodstained handkerchief and a bloody
turkish towel, This appeared to have been
used to staunch a flow of blood from a head
wound, as blonde hairs adhered to it.
The ashes from Burholme’s incinerator
were sifted and their contents turned over
to the police department chemists.
Thanking the women, the detectives left
the apartment building.
“Pil trace the telephone number and check
on the address,” Condaffer told Sanderson,
“while you take a run out to sec about
that storage package.”
A hurried call back to headquarters sent
other detectives to the task of checking with
car rental agencies in the hope that they
would yield some clue. ‘
Metropolitan 1525 was the engine room of
the Metropolitan Theater. Condaffer made
his way there. :
‘There was no person by the name of
Burholme employed in the engineering de-
partment. Nor was there anyone answering
his description, But Condaffer was certain
that his quarry had recently been available
at that number.
“Nice cooling ‘system you’ve got here,” he
observed, looking around, “Been installed
long?”
“Nope!” was the laconic answer. “Just
had her going a little over a week now!”
“Looks pretty good, all right,” Condaffer
stated. “Who did the installation?”
“Carrier Engineering Corporation,’ was
the answer. “I hear they’re putting in a big
unit now over at the Biltmore Hotcl.”
That was all Condaffer needed. Back at
headquarters, he met Sanderson and learned
that the storage company package contained
an expensive baby’s layette. “Far and away
too fine an outfit for anyone outside of the
millionaire class!” was Sanderson’s verdict.
“T can’t quite figure out why a man, who
obviously murdered his wife because of ap-
proaching motherhood, would still be senti-
mental enough about the baby’s things to
put them in storage and keep them like
treasures.”
“Maybe he figured he could cash in on it,”
suggested Condaffer.
HEADLINE DETECTIVE
ca owusr
<= he 290 -eeateaoames
BIETZEL, Russell Sf. Clair, wh, hanged CA (Los
Angeles) August 2, 1929
m= “DEAR MOM AND DAD,” the note
read, “I’m terribly sorry to upset your
plans this way, but Russell and I de-
cided to elope. You see, Russell: got a
perfectly swell offer, a job managing
a big coffee plantation in Honduras.
They need him right away, couldn’t
wait a minute, so we’re on our way
there now... .”
Mr. and Mrs. Mauger stared at each
other in consternation. The letter, from
their daughter Barbara, went on to
promise that she would write often
and said she was as happy as a lark.
The parents had the empty feeling of
people who had been planning fondly
for a big event and then discover that
it will not come to pass. The event
they had been planning was Barb’s
wedding, which was to have been a
fairly fancy affair. Now it was all over
and done with, some unknown justice
of the peace apparently having per-
formed the ceremony.
“Honduras!” Mrs. Mauger mourned.
“He left a good job here in Philadel-
phia to manage.a coffee plantation in
Honduras!”
“The letter’s postmarked Chicago,”
her husband said. He tried to make
the best of it. “Well, it must be an
excellent opportunity. Russ is a smart
young man.” ,
RIDDLE
Smart was not quite the right word
- for Russell St. Clair Bietzel, although
the Maugers did not know it at the
time. The romance between him and.
their daughter- Barbara had been a
speedy one indeed.
It began when Barbara, who was
only 18, was working at the counter
at the Curio Candy Shop in downtown
Philadelphia. A tallish, good-looking
man walked in, ordered a: pound of
chocolate creams and struck up a con-
versation. Barbara, a trim-figured
blonde with a vivacious smile, thought
she knew a fast worker when she saw
one, but this man seemed so gentle-
manly, so different. They chatted about
inconsequential things as she wrapped
up the box, and she was really pleased
when he walked in again the following
morning.
“Another box of candy?” she in-,
quired, smiling.
“Not this time,” he grinned. “Some-
thing much more interesting. I won-
dered if you’d have lunch with me.”
Well, why not? She accepted after
just the prop~y amount of hesitation.
That noon he took her to an expensive
restaurant off Chestnut Street where
they shot the works on steaks and all
the trimmings—quite a change from
her usual modest sandwich lunch. His
HEADLINE DETECTIVE ANNUAL
#9, 1957
name, Russell St. Clair Bietzel, had
an interesting and romantic sound. He
had an important job, too—credit man-
ager for Blauner’s big department
store, with a salary that obviously was
more than adequate.
After that he began dating her reg-
ularly, taking her to the theater, to
dances at the big downtown hotels
where name bands played wonderful
music. Before she knew it, Barbara
was head over heels in love as only an
18-year-old.can be. She told her par-
ents how delightful a man Russell was,
and she took him home to dinner so
he-could meet the folks.
The Maugers were understandably
dubious at first about their daughter’s
starry-eyed enthusiasm and hoped it
would wear off. She was only 18 and
still had a lot to learn before she tied
herself up in matrimony. Yet they
were favorably impressed by the well-
dressed, well-spoken Bietzel as he
talked with them at the family table.
It was true that he was 27, nine years
older than Barbie, but it had to be
admitted that he was mature, had more
substance to him than the younger
blades who had formerly squired her
around. College-educated, he was well
informed, spoke Spanish fluently and
was conversant with a couple of other
|
FOR THE BEST
DEFENSE AGAINST
CANCER, SEE YOUR
DOCTOR ONCE
A YEAR AND HIM
ONCE A WEEK.
oe ey
He may not look like every-
body's idea of a cancer specialist.
But there’s strong evidence
that your greengrocer has
access to cancer protection you
won't find in any doctor's office.
Like broccoli. Peaches. Cante-
loupes. Spinach. And other
sources of Vitamin A related to
lowering the risk of cancer of the
larynx and esophagus. Not to
mention sweet potatoes, carrots,
- pumpkin, winter squash, toma-
toes, citrus fruits and brussels
sprouts.
Vegetables such as cabbage,
broccoli, brussels sprouts, kohl-
rabi and cauliflower may help
reduce the risk of gastrointesti-
nal and respiratory tract cancer.
Fruits and vegetables (and
whole grain cereals such as
oatmeal, bran and wheat) may
help lower the risk of colorectal
cancer.
In short, make sure you do
what your mother always told
you to) do. Eat your vegetables.
AMERICAN
S? CANCER
4 SOCIETY
42
Death Ride For The Beauteous Blonde
H
|
(continued from page 41)
canary-yellow Buick roadster. A few
minutes later, the couple emerged,
Russell carrying a picnic basket. Bar-
bara called across the fence that Russ
had rented the car and they were
going on a picnic to the hills.
From several women the homicide
detectives pieced together a graphic
description of Russell Burholme, also
known as Barber. He was a tall, .
slender man of about 30 with a long,
narrow face, hooked nose, and thick’
black hair. He was always well
groomed and spoke with a polite, cul-
tured accent.
Partially deaf in his right ear, he
had a mannerism of cupping his hand
to the ear. Barbara had told her
friends that Russ was a college man,
had been in the Navy, had travelled
widely and spoke several languages.
But there was some mystery about
him which his wife had done nothing
to clear up.
No one knew just what sort of
work he did. But there was one slim
clue: He once had mentioned having a
job to do at the Metropolitan Theater
downtown.
Police files yielded nothing on Rus-
sell Burholme or Barber. Sanderson
and Condaffer went to the big movie
house at Sixth and Hill Streets, but
no such man was known there. They
checked the deadletter office, but
found no mail addressed to the Bur-
holmes. The letters apparently had
borne return addresses.
Making the rounds of auto. rental
agencies in the general area of Golden
Avenue, they found the agency on
South Grand Avenue near Eighth.
Street where Barbara’s husband had
rented the yellow Buick roadster on
the morning of June 24. He had iden-
tified himself as Russell Morrow and
showed a driver’s license in that
name, with an address on South Al-
varado Street.
Mileage records showed that the
car had been driven forty-four miles.
“That would just about take him
home, up to that spot on Mulholland
by way of Hollywood, and back here
again!” Sanderson figured.
On the floor of the rumble seat they
found some newspapers dated June
24, with brownish stains that looked
like blood and a couple of white
beads that matched the ones found
near the body. En
The homicide officers sped to the
Alvarado address, but they were soon
disappointed. It was a small hotel
where “Russell Morrow” and his |
blonde wife had lived for two weeks |
in February, but no one remembered
much about them except that they
had kept to themselves.
Sanderson and Condaffer showed —
the white beads to the women on
Golden Avenue, and Zeta Thompson
identified them as from a necklace
Barbara had often worn. They sifted
ashes of the incinerator in the rear of |
the Burlhome apartment house and
found a number of buttons, fragments
of cloth, a zipper and a metal shoe- |
buckle ornament and purse Clasp the
women identified as belonging to |
Barbara.
Sunday afternoon the two homi-
cide men were waiting at the apart-
ment house when a taxi arrived with
Mae Burns, back from Chicago. “I
knew there was something wrong
when Bobbie didn’t come back!” she
sobbed. “I knew something had hap-
pened to her. She’d never have gone
away like that without taking her
things, or without telling me good-
bye. Why, I was like a mother to
her!”
Specifically, she confirmed that |
Russell had been running around with ‘
another woman, name unknown.
“That poor dear Bobbie! Just a few
days before she disappeared, she told
me she was going crazy because her
husband had fallen for a blonde who
worked at some movie theater. This
girl was going to San Francisco, and
Russ wanted to go with her.”
Turning to the weekend of the fatal
picnic, Mrs. Burns supplied a start-
ling piece of information. Saturday
afternoon, she said, Russ Burholme
had telephoned her asking to speak to
his wife—the couple had no phone of
their own and occasionally used hers.
He told Barbara he wanted to get in
some target practice on their Sunday
picnic. He had borrowed a revolver
from a friend, and he was in a store
downtown buying a box of ammu-
nition. He wanted to make sure of the
caliber, and he asked his wife to take
a look at the gun in his dresser draw-
er.
(continued on next page)
When Barbara protested that she
was afraid of guns,’ Mae Burns of-
fered to inspect. She did so, and
found a bluesteel S&W .38 under a
pile of shirts. Russell thanked her for
the information. She had never
dreamed she had helped him get the
ammunition that was destined to kill
her forlorn young friend. “Why, the
poor thing was so happy that they
were going on a picnic! She thought
it meant Russ was trying to patch
things up with her.” Mrs. Burns said
Barbara had confided that she and her
husband had lived under several dif-
ferent names and had never stayed in
one spot very long. This, the trusting
wife told her friend, was because
Russ had severed relations with this
wealthy family in order to stand on
his own feet, and did not want them
to trace him until he had made his
mark in the world.
The widow was able to supply the
vital information that Barbara had
come originally from Philadelphia
where she had lived with her parents
and worked as a stenographer. She
had met Russell there, and they were
married a year ago in Atlantic City.
Mrs. Burns didn’t know where
Russell worked. She had seen
blueprints around the apartment and
believed him to be a civil engineer. -
But around June 1, she recalled, Bar-
bara had wanted to call him at work
and looked up the number of the Met-
ropolitan Theater.
“Could be he’s an engineer with
some firm that was doing construc-
tion work at the Metropolitan,” Sand-
erson speculated as the homicide duo
sped back to headquarters. They dis-
patched urgent wires to police of
Philadelphia and Atlantic City, de-
scribing the couple and listing the va-
rious names they had used. Then they
headed for the theater again.
Around June 1, they learned, an en-
gineering firm had installed a new
cooling and ventilating system at the
theater. The manager seemed to recall
a tall, hook-nosed young man called
Russ.
Sanderson and Condaffer were
parked up the street when the big en-
gineering office on East Seventh
opened early Monday morning. After
the employees had all entered, Sand-
erson went up to the reception desk
and asked for “Russ”. The reception-
ist pointed out a lean young man with
a mop of black hair, hunched over a
desk littered with blueprints.
“Hello, Russ,” the homicide man
greeted him, and then identified him-
self.
There was shock in the man’s eyes
for one tense instant, and LeRoy
Sanderson’s hand hovered over the
butt of his service gun. Then Russ re-
laxed with a wry grin. “Well, I
guess I know why you’re looking for
me . It’s about my wife, isn’t it?”
“[’ve been expecting you fellows.
I guess one of Barbara’s old lady
friends must have reported her miss-
ing. Well, I don’t know where she
is. She was running around with an-
other man, you know, and I think she
probably left town with him—”
‘Another man? In her condition?”
Russell shrugged. “That’s the way
it was.”
According to his story, when they
parked at the view spot on Mulhol-
land Highway to eat their picnic
lunch, a bitter quarrel erupted over
Barbara’s infidelity. “Suddenly she
slapped me and called me a dirty
name, then she turned and ran off into
the bushes. I waited a while and then
drove away. That’s the last time I ev-
er saw her. I made up that story about
her aunt so the old ladies wouldn’t
get too curious.”
“You went away and left your
wife like that? In her condition, up on
that lonely road, wearing only her
maternity dress?”
“I figured she could take care of
herself.”
When they told him Barbara’s body
had been found, Russell wasn’t par-
ticularly broken up. It was the first
he’d heard of it, he said. He never re-
ad the papers. Were they sure it was
Barbara? How could they be certain?
Chief Cline and the homicide men
drove Russell out to the spot where
the body was found. He shook his
head and insisted he could not possi-
bly recognize the place where Barba-
ra had run way. He didn’t turn a hair
when they showed him the dark
stains on the ground among the tram-
pled leaves.
When they returned to headquarters
a lengthy telegram from Philadelphia
was waiting. The police of the Quak-
er City knew all about the long-nosed
young man and his blonde compan-
ion—who wasn’t his wife, unless he
had added bigamy to the embez-
zlement rap on which they had been
hunting him for more than six
months.
He was Russell St. Clair Beitzel,
30-year-old black sheep son of a
well-to-do Pennsylvania family. An
engineering graduate of Temple Uni-
versity and Drexel Institute of Tech-
nology, he had been a brilliant student
as well as a tennis and swimming
star. After a tour of duty as a naval av-
lator, he had traveled extensively in
the Orient.
Returning to his home town, he
had married a beautiful blonde Main
Line debutante and given up his pro-
fession of engineering to take a lucra-
tive post her father arranged as credit
manager of a large Philadelphia de-
partment store. He had two small
children, but split up with his wife
when she caught him in an affair
with another blonde, a debutante
friend of hers.
His wife refused to give him a di-
vorce and insisted he support her and
the children. He moved to the YM-
CA, where he was active as a swim-
ming instructor.
About a year before, in 1927, Beit-
zel had met and charmed 18-year-old
- Barbara Mauger, daughter of a rail-
road engineer. He took her out of the
candy store where she was working
and gave her a job as stenographer in
his office. As far as the Mauger fami-
ly knew, Barbara’s handsome boss
was a single and very eligible young
man. They were overjoyed when he
proposed to her, and made plans for a
church wedding.
But early in January, Russell and
Barbara left town together. She
wrote her parents from Atlantic City,
announcing they had just been mar-
ried and were going to Central Amer-
ica where Russ had been offered a
fine position as overseer of a big cof-
fee plantation.
The police soon shattered the
Maugers’ illusions. It seemed that
when Russ left the department store,
he took with him $700 in cash and
$400 in checks which he forged and
cashed, plus merchandise worth
$1000. There was no record of his
having married Barbara in Atlantic
City.
Confronted with this information,
the prisoner grudgingly admitted his
identity and acknowledged that Bar-
bara had been his common-law wife.
But he refused to make any other ad-
mission, and clung to his original sto-
ry that she had run away.
When they took him to the morgue
and showed him the mummified re-
(continued on next page)
eee naa
Death Ride For The Beauteous Blonde
(continued from page 43)
mains, he shook his head. “What
makes you think that’s Barbara?” he
wanted to know. “It doesn’t look like
her.”
“What did you do with her right
leg?” Sanderson demanded.
Beitzel’s reaction was quick and
belligerent. “You’re the detectives.
You find out!” he flared. With that he
clammed up.
District Attorney Buron Fitts as-
‘signed his veteran homicide ace, Lt.
Ed King, to operate with the police.
Concrete evidence soon began to pile
up against the sullen prisoner being
held for suspicion of murder. Dr.
Webb, the autopsy surgeon, examin-
ing the body with a fluoroscope, dis-
covered two additional bullet
wounds, previously undetected. One
bullet had entered the upper back and
emerged under the left breast, while
the other slug had torn into the lower
back and lodged against the spine. Dr.
Webb removed the bullet, which
proved to be a .38.
One of Beitzel’s fellow workers at
the engineering plant said he had
loaned Russ a .38 S&W on June 22
and never got it back. The gun was
found hidden in a desk formerly used
by Beitzel. Police Chemist Ray
- Welch, a pioneer in ballistics work,
announced that it had fired the death
slug.
Two caretakers from Bel-Air came
forward with a box of .38 cartridges
they had found on June 25 as they
were walking along Mulholland near
Stone Canyon. The box bore the la-
bel of a downtown sporting goods
store. The store clerk positively iden-
tified’ Beitzel as having bought the
shells on June 23.
A key witness was B.T. Redell, a
cab driver who recognized Beitzel
from a newspaper photo as a man he
had driven to the murder scene on
Mulholland on the afternoon of July
1. His nervous passenger had carried
a package the size of a gin bottle, Re-
‘dell said, and told him he had a cache
of bootleg liquor at the head of Stone
Canyon. The man, identified as Beit-
zel, told him to park some distance
from the spot, and walked off into the
brush.
Half an hour later he came running
back without the bottle, saying,
“Let’s get out of here, the agents have
44
found my plant!” Redell recalled that
his fare, who was hard of hearing,
had smelled of creosote on returning
to his cab. While admitting he had
borrowed the gun and bought the
shells for target practice, Beitzel ve-
hemently denied the cab trip. But po-
lice were convinced that it was then
that he had cut off Barbara’s leg and
doused the body with creosote in the
hope of speeding the mummification
process.
In Beitzel’s room at the YMCA,
parcel receipts were found which en-
abled the police to recover packages
he had shipped to a fictitious address
in Phoenix, Ariz., under the name of
Stone. The packages contained a
quantity of Barbara’s clothing, but not
the dress in which she was last seen.
Goods stolen in Philadelphia also
were found in storage.
Tracing Beitzel’s movements in
Los Angeles and Hollywood, the in-
vestigators found that he had been
playing around with not one, but two
young blonde beauties, a cafe dancer
and a theater cashier. He had pro-
posed marriage to both. They inter-
viewed the two frightened girls and
were satisfied that neither of them
knew anything about the murder.
They had not even known Russ was
married.
There remained the question of un-
questionably identifying the remains,
which no one doubted were those of
Barbara Mauger. Her friends and her
parents, who rushed out from Phila-
delphia, could not positively identify
the ravaged body. The Maugers dis-
closed that their daughter had an ex-
tra toe on her right foot removed in in-
fancy. The operation had left a scar
and a slight deformity, and the homi-
cide men theorized that this was why
the killer had cut off the right leg.
A chart of Barbara’s dental work
was prepared and Chief Cline ap-
pealed to dentists in Philaldelphia and
Los Angeles to assist in the identifica-
tion. But no response was immedi-
ately forthcoming.
Ray Welch, the crime lab chemist,
finally came up with the answer. He
found some blonde hairs on Barbara’s
recovered clothing. They matched
exactly the color and texture of
hairs on the corpse. Enclarged micro-
photos left no doubt that the murdered
girl was Barbara Mauger.
After hearing the evidence, the Los |
Angeles grand jury on August 9,
1928, indicted Russell St. Clair Beit-
zel for the murder of Barbara Mauger.
Beitzel went to trial in September
before a jury of seven women and
five men in the court of Superior
Judge Charles S. Burnell. Deputy
District Attorneys Thomas P. Men-
zies and Thurmond Clarke wove a
damning web of evidence. They told
the jury that the Philadelphia Lothario
had killed his trusting girl mistress in
|
ee oe NT
cold blood because she had insisted
on his marrying her before the baby
was born, which he could not do
since he was already married. Fur-
ther, she was threatening to go back
to her parents and he feared the Phila-
delphia police would pick up his trail
if she returned to Philadelphia. Also,
he was tired of her and she was
cramping his style.
Beitzel was the only witness in his
own defense. He changed his story
somewhat, and in a three-hour mono-
logue, punctuated with sobs, ad-
mitted Barbara had been pleading ©
with him to marry her. He said she —
had threatened to kill herself if he did —
not. But he still insisted she had run |
away from him at the height of their
quarrel.
The jurors deliberated only forty
minutes on September 20 to find Beit- _
zel guilty of first-degree murder with |
no recommendation for mercy. A |
mysterious veiled blonde visited him |
in the County Jail for a tearful good-
bye .before he was taken to Death
Row.
On August 2, 1929, exactly one |
year. after the mutilated body was —
found in Stone Canyon, Russ Beitzel,
the man who had one blonde too ma-
ny, mounted the gallows at San
Quentin. He went to death with a |
wry smile. *
Houdini And
The Hangman
(continued from page 19)
the Stone Room.” And then remem- :
bered there was a blanket in his origi-
nal cell.
He shrugged fatalistically. Back he
went by the way he had come. In the
Stone Room he paused only long
(continued on next page)
St. Clair Bietzel, had
nd romantic sound. He
it job, too—credit man-
ner’s big department
ary that obviously was
uate,
began dating her reg-
1er to the theater, to
big downtown hotels
nds played wonderful
she knew it, Barbara
eels in love as only an
be. She told her par-
ful a man Russell was,
m home to dinner so
1e folks.
were understandably
about their daughter’s
1usiasm and hoped it
She was only 18 and
learn before she tied
natrimony. Yet they
mpressed by the well-
ken Bietzel as he
a at the family table.
he was 27, nine years
ie, but it had to be
was mature, had more
nm than the younger
formerly squired her
educated, he was well
Spanish fluently and
vith a couple of other
/
a3
“nice guy”
Barbara ran off. pi
with—what was
his secret game?
ee ee Oe ee eI
SEP Maa tact
~—
ee: “o
ILO Rs ee ee
a)
emi : mea ky
languages, Chinese being one of them.
Bietzel spoke so easily about busi-
ness and politics that it went unnoticed
that he said almost nothing about his
own ‘past life. He was a trifle hard of
hearing so that it was necessary to
speak plainly to him, which was a dis-
advantage. Yet he seemed clearly on
the way up, solid and substantial, but
without any pretensions.
“J live at the ‘Y,’” he said. “It isn’t
the most luxurious place in town, but
i have a lot of fun teaching swimming
to a bunch of neighborhood kids there.”
After that, Bietzel became a regular
visitor at the Mauger home. At his
suggestion, Barbara quit the candy
store and took a job as stenographer
in his department at Blauner’s at a
better salary. Within a few weeks the
Maugers forgot their earlier reserva-
tions about him and began to regard
him with real liking. By January of
1928, after the young couple had been
keeping company a scant three months,
wedding bells were in the offing.
And then—bang!—Barbara and Rus-
sell disappeared, the parents got that
astonishing note from Chicago, and
the wedding plans were blown~higher
than a kite.
m= IT WAS A DISAPPOINTMENT, to
be sure, and yet the Maugers told each
other it couldn’t be helped, that if
Russell had this fine offer in Honduras
of course he would be foolish to turn
it down. But the very next day their
world began to crumble around them.
A keen-looking man knocked at the
door, identifying himself as an investi-
gator for the department store. He
began to ask such penetrating ques-
tions about Russell Bietzel and where
he had gone that the Maugers inquired
what was wrong.
“Bietzel ran off with some of the
company money,” the investigator re-
plied. “Almost $800, it seems. He also
took a few items of merchandise.”
Bietzel, somewhat deaf, cups hand to ear. He steadfastly denied any
knowledge of the unidentified woman's corpse discovered in the canyon.
10
The Maugers were stunned with
shock and disbelief. Quiet, gentle-
manly Russell Bietzel an embezzler?
It seemed incredible. They were still
reeling from the blow when they had
another caller, Detective Fred Smith
from headquarters. Smith was also
looking into the embezzlement, but he
had other news as well.
“T hate to tell you this,” he said, “but
if Bietzel married your daughter, he’s
a bigamist. He already has a wife and
two kids.”
It was hard for the parents to believe
it, but at length they had to admit that
it looked as if Barbara had run off
with a man who was not only a de-
ceiver but also a criminal.
“Was your girl pregnant, by any
chance?” the detective inquired.
Mrs. Mauger shook her head.
“Reason I ask,” he went on, “is that
one of the things Bietzel took when
he skipped out was a complete baby
layette. Can’t figure out why he’d do
that unless he was expecting an ar-
rival.” (
The police sent out an all-points
bulletin for Russell St. Clair Bietzel,
a search that also included coffee plan-
tations in Honduras. The Maugers,
torn with anxiety, waited vainly for
further word from the daughter in
whom they had placed such high hopes.
As it happened, Bietzel wasn’t in
Honduras at all. He and Barbara set-
tled in Los Angeles, moving from one
section to another, never staying in one
place very long. Soon after the elope-
ment Barbara had discovered that
there was something mysterious and
even sinister about the man she had
thought would make an ideal mate.
For one thing, he had lied about two
things. He had promised to marry her,
but he still kept putting it off on one
pretext or another.
“Jt really doesn’t make any differ-
ence,” he shrugged, “as long as we
love each other.”
For another, there was that story
he’d told her about the fine job waiting
for him in Honduras. She knew now
this was a fabrication he had manu-
factured in order to persuade her to
elope with him. Then there was this
business of moving so often, and his
refusal to let her write her parents.
Worst of all was the fact that Bietzel
never called himself Bietzel any more.
He always went under some other
name beginning with “B”—Barber,
Bishop, Burholme. It gave Barbara
the impression that Russell was afraid
of something, afraid the police were
after him. ©
Fear is a contagious thing. Barbara.
discovered that she was fearful her-
self, afraid of Russell, a man she did
not know. The Rus
knew back in P
dream, a product
a wonderful persor
The real man w
moody, somehow
going to have a b
that this displease
misgivings about I
perately to marry
would have a dece
-displeased him to
In April, the «
name of Mr. anc
holme when they
ment on Golden
geles. Here Bart
with the superint«
motherly woman
Laird. She bece
quainted with «
Mae Burns, a }
worked at a dov
It was as plain
Burns that Barb
the reason was ;°
. husband, Burhol
quiet, neat-looki
who went off to
bothered nobody
tell that somett
day when the t
ning themselves
ing, Barbara let
“Here I am wi
she said bitter]
chasing around
Trying to co)
asked how she
Oh yes, the gir!
‘all right. He w
any more. He c
on him. He ¢c
+ perfume. He n
woman along v
Mae Burns }
this pretty |
scarcely beyon
yet was confr«
would have be
ture woman.
thing Barbara
sobbing as shi
woman.
“Sometimes
nightmare,” sh
here we neve
more than a
we've used d
place. I don’t
won't tell me
It was too
Mae Burns t
there was a g
between the t
was working
> times when h
On one occa
>» larder was «
s were stunned with
sbelief. Quiet, gentle-
Bietzel an embezzler?
edible. They were still
ie blow when they had
Detective Fred Smith
rters. Smith was also
2 embezzlement, but he
; as well.
you this,” he said, “but
ied your daughter, he’s
already has a wife and
or the parents to believe
\ they had to admit that
’ Barbara had run off
10 was not only a de-
a criminal.
girl pregnant, by any
etective inquired.
shook her head.
<,” he went on, “is that
ags Bietzel took when
was a complete baby
igure out why he’d do
was expecting an ar-
ent out an all-points
ssell St. Clair Bietzel,
so included coffee plan-
iduras. The Maugers,
ety, waited vainly for
from the daughter in
placed such high hopes.
ied, Bietzel wasn’t in
. He and Barbara set-
‘eles, moving from one
er, never staying in one
Soon after the elope-
had discovered that
ething mysterious and
sout the man she had
make an ideal mate.
he had lied about two
promised to marry her,
t putting it off on one
ler.
ssn’t make any differ-
gged, “as long as we
there was that story
out the fine job waiting
duras. She knew now
ication he had manu-
er to persuade her to
Then there was this
ring so often, and his
er write her parents.
s the fact that Bietzel
iself Bietzel any more.
at under some other
g with “B”—Barber,
ne. It gave Barbara
hat Russell was afraid
fraid the police were
agious thing, Barbara.
she was fearful her-
ussell, a man she did
oie sneer
not know. The Russell she thought she
knew back in Philadelphia was a
dream, a product of her imagination,
a wonderful person who never existed.
The real man was different—quiet,
moody, somehow menacing. She was
going to have a baby, and she sensed
that this displeased him. Despite her
misgivings about him, she wanted des-
perately to marry him so that the baby
would have a decent start in life.. That
displeased him too.
In April, the couple went by the
name of Mr. and Mrs. Russell Bur-
holme when they rented a small apart-
ment on Golden Avenue in Los An-
geles. Here Barbara became friendly
with the superintendent, a gray-haired,
motherly woman named Mrs. Margaret
Laird. She became even better ac-
quainted with another tenant, Mrs.
Mae Burns, a pleasant woman who
worked at a downtown hotel.
It was as plain as a pikestaff to Mrs.
Burns that Barbara was unhappy, and
the reason was just as apparent. Her
- husband, Burholme. Burholme was a
quiet, neat-looking fellow, a bit deaf,
who went off to work every day and
bothered nobody, but Mrs. Burns could
tell that something was wrong. One
day when the two women were sun-
ning themselves in back of the build-
ing, Barbara let her hair down a bit.
“Here I am with a baby on the way,”
she said bitterly, “and my husband’s
chasing around with another woman.”
Trying to comfort her, Mrs. Burns
asked how she could be sure of that.
Oh yes, the girl replied, she was sure,
all right. He wasn’t interested in her
-
any more. He came home with lipstick
on him. He came home smelling of
perfume. He might as well bring the
woman along with him.
Mae Burns felt deep sympathy for
this pretty blonde girl who was
scarcely beyond high school age and
yet was confronted by problems that
would have been too much for a ma-
ture woman. Sympathy was some-
thing Barbara could use. She was
sobbing as she confided in the older
woman,
“Sometimes I think it must all be a
nightmare,” she said. “Until we came
here we never stayed at one place
more than a couple of weeks. And
we've used different names at each
place. I don’t know why. My husband
won't tell me why.”
It was too much of a problem for
Mae Burns to solve, but after that
there was a good deal of comradeship
between the two. Although Burholme
was working regularly, there. were
» times when he left Barbara penniless.
On one occasion early in June the
-larder was empty and-she had no
MEE ere See hemes oe me
Barbara Mauger looks happy in this
ea
beach snapshot—but that
was before she ran off with a man she found to be a stranger.
money to buy food. Too proud to ask
Mrs. Burns for a loan, she went to a
downtown pawnshop and p&awned a
gold ring she owned for five dollars.
m ON SATURDAY, June 23, began a
a strange series of incidents. That
morning, Burholme telephoned the
apartment. When Mrs. Burns an-
swered, he asked to speak to his wife.
When Barbara took the ‘wire, he told
her he was planning to do some target
shooting at a picnic they were plan-
ning for the next day. He had bor-
rowed a revolver, which was in his
dresser drawer. He asked Barbara to
look at the gun and see what caliber
it was so that he could buy the right
size bullets. Barbara agreed and told
him to. hold on, turning to Mrs. Burns.
“I'm afraid of guns,” she said. “I
don’t dare even touch them. Would
you look at it and see what size it is?”
Mae Burns did so. It was a .38 cali-
ber Smith & Wesson. Barbara relayed
the information to Burholme, who at
that moment was at a sporting goods
store.
Burholme owned no car of his own,
but that night he drove home in a
rented yellow roadster. On Sunday
morning he and Barbara drove off to
the mountains for their picnic. The
peculiar thing was that Barbara never
returned from the picnic.
Mrs. Laird, the apartment superin-
tendent, asked him about Barbara,
raising her voice so he could hear her.
“Well, it was a remarkable coinci-
dence,” Burholme replied. “We drove
back by way of Long Beach, and
darned if Barb didn’t see‘her aunt
getting out of a cab at the railroad
station. Her aunt was just going back
East. Barb thought it over a moment,
then decided to go with her so she’ll
have her baby back home with her
dad and mother.”
He told the same story to Mae Burns.
The next day, Burholme gave away
Barbara’s tiger-striped cat to a girl
down the street. He also burned some
of his wife’s belongings in the incin-
erator in the back yard. Three days
later, on June 28, he moved out of
the apartment (Continued on page 62)
11
suicide. The romance which had begun
with such abandon in Green Bay had
ended in tragedy in South America. At
any rate it was now clear that the
couple had staged a fake drowning in
order to shake off their troubles and
run off together. It had been mere co-
incidence that McCarty happened to
disappear at the same time.
When Wenzel Kabat went to trial for
murder on June 9, 1906, lawyers all
over the nation were keeping an eye on
the proceedings, for this was not only
one of the most bizzare of cases but it
also involved some highly delicate legal
points. Among attorneys not acquainted
with the extraordinary experiment
undertaken by the prosecution, there
was strong doubt that a conviction
could be obtained.
Among the witnesses for the state
were Dr. Dorsey and John Tyrrell.
Kabat’s previous conviction for forgery
was brought to the jury’s attention, as
well as evidence that McCarty was
never seen alive after his meeting with
Kabat September 13.
It was apparent that the defense
thought this was all the prosecution had
to offer. The defense attorneys tore into
‘the scientific evidence, claiming it was
impossible that a human body could be
almost entirely destroyed in such a
fire. An expert witness testified to this
effect for the defense, insisting that at
the very least a large part of the skull
and considerable parts of the skeleton -
would resist the flames.
This was just what the prosecutio
had been hoping for. Dr. Golden was
now produced as a surprise witness.
The courtroom was electrified as he told
of the amazing experiment he had per-
formed with an _ unidentified body
brought from Chicago. The bones and
teeth recovered from his fire were
placed side by side with those recov-
ered from Kabat’s fire. The jury of 12
farmers and business men could see
that they were almost identical and
that the main contention of the defense
was disproved before their eyes.
Kabat was found guilty of first de-
grée murder. Since Wisconsin had no
capital punishment, he was sentenced
to a life term at the state prison at
Waupun, his old alma mater.
Kabat went to prison still claiming
he was an innocent victim of circum-
stantial evidence. “If it hadn’t been for
that forgery term I served,” he said,
“T’d be a free man today.”
m= HE WAS ASSIGNED to the prison
tailor shop, where he soon became an
expert tailor. He seemed able to turn
his hand to anything with success, and
with his pleasant personality he was
one of the most popular convicts, liked
by the guards as well as by his fellow
inmates.
In 1914, after serving eight years he
proved his uncanny skill in another
way—by escaping from the “escape-
proof” prison. ‘Somehow obtaining a
couple of hacksaws, one night he sawed
away two cell bars, opened a corridor
door with a wooden key he had made,
and entered the tailor shop. There he
donned a suit of civilian clothes, then
miraculously managed to scale the
floodlighted wall without being ob-
served by the tower guards. Since he
left a clever dummy in his cell cot, his
escape was not discovered until
morning. P
A widespread search failed to pick
him up. Two years passed, and still he
-. was among the missing.
Meanwhile, in Austin, Minn., a hand-
some, strapping man named Fred Tay-
lor had opened a tailoring and dry
cleaning shop. Taylor was well liked in
Austin, not only because he was a fine
tailor but also because he took a friend-
ly interest in‘men who had served time
in jail or prison: Taylor went out of
his way to give these men constructive
advice, and if he found them depend-
able he would find jobs for them in the
big Hormel packing plant or one of
Austin’s other industries. In this way
he became known to Austin’s Sheriff .
John Taylor. The sheriff liked the tail-
or personally and highly approved of
his rehabilitation work among ex-
convicts.
In 1916, the sheriff got a letter from
Wisconsin’s Waupun prison saying that
an escaped convict named Wenzel E.
Kabat was believed to be working in
or around Austin. A picture of Kabat
came with the letter, and the sheriff
studied it. He was staggered to discover
that Kabat looked exactly like the tail-
or named Taylor except that the latter
hada mustache.
It was with real regret that the sher-
iff arrested him. Kabat admitted his
identity and made no resistance.
“I figured I’d get caught sooner or
later,” he said. “Well, ’m ready to go.
back.”
Returned to Waupun, Kabat resumed
the prison grind. Cheerful, industrious,
he once more became the institution’s
best-liked inmate. Later he was given
trusty privileges. In 1940, an aging man,
he was given a pardon by the governor
and has since dropped from sight. Not
once did he admit the murder of
Michael McCarty.
THE LAYETTE MURDER RIDDLE
without bothering to leave a forward-
ing address.
Mrs. Laird and Mrs. Burns got to
talking about it later. They agreed
that that story about Barbara just
happening to meet her aunt at the sta-
tion, and deciding on the spur of the
moment to go with her back East,
sounded mighty thin. Mae Burns re-
called the business about the gun,
which Burholme had said he wanted to
use for target practice at the picnic.
“You don’t suppose he—he did any-
thing to her, do you?” she asked nerv-
ously.
Neither of them wanted to believe
that. Yet they had misgivings. Weeks
went by and they heard nothing fur-
ther from the Burholmes.
On August 2, five weeks later, two
small boys were hiking through the
62
(Continued from page 11)
woods edging Mulholland Drive in
Stone Canyon, just outside of Los An-
geles. They stopped short when they
saw what appeared to be part of a
human head, with long blonde hair
attached to it, lying in the shale at the
base of some brush. Sprinting for the
nearest cabin, they told the occupant,
who was skeptical. He walked back
with them to look for himself. Then he
hurried home and called the police.
Within a half-hour the place was
surrounded by ‘technicians and inves-
tigators including Detective Lieuten-
ants Frank C. Condaffer and LeRoy
Sanderson of the city homicide squad.
What the boys had seen was not a head
but a scalp, evidently the scalp of a
blonde woman. Where was the rest of
the body? . '
“It may have rolled downhill,” Con-
”
daffer said. ‘We'll have to comb the
area below.” ;
Mulholland Drive at this point clung
to the mountainside, with steep decliv-
ities both up and down. The investi-
gators began searching. Some 150 feet
below ‘they found a woman’s corpse.
Nude, it lay on its back, and the right
leg was missing. Obviously it had
been there for some weeks in the blaz-
ing sun, for the skin was leathery and
hardened. Wild animals had been at
it. The stomach was torn open, the
internal organs gone.
“Queer about that missing leg,” San-
derson muttered. “I suppose it’s pos-
sible that she had an artificial leg.”
They began looking. They found no
leg, but they did find something that
added to the mystery. Less than five
yards from the body was a tiny baby’s
skull and two small }
The officers exchz
‘was one of the co
thought he had the a
“The woman was }
looks of things,” he
her baby.”
The two pathetic c
away to the morgu:
and Sanderson ling
thorough search. U
from where the scal
they picked up th
string of beads—a b
five ivory beads on
little doubt that it r
to the victim.
At length they dr
and a couple of how
surgeon had a repor
“The woman was
he said. “Once in th
back and once in th:
the bullets entered °
say she’s been dea
more.”
“Did you recove:
lets?” Condaffer inc
“One of them. TI
trated the body a
Also, a ring was fo.
The surgeon handec
misshapen bullet ar
ing a semi-precious
“Could she have
leg?”
“T doubt that. °
indicate it. The n
tainly a puzzle, and
help you much ther
“Any idea of he
ance?”
“Yes, pretty well
probably somewhe1
25, a blonde. Abx
weighing 125 pounc
m THAT WAS SO]
son and Condaffer
topsy report and c
clues. There was
minds that the wo
sailed on or near t
land Drive, where t
beads was found.
struggled free and
been shot three tim
killer had then dis:
flung it down the
animals had done t
The two detect
facts to Captain J
leg,” Sanderson sa
Where could it hav
“T suppose anim:
ried it away,” Ca
“Then there’s ano
could be that there
ity or deformity e
‘killer may have re
hinder identificatio
“Thats what I
‘ondaffer sug-
his wife for a
ive. She had
with another
uarreled about
ious,” he went
p the car and
et her to listen
me she never
1. Well, that’s
er there in that
1 nowhere?”
at she wanted,
atter than that,
s going to have
th, and you say
id with another
” -
‘as.
7 you gave the
them your wife
- aunt and de-
with her.”
[ just told them
tions. They had
‘bout our family
las a cucumber.
fe’s dead, don’t
d him.
hat. I don’t be-
s with that man
”
JQUARTERS, he
s that he knew
ra’s fate. He did
Bietzel when he
was known any-
tted that he had
ira——an admission
tht on the motive.
a had been beg-
igh the ceremony
ae of her confine-
his ruthless view
a handicap to him.
a another woman.
he failed to marry
ne the baby was
ne him as the fa-
-eal identity and
ain of troubles on
rosecuted on Mann
sertion of his wife,
zlement.
out—as Condaffer
orized—was to.get +
ad wronged.
tzel wasn’t having
a to the morgue to.
maintained a stony
10 that is,” he said.
3arb.”
cab driver, was
he prisoner. “Sure,
rove up to Mulhol-;
stantly.. “The fellow with the disin-
fectant.” z=
“This fellow’s crazy,” Bietzel said.
“I never saw him before.” .
“This is getting a little ridiculous,”
Condaffer told him. “What did you do
to her leg?”
“What leg?” Bietzel replied, poker-
faced. “I don’t know what you're
talking about.”
It was apparent that the law was
going to have to- beat him the hard
way. Sanderson and Condaffer thought
they had the cards to do it, but they
weren’t averse to a few.more. They
went back to the engineering concern
and looked through Bietzel’s desk. In
it was a complete baby layette, the one
he had stolen in Philadelphia. There
was also a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson
revolver in the lower right-hand
drawer. “a
Another employe of the same com-
pany said the weapon was his, that he
had loaned it to Bietzel on June 22 and
it had not been returned to him.
“It’s my gun, all right,” he said,
“but it’s different. The _ barrel’s
shorter. It’s been sawed off!”
hi Ris '
land Drive that night,” he said in-
.
Ue Roe ey
“J think I know why he did that,”
Sanderson said. “He wanted to fit a
silencer to it.” - :
The gun was passed along to Lieu-
tenant Rex Welch, director of the po-
lice scientific bureau. Welth fired test
bullets. He found ‘that the sawing of
the barrel had left a small projection
that caused a groove in the bullets.
The murder bullet, surveyed through
a comparison microscope, was seen to
have an identical groove.
mw THAT WASN’T ‘ALL. From Biet-
zel’s attitude and his refusal to identify
the corpse, it seemed a strong possi-
bility that his attorney might claim
that the victim’s identity was not
proven. Indeed, this seemed the weak-:
est link in the case against him, for
until now it had “been impossible to
make positive identification. of the
corpse. A police chemist went to work
on that angle.
.He went carefully through the items
of Barbara’s clothing found in. the
laundry bag. From it he picked five
blonde hairs. He compared these hairs
microscopically with the victim’s hairs
found at the scene. They were iden-
~
PER ee a eam as Pi hae
a ee, tk - bia 8
tical.
This turned out to be a wise pre- |
caution. For when Russell Bietzel went
to trial on September 24, charged with .
first degree murder, his attorneys im-
mediately used the doubt as to the
‘victim’s identity as a defense. It was
not proved, they said, that the corpse
was that of Barbara Mauger. They
were trying Bietzel for the murder ofa -
woman who might not even be dead.
The state came right back with the
evidence of the hairs. It proved so
convincing that Superior Judge Charles
Burnell ruled that the identification of
the victim as Barbara Mauger was
perfectly established. That, along with
the evidence of the taxicab man, the -
rented car, the borrowed gun, the shoe
buckle, the ballistics evidence and
many other items, was enough. The
jury took only 42 minutes to find
Bietzel guilty. The deaf prisoner had
his hand cupped to his ear. He heard
the verdict and went pale.
His attorneys appealed, but all they
gained was time. On August 2, 1929,
precisely a year after Barbara’s body
was found, the killer was hanged at
San Quentin Prison.
CHICAGO’S VANISHING IRISHMAN
the Conkling house where Dr. Cronin
had lived.
The sharp-nosed Simonds, the man-
ager said, had paid a month’s rent but
had stayed only about two weeks..
Simonds had said he was in the sta-
‘tionery business: However, he had put
in. no stock and seemed to have no
callers except for one man. This ‘man
was Alexander Sullivan, a lawyer with
offices a block down on Clark Street.
Sullivan had come in almost daily to
hold conversations with Simonds. After
his two-week stay, Simonds had moved
out, along with his furniture and a
yellow trunk, and had left no for-
warding address.
In Schuettler’s book, Simonds was a
phony, not in the stationery business
at all. The office window commanded
a perfect view of the front door of the
Conkling house, so that anyone sta-
tioned there could be well posted on
Dr. Cronin’s comings and goings. In
fact, there were smudges on the win-
dow indicating that someone, doubt-
less Simonds, had been pressing his
nose against it a good deal of the time.
This office, Schuettler reasoned, was
where the plot against the doctor had
gotten under way. :
The captain was also interested in
Alexander Sullivan, the attorney down
the street who had-come to hold daily
conferences with Simonds. “However,
* f
(Continued from page 33)
he decided it would not be wise to
question Sullivan as yet, thereby put-
ting him on guard. Instead, he gave
a couple of detectives the job of can-
vassing draymen’s records to find
where Simonds’ furniture—and the
trunk—had been delivered after the
man moved out of the office.
While this was going on, Schuettler
took pains to look into Dr. Cronin’s
personal affairs so far as was possible.
He found that the doctor, while not
wealthy, was a good deal better than
solvent and had a healthy bank ac-
count. Furthermore, he was a con-
firmed bachelor, with no interest in
women at all. He had been in the.
habit of confiding in the Conklings,
having no relatives in Chicago, and
they were positive he had no troubles
on his mind: All in all, Schuettler
was more convinced than ever that
Schaack and Coughlin were cock-eyed
in their contention that it was all a
hoax, that the doctor had chosen to
disappear of his own accord.
This seemed confirmed two days
later when detectives found the ex«
pressman, who had moved Simonds’
furniture—and . the trunk—from the
Clark Street office. The drayman had
taken all’these items to.a summer cot-
tage out in.suburban Lakeview. ~
| That was a coincidence, in view of
the fact that O’Sullivan, the ice man—.
not to be confused with Sullivan, the~
attorney—had his own home and ice
house in Lakeview. Schuettler hur-
ried out there. The cottage was three
blocks from O’Sullivan’s home. Mak-
ing inquiries around, Schuettler learned
that the cottage belonged to Mr. and
Mrs. Jonas Carlson, who also lived
nearby. He questioned Carlson.
m CARLSON SAID that three weeks
earlier he had rented the cottage to
-a man named Frank Williams. Wil-
liams had paid a month’s rent in ad-
vance, so he still technically held
occupancy of the cottage, although no
one had seen any signs of habitation
there recently. Williams, Carlson said,
was about 30, and had a long, sharp
nose. Schuettler had no trouble fig-
uring out that Williams was really
Simonds, the man who had rented the
Clark Street office.
With Williams, or Simonds, was an-
other man Carlson described as young;
burly and thickset. Both of these men
had a noticeable Irish brogue. They
had said they wanted to get a breath
of good country air, and yet they had
spent very little time at the cottage.
Getting a key from Carlson, Schuet-
tler went to the cottage and let him-
self inside. He found blood on. the
floor by the door. The kitchen he found
to be a veritable slaughter house. There
finn., a hand-
ied Fred Tay- >
ring and dry
3 well liked in —
he was a fine
took a friend-
ad served time
r went out of
mn constructive
them depend-
tor them in the
ant or one of
‘s. In this way
\ustin’s Sheriff .
f liked the tail-
ly approved of
k among exX-
>t a letter from
ison saying that ~
med Wenzel E.
be working in
jicture of Kabat
and the sheriff
‘ered to discover
tly like the tail--
yt that the latter
et that the sher-
at admitted his
-esistance.
aught sooner or
I’m ready to go:
1, Kabat resumed
srful, industrious,
. the institution’s
ter he was given
140, an aging man,
a by the governor
d from sight. Not
the murder of
have to comb the
at this point clung
with steep decliv-
own. The investi-
ing. Some 150 feet i"
a woman’s corpse.
back, and the right
Obviously it had
. weeks in the blaz-
n was leathery and
iimals had been at
was torn open, the
e
“J suppose it’s pos-
an artificial leg.”
ing. They found no~
find something that
ery. Less than five 5
jy was a tiny baby’s
x
a
\
‘
: |
+ missing leg,” San- — 3
skull and two small leg bones.
The officers exchanged glances. It
‘was one of the coroner’s men who
thought he had the answer.
“The woman was pregnant, from the”
looks of things,” he said. “That was
her baby.”
The two pathetic corpses were taken
away to the morgue while Condaffer
and Sanderson lingered for a, more
thorough search. Up the hill, not far
from where the scalp had been found,
they picked up the remnants of a
string of beads—a broken thread with
five ivory beads on it. There seemed
little doubt that it must have belonged
to the victim. \
At length they drove back to town,
and a couple of hours later an autopsy
surgeon had a report for them.
“The woman was shot three times,”
he said. “Once in the head, once in the
back and once in the lower spine. All
the bullets entered from the rear. I'd
say she’s been dead for a month or
more.”
“Did you recover any of the bul-
lets?” Condaffer inquired.
“One of them. The other two pene-
trated the . body and continued on.
Also, a ring was found on her finger.”
The surgeon handed over a somewhat
misshapen bullet and a ring contain-
ing a semi-precious stone.
“Could she have worn an
leg?”
“J doubt that. There’s nothing to
indicate it. The missing leg is cer-
tainly a puzzle, and I’m afraid I can’t
help you much there.”
“Any idea of her age and appear-
ance?”
“Yes, pretty (well. She was young,
probably somewhere between 18 and
25, a blonde. About five feet four,
weighing 125 pounds.”
artificial
m= THAT WAS SOME HELP. Sander-
son and Condaffer took the typed au-
topsy' report and discussed the basic
clues. There was no doubt in their
minds that the woman had been as-
sailed ori or near the edge of Mulhol-
land Drive, where the broken string of
beads was found. She had evidently
struggled free and as she ran she had
been shot three times in the back. The
killer had then disrobed the body’ and
flung it down the declivity, and the
animals had done the rest.
The two detectives reported the
facts to Captain James Bean. “That
leg,” Sanderson said. “It bothers. me.
Where could it have gone?”
“I suppose animals could have car-
ried it away,” Captain Bean replied.
“Then there’s another possibility. It
could be that there was some peculiar-
ity or deformity about the leg. The
‘killer may have removed it himself_to
hinder identification.”
-“That’s what I’ve been thinking,”
-on this ring on June 4,” he said.
®yf’g Mrs. Burholme: Tell
Condaffer nodded. “She may have had
a missing toe or, something of the sort
that would have: been a give-away.”
A report was sent out over the tele-
t¥pe to all policé agencies in the area,
giving a description of: the victim and
her condition of pregnancy. Sander-
son and Condaffer looked over the
ring, a thin gold band with a turquoise
stone. There was no name engraved
on it, but the magnifying glass brought
out a number scratched on the inside
of the band—1203. .
“Probably a pawnbroker’s number,”
Sanderson said. “This may give us
something to work on.” .
It took only a telephone call to the
Pawnbrokers’, Association.
that. The number belonged to a series
used by a broker at Fifth and Main.
The two investigators drove to the
shop and showed the ring to the pro-
prietor, who consulted his ledger.
“I loaned a young woman five dollars
“She
gave her name as Mrs. Bishop, and her
address as 841 Golden Avenue here in
town.” ae
“Do you remember anything about
that woman?” 5
“Well, a little. She was young and
pretty, no more than 18, and she was
noticeably pregnant. I felt sorry for
her, she seemed so nervous and anx-
ious. Otherwise I would have given
her only about two dollars on the ring.
She came back four days later and re-
trieved : it.” GRE
The pair drove on to the Golden
Avenue address, where they talked
with Mrs. Laird. Mrs. Laird knew of
no Mrs. Bishop, but when they de-
scribed the girl she exhibited quick
alarm. ;
. “That's not Mrs. Bishop,” she said.
me—has
something happened to her?”
“We're afraid so.” ;
The elderly lady’s face was a study
in sorrow and indignation. “We were
so worried about Barbara!” she cried.
“Tet me tell you, if something has hap-
pened to her, you can blame her hus-
band. He took her off on that picnic
back in June and never brought her
back!” ! :
She told. about the picnic on June >
24, and Burholme’s strange story that
Barbara had “met her aunt” and sud-
denly decided to go back East with
her. :
“After that, Burholme gave away
her cat and burned up some of her
things,” she said bitterly. “A few days.
later he left with no word about where
he was going. Mae Burns can tell you
more, I’m sure, when she gets home
from work. She and Barbara were
close friends.”
| THE DETECTIVES got a descrip-
. tion of - Burholme—-about five feet.
to verify.
“used to kill her,” she said.
eleven, brown hair parted in the mid-
dle, long nose, good-looking and well-
dressed, noticeably hard of hearing.
Learning that hedid not own a car and
had rented a yellow roadster for the
picnic,
asking that a check be made at car
rental agencies. They also took a
longer shot. Reasoning it was possible
that the killer had returned to the —
scene sometime after the crime to re-
move the leg, they asked for a canvass
of taxicab companies to see if any cab
had driven up to the spot on Mulhol-
land Drive.
Condaffer and Sanderson then rolled
up their sleeves and began sifting the
contents of the incinerator at the rear
of the building. After an hour’s work,
all they had for their pains was the
blackened remnant of a decorative
buckle, obviously from a woman’s
shoe. Mrs. Laird was quite sure Bar-
bara had worn shoes with buckles like
that one when she went on the picnic.
_ When Mrs. “Mae Burns returned
from work, she was not merely quite
sure. She was positive.
“J remember those shoes perfectly,” .
she said. “They were dark blue calf
with the buckles covered with gros-
grain. Of course the cloth is all
burned off now, but that’s the exact
shape.”
Mrs. Burns identified the string of
beads as Barbara’s. She also had
plenty of other things to tell. About
how Burholme had used different
names and moved from place to place
without telling his. wife why. How
Barbara had mentioned her fear that
her husband didn’t love her any more
and was running around with another
woman. And about the picnic. She
told how Burholme had telephoned
from downtown, asking about the_cali-
ber of the revolver so he could buy the
right size bullets.
“That must have been the gun he
“Just think
of it—he was cruel enough to ask Bar-
bara to give him the information that
meant her own murder!”
But there were also things about the
Burholmes that Mrs. Burns did not
know. She was unaware of any de-
formity on. Barbara’s right leg or foot.
She knew that Barbara had come from
somewhere in Pennsylvania, but didn’t
know what city. She knew that Bur-
holme worked regularly, but didn’t
know where. The detectives checked
the neighbors, and one of them had an
item to add. He thought he recalled
hearing Burholme say that he was do-
ing some work at the .Metropolitan
Theater.
-Condaffer and Sanderson drove to
the theater, at Sixth and Hill, that
same evening, but ran into a snag. No
one there recalled Burholme, and no
imam of his description had been em-
they telephoned headquarters’
/
PR ge ne Same
- gon-—agreed.
_45 minutes in that lonely place.
Cabell hers.
“From the way Burholme kept mov- .
ing around and ‘switching names,”
Sanderson observed, “it’s obvious he’s
wanted somewhere.”
A telegram “was sent to the Pennsyl-
vania state police describing the pair
and asking that local authorities check
missing persons files. Early next morn-
ing, the two investigators drove up to
the murder spot once more, just to
make sure nothing had been over-
looked. A two-hour search turned.up
one more item—a box of .38 caliber
shells bearing the name of a Los An-
geles sporting goods store. The box,
which originally contained 50 aera
now contained 42.
At the sporting goods store, a dusk
checked the serial number on the box
and said it had been sold June 23, the’
same day Burholme had telephoned
his wife from the store. The clerk who
had made the sale remembered the
man who had asked to use the tele-
phone. He was hard of hearing, and
his description fitted Burholme.
The canvass of the car rental agen-
cies was likewise fruitful. A down-
town agency had rented a yellow road-
ster on June 23 to a man who gave his
name as Russell Barber. The man was
hard of hearing and had a habit of
cupping his hand to his ear to help him
hear. He was unquestionably Bur-
holme.
The rental agency also had a record
of the mileage compiled: on the car by
Barber, or Burholme. The detectives
were pleased to find that it added up
just about exactly to the round-trip
distance to the murder scene, without -
any side trip to Long Beach.
“Unless I miss my guess,” Condaffer
said to his mate, “we’ve got the case
solved—all but the most aie te
part.” ¥
“Yeah, finding Burholme,” bacidia
“No telling where he
might be now. And then there’s the
question of motive.”
m OTHER INVESTIGATORS had
been canvassing the taxicab compa-
nies, and one of them brought in a cab
driver named Ted Baker who thought
-he had some information. Baker said.
that on the night of July 4, a man had .
_ hailed him in do
wntown Los Angeles
and asked him to drive him to Mulhol-
land Drive. Baker’s description of the
man left no doubt that it was Bur-
holme.
“This fellow was carrying a pack-
age—looked like a liquor bottle
wrapped in paper,” the cabman said.
“When we got up into Stone Canyon
he asked me to stop, saying he had
some bootleg alky hidden there. He
told me to wait. Well, I waited maybe
Then
he came tearing back, telling me to get
- going fast before any agents came
along. Funny thing was, when he got
back he didn’t have that bottle with
him. And he smelled to high heaven
of disinfectant—just like a hospital.” .
That seemed to tie things up neatly.
The purpose of the disinfectant, the
investigators were convinced, was to
down out the smell of the body, which
had already been there ten days. Bur-
“ holme must have spent the 45 minutes
in the darkness doing something fairly
involved. What else could it have been
but removing the victim’s right leg?
So far the reason for the removal of
the leg was obscure, but maybe later
events would clarify it.
The two detectives once more vis-
ited the apartment on Golden Avenue,
hoping to stir some lagging. memories.
Talking to neighbors, they found two
who had items to add. One of:-them had
heard Barbara weeping in her apart-
ment, apparently pleading with her
husband about something. Another re-
called hearing: Burholme say. that he
worked for an engineering concern that
specialized in the installation of cool-
ing systems, but the neighbor did not
know the name of the company.
In a window seat at the former Bur-
holme apartment, the investigators
found a laundry bag containing some
women’s clothing. Both Mrs. Laird
and Mrs. Burns identified the clothing
as having belonged to Barbara. Con-
daffer and Sanderson took the bag with
‘them to headquarters and gave it to a
police technician.
A call came in from the Philadelphia
police, who had recognized the couple
from. the description. They gave the
Los Angeles officers complete informa-
‘tion about Russell St..Clair Bietzel,
who had eloped with Barbara Eliza-
beth Mauger. They mentioned an in-
teresting fact about Barbara. She had
a long. surgical scar on her right foot,
the result of the removal of a growth
some years earlier.
Things were tieing in now with a
vengeance. “Maybe we don’t have to
check every ventilating company in
town,” Sanderson’ hazarded. “Moving
picture houses are among the first to
install cooling systems. Perhaps that’s
what Bietzel was doing at the Metro-
politan.” >
They went back to the Metropolitan
and consulted the manager. Yes, a
cooling system had been installed there
in May by-a downtown concern. . The
two detectives got the name of the
company and lost no time getting
there. They soon . located Bietzel,
working over some blueprints ‘in the
design room. He looked up at them
with no apparent surprise.
“You must be detectives,” he said.
“I suppose you want to talk to me
about my :wife.. Well, - Pil tell you
Bathe oer ee pars Se od lasep.* '
gested.
Bietzel told of taking his wife for a
ride on Mulholland Drive. She had
been running around with another
man, he said, and they quarreled about
that.
. “Finally Barb got furious,” he went
on. “She made me stop the car and
she got out. I tried to get her to listen
to reason, but she told me she never
wanted to see me again. Well, that’s
the last I saw of her.”
“You mean you left her there in that
lonely place, miles from nowhere?”
“So what? That’s what she wanted,
wasn’t it?”
“You've got to do better than that,
Bietzel. Your wife was going to have
a baby in another month, and you say
she was running around with another
man.”
“That’s right. She was.”
“That isn’t the story you gave the
neighbors. You told them your wife
happened to meet her aunt and de-
cided to go back East with her.”
Bietzel shrugged. “I just told them
that to stop their questions. They had
. no business knowing about our family
difficulties.”
The man seemed cool as a cabouuibies.
“You know your wife’s dead, don’t
you?” Sanderson asked him.
“No, I don’t know that. I don’t be-
lieve it. I think she’s with that man
she was interested in.’
m TAKEN TO HEADQUARTERS, he
continued “his denials that he knew
anything about Barbara’s fate. He did
admit that he was Bietzel when he
discovered that this was known any-
way. He also admitted that he had
never married Barbara—an admission
that threw further light on the motive.
Undoubtedly Barbara had been beg-
ging him to go through the ceremony
with her. As the time of her confine-
ment approached, in his ruthless view
she was nothing but a handicap to him.
He was interested in another woman
But he knew that if he failed to marry
-Barbara by the time the baby was
born, she would name him as the fa-
ther,” expose his -real identity and
bring ‘the whole train of troubles on
him. He would be prosecuted-on Mann
Act charges, for desertion of his wife, a
for theft and embezzlement.
The easiest way out—as Condaffer
and Sanderson theorized—was to. get
rid of the girl he had wronged.
But Russell Bietzel wasn’t having
any of that.
view the victim, he maintained a stony
_ indifference.
“I don’t know who that is” he said.
‘I’m sure it’s not Barb.”
Ted Baker, the cab driver, was
brought in to see the prisoner.
that’s the man I drove up to Mulhol-
‘Yeah, let’s hear it,” Condaffer sug- ;
Taken to the morgue to .
“Sure, |
land Drive that
stantly.. “The fe
fectant.”
“This fellow’s
“T never saw him
“This is gettin;
Condaffer told hir
to her leg?”
“What leg?” B
faced. “I don’t
talking about.”
It was apparer
going to have tc
way. Sanderson a
they had the car
weren’t averse tc
went back to the
and looked throu
it was a complete
he had stolen in
was also a .38 cal
revolver in the
drawer.
Another employ
pany said the we:
had loaned it to B
it had not been re
“It’s my gun,
“but it’s differ
shorter. It’s been
the Conkling hou
had lived.
The sharp-nosec
ager said, had pai:
had stayed only
Simonds had said
‘tionery business.
in no stock and
callers except for
was Alexander Su
offices a block do
Sullivan had com
hold conversations
his two-week stay
out, along with
yellow trunk, an
warding address.
In Schuettler’s |
phony, not in the
at all. The office
a perfect view of
Conkling house,
tioned there coul:
Dr. Cronin’s com
fact, there were s
dow indicating tl
less Simonds, ha
nose against it a g
This office, Schu:
where the plot ag
gotten under way.
The captain we
Alexander Sulliva:
the street who ha
- conferences with
PLACE — CITY
608 OR AGE
N-ITAPIZ
him ke kad pol ee. @ Jos. dha |
APPEALS
LAST WORDS
EXECUTION
PP ei
¥
BENJAMIN, Wilbur, Indian, hanged Calif.
O.
nee
Sheriff Samuel Montgomery: He
blocked the killer’s possible at-
tempts to flee by enlisting the ald
of officers in adjoining counties
ISS MABEL MORRISON, teach-
M er of the Rumsey district
school, glanced up from the
papers she had been grading and
smiled at*little Violet Gilmer. School
had been dismissed, but Violet was still
at her desk poring over her history
book.
Violet was Miss Morrison’s prize
pupil. She would have been any teach-
er’s favorite. Not only was she unusu-
ally intelligent but she was also ex-
tremely attractive. Her hair was like
lustrous corn silk, and she had big
blue eyes that sparkled. with wit and
imagination. At fifteen, she was alto-
gether lovely; yet the girl was com-
pletely unspoiled.
‘Don’t you think you'd better go
now, Dear?” the teacher suggested,
looking out the nearest window. “The
rain seems to have stopped.”
“Yes, Miss Morrison.” Violet re-
turned her teacher’s smile, then care-
fully marked the page and selected
two more books for study at home.
Miss Morrison sat watching her, a
troubled expression in her eyes.
“Violet,” she said finally, as the girl
30
By Ceorge Edward Clark
Special Investigator for
' ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES
was adjusting her rain-cape, “you
mustn’t work too hard. Even school
studies can be overdone, you know.”
The girl looked at her, and for an
instant her lovely eyes were round
with amazement. Then she burst into
laughter.
“Oh, Miss Morrison!” she said de-
lightedly. “If only the other children
could hear you say that!”
Mabel Morrison’s serious expression
melted. “I wouldn’t say it to any of
them,” she admitted, a trifle ruefully.
“But I’m a bit worried about you,
Violet. You: work so hard, and you
have so much responsibility at home.
I wish you didn’t have to walk so far,
to and from school. Perhaps I can ar-
range for you to live here at Rumsey,
with some nice family. At least during
the coming Winter, Dear.”
“Oh, no,” Violet said quickly. “I
couldn’t do that. How would Daddy
manage without me? Mother is—is an
invalid, you know.”
“Of course, Dear,” Miss Morrison
said gently. She knew that Violet did
most of the housework at home. Her
father, a man in his sixties, had all he
could do to wrest a living from the
160 acres of farm land he had acquired
in the hilly section of Yolo County,
California. He was too poor to employ
a housekeeper in the girl’s place. “But
that long walk,” the teacher persisted
worriedly. “Why, it must be all of four
miles up that steep trail!”
“Yes, but I don’t mind, really,” the
girl declared. “I’m used to it.”
ISS MORRISON looked skeptical.
“There must be some way,” she
mused. “You're a brave girl, Violet.”
“But, Miss Morrison,” Violet said,
“what would I be afraid of?”
The teacher hesitated. She looked at
this girl, just blossoming into lovely
maidenhood, and she wondered how
she could express the vague, instinctive
fears that she felt for her safety.
“Oh, I suppose there’s nothing to be
nervous about,” she said. Then, try-
ing not to alarm Violet unnecessarily,
Constable William Moore holds a
noose that was used long after a
mob hoped
ACTUAL DE TECTIVE STORIES, June, 1942,
to
lynch a_ suspect
she asked casually, “You don’t ever
meet anyone along the trail, do you?”
“Why, not very often.” Violet’s face
showed her perplexity. Then, “Oh, you
mean, do I meet any tramps on the
trail!”
“Well, yes. Tramps or—or—”
Violet smiled at the woman, happy
to have the situation cleared up.
“There’s nothing like that to worry
about,” she explained. “I never meet
any strangers. In fact, I seldom see a
soul,”
Miss Morrison nodded, somewhat
relieved. “I guess it’s all right, then.
But don’t work so hard, Violet. You’re
so bright that you’re sure to be gradu-
ated in June without half trying.”
ER teacher's praise brought a flush
of pink to the girl’s softly tanned
cheeks, “I hope so,” she said gravely.
“T’ve ‘been out of school so much, and
now I’m going on sixteen.”
“That’s not your fault, my dear.”
“No,” Violet said, “but it seems dis-
graceful to be so old.” She explained
that she was eager to attend a busi-
ness college in Sacramento, for she
hoped to obtain a good job and help
her parents in their financial struggles.
Miss Morrison listened to the girl’s
plans, then suddenly lowered her gaze
and picked up a lesson paper. She pre-
tended to make a correction.
“Yowre a good girl, Violet,” she said,
when she looked up again. Her voice
was unsteady and her eyes were sus-
piciously bright.
“Good night, Miss Morrison,” the
girl called cheerfully, from the door-
way. Knowing nothing of the emotions
she had aroused in her teacher, she
hurried from the schoolroom.
Mabel Morrison went to a window
and watched the rain-caped figure flit
down the hillside road toward the tiny
village of Rumsey. She wished she
knew some way she could help Violet.
Perhaps a plan would present itself.
After a moment she went back to her
desk and resumed her work; but
laughing-eyed, ambitious little Violet
—
Faia
eaceere ty,
§
Violet Gilmer was trudging to her home in these
hills when she was accosted on the trail by the
cunning brute who violated her and then killed her
Gilmer remained in the back of her
mind.
Among the persons who observed
the blond schoolgirl on that rainy
afternoon of Monday, October 4, was
Ben Lloyd, a prosperous young farmer
and member of the school board. Lloyd
was sitting at the window of his home,
reading a newspaper, and he glanced
up as Violet went by. ;
Noticing how tall the girl had grown
since the Gilmers had moved there,
two or three years previously, he was
struck by her obvious charm. He
watched as she carefully skirted a
mudhole, fighting the wind that tore
at her clothing and outlined her youth-
ful, feminine figure.
Seren Ben Lloyd put down his
newspaper, turned to his wife, and
said, “I’m going to speak to Violet’s
father about letting her stay with us
until the end of the school term. Miss
Morrison suggested it, and I think we
ought to make the offer, anyway.”
“I wish you would, Dear,” Mrs.
‘Lloyd declared. “Violet is really a re-
markable girl, and I’d love to have her
with us.”
A few minutes after this conversa-
tion, Lloyd left the house, explaining
that he wished to attend to some mat-
ters in the village.
On her way homeward, Violet Gil-
mer stopped at the general store for
the mail. Ethel Morin, the proprietress,
gave her several letters. Violet care-
fully placed these in one of her books,
stood a moment chatting, then turned
go.
“IT have to hurry,” she explained
with a smile. “It gets dark so early
now.”
“Yes,” the woman agreed sympa-
thetically, “and you don’t want to get
caught in a shower.”
Undersheriff R. M. Brown, left,
with Deputy R. W. Woods: He de-
pended upon a heavy rain to clinch
a vital point In the investigation
A horrible death awaited Violet
Gilmer after she left this school,
where she enjoyed some of the
happiest moments of her life
One of the customers, John Olvey,
glanced at the clearing skies as he was
about to leave the store. “No danger
of that,” he announced. “The wind's
changing and our storm’s about over.”
Olvey’s prediction was later borne
out, but no one saw any significance
in the remark at the time,
Violet went out and hastened along
the muddy street. Some minutes later
she was ~een making her way up the
slope, following the winding trail that
crawled over the brush-covered hills
to her home on the east ridge. Oc-
casionally the wind flung her rain-cape
behind her, Then she was lost from
view.
| ATE that evening, a gray-haired
farmer stood in the doorway of his
home, high on the east ridge of hills
overlooking Rumsey, and stared down
at the dots of light that marked the
village. Not until the last light had
winked out did he turn away; then he
shut the door and rejoined his wife in
the bedroom.
“No need to wait up any longer,”
W. H. Gilmer said. “She’d have been
here by 5 o’clock if she was coming
home tonight.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
Mrs. Gilmer smiled up at her husband |
from the bed. Her face was pallid and
seamed with years of patient toil and
suffering, but her smile was the brave,
heart-warming smile of her daughter,
Violet. “She was afraid of getting
31
in Dinuba. Mrs. Bellon and younger children arrived here recently from Dinuba and had fled
from the abuse there, Bellon followed them here and Friday of last week called at
the Miolano home in a drunken condition, He was taken to town by the wife's brother
on that day and was not seen again until Wednesday morning, when ae arrived on his
mission of murder, That he planmed to kill every inhabitant of the house is the opinion
of Mrs, Bellon. An inquest was held by Coroner Griffin Wednesday evening, and
the jury, after hearing the testimony of Dre Ce He Castle and the reading of the .
depositions of Mrs. Bellon and Joseph Miolano, rendered a verdict stating that death
resulted from wounds inflicted by Tom Bellon with murderous intent. The jury was composed
of Raleigh Casad, J. T. “4cInerny, H. B. Ward, Se Ae Rheinisch, J. E. Minges, Victor
Pospishak, Fe Be Hamlett, F. A. Lagomarsino and S. He F. McGouran, Mary Miolano, the
murdered woman, was a native of Italy, aged 70 years, and had been a resident of Merced County
for about thirty-five years. The funeral was held from the Catholic Church at 10:30
o'clock yesterday morning, interment being made in the local Catholi¢ cemetery. The
Dinuba correspondent of the Fresno REPUBLICAN has the following to say of the murderer :
‘Thomas Bellon is‘a French=Italian, aged 1 years. Until recently he resided here,
He is known as a competent, industrious worker, except when under the influence of
liguor. He has been under arrest several times before, when in drunken rages he has
threatened to kill his wife and children, and recently completed a term in the county
jail at Visalia, On Thursday last, b ecause of another outbreak, Mrs. Bellon, taking
the younger children, went to her mother's home in Merced.and the daughter,, Carrie,
swore to a complaint in the court of Justice Wallace, charging her father with dis-
turbing the peace. Mrs. Bellon, doubtless thinking that the father would care for
the older children, left them here on her departure, but Bellon disappeared.
A boy of 10, left unprovided for, was taken into the McLeroy home, where he proceeded to
help himself to the family jury. He was taken in charge by Constable Hill Monday and was
pla.ced in the care of the proprietor of the Dinuba hotel, pending the arrival of the
county probation officer, Bellon returned Monday night and was taken to the hotel by Cons=
table Hill and paroled that he might spend the night with his son. He agreed to be.
in the justice court Tiesday mprning to meet the charge filed by his daughter. But
in the morning he had broken parole, He was seen early in the morning by a paper
acrrier at North Dinuba and was not again heard of until reported from Merced, after
the murder. Bellon is the father of 10 children, Beside those at Merced with their
mother, one girl critically ill in the Dinuba sanitarium , the boy is in the A#X#HKIHK
detention house at Visalia, two girls are engaged here in domestic services, and
two are working as*grape pickers, Upon notification of the Merced tragedy, the two
eldest daughtérs left for Merced." MERCED EXPRESS, Merced, CA, 9228-1918 (3:36)
t
BELLON , Thomas, 2, hanged at San ‘Quentin (Merced County) on October 17, 1919.
"Thomas Bellon was hanged at the,sgate prison at San Quentin on Friday of last week
for the murder of his mother-in-law, Mrs. Mary Mialano, near Yam station in this
county, on September 25, 1918, The trap was sprung at 10:22 o clock and physicians |
pronounced Bellon dead twelve minutes later. A final effort by the condemned man to
have the death sentence changed to one of life imprisonment was made when he sent a
telegram to Governor William D. Stephens at Sacramento. .iIn,the message he asked that he
be allowed to live for the-sake of his children so that he coyld,'advise and help them to
grow up into more noble and upright men.and women.' No reply was received to the
telegram. Shortly before the hour of his execution he confessed,his crime to Father
Le For of San-Francisco, At the time he killed Mrs. Mialano, Bellon also attempted to murder
his wife, from whom he had been separated for some time, He cut her throat with a
knife, left her flor dead and was escaping when he encountered Mrs, Mialano. He
slashed at her with the knife and inflicted wounds from which she died, Mrs. Bellon
recovered, At his trial in the local,Superior Court Bellon entered a plea of guilty
of murder in the first degree and the death sentence was pronounced by Judge Rector. ~
Bellon was the first man executed in a California penitentiary for a murder committed
in Merced: County.!" MERCED EXPRESS, Merced, California, October 25, 1919 (316)
"Probably the most revolting crime in the history of Merced county was committed
about 3 o'clock Wednesday mornins of this week when Thomas Bellon of Dinuba murdered
his mother-in-law, Mrs. Chiffredo Miolano, by cutting her throat with a razor,
attempted to kill his wife in the same manner, and shot his brother-in-law, Joseph
Miolano, in the head, The crime was committed at the Miolano ranch near ‘am station
on the Santa Fe realroad about six miles north of Merced. Bellon entered the Miolano
home barefooted and going to the room in which several of the members of the family
were sleeping, he slashed his wife's throat with the razor, inflicting two wounds in
the throat and one in the breast, The wounds were not deep enough to cause death,
and the victim, who is now under treatment at the County Hospital, will probably
recovers Mrs. Bellon had her five-month-qld:child at her breast at the time of the
attack, but the child was not injured, Bellon then attacked his mother-in-law, who
was sleeping in:an adjoining bed, slashing her throat in such a manner that the jue
gular vein was severed, and also inflicted a deep cut on the right wrist. The aged
woman died within an hours .Chiffredo Mialono, husband of the murdered woman, was
awakened by the disturbance and attempted to reach a gun standing at the bedside, but
he was rendered unconscious by a blowon the head. Joseph Miolano, the murderer's
brother=in-law,, who was sleeping in another room, was also awakened by the commo-
tion, He arose and attempted to secure another gun, which was on the porch. Bellon
met him at the doorway, and fired two shots, one of which struck Miolano in the
forehead, inflicting a slight wound. Joseph Miolano then went to a ASTHAKINEXTA RA
neighboring farm house, where a physician was summoned and the Sheriff's office notified,
Bellon disappeared immediately after committing the crime and as he had not been cap=
tured by hoon a large body of men was summoned by the ringing of the fire bell, and
a posse was organized to conduct an extensive search for the fugitive. About 1:30
o'clock the murderer was found lying an a tomato patch near the Santa Fe bridge aeross Bear
Creek on the northern outskirts of this city. He offered no resistance and was timmediately
taken to the county jail, The capture was made by W, C. Dallas, County Recorder
Ivers, Deputy Sheriff Cothran and Constable Warn of Livingston, Bellon is apparently in-
different to the enormity of his crime and when questioned by jail officials he
stated that he came to Merced for the express purpose of killing his wife, and that
he had attacked the other members of the family when they attempted to interfere with his
plans. He has signified his intention to plead guilty to the charge of murder in the first
degree, and he will probably be taken before Justice Farrar today for arraignment,
The murderer is well known in Merced, havibg resided here for several years some ten
or twelve years ago, and for a time, was employed as a cook in the chop house of the
oldGilt Edge saloon on Front Street. Since léwuhge Merced, he has been residing
ah Dinuba, Tulare County. Bellon, according to the deposition of his wife, taken at
$he hospital had hong been abusive to his family and frequently threatened murder.
The wife believes this crime was contemplated as revenge for the mag's recent arrest
ae SS ON NPN EE er
eneuped detection at Tumianey be would
be picked up elsewhere.
The Undersheriff had scarcely hung
Hp the Peeeiver when a nian when
he knew slightly rushed up) lo hin,
He was breathless with excitement.
"You'd better hunny! the naan des
clared. ‘"Vhe folks at Arbuckle are
getting all set to pull off a lynching!”
“A dynehing? Brown repeated,
“What for?”
“They’ve found the killer. It’s Henry
Doyle. Ile was gone all Monday afler-
noon and evening. He was seen on his
horse, ridings in the direction of the
Gilmer farm. He claims he was after
some cows, but his neighbors say he’s
lying. They’re rounding up a crowd
right now to string Doyle up!”
Constable Parker was still up on
the trail searching for the elusive clew
that might enable them to solve the
mystery. Brown left word for him
that he was going to Arbuckle to in-
vestigate this new development.
Riding a borrowed _ saddle-horse,
Brown arrived at the village of Ar-
buckle, across the hills north of Rum-
sey, late in the evening. He found a
crowd of men standing in front of
one of the stores. They were listen-
ing to one man who was addressing
them in vigorous language.
[)ECUNTING, Brown approached
the group.
“Are you Henry Doyle?” he demand-
ed of the speaker.
“No,” retorted the man, staring him
up and down. “My name is Harness.
Who are you?”
The Undersheriff introduced himself
and explained that he had heard a
rumor of a threatened lynching. Im-
mediately the man’s manner changed.
“There isn’t going to be any lynch-
ing,” he said. “You can arrest Doyle
if you want to, because that way he’ll
have a chance to clear himself. But
you’d better listen to me first. I hap-
pen to be married to the sister of the
girl Henry Doyle is accused of at-
tacking and strangling to death. I’d
give anything to see the guilty party
caught, but Doyle is innocent.”
Brown said, “Then you’re W. C.
Harness, little Violet’s brother-in-law.
Tell me what you know.”
Harness explained that he had just
returned from taking some mules to
pasture on the Sacramento River bot-
tom.
“TI started out Monday afternoon,” he
said, “and the first I knew of the
crime was when a friend telephoned
me today. Doyle lives over yonder,
about nine miles from where Violet
was killed. As I came by his place
with my mules I stopped and talked a
minute. He was just leaving, going
toward Rumsey to get some of his
cows that were grazing in the hills. It
was around 4 o’clock when I stopped at
Doyle’s place. Violet left school a little
after four, and she hadn’t gone more
than a mile up the trail, I understand,
when she was killed.”
“You mean, then,” Brown said,
“that Doyle would have had to do some
fast riding to go nine miles over the
hills and meet Violet on the trail at
the time the attack occurred, between
4:30 and 5 o’clock.”
Brown rode out to Doyle’s place. The
man was a bachelor and had no near
neighbors to substantiate his alibi.
Nevertheless, he told a straightforward
story, and any lingering doubt of
Doyle’s innocence was dispelled from
the officer’s mind when the rancher’s
statements coincided with those given
by the victim’s brother-in-law.
Henry Doyle was cleared of any
suspicion of guilt.
Undersheriff Brown had been work-
ing on the case all day, scarcely paus-
ing to eat, and when he returned to
Rumsey late that night he was ut-
terly fatigued. He was astonished to
find Constable Parker still up and
waiting for him.
“I telephoned to Arbuckle and
learned you were coming back to-
night,” Parker explained. “I thought
you’d never get here.”
“Why?” demanded the Undersheriff
wearily. “Don’t tell me we've got to
stop another lynching!”
AD- 2
“Neo, cabtliceg de Chere teripehet dee serve
danger of that tomorrow, when the
news gets out. Th my suspicions are
eorneed, we tad Tether Gabe ae tren tea
mediately. You see, the solution to our
mystery was up on that trail, just as
To thveovapehet*
Hlis itilerest aroused, Powis torpyot
that he was dog tired. He listened to
the Constable's: Tumried esx plunations,
nodded vigorously as comprehension
dawned.
“Of course!” he exclaimed. ‘The
whole thing fits together now. Maybe
we can peta confession out of dine.”
A few minutes later Chey arrived: al
the Everett farm and went straight to
the cabin occupied by the farm-hand,
Wilbur Benjamin. Routed out of bed,
Benjamin rubbed his eyes sleepily and
demanded to know the cause.
“You're under arrest,” Brown said
grimly. “We are taking you to Wood-
land, where you will be charged with
the assault and murder of Violet Gil-
mer.”
With handcuffs on his wrists and a
murder charge staring him in the face,
Wilbur Benjamin lost his pleasant, in-
gratiating manner.
“You're crazy!” he said. “Take these
things off—you can’t prove anything
against me!”
“That,” said Parker quietly, “is
where you are dead wrong! Sit down,
if you care to listen, and I'll tell you
how we know you're guilty.”
Benjamin, a sneer on his lips and
hatred in his eyes, sank down on the
bed and waited.
“You went to your grandfather’s
place early in the afternoon,” Parker
observed. “Later you stopped at the
store, then rode off in this direction.
There are witnesses to prove that this
was at 3:30 or shortly after, and in this
much your alibi holds good.”
Parker paused, then, weighing
every word, he continued: “But a few
minutes later, Benjamin, you rode
your bicycle back past Rumsey. You
sneaked up the trail, hid your bicycle,
and went to the spot where Violet al-
ways changed her shoes. It was a per-
fect hiding-place, being off the trail
and surrounded by thick bushes.”
“That’s a lie!” Benjamin spat out.
“You say I went back—-did anybody
see me?”
“No,” admitted the Constable, “and
how you managed to get back to the
trail unseen is quite a mystery. But
you got there, and you assaulted that
poor girl and strangled her!”
“It’s no use, Benjamin,” the Under-
sheriff said impatiently. “Maybe no-
body noticed you going toward the
trail. But you weren’t so lucky after-
ward. We have three witnesses who
saw you coming back from there!”
“Who are they?” the prisoner de-
manded.
Parker said, “You crossed the Rum-
sey bridge shortly after 6 o'clock. You
were riding your bicycle as fast as you
could. It was getting pretty dark, and
you thought you could keep your head
down and not be recognized. But John
Olvey was crossing the bridge, and he
recognized you.
“The others who saw you are W.
M. Ruberts and his wife. These people
couldn’t prove you had been on the
trail. They had always thought well
of you, and because they didn’t want
to be the cause of an innocent man
being lynched, they have been afraid
to mention their suspicions. But now
they are going to testify against you.”
Wilbur Benjamin suddenly laughed.
“All right,” he jeered, “take me to
Woodland and try me for murder. I
admit I rode back past Rumsey. But I
wasn’t on the trail after 3 o’clock, and
you can’t prove that I was!”
ROWN looked at Parker and smiled
grimly; but the Constable’s grave
face never changed expression,
“Yes,” he said, and there was neither
triumph nor elation in his quiet voice,
“we can prove it, Benjamin. You’ve
said all along that you were never
on the trail after about 3 o’clock. You
explain those bicycle tire-marks by
claiming that you took a short cut to
your grandfather’s house.”
“That’s right,’ the accused man re-
Co Pe ee
(hat trark ay faber thaa oor
“All right, then explain this. Tt was
Haire ah OP UO peentbeer TP rideeed
steadily citi a few nandtes pasha
OWeloek. Th hasatt rained since
“Merwe, Dtenepeeeene, Obra b ot catne uapeeed
oub Gi footprmots feo) Che tread, teat
rain can’t wash away murder. Unless
yer were an Che tearh after Ghat tant
shower ended, why are your bicycle
tracks still there?”
Wilbur Benjamin's jaw cropped,
Speechless with consternation, he
stared oat Parker as if the ofieer had
hypnotized: Tiny wall bins mercies
logic.
“He ean’t dig up an answer to that,”
Brown said, with a conteniptirous
laugh. He was rummaging about the
room as he spoke, and suddenly he
straightened, holding in his hands a
bundle which he had found in a cor-
ner of the room.
Curious, he unwrapped a faded blue
shirt from around a pair of heavy
work-shoes. A bloodstain was on the
front of the shirt, near the collar. But
the shoes proved to be even more im-
portant. They were caked with mud,
and the hobnailed soles were of a size
and shape to match the footprint
Parker had found near the slain girl’s
body.
“Something else for you to explain,
Benjamin,” said Brown. “You left a
footprint at the scene of the crime, you
know. Tomorrow I’m going to take
these hobnailed shoes up there and
compare them—”
“Wait!” Benjamin cried frantically.
“Tl tell you everything, I was there,
yes. I admit it, see? I met Violet, too,
but I didn’t kill her! I haven’t com-
mitted any murder, I swear it!”
“All right, tell us everything that
happened,” Parker urged quietly.
Loe a trapped animal, Wilbur Ben-
jamin looked pleadingly from one
officer to the other while he talked.
His story, up to a certain point, was
a complete confession. He admitted
that he had ridden his bicycle up the
trail, but denied that he had gone
there with the intention of attacking
the schoolgirl.
“T just happened to mect her,’ he
said. “I came along and saw her off
to one side, getting ready to change
her shoes. Just to make conversation,
I asked her what she was doing. She
said she was going to change her shoes,
and she was in a hurry. She didn’t
look at me, and she wouldn’t talk.
It made me kind of mad because she
wouldn’t notice me, so I went over
and grabbed her.”
The rest of his story was obviously
falsehood. He said he had tried to kiss
the girl, and that she had resisted him.
In the strugele that followed, they fell
td the ground.
“T didn’t know she was dead,” Ben-
jamin pleaded. “I thought she had just
got knocked unconscious, but she was
so still that it seared me to look at her.
I ran and got my bicycle and rode
away.”
Wilbur Benjamin pleaded not guilty
to the charges of criminal assault and
murder. Apparently he had been
crafty enough to try to save his neck
by making a confession that would
link him with nothing worse than un-
intentional homicide.
Under slightly different circum-
stances, such a defense might have
succeeded. But at the trial which be-
gan on Tuesday, November 16, 1909,
Coroner T. H. Kitto and two autopsy
surgeons, Doctors Blevins and Beebe,
gave irrefutable testimony to prove
that the victim had been brutally as-
saulted before she was slain by manual
strangulation.
Thus, any possibility that the school-
girl had been killed accidentally was
removed from consideration. Wilbur
Benjamin was found guilty of mur-
der in the first degree.
On November 22, Superior Judge
N. A. Hawkins passed ‘the sentence of
death and on October 28, 1910, Wilbur
Benjamin was hanged in Folsom
Prison,
To protect an innocent party the
name Henry Doyle is fictitious.
QUICK
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TRY THE
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0
INTRODUCTO
3 TEST BLAT
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Star Div
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Brooklyn,
caught in the storm,” the woman said.
“I declare, I think you’re actually
worried!"
“Not a bit!” he denied vigorously,
“I know as well as you that Violet
decided to spend the night with one of
her schoulmates,"
Still he stood there uncertainly. “If
it was to happen during good weather,”
he muttered, “lL might be worried some,
But it was a nasty storm today.”
“Of course, Dear, of course, Will you
put out the lamp and come to bed?”
Gilmer smiled sheepishly, then he
bent down and kissed his wife. Her
gentle ridicule did not deceive him;
ie knew that she was no less con-
‘erned than he. Not that there was
iny cause for worry, but what parent
loes not feel an occasional twinge of
‘pprehension under’ such circum-
itances?
Mr. and Mrs. Gilmer were experi-
nced parents. They had reared one
laughter to womanhood and seen her
\appily married. Violet, their second
‘hild, had come to them quite late in
heir married lives. Nevertheless, so
leep was their affection for her, they
vould both feel somewhat relieved
vhen little Violet returned, after an-
ther day at school.
The next day, Tuesday, was bright
vith sunshine, more like mid-Summer
han the first week in October. The °
chool-bell at Rumsey rang loud and
lear, and all the pupils obeyed the
amiliar summons. All except one.
Miss Morrison looked.at the empty
esk and frowned very slightly. “Do
ny of you know why Violet is absent
oday?” she asked.
SEVERAL of the children shook their
) heads, Then, because Violet was ex-
-emely popular, one of the older girls
olunteered an explanation.
“Must be on account of her mother,
liss Morrison. She’s been sick a lot.”
“Perhaps,” the teacher agreed. “At
ny rate, I know that Violet wouldn’t
‘ay away from school without a good
2ason,”
Regretfully, she placed an “absent”
lark after Violet’s name. Then, the
uties of a public school-teacher being
‘hat they are, she all but forgot about
jolet Gilmer during the rest of the
ay.
It was not until toward nightfall
iat the parents of the missing girl
Peg sitar eh
Violet Gilmer’s father, worried about her safety,
found her strangled body at the spot which Geo
became alarmed. ‘hey waited until
5:30, expecting to see Violet coming
up the trail, When 6 o'clock came, and
there was still no sign of the girl, Gil-
mer started down the trail to look
for her,
Night comes swiftly in the moun-
tains; in October, it is dark by 6
O'clock, The father of the toinsdoge pied
carried a kerosene lantern. He went
two miles down the trail, looking care-
fully in all the places where Violet
might have missed her footing and
fallen.
Mrs. Gilmer, when he returned to
her, war alment insane with worry,
Phen drtisbad's soottatnng, cx pobinationass
did not satisfy her,
“Violet wouldia’t do that,” she ob
Jecled fearfully. Phere wasn'l any
storm today. Something terrible has
happened to her!”
“ul, any dear, what could have
happened? ‘l'here isn’t a sign of her
along the trail not even a footprint.”
“Then it happened — before — she
reached the trail!”
“Nonsense. That would be practi-
"We Don't Need the Law to Take
Care of the Monster Who Out-
raged and Murdered This Little
Girl. We'll Give Him Justice on
The Knotted End of a Rope!" But—
At a point about a mile from Rum-.
sey, he stopped. The rest of the trail
was smooth going, and he felt sure
now that no accident had befallen the
girl. Undoubtedly, she had decided to
spend a second night with her school-
mate. It wasn’t like Violet to be so
thoughtless as to cause her parents
worry, but after all, she was still very
young.
Gilmer decided not to go around
among the people of Rumsey inquir-
ing about his daughter. It would be
embarrassing, and Violet was such a
good girl. He would wait until the next
day; then, when he had her alone, he
would give her a lecture that she
would remember,
Hurrying back up the trail, he be-
came quite angry, for he knew that
by this time his wife’s anxiety would
be intense.
cally in the village, and someone
would have brought us word. No, the
worst that could have happened would
be that she ate something that made
her sick. Or maybe her friends are
having a birthday party or something.”
He thought of a dozen explanations.
None of them sounded convincing.
They finally went to bed, but neither
of them could sleep. At daybreak he
got up and did a few hasty chores;
then, almost exhausted with the strain
of the past hours, he started down the
trail as fast as his aging légs would
take him.
He descended most of the trail and
arrived within sight of the village
without finding anything. Then, with
brutal suddenness, he came upon the
body of his daughter.
She lay near a clump of bushes not
far from the trail. A smear of blood
began a search that ended when he
rge Lloyd points out in this picture
was on her mouth, Her dress was torn,
Hove) Derarinert: were on ber face moved loonly
Her sehootbookoas ind tle cathy oat
were strewn upon the ground.
Vhe news Chat innocent, lovable,
little Violet Gilmer had been attacked
and slain avottced the peneeftul eon,
toutnity loa fever piteby of imctipnationn,
The men of Rumsey, ordinarily good-
natured and easy fom were so
worked up that they first decided not
to inform the sheriff.
One heot-headed fellow spoke the
sentiment of all when he said:
“We don’t need the Law to take care
of the monster whe outrayed and oure
dered this little girl, We'll give him
quick justice on the knotted end of a
rope!”
All who viewed the school-girl’s
ripped clothing, her battered, bruised
body and the scuffled death seene, had
no doubt as to the slayer’s motive,
They reasoned that in their small com-
munity the job of determining the
identity of the culprit would be easy.
The cooler heads among them soon
prevailed, however, when. it became
apparent that no man in the entire
neighborhood seemed capable of the
Wilbur Benjamin: He readily ac-
counted for his bicycle tracks
atrocious crime. They realized then
that, unless some unsuspected citizen
was guilty, their failure to send prompt
word to the authorities might aid the
slayer in making good his escape.
For that matter, two nights and a
day had already passed since Violet
was last seen alive. The killer might
well be many miles from Yolo County
by this time, perhaps even in another
state.
So a report of the crime was tele-
phoned to Woodland, the county seat,
which is 35 miles from Rumsey. Sher-
iff Samuel Montgomery immediately
summoned Undersheriff R. M. Brown,
who set out for Rumsey a few minutes
later. Accompanying Brown were Dis-
trict Attorney W. A. Anderson and
Coroner T. H. Kitto.
Meanwhile, Constable Frank A.
Parker had learned of the tragedy. He
arrived at. the scene of the murder,
where a group of men were standing
guard over the schoolgirl’s body, at
about the same moment that the re-
port of the crime was being telephoned
to Woodland.
Parker was a shrewd and intelligent
officer. Unlike the excited citizens of
Rumsey, he did not let his feelings of
horror and indignation interfere with
his cool reasoning processes.
(Continued on Page 47)
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(hat he tid hada premonition of the
frightful tragedy, on the very day
that it happened, and che could mot
forgive herself for having failed to
take some action to prevent it.
“Then you feared something like
(his would. happen?! Parker asked,
“Yes, I did.” ’
“Why, Miss Morrison? Did Violet
complain Chat someone was molesting
her—some man or boy?”
“Oh, no, quite the contrary, She in-
sisted that she had nothing to fear.”
“I see,” the Constable said thought-
fully, Then he remarked casually,
“You have some big boys in your
school, Miss Morrison. Did any of
them have the habit of walking: part
of the way with Violet, maybe carry-
ing her books, the way young fellows
sometimes do?”
Miss Morrison stiffened with resent-
ment. “You are making a mistake
even to hint at such a thing!” she as-
serted. “All my pupils are decent,
honorable children—”
“I believe they are, Ma’am,” the
officer interrupted quietly. “But you
must realize that I can’t afford to
overlook anything if I hope to solve
this terrible crime.”
To his next questions the teacher
replied that none of the older boys
ever had accompanied Violet on her
way homeward, and that she had never
shown the slightest interest in any of
the boys.
Having learned nothing of signifi-
cance from the teacher, Parker inter-
viewed a number of persons who were
reported to have seen Violet on Mon-
day evening. None of them had seen
the girl after she had disappeared be-
yond the first bend in the trail; and
none could recall having seen any-
one else on the trail, either before or
after her disappearance.
Parker thought this was significant.
When the officers from Woodland ar-
rived, he told them he suspected that
the murderer had lain in wait for his
victim, and had been careful to avoid
being seen after committing the crime.
“Otherwise,” he said, “some of these
people who last saw Violet would also
have noticed the killer.”
“That seems logical enough,” agreed
Undersheriff Brown. “But why do you
think he lay in wait for the girl?
Couldn’t he have met her accidentally,
if he was coming down the trail?”
“T understand that the trail extends
through the hills into Colusa County,”
observed District Attorney Anderson.
“A stranger coming down the trail
and meeting this pretty girl—”
“But no strangers have been re-
ported,” Parker told him. “No, this
was someone who kept out of sight—
someone who had met Violet and knew
her habits,” :
“Her habits?” the Undersheriff in-
quired.
“Yes. You see, Violet was attacked
near the spot where she always
stopped to change her shoes. She wore
old shoes on the trail, keeping her nice
ones for school wear. She hid the
extra pair in a sheltered spot. They
are still there, not far from the body.
I believe the slayer was waiting in the
bushes when she went there to change
her shoes.”
Brown remarked thoughtfully: “In
that case we may not have to look far
to find the guilty person. Do you sus-
pect anyone in particular?”
“No. So far, this is a. murder with-
out a single suspect. Almost without
a clew, too, although I’ve found some-
thing that I hope is a clew.”
H= TOLD them about the footprint
he had discovered near the vic-
tim’s body.
After he had examined the body,
Coroner Kitto pointed out certain evi-
dence which indicated that Violet had
been criminally assaulted and then
strangled. Discoloration of the vic-
tim’s legs showed that the body had
lain exposed to the sun during the
previous day, and he had no doubt
that she had been dead sinee Monday
night.
Aonhort: tite hater the Coroner ne
formed Go Woaoocthaneb, takouiges worthy been
the body of the slain schoolgirl The
Others reniined at Munisey Phey
went about the eee
questions, but although — everyone
seemed ceaycer fo dredp them, ne one
could: furnish any new ii fornation,
No strangers had been seen in the
community, No one had been observed
in the vicinity of the crime on Monday
afternoon,
District Attorney Anderson decided
that he could be of no further assis-
tance at the moment: he returned to
Woodland, Brown and Marker started
up the trail, intending to interview the
parents of the victim. They had been
postponing this unpleasant duty, be-
cause both Gilmer and his wife had
been reported as suffering greatly
from the shock of the tragedy.
When they were yet some distance
from the spot where Violet had been
slain, Parker halted suddenly and
pointed at the ground.
“Bicycle tracks,” he said. “Funny, I
didn’t notice any before.”
“Maybe they were made today,”
Brown suggested. “Some boy rode his
wheel up here.”
Parker slowly shook his head. “No,
the sun and wind have dried out the
earth since these tracks were made,”
he pointed out. “They weren’t made
today.”
“Phat’s right,” the Undersheriff
agreed. Then he stared at Parker.
“Say, do you suppose some kid-—one
of the older boys at school—could have
committed such a frightful crime?”
Parker did not answer. His face was
screwed up in a thoughtful scowl.
“T meant to look into that possibility
further,” he said at last. “The teacher
almost convinced me that such a thing
was out of the question. But now—”
“Now,” finished the Undersheriff,
“we’d better have a look at all the
kids who own bicycles!”
“Let’s have our talk with the Gil-
mers first,” Parker suggested. “If dne
of the boys wag hanging around their
daughter they might know about it.”
But their visit at the farmhouse on
the ridge was little more than a sad
ordeal. -Two neighbor women were
doing the housework and looking after
the grief-stricken elderly couple,
whose married daughter, Mrs. W. C.
Harness, was also there.
From what the officers could learn,
it seemed that Violet’s teacher had
spoken the truth when she insisted
that the girl had had no schoolboy
sweetheart. Burdened with responsi-
bilities, she had been far too busy for
“puppy-love” romance,
Returning to Rumsey, the officers
noticed a group of men in front of the
store. Brown and Parker hastened
toward them, hoping for a break in
the case.
Parker deftly brought the conversa-
tion around to the subject of bicycles,
and they learned that there were only
three' or four of them in the com-
munity.
During the next hour they visited
the homes where bicycles were owned.
They examined three bicycles, but the
tires either had treads of a different
design from that found on the trail or
no treads at all.
Finally they learned the name of a
man who owned the only other bicycle
in that vicinity.
“He works for L. B. Everett,” said
their informant. ‘You'll find him
there on the farm. He's a nice fellow,
steady and reliable, and he'll tell you
anything you want to know.”
Arriving at the Everett farm, the
officers introduced themselves and ex-
plained their mission,
“Yes, Wilbur Benjamin works for
me,” the farmer said. “Best worker I
ever had, too. Some people think that
Indians are lazy, but they’re wrong.”
“Is Benjamin an Indian, then?”
Brown asked in surprise.
fre, hut everybody tikes lina,
same oas his dad and mother, The
Family lives dawn (he end a poieee
They all work aa the orchowads oma teuet
con.”
Pletipante was work tape oneb di Phe
lichts so the officers asked where he
kept his bievele. Everett led them te
it
The onstant thiet they saa the trees
of the bicyele beth Brown and Parker
prew fonse with exerlement,
“This is it Parker said softly, as
he wheeled the bicycle about, “Look
at those traekst!"
ROWN nodded. “Tet's
have a talk with din,”
Receiving their directions from
Everett, they set out across a field of
wheat stubble and presently met the
man they sought as he was returning
to the farmyard with a team of horses,
“You're Wilbur Benjamin?” asked
Brown,
“That's right, Sir!” the young farm-
hand acknowledged, with a friendly
smile. “What can I do for you?”
“You can explain what you were
doing up on the trail where Violet
Gilmer was killed Monday evening!”
Brown told him sternly.
Benjamin, who appeared to be in his
early twenties, stared from one officer
to the other with horrified eyes.
“But I wasn’t even there! Ask any-
body. Not on Monday evening, any-
how.” Then he appeared to recon-
sider. “Well, yes, I guess it was on
Monday afternoon that I rode up that
way. I went over to my grandfather's
to get some lubricating oil. But that
was early in the afternoon.”
“How early?”
“About 3 o’clock, maybe earlier.”
“All right, now tell us everything
you did on Monday afternoon,” Parker
commanded,
Wilbur Benjamin thought a moment,
then quietly outlined his movements
on the afternoon of the slaying, as he
claimed to recall them.
“By the way,” Parker asked, “does
anyone else ever ride your bicycle?”
“Yes, sometimes, The neighbor kids
come in and borrow it when I’m not
using it.”
“Is that so? Did someone borrow it
last Monday evening?”
“No, I had it myself. But the only
time I was near the trail was_ taking
that short cut to my grandfather's
place. I borrowed a bottle of oil, and
on my way back I stopped for the
mail. Ask them at the store what
time I got back!”
The officers hastened away to check
on his alibi. With the help of Deputy
R. W. Woods and William Moore, who
later became constable, they learned
that the witnesses Benjamin had
named supported his story in all es-
sential details. He had left his grand-
father’s home shortly before 3 o’clock.
He had stopped at the store at about
3:30, and a few minutes later he was
seen riding his bicycle homeward—in
the opposite direction from the trail.
“Well,” Brown said wryly, “I guess
we're licked on that score. I took a
good look at Benjamin’s shoes and
they were the wrong type entirely to
have made that print. We’ll just have
to begin all over again.”
Parker frowned and shook his head.
The clew to this mystery is up on
that trail,” he said, “if we can only
find it. I’m going to have another look
before dark.”
“Go ahead,” the Undersheriff said.
*T’ll get in touch with the Sheriff by
telephone and make my report.”
Using the telephone in the store,
Brown called Sheriff Montgomery and
outlined the results of their investiga-
tions thus far. The Sheriff told him
that the entire county was incensed
over the crime, and that every sus-
picious person was being investigated.
The officers of neighboring counties
had promised complete cooperation,
and there was a chance that if the
murderer was an itinerant who had
fo out and
cr
July Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES Goes on Sale Friday, June 12
aD—3
Very noon now, Eton would be looleiag
into the same gun that had fired those
bullets!
On Saturday night, December 6,
Jimmy drove up, not in the Buick he
Dad talked about, but ina Packard
Why dida't Lt wonder how he could
afford a Packard?) Well, Vd heard a
Tot about the “Darpartoge’ aun ould
find ity (he used-car lots.
When I got off work we drove gaily
info Springfield, How could you have
been so serene and gay, Jimmy? We
went to our favorite dancing-places
and it was about 3:30 Sunday mornings
when we got back out to the Coffee
Pot. Jimmy said he’d go on back to
flown and gel a room ata hotel, but I
fixed him a bed on the studio couch,
while then I crawled in with one of
the waitresses who shared the quar-
ters with me.
When I went down to work next
morning a waitress looked up from
the Sunday paper and said: “Margie,
you remember they thought that man
Newman had been murdered, well—”
she slid the paper under my nose and
T read: “Arkansas Killer Sought Here
as Newman Murder Suspect.” The
paper stated that a soldier listed as
AWOL by the Army, was believed to
have slain John Hoffman, 65, Little
Rock used-car lot watchman.
I read on:
“The description of the fugitive fits
the description of the soldier sought in
the Newman killing. Hoffman’s body
was found lying in a small frame
office on the car lot, badly battered by
a tire tool or some other blunt instru-
ment. His car, a Packard coupe, had
been stolen.”
A Packard. A Packard coupe. Well,
Jimmy and I had a Packard coupe.
But even then the truth didn’t hit
me. How could it? For these two slay-
ings were things that happened in an-
other world. One had occurred in
central Missouri, the other in central
Arkansas, They had nothing to do with
the close little world that consisted of
just two people—Jimmy and me. At
least that’s what I thought.
Foes now I come to the horrible part
of my story.
Even while I was reading the above
news story, George F. Standke, of
Kansas City, son-in-law of John Hoff-
man, slain in Little Rock, had stopped
at a filling-station a half-mile from
the Coffee Pot on his way to Little
Rock to make funeral arrangements.
He mentioned this to the filling-station
operator, stating that his father-in-
law’s car, a Packard coupe, had been
stolen.
“Would you know that Packard?”
Standke turned in surprise to the
man who asked this question, Con-
stable John Love, of Galloway.
“Sure. I’d know it any place.”
"DYothink Tocan show wou that eat
Constable Love replied quietly.
The two nen: elrawe rdhowby pad thre
Coffee Pot. Phe Packard diniuiiay tise
driven in the night before was parked
where they bath comtd see it
At 11:15 T went upstairs and woke
dinney tip.
We osab oon the studia eames ave
talked for a few moments of our wed-
ding and honeymoon plans. Jiminy
acted no different: than always. THe
was neither nervous nor jumpy. He
just acted as if it was another lovely
Sunday morning and he had his entire
life before him. But in reality he had
Hot hours but moments,
“You can wear slacks and sweaters
on our trip down,” he just had told
me,
Then we heard a car turn into the
driveway, Someone was coming up-
stairs, Jimmy looked out the window,
The steps on the stairway got louder.
We heard the doorknob rattle. Jimmy
jerked a gun from his pocket and went
to the door.
I was too terrified at his sudden
move to scream, I just stood paralyzed,
Then Jimmy’s gun blazed, and Trooper
Vie Dosing fell into the room—dead.
There was another shot. I heard men
downstairs yelling: “He got Graham.”
They meant Trooper Sam Graham. He
was shot in the stomach and no hope
was held for him for several days,
although he did recover.
After the first shot I hid behind an
ironing-board in the corner of the
room. Several more shots followed and
then all was quiet. Then I came out
from behind the ironing-board and
screamed something at Jimmy. He
turned around to me and said: “Shut
up.”
Then he snapped his gun at me. It
clicked on an empty chamber. I
couldn’t move. I couldn’t cower back
behind the ironing-board. Like a per-
son in a trance I watched Jimmy stoop
over and pick up the dead patrolman’s
gun. I remember that he had a gun in
each hand. There was one more shot.
I saw Jimmy fall to the floor.
I waited—it seemed an eternity.
Then I screamed. But no one came
upstairs.
I ran out the door, screaming:
“They’ve both been killed!”
I don’t remember very much right
after that. Except that I had some
more hard things to learn. For I didn't
know the details of those other killings
until the officers began questioning me
closely concerning the dates I’d had
with Jimmy over the period from
November 26 to December 6.
The papers had the whole awful
story pieced together by Monday
morning, December 8.
Not until then did I really know all
that had happened.
Vhal Milan 4. Nednieviteh, deserter
and slaver of State Patrolman Vietor
OO Doerner, Devel gates hoadbeet branch Meas
poeitta,
The gun used to kill Newman was
He cate Tal Pheebosat dared fe hall
Patvotiogan Dang Amel Drona. oa
member of the State Patrol cinee its
pereepebnenn, Debt vt tebe capped tau beet bee
eholelvensy,
That) Nedimoviteh killed himself
With the dead patvolnicats pum after
he saw no possible chance of his es-
caping the net oof officers thrown
crore the Colee Pot Payern
That hundreds of persons had offered
themselves as blood donors for trans
Tiistous for Trooper Sonn Cerabiann,
Thave not attempted to tie together
many of the official angles of the in-
vestisation, for belo nat bareowss thera,
Poonty Know what has happened to
me-Margie Pae Smith, Since that aw-
Mil Sunday people have asked ome:
“But didn’t you ever suspicion Jimmy
might be lying to you? Didn't it seem
strange to you that as a soldier in
camp he had a lot of unexplained
leaves?”
Well, when T first started going with
Jimmy there were times when I felt
he was lying to me. But always he
found a plausible excuse. If you are a
woman you will know what T mean,
How you hope against hope that the
man you love is all you want and be-
lieve him to be. If he sometimes does
unexplainable things, if you feel he
hasn't been exactly truthful, you find
yourself making excuses for him. I
can’t explain it. I just know it’s true—
and so will every woman who reads
my story.
It hasn’t been a pleasant thing for
me—writing this story for AcTuaL
Derecrive Stories Magazine. It brings
back too many memories. I still go to
pieces when I think about it. But I am
telling my story so other girls may read
it and be more cautious than I. For I
know what it means to see your name
in glaring headlines. To have your pic-
ture in the paper. I know what. it
means to hear people say: “There goes
the sweetheart of a killer.” I also know
what it means, when you ask for a
job, to stand shaking in your shoes,
anxiously asking yourself: “Will they
connect me with my picture? Will they
remember my name? And if they do,
will they refuse to let me work?” Yes.
T know what all this means.
There is something else I know, too.
I'm young. I can work; build a new
life.gBut for my parents it’s different.
They will always feel disgraced,
My rings? I can’t bear to look at
them. If I did, I’d see: A young man,
lying face down, three bullets in his
body. An aged man—dead. A_patrol-
man, slumping to the floor of my room
—dead. I would also see Jimmy’s eyes
above two smoking guns. .
“But Rain Can't Wash Away Murder" (Continued from Page 32)
After examining the body, Parker
gave his opinion that the girl had been
strangled. There were bruises on her
throat, and the blood on her mouth
and jaw had evidently come from the
ruptured throat. He could find no other
wounds to account for the girl’s death,
although her knees and one bare
shoulder bore deep scratches. These
abrasions obviously had been sustained
during the victim’s struggle with her
attacker.
Parker was chagrined to find that
the milling feet of the crowd had
almost certainly destroyed the foot-
prints of the killer. Nevertheless, he
painstakingly went over the ground,
inch by inch, and at last he was re-
warded by the discovery of a single
print that did not match any of the
others.
“Any of you men wearing hob-
nailed boots?” he asked, his keen eyes
searching the faces about him.
The men all replied in the negative.
Parker bent down and carefully stud-
ied the footprint. It had been made,
he surmised, by a size-eight boot with
hobnails. The print was clearly defined
4D—2
in the soft earth some ten feet from
the trail.
After giving stern orders that no
one was to approach the spot, Con-
stable Parker proceeded to learn all
he could about the crime from the
men on the scene.
“Have any of you got any idea as to
the guilty person?”
“If we did have, Constable,” retorted
one, “we wouldn’t be standing around
watching you!” A chorus of muttering
voices backed up this ominous asser-
tion.
Parker decided that he would keep
his suspicions to himself, provided that
he was able to uncover any evidence
that seemed to point to the murderer.
These men were all normally law-
abiding citizens, but their thirst for
swift, uncompromising vengeance was
a threat to the slower processes of law-
ful justice. If mob suspicion were to
fall upon an innocent man, that man
was doomed.
“I know just how you feel,” Park-
er said. “But the last thing we want
to do is to jump to hasty conclusions.
Now, I understand Violet was seen
coming this way after she left the
store, on Monday afternoon. At about
what time was that?”
Ben Lloyd spoke up. “Shortly after
4:30," he said. “She passed my house
on her way from school. I went to
the village a few minutes later, and
Violet was just leaving the store. My
brother George’ was there, too.”
He added the details of his conver-
sation with his wife, on that fateful
afternoon, concerning his decision to
arrange for Violet to live with them.
“Why?” asked Parker, “Was the
girl afraid to walk to school and back
alone?”
“No, I don’t think so. But Miss Mor-
rison, the teacher, was considerably
worried.”
ARKER decided to have a talk with
Mabel Morrison, He found her at
the school.
The teacher's eyes were swollen
from weeping and she was too upset
to tell a coherent story. Since learn-
ing of the murder, she had refused
even to touch the dead girl’s books or
other belongings. She fully believed
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pi
rt
7 HE WIFE MURDERER MEETS
HIS FATE CALMLY.
pty ® i dll a a iRise ae ur —_
SL earns
#Nanged at Folsom State’ Prison.
Witnessed by Forty
People.
Sescianito the Newe
BERRY HANGED.
He Maintained His Indifference to the
End.
Foleom, Cal., Aug. 13—James Berry,
the Modesto wife. murderer, was hang-
ed promptly at 10 o’clock this morning.
Up to the last moment Berry maintained
hia composure, not braggadocio, but fim
ehowed true nerve.
He ontertained visitors in his cell up
to the time to prepare for execution.
Ha indulged in light jocular conversa-
tion and REELS: himself.not sorry for
what he had done. He asked a few
mall favoraand said bo wag ready to
Ho walked tirmly to the scaffold. was
EM strapped and the noose adjusted with-
out a word from the ‘prisoner. He
dropped six feat and Prison Physician
Borne said his neck-.waa broken.
Palsation ceared ind ten: niinutes. ‘a In-
on piicis als forty witnessed
Re Po? ee
how ¢ I ?
——e |
ea
PE4ZLAGLTAL®e “Cer ALC! C4 - L -
SPE 3; ee (Teer LE a Lat),
22 WORDS
at
HARDER, . Harold F ws Buspar bls. naneed Folsom (Tulare) Quads bed 2P4 i
: IF 3S
oe ee A. age
: Masonic Temple . Pp
> mp Pays Penalty |
eory Is New Setti
hte | pe . ur ering Sis
ts For Installati ,
OF Inst on tse?
Mater. 100 Persons Ton Tn Care — On Folsom Gallows
Tag mony Conductad By ? re es ms: Re A re ‘ . |
n - Blue Lodge ne
see i : corr Merriam Fails To Act On’ < :
¢ riparian ease nay A eral feller pi ic 1_Minute Plea For Clemency; Trap Sprung’ =
Poomecamy | Mineral King. which is to take the At 10 a. m. And Bieber +
materially ture at Center and South Church, Dead 12 Minutes Later - hel ns
re crear Ja nih wien the oxy | _ ney vee
» 5 0 4 ve
ording to gg "installed with a | wag TOLSOM FR for Haredd Ss 1. (UP)—the man whet 55
cana : tee dance and refreshments folowing wanted to die because He MUNRed Hr ster, Lane Blais:
Mage ah Wace ee eee ee Bieber was pronounced dead at 10:12 a, m, 12 minute
ecision for friends, visited the new edifice after he dropped through the trap door in Folsom’s exeew. =)
& will te! last evening. although only ® com- tion chamber. sa are ea.
be case of aes cee, Governor Frank F.. Merriam ‘dectined to tatervede, J
“any, et al, |] p oealggg ma yr verndipemaly mnt despite a last minute application for clemency, made by":
1a Weter who enjoyed dancing sought the Bieber because his sisters had asked him to seek a
6 m come lower floor and .cayorted to the mutation of sentence. © ° «4. SO ee yp eee
me of the music of Cy Reis’ orchestra—tntil
‘fs, said. midnight. and partook of light re- S 1 gly
only the freshments served by the ladies of Cae
_ have not the La Estrella club, led by Mra. Square Dealer Sara
sourt’s de- Jos. R. Barboni and Mrs. Chas. ”
a definite venue’ ta 2 % : reas
—— BP Rg Romer Leader Arrested
win oe eS comet to my At Baton Rouge
mee oe ed eae Pata
} te mee ind eallies Warlike Excitement Is
y from the large canes Ty was Again Running High
ot & good-natured, ‘enjoyable cere- In Louisiana iar
five) eo Tstorte dignity theeparsiie from BATO! UGE, La, Pe. 1
by Nn _RO *
~ aeae ‘am, Sabie otind cine (LP)—Ih an atmosphere of rebellion
sik of ceremonies, and performed his suggesting the dsys of the czars Of| ©. «=
<% ne at Sone . Peee Puma, Hury Long today reopened)
i hig fwiicial investigation into the
Shanghai Banks “meting
¥: ‘ . ’ see : The city of Baton Rouge seethed| who had been drinking,
es ar me: aye | | with warlike Sue-eseitedbawnangact eet el Mags
ouble ~ Pool Resources Sexe eats fe Pom ow eo
pogitied ae Souly tok Mt mee cae yt mi
Pte as
sy To To Avert Crisis|New Te Sec Ses ic ate
9 bccn 0 AY ew estimony “Cancentaiy anther arg |S
md — ge Purther Closing Of Chi- In Ha uptmann's to President Franklin D. Roosevelt ‘TTritely ‘denied
‘= nese Banks Is by Mrs. J, 8. Roussell, president ofjthere. After Tritely
1 (Pe 4 the women’s division of the Square/ armed with a knife,
today in ‘ Indicated 4 Behalf Is H | Dever whe, chareed. Loog's eo- [cabin and - found “hig
big scale ceeecanie UL lives comity. tonenteusd: ca runaant only tn. eioenianel
a SHANGHAI, Feb. 1 (UP)}—Shang-| iach ere be Tagen ae ee ee
ap gon cuir vendiler Gane ne nats | Prosecution Succeeds In <> 2e | door, Ieber aviend
an Cath- Weather a monetary crisis which} Confusing Surprise H W oad
min- he stoma > Wha age lige pal ig Witness ans *T the knife
reas, that Visalians Asked T Sign| 4 tuird tatere wes averted tem ‘ Funds Are Lov into her ;
» issued ns 0 porarily x] PLEMINGTON, N. J. Feb. 1. (LP) Her screams attracted the
ibessy st] Memorial Petitions In iacanel alates sy Hinirve wet —Peter Sommers, a one-time finger € W tion of Tritely, who was eee
hg ig sol This District Further closings, however, were|print expert, today testified that to his — Ee a ee
Predicted generally as the eco-|he saw two men, a woman and ‘a os Feb. 1. we — Be SE pgs picked up. - Alo
here and| Six business houses in Viewlia| ore serio “eadlly became /blond baby” about two years old, | HAEeRCY warned today| though he at flr denied any
A more serious. cross the Hudson river on the Wee-| 1S" -casend Mitra pommel the slaying, bee
and four locations in neighboring} Bankers and merchants alike hawken ferry at midnight on March allotments after February ie to confessed, stating thet he —
E
fis
ae
oh
expected i" soon
treason. |COmmunities besides the Elks’ club| dreaded the approach of February /1, 1932, the night of the Lingbergh care for the nation's unemployed nad renee
.|4—Chinese New Year and “settle- | kidna 4
ve been/|in this city have copies of a mem mint. day"-—when custom dictates ping unless congress appropriates more
%
*
~
+
»
He identified photographs of After confessing. |
4 | %ial to congress, asking for legis-/that Chinese debtors settle their nenees A 5 upon pleading guilty, and on Nov, =).
‘e armed|/#tion held necessary to eradicate/accounts and begin a New Year agg Rarer by cot Soc A sald be was latributing hie lees ti = ae m pret Bis a
s—Nueva|communistic and other subversive/ free of debt. Unless the debtors/rauntmann’s defense counsel as the eo Pron greet peed.
can obtain allver, basic Currency |, ‘quartet ‘tie, watched cress the
sn-*ecas,| influences from this country. Pregl ctacse AP ld deb month, on a “day to and
“| The resolutions are part of &/ is eaatioaey ‘elailen. ‘sheer mere river and board a cross-town street |“week to week” basis. ae ;
recent campaign Mmunched by/chants may be forced into bank-/“!: = 46 0)... > That sum must care for the
Michael F. Shannon, grand exalted] ruptcy. . Sommers was called ss another | 20,000,000 estimated on rolla at the
ruler of the Benevolent and Pro-j Government leaders were con- icontinved on Page Six) start of this month, =
s-| tective Order of Elks, and the Vi-/|ferring at Nanking seeking a way : . :
Elks’ lodge, of which H. A.jout of the crisis. A reorganiza-
salia cae ara 1. en
he arm-/ Michels is exalted ruler, is‘endeav~|tion of the ancient monetary sys- %
by the/oring to secure as many signatures based on silver, was consid- Latest Valle News
import-|from patriotic citizens of this Devaluation of the yuan, a = hb
tem,
ered.
community, on the resolution as ene ts easure of silver, was a possibil-
y.
also
possible. The petitions are to be 2 BAe So te ghd vaptart
of was a e ° : é
a een ge dP nen fe gs aeagyons rew Te rn ~~ |Manes Is Wanted Accident Victim ~~
rome |Peoruary 22 and will there be|,, 7M, two penks which closed; On Other Charges Dies In'Bay City]
on, Vie~ |Srouped by congressional districts} .¢ in, Bhanghal ‘ative Bankers’ — shined pounds Be
sce ean
{
At 9:35 he bade all good bye and his
cell was cleared, At 10:01 he stepped |
from hig cell and walked to the ecaffuld
without any aesistance and took his
position on the trap door, At 10:02
the drep, which was 6 feet, was made
and hia neck was broken, In ten miontes
all pulsation ceased and Prison Physi-
cign Browning pronounced him dead,
Athort antopsy was held and his brain
removed: ~ Te did fict-make any Klate-
ment on the gallows but wished it em-
phasized that he appreciated the kind
treatment accorded him by the Folsom |
prison Officials and the Modesto offic ‘lala.
‘His body was ethipped to Modesto last
evening, betog brought from Ripon in a
;wayon by Uadertaker Bowker, and. thie
mnornity atd o'clock was laid away in
the potter's field instead of by the side
of his wife a3 réported around” town.
There Was no ceremony over the re-
{ | nana,
It was expected by many that Berry
wonld change from his apbarent brag-
gadocio manner dnd quail before being
hanged, but he displayéd true nerve ip
facing the execution and waa: gatisfied
that he should die, showing uo fear of
his approaching demise, :
In the recent plot of the Folsom
prisoners to break jiil Worden, the train
wrecker who is awaiting execution, was
supposed to have been the leader, and
when the plot was exposed to the
officials he claim-d that Berry was the
one that did the informing. Thies Berry
denied and took occasion to tell Worden
from hig cell one day that if be could
only get his hands on him that there
would be no need of a Worden hanging.
Thie was the only time that the mur-
derer showed any approach to a desire
to be vivlent. He said yesterday that
had the opportunity to escape presented
iteelf at any time that he would have
done his utmost to get away.
Those from Modesto after witnessing
the execution were taken ‘io baud: by
| (he prison officials and ehown through
i
| {he prison and. were extended: every
EA eae
| courteay pose Oat tiagentiemen in
| | harge of the ingtj s ane a
rere
amet Tg ee,
hes
if
&
Zi
j
“h
’
t
¥
,
$
-
t
f
‘nected with t
officers theorized that the murder had
*§
marks of automobile tires where a
car had stopped just off the blacktop.
Assuming that whatever had hap-
pened in the wg orchard was con-
e burning automobile,
occurred at the road intersection.
It was late in the afternoon when
Sherman started back to Visalia, while
Cochran and Losey went with Wil-
liamson to Porterville to see if they
could identify M. Bucsit. They went
first to Mrs. Villanueva. Although she
knew a man named Bucsit who was a
friend of her husband’s, she did’ not
know where he lived. :
After several inquiries, they finally
located a niece of Marcario Bucsit. She
promptly identified the hat and shoe
as belonging to her uncle. And later
that night she went to Tulare and for-
mally identified the charred remains.
In the meantime, Dr. Mathias an-
nounced that both victims had died
from skull fractures resulting from
blows from a heavy weapon, possibly
a hammer.
NA OS both victims identified, the
officers began concentrating their
attention on the crafty killer. As news
- of the double murder spread, numer-
ous friends and acquaintances of the
dead men volunteered tips.
The motive for the dual crime was
as much a mystery as the identity of
the killer. Villanueva, 39, was happily
married. Bucsit, 46, was highly re-
spected. Both men were known for
their industry, and thrifty living.
It wasn’t until Roberto Sanchez
came voluntarily to the officers that a
possible motive was suggested. San-
chez explained that he had just ar-
rived in Porterville and learned of
the murders. He said that he had been
in Stockton as a foreman in the as-
paragus fields and that both men had
worked for him. 1)
“When did you last seé these men?”
Cochran asked him.
“Yesterday afternoon,” he replied.
“I gave them their final pay. They
were ready to leave for home.”
“Pay? ow much pay?”
“The last pay was $205 each,”
Sanchez said. “But they had a lot
more.” ,
“More? How much?”
“Well, I saw them counting their
money. They were proud of how much
they had earned. Villanueva. had
nearly $1000. Bucsit had more than
$1200.”
Cochran whistled softly. ‘“That’s a
lot of dough.”
“Who knew they had that much
money besides yourself?”
“IT couldn’t say,” Sanchez replied.
‘“The men often talk about how much
they make in a harvest. Sometimes
they make it in the fields, and some-
times they make it gambling. Those
who are lucky make more.”
» Gambling? Did these fellows gam-
I did not mean that they
gambled. Both. of them were hard
workers. They never gambled.”
“What about this fellow, Bautista?
Did he work for you?” “
“Marcelino? Yes, he=worked for
me, too. But he lost all his money at
poker. He is one of the gamblers—the
unlucky ones.” i
“Was he with the others?”
‘He was coming home with them, I
thought. The last I saw of them they
were waiting for him.”
The situation of a man coming home
to his family with no money from the
harvest and riding with two men who
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had saved more than $2000 was
fraught with sinister possibilities.
Cochran and Losey decided to have a
talk with Bautista.
As they stopped in front of the
Bautista home, they saw that the front .
door was open. But as they stepped
across the porch. Mrs. Bautista
slammed the door, almost in their
faces.
Instantly suspicious, Cochran whip-
ped out his as Losey grabbed the
knob of the door and threw his weight
against it. The door banged open, and
the two officers lunged inside. Mrs.
Bautista screamed wildly. Then she
recognized them as Officers. ‘
“l’m sorry,” she cried.. “I didn’t
know there was anyone on the porch.”
Bautista rushed into the front room
from a bedroom. “We’re sorry,” Coch-
ran began apologizing. “We're officers.”
Bautista, realizing the misunder-
stanaing, said, ‘‘We must be the sorry
ones. Forgive us.”
Cochran returned his to his |
holster. “About the fellows.who got
burned up,” he explained. “We hear
that you came back to Porterville with
them.” : :
“It is, not true,” Bautista said. “I
intended to return with them, but I
decided to go to San Francisco to see
my father instead.”
Cochran nodded. ‘How much money
did you make in the harvest?”
Bautista dropped his face. “I lost
most of my money. I am unlucky at.
cards.” He didn’t look at his wife.
“Who else was riding in the~car
with them?” Losey asked.
“They were alone when I last saw’
them,” Bautista said. “There were —
others, many others, who might have
come with them.” Gey ck
» Although Bautista’s frankness was ©
disarming, the officers decided to be
thorough. “We’ve got to investigate
everyone,” Cochran: explained. “Mind
if-we look around your house?” ;
“T understand,” Bautista said, “Look
where you like.” ae
They looked into each room of the
house and‘in the garage, but they saw -
a vr
aye
Pe
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nothing suspicious. The only money
they had, Mrs. Bautista assured them,
was a little more than $100 which she
said he had given her on his return.
Satisfied for the moment, the officers
again apologized to Mrs. Bautista for
frightening her and left.
Hardly had they reached the police
station when a telephone call from
Sherman in Visalia said that Tulare
Police had just advised him that they
had located a service station operator
in Tulare who remembered the dark
green sedan. “Said he sold three fel-
lows some gas around two in the
morning. He described the two vic-
tims perfectly, and described the third
man as a little fellow. I think it could
be Bautista.”
“We've just talked to him,” Cochran
told him. “But we’ll go back and do
some more talking.”
“Better pick him up,” Sherman ad-
vised. “If he sticks to his story, bring
him for the night anyway.”
Bautista made no objection to going
to the Porterville Police Department
with Cochran and Losey. However,
he only repeated his story as first told.
“Well, the sheriff says we've got to
hold you,” Cochran told him.
AUTISTA nodded. His only reac-
tion was a nervous buttoning and
unbuttoning of the second button on
his green sport shirt. Cochran kept
watching the action. Suddenly, he
happened to see what he thought was
a dark stain on Bautista’s undershirt.
Acting on a hunch, he said: “Take
your shirt off, Bautista. I want to see
how much blood you have on your
undershirt. How much of Villanueva’s
blood and Bucsit’s blood.”
Bautista’s dark eyes flashed, but he
said nothing. He removed his sport
shirt. There was only a tiny spot on
his undershirt.
However, Bautista did not change
his story. Finally, after midnight,
they gave up and started for Visalia.
The next day, Sheriff Sherman and
Undersheriff Ben B. Gurr spent hours
questioning Bautista without result.
On Bautista’s underwear there were
other sta:. »; and his clothing was sent
to the State Bureau of Criminal Iden-
tification, at Sacramento, for scientific
examination.
The first change in Bautista’s story
came when a wire from San Francisco
announced that: Bautista’s father had
not seen his son in several months.
Faced with the report, Bautista
shrugged. “I might as well admit that,”
he said. “I came as far as Fresno with
them. Then we had a flat tire. While
we were fixing it, two other fellows
came along. did not know them.
They helped fix the tire and Villa-
nueva told them they could ride with
him. But I decided to stay in Fresno.”
{
Mee?
Although the admission didnot
solve the murders, it did give Cochran
a clue to Bautista’s thought process.
He would only admit what he was
sure the officers already knew. Act-
ing on this deduction, Cochran said,
“Bautista, ’m going to tell you just
how this all happened—because I
know how you did it.
“You were broke. They had money.
You had to have some money to come
back to your wife. You tried to bor-
row some. But they wouldn’t let you
have any.
“You were in the back seat,” Coch-
ran went on with his guessing. “You
had a hammer., You got them to stop
for a moment. Then you hit Villa-
nueva over the head, That’s the way
you did it. Do you want to go on, or
do you want me to continue?”
“No,no,” Bautista cried. “I’ll tell you
the rest.”
It had happened as Cochran had
deduced. He next swung at Bucsit,
but the blow had glanced off the sec-
ond victim’s head. He leaped out of
the car and ran down the road. Bau-
tista ran after him. He darted into the
orchard. But Bautista finally caught
him and beat him with the hammer
until he was dead.
He dragged the body back to the
car. He struck Villanueva again and
again. Then he piled Bucsit on top
of him and drove to where Bropin had
first seen the dark green sedan.
He changed his clothes, all of them
except his underwear, leaving his
bloodstained garments in the car to
burn. He was about to set fire to the
car when Bropin came along.
“I was back of the car,” he said. “I
thought he was coming over to it.”
“What would you have done?”
Sherman asked.
“T would have had to kill him, too,”
the little man‘ said simply.
ELD to answer to the double
charge of murder ‘by Justice of
the Peace Gareth W. Hauk on June
8, 1943, Marcelino Bautista was
quickly brought to trial. He refused
to make a defense and entered a plea
of guts before Superior Court Judge
Frank Lamberson on June 19; 1943.
Judge Lamberson could find no reason
for mercy and set the double crime as
murder in the first degree. At Bau-
tista’s request, he immediately pro-
nounced sentence—death in San
Quentin’s gas chamber.
After all appeals had been denied,
Warden Clinton T. Duffy administered
the death penalty at 10:12 o’clock on
th morning of January 21, 1944.
Note: The names George Bropin
and Roberto Sanchez are fictitious to
protect the identity of innocent per-
sons. ee
UNHOLY HOBBY ©
(Continued from :puge 23)
Assuming this to be so, the thick
underbrush should show some signs
of having beén disturbed.
This time, Vollten and Rodgers were
more meticulous in their search than
they had been before. :
They scrutinized carefully every
inch of the undergrowth on both sides
‘of the road. And they found what
they were looking for—a place where
broken twigs and ‘bent brush indicated
that someone had passed through.
od bbe ground was too hard to retain
footprints. But the yellowed grass
and weeds did appear in places to
a
aot al
have been pr:
through densc
followed a vag
Then Rodge:
stopped short.
amazement,, h«
ground in ?°sl
trees.
There, side
freshly-dug re:
three feet y.c
four feet dc:p
removed earth
For a_ stun
looked incred
excavations.
“Graves!” h:
. Rodgers nod
questioningly
empty,” he sa
you make of ti:
“I don’t kn
“Looks as t
brought here
Matthews, poss
Matthews and
maybe not at ¢
An eerie fe
them, a feelin:
watched by a
whose owner
thick trees.
anyone a “cro
two graves—
peared to be
the center of t)
‘ habitation.
They were i
trail still furt!
an exclamatu
partner to st
ejaculation esc
he saw what '
It was a smi
grey cloth, the
sult which Elw.
wearing at the
“Well, that s
of these gra\
him,” Vollten s
plan wasn’t ca:
But now it's
one bet that M:
Events of th:
the justificatic
boy scouts, on |
ment in the w
thews’ body ly
at the edge o:
Springs, ‘Mary!
The soaked i
showed that i
for several day
suspenders woi
three. bullet ho
fractured skull
ness the story
ment the old m
hands of his as:
- It was a hea:
two officers to :
the slain man’s |
tional agony it
even more det
earth the thugs
Eagerly, the,
slugs found in \
_weren’t exactly
were of .30 cali!
In order to confi
they sent then
Fowler, ballistic
ington Police D
His report als:
expected. ‘Al!
German Mause:
During all t}
Rodgers had ha
to locate any:
County: who ow:
with a German
reported that, a
RReye..0) cartridges,
aineeeeem “The bodie
‘ Vang they were shot, cut, or what,” Losey pointed out.
fa “This could have been the weapon.”
f’ “T’ll call Tulare and ask them to find out whether the
than even two
oned. “They’d
d toward home
Sus and pulled
‘ green, it was
' light, he saw
ck letters. He
Aone
‘?” he asked.
Cochran said.
victims,”
ne rear of the
d the bodies
vas lifted out,
‘¢ one under-
seared gaso-
last name on
‘ was “Villa-
rus,” Brooks
‘ris Bautista.
ress. Maybe
ing the load-
Globe Mor-
radio call to
green Dodge
- Villanueva,
ordered the
iat Dr. C. M.
“We'll go on
ome relatives
for Porter-
niles east of
n demanded
“Until the
what caused
sey, “There’s
ge,”
ked through
on’t believe
“We might find one yet,” Losey reminded him.
find any evidence of a
d the three half-melted
They did find the blade of what had been a
butcher knife under the remains of the rear cushion.
S were too badly burned to tell whether
doctor can tell anything yet,” Cochran said.
ix the meantime, Brooks and Meyers reached Porter-
ville. They drove directly to Villanueva’s address.
Several children were playing in the yard of the
house, and a dark-haired woman was hanging up
| freshly-washed clothing. She turned and eyed the
officials curiously as they entered the gate.
“We're looking for, Mr. Telesforo Villanueva,”
Brooks spoke as he removed his hat.
The woman’s face clouded. “I am his wife,” she
said. “He is away at Stockton. What: do you want?”
As gently as they could, they told her of the burned
Dodge Sedan and the gasoline ration book. For a
moment, the woman could not believe them. ‘Then she
burst into tears. “It must be him,” she cried. “What
happened? What happened?”
After she had regained control of herself, Brooks
asked her if she or her husband knew a man named
Bautista. “Him? Oh, not him, too? Bautista is my
husband’s friend. He lives next door. He was in
Stockton, too.” :
Mrs. Villanueva went to the fence and called Mrs.
Bautista. A yolunger dark-haired woman came to the
door. “How can it be?” she sobbed when told what
had happened.
Within a few minutes, the news that Villanueva and
Bautista had been found burned to death in an auto-
mobile spread through the neighborhood. Friends
and relatives rushed to the houses of the victims. But
Brooks and Meyers declined to give any details until
formal identification could be made. They asked the
women to go to Tulare with them.
It was nearly noon when the. two
Officials escorted the frightened
women into the Globe Mortuary.
Mrs. Villanueva viewed the larger
of the two bodies and broke into
uncontrolled sobbing. “It’s him.
It’s him,” she wept. “What hap-
pened to him?” |
Mrs. Bautista, however, was not
sure about the smaller corpse.
Whether she was refusing to be-
lieve that her husband was dead or
whether she could not tell from the
blackened remains, Brooks did not
know. “I can’t be sure,” she kept
repeating. “It just can’t be. It
must not be,”
“When did you last hear from
your husband, Mrs. Bautista?”
Brooks questioned. =
Mrs. Bautista admitted that she
had not heard from her husband for
_ Several days. He had left Porter-
_ Ville with Villanueva’ to' make the
asparagus harvest in the Stockton
“area. She had expected that her
Deputy Sheriff Ross. Cochran cracked the
puzzling case when he confronted the sus-
pect with the latter’s
and ordered him to re:
gambling proclivities
move his outer shirt,
Gambling Ghoul... but the stakes he played
with were human lives which he coldly, cun-
ningly forfeited when Lady Luck deserted him.
The Law—and Justice—made the final payoff.
husband would return to their home with Villanueva.
Brooks decided not to press the identification. He
took the two women in his car and started to drive
them back to Porterville. When they were a couple
of miles out of Tulare, an old model car came down
the highway meeting them. Just as it rattled past
them, Mrs. Bautista cried out: “Stop! Stop! My hus-
band was in that car.” ‘
Brooks stopped quickly, and the driver of the old-
car slowed and then stopped as Mrs. Bautista leaped
out waving. She ran toward the other car as it backed
up. Out of it climbed a small, dark-complexioned
man,
“Marcelino! Marcelino!” Mrs. Bautista cried as she
threw her arms around the (Continued on page 60)
Constable Gene Losey was the first officer
to arrive at the gruesome murder scene ‘and
never left the case until he, together with
Sheriff Cochran, tracked down the assassin,
day on
in
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Louis Fedele for nothing. One look
told them that he was the man they
had been seeking for five years.
Brought back to headquarters,
Fedele, as had been anticipated by the
police, denied everything but his iden-
tity. Assistant District Attorney Co-
hen didn’t take this too seriously—not
at first. He had witnesses, he had evi- :
dence. He had prepared the case with
great care,
However, when County Detective
William J. Kelly, who was rounding
up the witnesses, reported that Mrs.
Capanna, aunt of the slain woman and
principal witness against the accused,
had died in 1934, he began to be wor-
ried.. When, in addition to this, he
discovered that Carla Tutti had sailed
for Europe two years before, he seri-
ously wondered if he would have to
attempt gaining a conviction against
a person known to have committed the
crime, purely on circumstantial, evi-
dence.
This possibility worried Cohen. He
was mulling the whole problem over
in his mind, when he remembered
that Mrs. Tutti in her report, had men-
tioned a boy who had also seen Fedele
making his getaway. If he could be
found, «0-5
Acting on the theory of nothing
ventured, nothing gained, Cohen
little man. “It wasn’t you. I knew it.
I krfew it.”
Brooks watched the scene. Before
he could ask, Bautista explained that
he had just returned home and found
that his wife had gone to Tulare to
identify his body. “You see, sir, I am
| alive,’ he smiled. “This was a terrible
thing to happen to my friend.”
“How come your locker was in the
car?” Brooks wanted to know.
“Villanueva was bringing it home
for me,” he said. “I went first to San
Francisco to see my father.”
“Do you know who came back from
Stockton with Villanueva?”
“That I can not say, sir,” Bautista
said. “I did not see him when he left.”
Brooks, was disa pointed. It meant
that the second body was now a com~
plete mystery.
| “While this was happening, Sheriff
Sherman received a_ telephone call
from Constable Dan, Williamson of the
Porterville Township. He reported
that a farmer near the ' Woodville
community, about six miles from Por-
terville, was excited about some cloth-
ing he had found in his peach orchard.
D+ Sasi Nd sia the orchard was Sev-
eral miles from where the car had
burned, Sherman thought there might
be some connection. He told William-
son that he would meet him in Porter-
ville within an hour. He put out a
radio call to Cochran and Losey in-
structing them to meet him and Wil-
liamson at the farm.
It was mid-afternoon by the time
the four officers arrived at the farm.
The farmer led them to the corner of
his peach orchard, which fronted on
the road, and then down several rows
of... trees,
around,” he kept. up a steady talk,
“JT was just out looking .
s ; “< rs ’
broadcast an appeal addressed to the
youth in question asking him to come
forward. saith
Only a few days elapsed before the
assistant district attorney found his
theory justified by the appearance at
his office of Frank Romano. -
Romano, now 20 years of age, not
only insisted ‘that he remembered
Fedele’s escape over the fence but he
was able to positively identify the
killer. After a careful check-up of
Romano’s story and an investigation
into his character; his choice of asso-
ciates and his reputation for integrity,
it was obvious that Romano was a re-
liable witness.
That was all Cohen needed, and
Fedele was brought .to trial on June
11, 1935. After» two days, with Ro-
mano on the stand as a surprise wit-
ness, Fedele was found guilty of sec-
ond-degree murder. And on June 27
he was sentenced to 25 years for using
a gun in the commission of a felony.
Judge J. T.. Fitzgerald imposed the
sentence, thereby immediately sending
the double murderer behind bars to
expiate his double crime.
— oo
Nore: To protect the identity of in-
nocent people, the names Mrs, Jack
Adams, Carla Tutti, Frank Romano,
and Bessie Leighton are fictitious.
GAMBLER’S
PAYOFF
(Continued from page 15)
“and I just happened to go through
this way. It’s along here close.”
He paused, looked around, and then
went ahead. “Yeah, here it is,’ he
pointed to an, uneven double furrow
snaking across’ the newly worked or-
chard soil.
The officers looked at the marks
leading deep into the orchard between
two rows of trees. Deep prints of a
man’s tracks were along the furrows.
It was obvious that some one or some
thing had been dragged along the soil.
About 50 feet into the orchard they
came upon a black felt hat. Cochran
picked it up and examined it. There
were dark stains on it which resembled
blood. There were two black hairs
matted in a blood spot inside the
crown. “Like someone was wearin
it when he was struck,” Cochran said.
A few feet farther they found a tan
shoe. Still farther, there was a pencil
and a half-filled package of cigarettes.
About 100 feet into the orchard the
ground showed where a struggle had
taken place. And almost buried in
the loose earth Losey noticed a slip of
paper.. He pulled it from the ground,
It was a receipt for laundry from a
Stockton firm, and it had been made
out to “M. Bucsit.”
“This could be the other victim,”
Losey suggested. “We know they had
just come from Stockton. It’s ten to
one that it all ties up.”
Following .the drag marks back to
the road, the officers found a blotch of
bloodstained’ earth. The road was a
blacktop surface, and it was crossed
by a north-south roud about 200 feet
from the corner of the orchard. By
careful search, they were able to find
other blood spots which led them to
the intersection of the roads. There
they founda lust spot beside the
ty
ra
ty emarks of
ear had s
Assum:
pened in
‘nected \
officers t)
occurred
It was
Sherman
Cochran
liamson
could id
first to \
knew 2a °
friend o
know w:
After
located :
prompt!
as belon
that nig!
mally 1
In thi
nounce¢
from s}
blows f
a hamn
IT
of}
attenti
- of the «
ous frie
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The:
as muc!
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spected
their 1
It w
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rived
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paragu
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“Wh:
Cochr:
“Yes
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were 1
“Pay
The
Sanch:
more.”
“Mo:
“We
money
they
near],
1e flesh had dis-
ry animals had
ceance.
joubt about that,”
calling immedi-
re complete ab-
iny kind from the
nedical examiner
attendants had
ced their vehicles
ir. They plunged
vine to join the
a superficial ex-
roner to announce
ited from a bullet
>, which had en-
ight temple.
uickly caught the
thing the officers
w) where the body
vared at the pelvis.
OFFICER SHOWS FATAL WOUND—.
Detective points to bullet hole in the
-victim’s skull, which caused her death.
“This was what you might term a
double slaying,” the coroner an-
nounced. “These are the fragile
skull sections of an unborn. child,” he
said, pointing them out to the officers.
From the condition of the bones, he
’ aeduced that the victim had been very
young—not over twenty. And she
could have been dead anywhere from
three to five-months, he could tell.
The body had been cunningly con-
cealed below the rim of Mulholland
Drive so that no one driving by along
the road could see it. It was also far
enough removed from the thorough-
fare to reduce any likelihood of the
odor of decaying flesh giving the
crime away. :
Yet the murderer had ‘not counted
on the circumstance that had placed
Vernon Johnson and Edwin Hitch-
cock, two fun-loving school boys, in
the vicinity late that afternoon for a
hike. The antics of slow-winged
buzzards had attracted the youths to
the spot where the body lay. After
one look they fied terror-stricken to
notify Howard Rizard, the fire ranger
in Stone Canyon. He in turn verified
the find and reported .to the police.
When preparations were made to
place the remains in a wicker basket
for. removal to the morgue, the first
clue came to light. The left hand and
arm, being close to the cool earth, had
been amazingly well preserved. “The
ring finger of the victim’s left hand
was encirled by a thin, gold band.
Sometime, somewhere, a man had
led this woman, whom he had loved,
to the altar, and she had whispered,
“T do!” Now she and her unborn child
lay broken and dead. | ;
It was the sort of crime that kept,
men like Sanderson and Condaffer
keyed up’to the point that all that
mattered to them was locating the
person capable of perpetrating such
wanton vidlence, and seeing him
brought to swift justice. .
The coroner’s rubber-gloved fingers
succeeded in removing the golden
band from the woman’s well-cared-
foy hand. Inside were etched, the
words, “Love Eternal,” as well as a’
number, “1047.” But there were no -
initials and no date... — ee :
“The number is° probably some
identification. number from a pawn—
shop here or in some other city,”
Condaffer said, grateful for so tangi-
ble a lead. “If the ring has been
hocked anywhere, we’ll surely be able
to get a name, date or something to
on.
The blinking light of the coroner’s
car, like a red ‘beacon in the gather-
ing dusk, had. attracted a number of ©
idly curious: motorists to the spot
under. the: assumption that a bad
wreck was being investigated. Since
the officers had scouted the immedi-
ate vicinity without turning up any-.
thing in the way of -additional clues,
and darkness was closing in, they
quickly ordered the removal of the
remains to the morgue. It was Thurs-
day evening, August 2, 1928. Next
day at dawn a thorough. search of the
hills would begin. :
Working on the theory that the
woman -had been dead a probable
,
three months, the officers, under the
direction of Chief of Detectives
, Herman Cline, worked with the coro-
ner to compile a somewhere-near-
accurate description of the victim.
She had been twenty or thereabouts,
five feet four inches in height, and
had weighed in the neighborhood _of
a hundred and thirty pounds. Be-
cause of her natural blonde hair, the
girl’s eyes were thought to have been
blue or gray. Due to the fact that the
right limb was missing, she was
thought to have been deformed in
same way or possibly the wearer of
an artificial limb—either of which
would facilitate immediate identifi-
cation.
Armed with this information, a
check was made with the local bureau
of, missing persons beginning with
those listed as missing since June.
The physical effort involved in going
through such lists in a-city the size
of Los Angeles was no small one.
Countless movie-struck girls disap-
pear every week. There are rackets and
vices calculated to snare the unwary.
\
1
By A. G. GOWDY
Set ag
AS a
24
TWO SCHOOLBOYS DISCOVERED THE BLONDE’S BODY HERE—
Spot where body was found is examined by (I. to r.) Lt. Sanderson} Chief Cline;
Russell St. Claire Beitzel, victim’s husband; Lt. Condaffer, and girl reporter.
Lights burned late that night, and
officers came up with what they
sought—a list of the names and ad-
dresses of those who had reported as
missing some loved one whose physi-
cal description tallied somewhat with
that of the murdered girl. There
were eighteen girls on the list. None,
however, were described as being
crippled in the right leg or as wear-
ing an artificial limb. ;
“We'll notify those who made these
reports first thing in the morning,”
Cline said. “If. our murder ‘victim: is
one of them, she’ll soon be identified.”
In the police laboratory, scientific
x-rays located three bullets which
were recovered. One was embedded’
in the right frontal skull section, one
in the right jawbone, and one in the
upper portion of the spine. Al] were
of .38 caliber. ,
Dawn was breaking as the officers
departed and sought a few hours’
rest. :
Special night editions carried bol
face headlines screaming the news of
the discovery of the unidentified nude.
Before daylight the Hollywood Hills
swarmed with volunteer “detectives,”
all waiting and hopeful of turning up
a master clue.
Condaffer and Sanderson were out
early, painstakingly ,combing the
downtown hockshops. :
The canvass began in Los Angeles’
Skid Row, that teeming down-at-the-
heels. section which extends south
. from Second and Main Streets for six
. blocks or more... The dingy street -
with its cheap flophouses, . missions,
penny arcades and cut-rate theatres,
eringed in the glaring sun. Here al-
most every. fifth doorway carried the
_ three -golden balls,. symbolic of the
professional pawnbroker. Smudgy
windows were crammed, with unre-
deemed articles for sale at “bargain
prices.”
' The pair .had entered a dozen* or
‘more such shops in high hopes only to
emerge more and more crestfallen.
They were overlooking no possibility.
Toward noon they entered a shop
near the intersection of Fifth and
Main.
The owner was eager to be of assist-
ance. “I’m sure that’s my number,”
the old fellow said slowly, after he
had peered at the ring carefully.
“Won't take but a minute to check the
books.”
The officers watched the aged pawn-
broker with keen interest as he
thumbed through a heavy volume,
flipped a few pages, and ran a stubby
shreebae down a page to stop at
“eq, ac : ™
He looked up, and his eyes gleamed
like polished shoe buttons behind the
thick lenses. “Yes, I loaned three dol-
lars on that item.” he said. “More
than the ring’s worth, too. But that’s
how it is in this business. I always
was a sucker for a hard luck story.”
“Then you remember?”
The elderly dealer nodded affirma-
tively and pointed to the name along-
side the number.
“A ‘Mrs. Barber,’ he mused. “Such
a nice girl, too. I couldn’t help re-
membering—although it’s been over
four months ago. She seemed in such
trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Sanderson
urged.
“The kind that comes from loving a
‘man who seemed to have grown tired
of her,” the pawnbroker answered.
“You see, she was pretty young—not
over nineteen, I’m sure. And she was
so far away from her parents. With
a baby coming and her. husband chas-
ing around with another woman, the
poor girl was beside herself with
worry.”
The investigators well understood
how the fatherly kindliness of the
shopkeeper could have induced such
confidences. He said the girl had
stuck it out for months, even after she
found out about her husband’s inter-
est in another girl, who was an usher
in a big theatre downtown. “But
when he told’her he was going away
with this girl, who was being trans-
ferred to San Francisco, it was more
than the poor girl could face. So she
came to me.”
In answer to Sanderson’s quizzical
look, the broker hastened to explain,
“J don’t mean the three dollars I
loaned on the ring was enough to
take her home. But she needed just
that much more with what she had to
buy a ticket to go back East where her
folks lived.”
URTHER questioning brought to
light the fact that he thought “Mrs.
Barber’s” parents lived in either
Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. “Every-
thing worked out fine though,” he
explained. “About a week later,
young ‘Mrs. Barber’ came in beaming.
‘She redeemed the ring and told me
she and her husband had made up
and she was going to stay here and
have her baby and be happy.”
The old gentleman said that he had
not noticed if the girl limped or was
«deformed in any way. ,
“That name, ‘Barber.’” Condaffer
said aloud. “It’s such a common one.”
. “I know,” the observant old fellow
-replied, “and somehow I don’t be-
lieve jt was the girl’s right name. She
acted funny when I asked her what
name I should put on the ticket. She
said, ‘All my. married names have
started with a “B.” So put it down
this tim
“T. know
seemed suc!
funny t!
and it
questions.’
The girl !
ing that the
as many i
hard to tel!
might give
Ehis@ 4
girl had pa
not heard
or more,
have occas
vestigation.
The sieut!
quarters, 2
murdered |
ately to po!
Philadeiph::
people ha
morgue to
far there ha
a sign of re
On the oft
ally had bk
list was con
tory. Polk
aided in the
with a Ba:
a clue to t!
One of 1
hills succes
of .38 calit
box had he
two now r
handling,
taining fin:
destroyed
ever, that
to their p
officers we
At a pop
lishment
BARBARA'S
Russell Bei’
and two ch
Aneto
She gave up everything
for her lover: her home,
her parents, her honor,
and, in the end, her life
HE SILENCE that lay like a pall
along the wooded slopes of the
Hollywood Hills was broken only
by the hum of traffic on nearby |
Mulholland Drive, and the crack-
ling of dry brush underfoot. Grim-
faced, Detective Lieutenants Frank
Condaffer and Roy. Sanderson picked
their way cautiously down the hill-
TD. t ot nt
» Russell 5.,-wh,
hanged CA (LA) August 2, 1929
side toward the spot where, Fire
Ranger Howard Rizard had said, the
body of the murdered woman lay.
Both Condaffer and Sanderson were
seasoned officers accustomed to crimes
of the most sordid nature. Yet when
Rizard pulled back the tangle of
brush obscuring the body, both men
gasped.in horrible fascination.
_ Like a broken and discarded doll,
the woman’s body lay on its left side,
the left shoulder and arm completely
obscured. The right leg was missing,
severed at the pelvic socket.
In life the victim had possessed
beautiful blonde hair. It fluttered
softly in the breeze, drifting across
the empty eye sockets—the eyeballs
were missing-—half concealing a gap-
ing hole in the right temple. While
the body was not yet a complete
skeleton, most of the flesh had dis-
integrated. Predatory animals had
ravaged it with vengeance.
“Tt’s murder! No doubt about that,”
Condaffer remarked, calling immedi-
ate attention to the complete ab-
sence of clothing of any kind from the
scene.
By this time the medical examiner
and his: ambulance attendants had
driven up and parked their vehicles
behind the police car. They plunged
down .the steep ravine to join the
others. It took but a superficial ex-
amination for the coroner to announce
that death had resulted from a bullet
fired at close range, which had en-
tered through the right temple.
His trained eye quickly caught the
significance of something the officers
had: overlooked.
SLAYER HID VICTIM’S MUTILATED CORPSE HERE—
Cross marks the spot on wooded slope of
Hollywood Hills (below) where the body
of Barbara Mauger (insert) was discovered, the right leg severed at the pelvis.
June, 1948
“
of Fifth and
¢ to be of assist-
$s my number,”
lowly, after he
ring carefully.
ite to check the
the aged pawn-
interest as he.
heavy volume,”
od ran a stubby
age to stop at
is eyes gleamed
tons behind the -
vaned three dol-
ive said. “More
too. But that’s
iness. I always
-d luck story.”
er?”
nodded affirma-
the name along-
re mused. “Such
nuldn’t help re-
it’s been over ~-
» seemed in such
ble?” Sanderson
es from loving a
cave grown tired
-oker answered.
etty young—not
‘e. And she was
° parents. With
xr husband chas-
cher woman, the
le herself with
well understood
indliness of the
ve induced such
d the girl had
is, even after she
husband’s inter-
‘ho was an usher
owntown. “But
was going away
vas being trans-
sco, it was more
uld face. So she
lerson’s quizzical
tened to explain,
three dollars I
was enough to
she needed just
1. what she had to
+k East where her
ing brought to
he thought “Mrs.
lived in either
tsburgh. “Every-
fine though,” he
a week later,
came in beaming.
ing and told me
id had made up
to stay here and
»e happy.”
said that he had
rl limped or was
‘ber. ” Condaffer
4A a common one.”
‘rvant old fellow
iow I don’t be-
right name, She
asked her what
, the ticket. She
ied names have
So put it down
‘this time as “Barber”—yes, “Barber.”’.
“I- know I looked shocked, ,;she
“seemed such a nice girl and all. But '
funny things happen in this business,
and it doesn’t. pay to ask too many
questions.” ; #2 cee ea
The girl had given no address, say- -
ing that they had moved six times in° -
as many months, and it would. be
hard to tell how long any address she
might give would be of use.
"his was indeed a break! “If the _
girl had parents in the East who had
not heard from her in three months
or ;more, surely her absence would
‘have occasioned some: kind ‘of. in-
vestigation. ~—si« , ane .
- The sleuths.reported back to head- .
quarters, and a description of the |
murdered girl ‘was flashed immedi-~.
ately to police in both Pittsburgh and
.Philadelphia. .. Since: early morning
‘people had:::been- coming to -the~
‘morgue to: view the remains, but''so’
far there had been no one who showed
a sign of recognizing the’ corpse. pee
On the off-chance that Barber actu-
ally. had been the woman’s name, a
_list was compiled from the city direc-
tory. Police in adjoining. suburbs
aided in the check. But no interview
with a Barber family could produce .-
a clue to the girl’s identity.
One of the amateur sleuths in the
hills succeeded in recovering a box
of .38 caliber sheels. Originally the
box had held fifty cartridges. Forty- -
- two now remained. Due to careless
handling, any. possible hope of. .ob-
taining pepe ante from the box was
destroyed. Cline was hopeful, how-
ever, that the shells could be traced
to their point of purchase. Special
officers were assigned to the’ task.
At a popular sp@rting goods estab-
lishment in the downtown district, a
_ salesman admitted making the sale.
Checking his slips, he pines the date
at Saturday, June 23rd.
“T probably wouldn’t have remem-
bered except for the fact. that most
of our customers are pretty well
BARBARA’S “HUSBAND? —
Russell Beitzel, who had another wife,
and two children back in Philadelphia.
WHERE BLOODSTAINED. TOWEL AND HANDKERCHIEF WERE FOUND—
Victim and her husband fived-in.the upper. right hand apartment in this house,
versed in regard. to firearms,” the
salesman said. “But this fellow knew
next-to-nothing about them.”
The clerk described the fellow as
“not bad looking but something. of a
dude.” He wore an expensive brown
- business suit and was about five feet
ten inches tall, The salesman recalled:
the man’s rather: prominent nose and
his habit.of pushing his hat far back
on his head .while talking, ‘thereby.
showing a. center. part in his dark.
alr a ea :
“He wanted shells but didn’t know
what caliber, so he telephoned his wife .
asking her to check the weapon. Took
her quite a«while, and I remember |
how exasperated the fellow got over
having to wait. Seems his wife- had
to call on someone else in their apart-
ment: house to aele her. She gave her ©
husband the serial number of the gun,
thinking it would help. He copied it
down. See, I’ve got it right here.”
This information was quickly trans-
ferred to an officer’s notebook. Trac-
ing ownership by this: means should
prove a simple process. Since bul-
lets had been recovered from. the
body, test bullets fired from ‘the
weapon bearing this particular serial
number—should it be recovered, of
course—should ~ readily determine
whether or not it was the one used
in the murder, — :
stakingly going through records.
Speed was urgent. Up until the
time the body had been. recovered, the
killer would be lulled by a sense of
security.. But now the killer would
surely be on the alert—ready for in-
stant flight. :
At the close of that day the body
was still unidentified, although many
had filed past, worried husbands and
parents mostly, their faces heavy with
the dread possibility. that the fears
they harbored might become unbear-
able certainties.
Newspapers had played up the fact
that the right leg of the victim was
missing. They sought the aid of
ns again it was a matter of pain-
but he refused to allow her to become friendly with any of the other tenants.
citizens having any possible helpful
information bearing on the case.
As a result, a taxi driver named
Eddie Lockridge stopped by to report
concerning a peculiar acting passenger
he had driven from Los Angeles to
Stone Canyon on Sunday night, July
ist... He had brought with him a taxi
meter receipt of that date and another
for that very day, both having iden-
tical mileage récords. He explained
that he had just checked on the length
of the drive to make certain that he
was making no mistake.
. “I sort of got the idea at first that
the fellow I hauled might have been
a bootlegger,”’ the cabbie explained.
“He carried a large, awkward pack-
age and had a bad case of the squirm-
ing jitters. He kept hitting the bottle
and looking back like he thought the
cops. might be after him.
‘It was after dark when all this
happened,” Lockridge explained, “and
I didn’t go for the way this guy was
acting. After we hit Mulholland
Drive, he told me to slow down while
he located the spot he wanted. Finally,
he found it,- climbed out with his
bundle and started walking off.
“TI figured he was just another wise
guy trying to beat me out of my fare,
so I climbed out after him and made
him give me a sawbuck for security.
Then he explained that he had a cache
of liquor up in the hills and wanted
to check up on it as he thought some-
one had gotten wise*to its location.”
“And the bundle?”
“Gaike I said, he toted that off with
him. He was gone about forty-five
minutes, and when he came back he
was empty handed. I think now that
my passenger’ was the murderer of
that woman found in the Hollywood
Hills, and that he was carrying her
missing leg, maybe cut up to make it
easier to handle, far into the hills
where he could dispose of it safely.”
Lockridge said that he had driven
his fare back to Los Angeles where
he had let him off “somewhere in the
downtown district.’ The cabbie’s
description of (Continued on page 52)
25
ets ‘i 7" sans
|
‘eles pawn-
of record-
entify.
\ssociation
was in a
Fifth and
shop.
ds showed,
341 Golden
{rs. Barber
n the ring
later,
well,” the
ve been a
The ring
sorry for
s a lower
ow stucco
answer to
ht out the
ired, wrin-
the lower
<now any
lerson de-
gnant, the
‘You must
ppened to
. her hus-
1 be sure.”
d?”
i. “We all
1 Barbara
“Mae can
» Burns, I
» Biltmore
ening and
right. She®
you can,
»imes had
in April.
late July
> couple—
they paid
le. Russell
morning,
‘low. No
tly he had
however.
at night,
ding with
e pleaded
ing—Rus-
< his wife
en he re-
He told a
v—a story
the picnic
and that
her aunt
{ station.
home in
vent, Bar-
she could
1 she had
was seen
s in the
a number
vara’s pet
ed away,
(
leaving no forwarding address, and nothing
was ever again heard of him or of Barbara.
" “We've often talked about what could have
happened to Barbara,” Mrs. Laird said. “We
kept telling ourselves he couldn’t have done
away with such a lovely wife.”
The detectives questioned other neighbors: a
woman who had been watering the lawn and
had seen Burholme and Barbara drive away
in a rented car—a two-tone canary-yellow
Buick roadster; a woman who recalled that
Barbara had brooded because she wasn’t sure
her husband loved her any more; a woman
‘who said that she and Barbara frequently
sunned themselves in rockers in the back yard
and that Barbara had cried once and said,
“Here I am with a baby on the way and
there’s my husband going around, with some
red-headed dancer.”
QE of the neighbors remembered that Bur-
holme had once mentioned something
about the Metropolitan Theater, at Sixth and
Hill Streets—something relating to work he
had done or planned to do there.
The detectives visited the movie house, but
Burholme’s name and description got no re-
sponse from anyone there.
When they got back to headquarters that
afternoon, a man, who’d obviously been wait-
ing around a long time, walked up to the two
detectives and said, “I’m known as Ted the
Cabbie.” He lowered his voice a little. “I drive
a private hack. Does this description mean
anything to you—a. tall: guy, not bad looking,
sort of hooked nose, a little hard of hearing?”
It certainly did. It meant Russell Burholme!
Pressed for his information, the cabbie said
the man had flagged him in downtown Los
Angeles the night of July 4 and directed him
to head for Mulholland Drive. About a hun-
dred yards west of Stone Canyon the passen-
ger ordered him to stop.
“The guy had a package wrapped in drug-
store paper—looked about the shape and size
of a gin bottle. He said for me to wait. He
said something about having a cache of boot-
leg hidden around there. I waited. About 40
minutes later he came running back and
jumped into the hack, yelling, ‘Get out of
here quick—I don’t want no agents catching
up with me!’ So I got out of there quick and
drove him back downtown to L. A.
“You know something?” the cabbie con-
tinued. “I didn’t believe that. guy’s story for -
one minute. Because when he hopped back in
the hack, up there on Mulholland, he didn’t
have that drugstore package with him and he
smelled like he’d just taken a bath in disin-
fectant. Now what would he be doing with
disinfectant out there on a lonely mountain, I
ask you, unless it was to cover up the smell of
a dead person, maybe.”
Both Sanderson and Condaffer were con-
vinced that not only had Burholme attempted
to cover up the “smell” with disinfectant, but
that an equally urgent purpose in returning to
the scene was to remove his victim’s leg. It
was Burholme, there in the eerie blackness of
Stone Canyon, who had dislodged Barbara’s
body from its bush- shelter 30 feet down the
slope. But where had he hidden the missing
leg ?
“Well go out there and have another look
around tomorrow,” Condaffer said. “He prob-
ably figures that without that leg, we can’t
Positively identify his wife’s body and that
that leaves him in the clear.”
The detectives drove back out to Golden
Avenue now. Mae Burns, a plump, pleasant-
faced woman, about 40, the hotel maid Mrs.
Laird had said knew Barbara very well, was
just entering her apartment. Sanderson pre-
sented himself and Condaffer, his partner—
and the woman fainted dead away.
When she revived, Mrs. Burns explained
the reason for her collapse. Condaffer. had
been absently fingering the beads he’d found
on Mulholland Drive, bouncing them around
in his palm. She had recognized them as those
worn by Barbara on the day of her disappear-
ance and she’d sensed that‘the girl was dead.
Then she told about the picnic Mrs. Laird
had mentioned earlier.
Russell Burholme had been in possession of
a .38-caliber revolver on June 23, the day be-
fore the picnic, Mrs. Burns said. She had not
only seen the weapon and handled it, but she
had helped provide Burholme with shells—
and at Barbara’s own suggestion!
Burholme had phoned Mrs. Burns that
morning and asked ‘to speak to his wife. He
told her that he planned to get in some target
practice at the picnic and asked her to ex-
amine a gun which, he.said, she would find
in his dresser drawer. He was in a store at
the time and said he was-purchasing a box of
shells; however, because the weapon was a
borrowed one, he was not certain of the caliber.
“Barbara told him to hold on while she
looked,” Mrs. Burns said. “She then begged
me to go downstairs with her. She said that
if she so much as touched the gun she would
die of fright, and I agreed to examine it for
her. Then she gave him the information. . . .”
_ “You still remember it?” Sanderson asked.
“I remember that it had a long barrel, that
it was a revolver, very heavy, and that.it had
‘Smith & Wesson, .38’ printed on it.” The
woman shook her head. “To think he was ask-
ing his own wife to get him that information
so he could use it to kill her.”
What else could Mrs. Burns tell them?
“Well, Barbara told me they’d come here
from the east—Pennsylvania, I think it was—
and that until they took their apartment here
they never stayed anywhere more than a cou-
ple of weeks. They also used different names,
but her husband wouldn’t tell her why.”
“Did Barbara say what ap in Pennsylvania
they’d come from?”
“No, sir; she didn’t. She may have men-
tioned Pittsburgh or Philadelphia—I don’t
know.”
“And she never mentioned something being
wrong with her: right leg or foot?”
“She never mentioned anything.”
NOR could Mrs. Burns provide a-clue to
Burholme’s place of employment or_his
occupation.
‘For fear that Burholme would disappear,
word of the victim’s identification was with-
held from the newspapers. At Central Homi-
cide a wire was dispatched to Pennsylvania
state police, describing the pair and requesting
a check of local police and missing persons
files. ,
At dawn, Condaffer and Sanderson again
scoured the mountain area. Whereabouts of the
missing leg remained a mystery. But on the
east flank of Stone Canyon the search un-
covered a 50-round: box of .38-caliber shells.
The box, bearing the label of a Los Angeles
sporting goods store, contained 42 cartridges.
At the store, 2 check of the serial number on
the box disclosed that the shells had been sold
on June 23—the day Burholme phoned his
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83
r for size.
eadily re-
the man
he phone
w having
Burholme
a venti-
ie house.
kind of
1, with a
e Bietzel,
‘ts about
s that the
rred—the
val of a
was clear
frequent
tr Golden
expected
ll Bietzel
1 married
abandon
evidently
To leave
ig serious
nd theft,
him one
s of mo-
up Mrs.
1 Theater,
lead de-
illed there
work had
company,
esk in the
blueprint.
osened at
ne middle.
alk to me
s he saw
it it.”
na awaited
what the
taking his
re,
ng around
gry. Any-
ver heard
“expect -
s running
. no coat,
t of your
tor her?”
ig?” San-
ighbors a
wife had
ime about
ebody re-
unidenti-
e you say
your wife left you. Didn’t you figure maybe
that was her body?”
“No, why. should I?” Bietzel asked. “You'll
probably find she’s with this other man she
was seeing.”
They took him out to Stone Canyon, to
the spot where the torn bead necklace had
been found, then to the bush where the body
had first lain, then to the place where it had
been found.
Bietzel denied everything—that he’d killed
his wife, that he’d been here in the mountains
before, that he’d come out in a cab the night
of July 4 to soak the ground under the bush
with disinfectant.
They returned to Central Homicide, told him
they knew his real name was Russell Bietzel
and all about him, that his victim was Bar-
bara Mauger. He hesitated, then he admitted
the identities.
Ted the Cabbie was brought in to look
him over. “Yep, that’s the fellow I drove out
there,” he said.
Bietzel denied it.
They took him to the morgue and showed
him‘ Barbara’s remains.
“D? you deny that’s the girl you say ran
off with another man?” Condaffer
snapped.
Bietzel regarded the detective defiantly.
Then, Sanderson asked, ‘“Where’d you hide
her leg?”
“You're the detectives!” Bietzel shouted.
“You find out!” ;
They booked him on suspicion of murder.
Then they returned to the engineerjng plant
and asked some questions. One man there said
he had loaned Bietzel his gun on June 22, pre-
sumably for target practice, and that Bietzel
hadn’t returned it yet. He described the:
weapon as a .38 Smith & Wesson mounted on
a AS frame.
The gun was found-in Bietzel’s desk. The
barrel, originally five-and-a-half inches long,
had been cut down to four inches.
“Tt wasn’t that way when I Joaned it to
him,” the man said. “Why would he saw off
the end of the barrel?”
“To fit it with a silencer,” Sanderson told
him.
The revolver was turned over to Lieutenant
Rex Welch, head of the police scientific
bureau. Welch fired a test bullet and dis-
covered that a burr created in the sawing of
the barrel had gouged a groove in the slug
from nose to rear. He compared it with the
markings. on the bullet removed from Bar-
. bara Mauger’s spine. They were identical.
Welch had just performed the first ‘bal-
listics test in the United States. -
On September 24, Russell Bietzel went on
trial in the Los Angeles court of Superior
Judge Charles Burnell. Defense lawyers
promptly injected a serious doubt as to the
identity of the mummified, one-legged corpse.
Was it the body of Barbara Mauger, or was
. it, perhaps, someone else?
The prosecution had anitidipated : the -move
and countered this way:
In. examining the apartment formerly occu-
pied by Bietzel and the girl, Condaffer ahd
Sanderson had located a window seat con-
taining a laundry bag. In the bag were dis-
carded clothes identified by the manager, Mrs.
Laird, as belonging to Barbara.
A forensic chemist gathered seviiill hairs
from the clothes and placed them under a
comparison microscope, together with a num-
ber of hairs found on Barbara’s skull.
The judge and jury were allowed to see for
themselves. The hairs were identical. The
exhibit was received in evidence and the court
ruled the identity of Barbara Mauger as
established beyond question.
With grim thoroughness the State paraded
its witnesses and testimony, presenting .ad-
ditional evidence obtained by Condaffer .and
Sanderson—a charred> shoe buckle found in
the backyard’ incinerator and identified as
having been worn by Barbara Mauger the
day of her disappearance; the, records of an
auto rental agency for June 24, showing the
mileage covered by the canary-yellow road-
ster rented by Bietzel to be almost exactly
that of the round-trip distance to Mulholland
Drive and Stone Canyon; the stolen layette,
recovered from a Los Angeles storage box
rented by Bietzel. >
It required just 40 minutes’ deliberation for
the jury of seven women and five men to
reach a decision: guilty of murder in the first
degree.
Sentenced to hang, Bietzel appealed and was
turned down. On August 2, 1929, one year
exactly fromthe day of the. finding of Bar-
bara’s remains, the erstwhile department store
credit manager stopped living on borrowed
“time” and dropped through the trap at
San Quentin:
The Town That Hung Santa Claus
continued from page 43
“Hi,.Santa,” he said again. Santa answered
absent-mindedly, whipped a gun from under
his red coat and pointed it at Poe. “Get ’em
up, big boy,” he said.
Poe peered through his ‘thick-rimmed
glasses, thinking the man behind the mask
must be some merchant playing a practical
joke.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“T mean get ’em up,” Santa growled, push-
ing the gun closer to Poe’s face. Poe saw the
other three men, each with a gun. He raised
his hands. Santa pulled a big canvas potato
sack from under his red suit and ordered Poe
to go to the vault and open a safe.
Santa waved his gun and shouted, -“Every-
body line up against the wall,” and his three
helpers started lining them up. Santa scooped
$12,200 in cash and $150,000 in securities from
the vault into his potato sack. His helpers
kept the crowd covered.
“We'll kill anybody who moves,” one said.
At this moment, Mrs. Blasengame and her
daughter came in the front door of the bank.
The mother saw the customers and the bank
‘employes standing around like statues, with
hands up, afraid to move. She sucked in her
breath, started to turn around and run back
outside. But she was already inside, trapped.
They’d shoot her and her baby down if she
went back out the front way. Through the
windows she could. see shoppers moving
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Back
Home
@ It’s besos galore for eight-
year-old Batardi rum heir Fa-
cundo Barcardi as his parents
greet him at their Santiago de
Cuba mansion after’ his. rescue
from two kidnapers. Facundo
was kidnaped.in a plot involv-
ing his chauffeur, Guillermo
Rodriguez, and Manuel Eche-
varria, left, a gloomy, jobless
laborer. They held the boy for
11 hours and demanded $50,-
000 ransom. When they were
captured, Echevarria shrugged
and went along meekly. Rodri-
_ guez had other ideas. He tried
to escape, was shot and killed.
Re re “TE ESET ES oT REP PTI I GNI
wife to ask her to examine his revolver for size.
The clerk who had made the sale readily re-
called the incident. His description of the man
who’d bought the bullets and made the phone
call matched Burholme.
Then things really began to pop.
Mrs. Burns phoned. She recalled now having
seen a number of blueprints in the Burholme
apartment and hearing a reference to a venti-
lating system installed in some movie house.
“Perhaps he was engaged in that kind of
work,” she said.
Then the Philadelphia .police called, with a
complete dossier on Russell St. Claire Bietzel,
alias Burholme, and with some facts about
Barbara Mauger. One of the facts was that the
girl’s right foot was severely scarred—the
result of an old operation for removal of a
bony growth.
To Condaffer and Sanderson it was clear
now—the reason behind Barbara’s frequent
tears, the pleading overheard by her Golden
Avenue neighbors. Unwed, the baby expected
soon, she was insisting that Russell Bietzel
marry her, unaware he was already a married
man but sensing. that he planned to abandon
her—perhaps for another woman.
Here then was the dilemma that evidently
had driven Bietzel to kill the girl. To leave
her, he knew, meant exposure, facing serious
charges: Mann Act: violation, grand theft,
flight to escape arrest. That had left him one
alternative—and he’d taken it.
The detectives launched a canvass of mo-
tion picture houses now, following up Mrs.
Burns’ tip. It was at the Metropolitan Theater,
which they’d visited before, that a lead de-
veloped.
oe
‘ A COOLING system had been installed there
in May, the manager said. The work had
been done by a large engineering company,
located in midtown Los Angeles.
They found Russell Bietzel at a desk in the
company’s plant, working over a blueprint.
He was in shirtsleeves, a dark tie loosened at
the throat, his hair parted neatly in the middle.
“You’re police and you want to talk to me
about my wife,” he said as soon as he saw
the detectives. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
Startled, Condaffer and Sanderson awaited
the confession. But that was not what the
man had meant. Instead he told of taking his
“wife” for a ride to Mulholland Drive.
“I bawled her out; she was running around
with another man. I guess she got angry. Any-
way, she got out of the car and I never heard
from her again.”
“In her condition,” Condaffer said, “expect-
ing a baby in about a month, she’s running
around with another guy?”
“Tt’s the truth!”
“What was she wearing?”
“Just a light maternity dress.”
“And dressed like that—no money, no coat,
on an isolated road—she walks out of your
life. Why didn’t you go looking for her?”
Bietzel .shrugged.
“Aren’t you overlooking something?” San-
derson asked. “You told your neighbors a
different story. You told them your wife had
gone east with her aunt.”
“Well, that wasn’t true.”
“Just what made you think we came about
your wife, anyway?”
“She left me and I figured somebody re-
ported her missing.”
“You read the papers. A woman’s unidenti-
fied body was found up there where you say
your wife le
that was he
“No, why
probably fin
was seeing
They too
the spot w!
been found,
had first lai
been found
Bietzel de
his wife, tha
before, that
of July 4 t
with disinie
They retu:
they knew !
and all abo
bara Mauge
the identitie
Ted the
him over
there,” he s
Bietzel der
They too}
him ° Barbar:
¢ O you
off w
snapped.
Bietzel res
Then, San
her leg?”
“You're
“You find o
They boo
Then they
and asked s
he had loane
sumably for
hadn't retu
weapon as ;
a 45 frame
The gun
barrel, origi
had been cu
“Tt wasn
him,” the n
the end of
“To fit it
him.
The revol
Rex Welch
bureau. We
covered thai
“Hi,.Sant
absent-minc
his red coat
up, big boy
Poe pee
glasses, thir
must be sc
joke.
“What dc
“T mean
ing the gun
other three
his hands.
sack from 1
to go to thi
Santa wa
fhe wo
PA, oy |
Storr ting ees Cra l0ire 4 keh y Th Ci“
When a girl with loo o kill
fi
—I
The rented car which took vic-
tim on a picnic from which she
meta man with a .38 itwasa
he horror that unfolded in the Santa Monica Mountain
ae
by KEN CARPENTER
August 2, had all the elements of a morbid melodrama.
Boy Scouts was that a crazy blonde woma
site, sort of like a Peeping-Jane.
The scene was just off Mulholland
Drive, atop the brushy-covered ridge °
separating Los Angeles from the San
Fernando Valley, at the head of Stone
Canyon above Bel-Air Estates. The
12-year old scouts, hiking across the
ridge, had stopped to eat their box
lunches at the turnout beside the road
where they were startled by the
never returned.
40
glimpse of a blonde head among the
wild shrubbery.
A short distance down Mulholland
they encountered Howard Rygaard, a
county fire warden. Rygaard was
chugging along the winding moun-
tain road on his daily patrol of the tin-
der-dry brush area. The boys told him
about the woman in the bushes. “She
s on the sweltering morning d
The first report by two excited
n was spying on them from near a picni¢
¥
LA
;
OS
ON
NN
\
.
<
doesn’t move and she won’t go
away. We don’t know what she’f
doing there!” ,
The boys climbed into Rygaard’
car and all three rode back to investi
gate. They parked the car and cross
the littered picnic area to the big man,
zanita bush thirty feet south of the
roadway. It looked like a mop {
nw lie Sam.
A
NY
7
“S
4
FIENDS WHO WEN!
TO THE GALLOWS
Be Be OR CE s 5 oe
sai ete’) RESIQENCE
GEN
CU Ala OS ¢
¥AsST words
Lacfut
636) Cal
[10] The appellant has not presented a
transcript of the hearing upon the return
of the order to: show cause, and it must
therefore be presumed that the order re-
quiring Colbert to pay stated amounts pen-
Gente lite is supported by the evidence.
The evidence introduced by the parties
upon the motion to vacate adds weight to
this presumption. Undoubtedly the evi-
dence at each of the hearings was substan-
tially the same.
[11] An appeal does not lie from an
order denying a motion to vacate a judg-
ment if the grounds upon which the moving
party sought to have the judgment vacated
existed before its entry and were available
cn appeal therefrom. Litvinuk v. Litvinuk,
27 Cal.2d 38, 44, 162 P.2d 8; Mather v.
Mather, 22 Cal.2d 713, 720, 140 P.2d 808.
The appeal from the order denying the mo-
tion to vacate is therefore dismissed: The
order for the temporary support of Ruth
Colbert and the payment of specified
amounts for attorney’s fees and costs is
affirmed. pen HBS
GIBSON, C. J., and SHENK, CARTER,
TRAYNOR, and SPENCE, JJ., concurred.
SCHAUER, J., concurred in the: judg-
ment,
© & KEY NUMBER SYSTEM
anmse
PEOPLE v. BERNARD.
Cr. 4685.
Supreme Court of California, in Bank,
May 17, 1946.
1. Homicide €>253(1)
Evidence sustained conviction for first-
degree murder. Pen.Code, § 189.
2. Homicide €=289
Instruction that there are certain kinds
of murder which carry with them con-
clusive evidence of premeditation, that
where killing is perpetrated by means of
poison, etc., the means used is held to be
conclusive evidence of premeditation, and
169 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
that; where killing is done in perpetration
or attempt to perpetrate some one of the
felonies enumerated in statute, the occasion
is made conclusive evidence of premed-
itation, was erroneous. Pen.Code, § 189.
3. Homicide €=18(1)
Where killing is in perpetration, or
attempted perpetration, of one of felonies
named in statute, the offender is guilty of
first-degree murder, even if the killing is
unintended and accidental,. Pen.Code, §
189.
4. Homicide €>18(1)
Where jury has. found that killing
was by poison, lying in wait, or torture,
it is not their function to draw inferences
as to the manner of the formation and
carrying out of an intention to kill, but
killings by,such means or on such occasions
: are murders of the first degree because of
the substantive statutory definition of the
crime, , Pen.Code, § 189. ;
5. Homicide €=286(3)
‘Instruction that there need be no ap-
preciable space of time between intention
to kill and act of killing, that a man may
do a thing willfully, deliberately, and in-
tentionally from a moment’s reflection as
well as after pondering over the subject
for a month or year, and that a man can
premeditate, that is, think before doing the
act, the moment he conceives the purpose
as well as if the act were the result of
long preconcert or preparation, was mis-
leading and erroneous, :;Pen.Code, § 189.
6. Homicide ©=308(1)
Instructions regarding difference be-
tween first and second degree murder must
not emphasize the element of haste to the
exclusion of the element of preconceived
design. Pen.Code, §§ 189, 190.
7. Homicide €=340(1)
Errors in instructions as to differences
between degrees of murder were not prej-
udicial where the errors did not affect
choice of penalty and that choice rested
wholly in discretion of jury and where any
verdict other than of first degree murder,
in light of overwhelming evidence, would
have been rationally impossible. Pen.
Code, §§ 189, 190.
PEOPLE v. BERNARD i Cal. 637
Cite as 169 P.2d 636 ‘
8 Homicide @=308(1) ,
First-degree murder instruction vio-
lated rules regarding voluntary manslaugh-
ter and differentiation between first and
second degree murder. Pen.Code, §§ 189,
190. ;
9. Homicide €=308(1)
Instruction that it is not less murder
because act is done suddenly, after intent
to commit homicide is formed, was erron-
cous as applied to first-degree murder,
since it destroys the statutory difference
in degrees of murder.’ Pen.Code, §§ 189,
190.
10. Homicide €=308(1)
First-degree murder instruction, that
it is sufficient that the malicious intent
precedes and accompanies the act of homi-
cide, was erroneous in that it destroyed
statutory difference in degrees of murder.
Pen.Code, §§ 189, 190:
11. Homicide @=340(1)
‘Erroneous instruction regarding mur-
der committed in:performance of unlawful
act was not prejudicial to defendant who
was admittedly engaged in perpetration of:
unlawful act of robbery at time of killing.
Pen.Code, § 189.
12. Homicide €=340(2) :
Errors in instructions relating to dif-
ferences between degrees of. murder were
not prejudicial so far as charge of assault
with a deadly weapon with intent to com-
mit murder was concerned. Pen.Code, §§
189, 217.
13. Homicide ¢=308(2)
Where the facts impel a conviction of
murder of first degree, both because murder
was committed in perpetration of robbery
and because it was committed by means of
lying in wait, and do not admit upon any
view of evidence of a finding other than of
murder of first degree, instructions regard-
ing differences between degrees of murder
are unnecessary. Pen.Code, §§ 189, 190.
rs
In Bank.
Appeal from a judgment of the Su-
perior Court of Los Angeles County and
from an order denying a new trial. Ed-
ward R. Brand, Judge. Affirmed.
Charlie Bernard was convicted of first-
degree murder and of assault with a deadly
weapon with intent to commit murder, and
he appeals.
Affirmed.
Frederic H. Vercoe, Public Defender,
and William B. Necley and E. E. Cuff,
Deputy Public Defenders, all of Los An-
geles, for appellant.
Robert W. Kenny, Atty. Gen., and
Frank Richards, Deputy Atty. Gen., for
respondent. ,
SCHAUER, Justice.
{1] A jury found defendant, Charlie
Bernard guilty of the first degree murder
of John D. Abbott, without recommenda-
tion as to penalty (which verdict resulted in
imposition of the death sentence), and of
assault upon Grace Abbott with a deadly
weapon with intent to commit murder. De-
fendant Bernard appeals from the judg-
ments entered upon the jury verdicts and
from an order denying his motion for new
trial. At the trial no evidence was offered
on behalf of Bernard or his codefendant,
Moses Hawthorne. Hawthorne, who has
not appealed, was found guilty of first de-
. gree murder with recommendation of life
imprisonment and of assault with a deadly
weapon with intent to commit murder. His
sentence on the murder conviction recom-
mends imprisonment for the remainder of
his natural life without benefit of: parole.
The evidence, which without substantial
conflict establishes. the commission by de-
fendants of the offenses of which they were
convicted, is hereinafter summarized. We
have concluded, as to the murder charge,
that any verdict other than of murder in
the first degree, in the light of the over-
whelming evidence, would have been ra-
tionally impossible and that, therefore, cer-
tain errors in instructions hereinafter noted
could not have prejudiced defendant Ber-
nard, (The errors do not affect the choice
of penalty and that choice rested wholly in
the discretion of the jury (Pen.Code, §
190).)
John D. Abbott and his wife, Grace, re-
sided near Chatsworth in the county of
Los Angeles. Defendant Bernard had lived
near Chatsworth from 1933 until 1937 or
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(Continued from page 57)
murder charge against the prisoner.
Deputy George Carter, however, had
no such difficulty. He had amassed so
much evidence against Waldo and Bent-
ley in the May 22nd murder of the
Fresno liquor store owner that the two
suspects were released to California
authorities and returned to that state to
face a first-degree murder charge.
The summer passed and with it the
memory of the Welch tragedy from most
minds; but not from the mind of Sheriff
Cramer, nor from the minds of any resi-
dents of northwestern Arizona who lived
in the area of U.S. Highway 66, the
busy transcontinental road which runs,
through a sparsely settled section of the
state. During the past few years, High-
way 66 in the Seligman area has been
the scene of numerous crimes: holdups,
robberies, hijackings, and other assorted
felonies. All these, however, were over-
shadowed by the double murder of
James and Utha Welch.
Sheriff Cramer and his aides did not
relax their efforts to solve the mystery,
but by December, 1961, they had made
no progress at all. On December 12th a
report reached the sheriff's desk inform-
ing him that James Bentley had been
found guilty of the Fresno murder. He
had been committed to Death Row at
San Quentin Prison, sentenced to die in
the gas chamber. His companion in that
crime, Fred Waldo, had received a life
sentence.
The sheriff sighed. Once, James Bent-
ley had been his prime suspect. Now, he
had no suspect at all. This fact, however,
did not prevent the Yavapai County of-
ficers from pursuing every meager lead
which arose, nor from questioning every
man arrested on any charge at all.
Then, in the middle of May, 1962, the
name of James Bentley once more came
to the sheriff's attention.
It was disclosed that, while occupying
a cell in San Quentin’s death row, Bent-
ley’s behavior had been as strange as
when he had attempted to swallow a roll
of toilet paper at Fort Scott. As a result,
the penitentiary physician had ordered
the prisoner transferred to the Prison
Hospital at Vacaville, for observation by
psychiatrists.
Sheriff Cramer mentioned this news
to Captain Johnson. “Bentley’s name
keeps cropping up,” he remarked.
“Somehow, I still mentally connect him
with the Welch murders. But I don’t sup-
pose we’ll ever be able to prove it. Well,
I guess we won't hear of Bentley again
until the day of his execution.”
In that, Sheriff Cramer was wrong.
He heard of James Bentley again just
three weeks later. It came in an im-
portant communication sent to the Pres-
cott official by police authorities in
Berkeley, California.
George Callate, well known to the
Berkeley police officers because of his
profession, which was burglary, had
made a startling statement to the police
chief of the town. Callate, who doubtless
was trying to do the police a favor in
order to draw on that credit sometime
in the future, had recently been an in-
mate of San Quentin.
While there, Callate became acquaint-
ed with a fellow convict, whose name he
hadn’t bothered to learn. This anony-
mous convict had told Callate that some-
time in the summer of 1961, he had
murdered a vacationing couple in Ari-
zona, just off Route 66. The boasting
convict had added that two or three
children slept soundly in a tent by the
side of the road while the man and
woman were being slain. The murderer
had stated with some pride that he had
not molested the children.
Though he did not know the name of
the killer, Callate was able to furnish
a detailed description of his informant.
When the Berkeley officers checked with
the authorities at San Quentin it was
quickly discovered that the convict who
allegedly confessed the Welch slayings
to Callate was James Abner Bentley.
Sheriff Cramer and Captain Johnson
were elated at this news, which they im-
mediately relayed to Yavapai County
Attorney George Ireland. “We have this
case wrapped up at last,” the sheriff
exclaimed thankfully.
But Attorney Ireland, having a trained
legal mind, was wary.
“I wouldn’t call it wrapped’ up,” he
said. “I believe that Bentley’s state-
ment is true. But to make it stick, we
have to dig up some corroborative evi-
dence. If you can somehow place Bentley
in the Seligman area at the time of the
killing, I'd say that we really have it
wrapped up and no one can say that
we're taking the easy way out, staking
everything on a gratuitous statement by
an ex-con.”
Sheriff Cramer considered the problem
and agreed. “All right,” he said. “T’ll
have a hundred mug shots made of
Bentley. I'll have my men canvass every
store, every gas station, every garage,
from Seligman to the California border.
If Bentley was in that vicinity last June,
someone must have seen him.”
Attorney Ireland nodded. “I agree. If
he was there, someone must have seen
him. But will they remember it? After
all, it’s been almost a full year since the
murders.”
“We'll have to risk that,” Cramer said.
“Y'll order the prints made at once. We
can start checking first thing in the
morning.”
On Saturday, June 9th, exactly a year
after the double murder at the edge of
Route 66, Captain Johnson and a half-
dozen sheriff's deputies canvassed the
transcontinental road from Seligman to
the California border. By noon hundreds
of people had studied the unpreposses-
sing photograph of James Abner Bent-
ley; none of them had ever seen the man
before.
Then, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon,
Undersheriff Sam Saum entered the
Johnson Coffee Shop in Seligman. He
spoke to the waitress, who was Mrs.
Bertie Blankenship, the wife of Deputy
Sheriff Perry Blankenship.
Mrs. Blankenship stared at the picture
and nodded.
“Have you seen this guy before?”
asked Undersheriff Saum.
Mrs. Blankenship nodded more em-
phatically. “I certainly have. And it was
on the night that the Welches were
killed.”
“You're certain of that?”
“Absolutely certain. I have very good
reasons to remember both the man and
the date.”
“You’d better tell your boss you're
taking a couple of hours off,” said Under-
sheriff Saum. “I’m taking you to Pres-
cott, to talk to the sheriff.”
Less than two hours later, Mrs. Blank-
enship sat in the sheriff’s office and
related a story which clinched the case
against James Bentley.
Shortly before midnight on June 8,
1961, a man had entered the Johnson
Coffee Shop in Seligman. Mrs. Bertie
aren ery:
Blankenship saw him come in the door
and was unfavorably impressed with his
appearance. He was unshaven, his
clothes were dirty and his battered hat
was pulled down over his eyes. Mrs.
Blankenship thought for a moment, that
the stranger intended a holdup.
He came over to the counter and ad-
dressed her. “How much is a cup of
coffee?”
“Ten cents.”
The stranger shrugged and commented
that his total assets amounted to exactly
five cents. Mrs. Blankenship, relieved
that the man was not a bandit, drew a
cup of coffee, put it on the counter and
paid for it herself.
The man drank the coffee, thanked
her, and walked out.
Sheriff Cramer nodded as Mrs, Blank-
enship -finished her recital. “And you
remember this,” he said, “because you
paid for his coffee, and you first thought
he was going to rob the place?”
“Yes—but there is another reason. He
came back to the coffee shop a few hours
later.” She explained that Bentley had
returned to the Seligman restaurant
sometime after 3 o’clock on the morning
of June 9th.
“This time,” she said, “he ordered a
full meal, including tomato juice. I
didn’t ask any questions when he paid
for it with a twenty dollar bill.”
Questioned by the sheriff, Mrs. Blank-
enship stated that she was positive of
the date, since later that same morning,
her husband, Deputy Blankenship, had
been summoned to the murder site.
Sheriff Cramer promptly communi-
cated with County Attorney Ireland. Late
that afternoon, a press conference was
called, during which the officials an-
nounced that they were satisfied that, at
last, the Welch murder case was solved
—that James Bentley was, indeed, the
murderer. Attorney Ireland stated that
he had filed two first-degree murder
charges against Bentley.
James Bentley is still being held in
the mental hospital at Vacaville, Cali-
fornia. He is under sentence to die in
the gas chamber at San Quentin for the
murder of Homer Bryan. But, if through
some circumstance he should escape that
fate in California, Yavapai County has
a warrant ready—a warrant which will
return Bentley to Arizona to stand trial
for the wanton killing which orphaned
four young boys.
The Welch boys have been living with
Mrs. Welch’s sister, in Tulare, California.
“The children are adjusting quite well,”
a ae a “All of our family is
relieve a e man who did thi
been identified.” aaa
Residents of northern Arizona have
also expressed relief. Since the death
of the Welches there has been constant
fear that the slayer might strike again.
or warned U.S. 66 vacation
ravelers not to camp off th i
at night. 4 a meee
The traffic and the trucks still rumble
along Highway 66, from Seligman to
the California border, past the dreary
flatland at the foot of the Juniper
Mountains, past the two piles of rubble
at the side of the road which stand as'
bleak monuments to one of the most
dastardly crimes ever committed in Ya-
vapai County. eee
Eprror’s Note:
The names, Harry Netten, Wilbur
Layne and George Callate, as used in
the foregoing story, are not the real
names of the persons concerned. These
persons have been given fictitious
names to protect their identities.
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“inc le PENS se ee in om nen
Arrested in Phoenix, Bentley (rear) and
Waldo, wanted for a California killing,
were asked about the Welch murders
couraging news were reported.
A local officer at Peach Springs was
holding an Indian woman who had
offered an empty leather wallet for
sale in a tavern. He believed it might
have belonged to the slain Welch.
Sheriff Cramer promptly dispatched
Captain Johnson to look into this.
The second report was from the
police of Tucumcari in the neighboring
state of New Mexico. They were hold-
ing a 34-year-old motoreycfist for
questioning, after he was picked up
while trying to sell a .22 caliber re-
volver. The Tucumcari officers said
they would keep the Yavapai sheriff
apprised of developments.
Then, before the sheriff could call it
a day and go home to his supper, a
young woman arrived. She said she
was a sister of the slain Utha Welch.
She had come to take the children back
to Oklahoma, where they would be
taken care of by relatives.
After talking with her nephews, the
young woman commented, “The young-
er ones still don’t really understand
what happened, and Jimmy just doesn’t
want to talk about it. It is a terrible
shock.”
After seeing her and the four or-
phaned boys on their way, Sheriff
Cramer went home. Two hours later,
he heard from Captain Johnson, The
Indian woman had satisfactorily ac-
counted for her possession of the wal-
let, which bore initials that were not
those of James Welch. And _ shortly
afterwards, the sheriff received an
equally discouraging message from
Tucumcari.
It had been learned that the suspect
motorcyclist had ridden into New
Mexico from the east, not from Arizona.
A check along the route provided facts
which furnished him with a solid alibi
for the early morning of June 9th.
Even though the sheriff’s office had
been given considerable help by the
FBI, Sheriff Cramer reluctantly told
the press on June 16th, exactly one
week after the killings, “We’re right
back where we started.”
As a matter of ordinary police rou-
tine, Captain Johnson and half a dozen
sheriff’s deputies had questioned at
length everyone in the county who had
a police record; in addition, anyone ar-
rested for any crime at all since June
9th was interrogated concerning the
Welch murders. This procedure failed
to produce any evidence.
On June 2l1st, a report came to the
desk of Sheriff Cramer which interested
him greatly. It concerned a robbery,
kidnaping and shooting which oc-
curred in Phoenix on the preceding
day. Two men had approached Edward
A waitress identified Bentley as man who
came into restaurant near murder scene
at 3 a.m. on day the Welches were slain
F. Smith, a service station attendant,
robbed him at gunpoint and then car-
ried him off in the car. Smith had
struggled violently, whereupon he had
been shot and tossed from the car. He
was now in a critical condition in a
Phoenix hospital. His assailants had
been identified as Fred Waldo and
James Bentley. Both men lived in Gil-
bert, a small town a few miles south-
east of Phoenix.
The sheriff had an urgent desire to
talk to these men. He called Phoenix,
requesting that he be notified if either
Waldo or Bentley was picked up. “I
want to question them about the Welch
killings,” Cramer said. “They seem
likely candidates for a murder rap.”
“California thinks so, too,” the
Phoenix official said..He told Sheriff
Cramer that Waldo and Bentley were
being sought by Fresno, California,
authorities for the holdup-murder of
Homer Bryan, a liquor store proprietor,
who was robbed and slain on May 22nd.
Deputy District Attorney George Car-
ter, of Fresno County, had already
made the same request to the Phoenix
police as had Sheriff Cramer. Carter
had asked for a “hold” on the fugitives
if they were picked up.
On the following day, Sheriff Cramer
and Deputy Carter of Fresno were
granted fifty percent of their request.
Fred Waldo, 23 years old, was arrested
in the town of Elroy and promptly
turned over to the Maricopa County
authorities. Within 24 hours, Captain
Johnson was talking.to Waldo in an
interrogation room at Phoenix Police
Headquarters.
Fred Waldo, a sullen young man, ap-
peared more worried about the charges
placed against him by the Phoenix
police than he did about the Welch
murders. The reason was soon ap-
parent. Waldo, it developed, had a solid
alibi for the night and early morning
of June 8th-9th. He had been in his
home at Gilbert and he had a dozen
witnesses who could corroborate that.
But Waldo offered no alibi: for his
partner, James Bentley. Bentley had
not been with him on the night the
Welches were slain; Waldo had no idea
of Bentley’s whereabouts at that par-
ticular time. Regarding the Fresno
killing, Waldo swore that he knew
nothing about it.
“Waldo denies it,” Deputy D. A. Car-
ter stated, “but we still believe that
he and Bentley are the killers of the
liquor store operator.”
Sheriff Cramer conceded the validity
of Waldo’s alibi for the Welch murders.
“But,” he said, “we are still very in-
terested in Bentley.”
A check of James Bentley’s record
made the sheriff even more interested.
The details filled several pages.
James Abner Bentley was 26 years
old and had begun his vicious career
in 1952 as a juvenile delinquent when
he was arrested for auto theft and
burglary. Other crimes with which he
-had been charged included robbery,
carrying a concealed weapon and sev-
eral escapes from the California Youth
Authority.
In 1958, he served a jail term in
Yuma, Arizona, for assault with a
deadly weapon. He had not been ar-
rested since, though by now the law-
men of half a dozen states were search-
ing for him.
On June 29, 1961, James Bentley was
again arrested, this time in Fort Scott,
Kansas. Undersheriff Ray Cummings
of Fort Scott had recognized the fugi-
tive as the man wanted by Maricopa
County. While awaiting the arrival of
the Arizona officers, Undersheriff Cum-
mings questioned Bentley specifically
regarding the Route 66 murders.
Bentley was sullen and uncommuni-
cative. He denied ever having com-
mitted a murder. In the course of the
interview, however, he dropped a few
inadvertent remarks which led Under-
sheriff Cummings to believe that the
suspect could have been in the Selig-
man area at the time the Welches were
slain. :
During the few days that Bentley
was in custody at Fort Scott, he twice
attempted suicide. The first time, he
tried to hang himself by attaching his
belt to an overhead water pipe. He was
rescued and his belt confiscated. Bent-
ley’s second suicidal try was more
original. This time, he swallowed a
huge wad of toilet paper in an effort
to choke to death. Prompt attention by
a doctor frustrated him.
During the trip back to Maricopa
County, the Arizona officials also in-
terrogated Bentley. He remained un-
communicative about both the Welch
murders and the Phoenix assault
charge. On one occasion, however, he
remarked that he had an alibi for the
Welch slayings. At the time of the
double murder, he asserted, he was at
the home of his estranged wife and her
mother in Fresno, California.
In the meantime, at the behest of
Sheriff Cramer, other Maricopa County
deputies visited Bentley’s home town of
Gilbert and attempted to trace -the
suspect’s movements on June 8th and
9th. Bentley’s employer stated that
Bentley had shown up to bale hay at
2 o’clock on the morning of June 8th
and had left at 5 a.m. The employer had
not seen him since.
A friend, with whom Bentley had
been living, told the officers that Bent-
ley came to his house at breakfast time
on June 8th, took off at noon in a
1949 Chevrolet. Apparently, no one
in Gilbert had seen the fugitive after
that date.
When Sheriff Cramer was apprised of
these facts, he enlisted the aid of the
Fresno deputy D.A., George Carter.
Carter visited Bentley’s estranged wife
and talked with her and her mother.
Both of them supported Bentley’s alibi.
This development did not by any
means satisfy Sheriff Cramer but since
he was unable to place James Bentley
in the Seligman area at the time of
the Welch killings, it was impossible
to lodge a (Continued on page 86)
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|. FRESE qE Hee Hey ate ee ENTER ea i
a me iyi zit a at il a te i Tate Aan oak |
Se ecu atitel
rey 2, Hs | “Jas : :
bs as he Hil Pert ictal et i! i ifatty Pedi zor
TERROR TORCH for the
b
By ROBERT J. GREEN
out,” Kolber added. “The fire must have started awfully
quick to have trapped them inside, especially if they took
time to park.”
AWN was beginning to streak the eastern sky over.th¢
D nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains. ‘It was the morn-
ing of May 30, 1943. Still using their flashlights, the two
highway patrolmen went over the sedan. The gas tank cap
was missing, but there were no dents on the body or
fenders, as there would be if a collision had occurred.
Keys were in the ignition lock and the switch was ‘
turned off.
“Could be they stopped to drink,” Riley mused, “and
they fell asieep. If defective wiring started a fire, they may
} have been too drunk to notice it in time, too stupefied
to get out.”
| Coroner Brooks agreed with Riley that it was logical.
} “Here’s the only thing not burned completely,” he said,
: holding up a partially burned gas-ration book. “The driver
| had it in his shirt pocket. When he fell over the steering
wheel, it was protected a little from the flames.”
“Whose name is on it?” Riley asked.
By a stroke of luck, the holder’s name and address re-
mained. It had been issued to Pelesforo Villanuevo, of
nearby Porterville, nine miles east.
Captain Riley photographed the car from several angles.
Then, with difficulty, the bodies were removed from the
auto. Kolber looked for a liquor bottle, but found none.
Early-rising farmers began stopping their milk trucks
to find_out what had happened on the lonely stretch of
road. Riley questioned each one, but none had seen the
fire and no one could offer any ideas about it or make
any identification of the cremated corpses.
f One driver was requested to send an ambulance from the
Tulare undertaking parlor. This soon arrived from the
A GREED-FED DEFECTIVE MIND!
}
|
i
i
|
Gobles Mortuary, and the two bodiés were loaded aboard.
“We'll have to get some identification for the other man,”:
Coroner Brooks said. “Maybe some of Villanuevo’s rela-
tives can help on this.” : :
Deputy Coroner Meyers was assigned to go with the
bodies to the Tulare morgue. “I’ll drive the relatives to
Tulare,” Brooks said. “By the looks of things, we’ll need a
lot of help in identification.” :
Riley and Kolber inspected the car interior, Two suit-
cases of luggage on the rear seat were burned completely,
as were some miscellaneous men’s clothing. Deep in a
corner of the seat were three .32 calibre bullets. There
was no gun. i : ,
Riley pulled the keys from the ignition switch and un-
locked the trunk. In this was only a'spare tire. “The gun
for these bullets may tie in with this burned car,” he
said. “If so, the gun’s been taken out, on purpose.”
BBEANWHILE, in Tulare, the mortuary had notified Con-
M stable Eugene Losey. At the morgue he found Cor-
oner Brooks, Villanuevo’s sobbing widow and two of her
neighbor women. Brooks explained to him what had hap-
pened. The women had made positive identification of
one body and the car as belonging to Villanuevo. But they
could offer no recognition of the other corpse. :
“Where had your husband been?” Losey asked Mrs.
Villanuevo. : -
“He’s been up at Stockton,. picking asparagus,” the widow
said, speaking with difficulty. “Every year a lot of the men
o up there, from Porterville. The other man must have
aden riding back with him.”
“Any idea who it: might be?”
. She wiped her eyes. ‘Marcelino Bautista lives next door
to us. It. might be him.” She pointed to the woman next
to her. “This is his wife.”
Mrs. Bautista stared numbly at the charred bodies. “It is
burned too badly,” she whispered. “I must wait and see if
he comes home.” -
MARCELINO BAUTISTA—— ~
(photo below.) It was thought at first that he was one of e
the victims in the pyre on wheels, but later it was found
he had returned from his asparagus-picking job by bus.
Constable Losey knew how the men of Porterville fol-
lowed the crops of the valley. They picked asparagus, let-
tuce, grapes, apricots, cotton and peaches, each according
to the season. “They must have had their wages in their
pockets,” he remarked.
Coroner Brooks cut away all the pockets of both corpses.
There was only some change, no slightest trace of the roll
of bills each would be carrying after a crop picking.
The constable drove down to the burned sedan. A few
curious passers-by still remained. Kolber had gone to ar-
range for the car to be towed to Porterville. Captain Riley
and Losey related to each other what had been found.
“Tt’s odd,” Losey said, “that they had no money with
them. Those fellows are always paid off in:cash. Queer
about the three bullets, too. And if the two men were
travelling from Stockton to Porterville, why isn’t the car
headed toward Porterville, instead of toward Tulare?”
“It all doesn’t sound right,” Riley agreed. “Let’s take
another look around here. Just a minute!” he added,
walking rapidly to the roadside fence and climbing through
the wire.
He returned with a shiny object. “I saw it glint in the
sun.” It was the missing gas-tank cap. “Now, why would
that be thrown away?”
They began examining the car, inch by inch. Suddenly
ead 8 exclaimed: ‘Look at those stains on the running
ard!’ ;
The fire had been put out before it burned the runnin
boards. The stain, now glinting redly in the sunlight, halk
evidently flowed out from under the right front door. Both
officers agreed it had all the appearance of blood and had
come out before the fire started.
“It begins to look as if the men were shot or stabbed!”
Losey declared. “If so, the motive was robbery. I’m going
to notify the sheriff.”
With his police car two-way radio he called Sheriff
.S. B. Sherman in Visalia and informed him how the
tragedy, first considered to be an accident, had begun to
CAPT. W. E. RILEY ——_
of the California State Highway Patrol. He found a shiny
object, and when he recognized it as a gas-tank cap he. was
certain that he was on the trail of a deliberate murderer,
st
ac
Y TWO O’CLOCK that Sunday morning, only a yellow
sliver of moon rode the California sky above the
historic San Joaquin Valley. In Tulare County, the
great dairy herds had bedded down, and most persons
had sought their beds. ye
In the sleeping county seat of Visalia, in the Cali-
fornia State Highway Patrol office, Capt. W.-E. Riley was
talking to Patrolman Eugene Kolber. The latter had just
completed a routine patrol and had remarked how un-
usually quiet it was, when the shrill ringing of the tele-
phone interrupted them. :
Captain Riley answered it. He hastily jotted down some
notes, then turned swiftly to Kolber. “A car has been found
burning, along the highway. Let’s go!” :
They: climbed into a black-and-white police cruiser
parked outside, and Riley wheeled it out of town. As they
rode, he explained what meager details he knew. Some
man had. called from the Rankin Airfield, saying he had
spotted the burning car and thought two people were
trapped inside. :
“Tt’s about nine miles south of here,” Riley said. “Along
the Woodville Road. Better notify the coroner. The man
talked as if they were already dead.” .
Kolber switched on the car’s two-way radio and con-
tacted the sheriff’s office back in Visalia, telling them to
send the coroner. A few minutes later they noticed two
cars, with headlights burning, parked on the road shoulder.
bos police car spotlight picked out people moving
about.: “\ ;
Riley braked quickly and the two officers piled out.
They saw that a fire truck from Tulare, seven miles west,
had already.arrived and firemen were spraying a sedan
that was still smoking. The other machine was a cab
of the Valley Taxi Company, in Tulare. ‘
“What happened?” Captain Riley asked.
{iia
REMOVING THE BODIES—— a
An assistant helps Deputy Coroner Meyers (the overalled
figure at right of photo) in his. grisly official task.
“We got a call from some farmer,” the fire chief replied.
“He said he.saw the car burning.”
The taxi driver stepped forward. “I called the Highway
Patrol,” he said. “I was driving this man home from
Tulare’—he indicated a farmer standing beside him—
“when we found the sedan burning. I saw there was some-
body inside, but they weren’t moving. We hurried to the
flying field and phoned you.”
“There’s folks in the car, all right,” a fireman said, ‘but
they’re beyond help.”
Riley and Kolber brought out their flashlights and played
the light beams into the smouldering interior. Beneath
the wheel, in a sitting position, was the charred form of
a human being. Beside it, partly slumped down on the
front floorboards, was another blackened mass. In the
rear seat were some burned luggage and clothing.
Kolber tried the car doors. ey were still hot, and the
heat had swelled the doors tightly shut. He jotted down
the license number of the gray Dodge sedan, California
2X 8220. “We can trace the owner, at least, if he’s not
inside,” he said.
“Wonder what hit the car and set it afire,” Riley puzzled.
“If it was a hit-and-run business, the other car didn’t
stick around.”
Coroner Roy Brooks arrived from Visalia, bringing
Deputy Coroner Frank Meyers and an assistant. With tire
irons and screwdrivers, the doors were pried open, reveal-
ing the grisly contents in the flashlight’s glare. Two corpses,
apparently men, could be seen, and they were cremated
almost beyond any hope of recognition.
Captain Riley and Kolber began compiling notes to pre-
pare their usual accident reports. ‘I can’t believe it was
struck by another car,” Riley said thoughtfully. “It’s pulled
off the road and parked so nicely on the highway shoulder.”
“That’s why it’s hard to figure why the two couldn’t get
“DEFECTIVE WIRING” DIDN'T CAUSE THIS DOUBLE TRAGEDY; IT WAS
Nei.
LIAL
LK Gilt
v
4 4
te f.
s Condaffer (left)
erson (right) dis-
tagedy with Bar-
ents, Mr. and Mrs.
while Madeline
ots down notes
mW THE Winks ane
the daw
felt that Russel
conventionn:l lite
uowhieh ordinar
he Was completel
thrilled to he
ring his |ite
aqown they en
er At od:st the
where Russe
around here unt
monev> then we
sappomted aut tt
e! Into Mis fier
ore about marr.
Hhrought up the
Ving In tourt
now she jong
The voung mss
mind a comfortabl:
min a few dave h
tsiman with firs
ams in building
th her guy smile
partment hots.
Q she
emence
e perened ot
wk we Could
iper to send her
vou bring th:
g” he demande:
ih adventure
with a cate
Has happene
baby she wht
fis expression. st
is an adventure
adventure Wi
bows
CHAP Siirnyye
‘Barbara, I haven’t told you every-
thing. [ think you had better know.”
“Yes?” she encouraged.
“The truth is, I borrowed a little
money from the store, which I have been
unable to pay back. I don’t dare call
attention to myself by getting a marriage
license, or by having a wedding.”
~ LOWLY the girl got off the arm of
the chair, and stepped around to face
him. He was very pale, and so was she.
‘Then this trip wasn’t an adventure,
but an escape. Is that it?” she inquired
in a strained voice.
“No, you’re wrong. I nad the adven-
ture idea before this happened.”
“How much?” she asked.
“Only about $1,000,” he said, trying
to make it seem like a small amount. He
suddenly stood up, took hold of her
slender shoulders and fixed her with an
intense look. “You said you would marry
me for better or worse, on the day we
left. I consider us as good as married.”
“TL won’t desert you, if that’s what you
mean,” Barbara told him. ‘We'll stay
here and save, and pay back the money.
Then we'll go to South America with the
baby and start life anew. I can’t help it,
I love you.”
She now realized why Russell had in-
sisted upon their taking the apartment
under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Bur-
holme. At the time he had said that until
they were actually married it would be
better to use an assumed name. She had
not seen the necessity for this, but had
not argued the point.
\s the lonely hours passed, Barbara
felt as if she were caught in a terrible
veb from which she could not extricate
herself. She was desperately homesick,
for she had never been away from her
mother before, and now needed her very
much. But she knew that by this time
the detectives were hunting them, and
were probably watching the mail, hoping
At the crime scene, the murderer
(wearing coat) gives his version
of the slaying to detectives.
Nancy Lyman, police stenog-
she would write and lead them to Russell.
She could not betray him, nor could she
disgrace her family by going home in
her present condition.
Dark circles. rimmed her eyes, which
were often red from weeping; but she
put on a brave smile whenever she was
with Russell or when the kindly neigh-
bors came to call on her. She was
frightened, as well as homesick. She did
not dare consult a physician, for fear of
attracting attention, and perhaps in
some way giving away their secret. One
conviction had taken possession of her—
they must be married before the baby
was born. She must make Russell see
that that was important.
Each time she brought up the subject,
however, he turned morose, and she
quickly dropped it. She kept telling ber-
self that he would come around to her
way of thinking before the time came.
The cold-blooded killer, shown
in police photo, had a fantastic
story ready for detectives when
they came to arrest him
She spent hours trying to think out some
plan by which they could be married in
safety, without arousing suspicion. As
the pohee were hunting for him, they
could not use his name, of course, nor
hers. She did not know whether or not
it would be legal to be married under the
name they had-taken, and she knew no
one she could ask without arousing sus-
picion.
Meanwhile, back in Philadelphia, ce-
tectives had called on her mother, who
had stared at them in amazement snd
disbelief. When they had convinced her
that Russell had embezzled $1,100 of the
store’s money, and that they had a war-
rant for his arrest, the mother bowed
her head in silence. Finally she raised
her eves to meet theirs, and spoke in
calm, even tones:
“He may be what vou say, but Bar-
bara would never have gone away with
rapher, takes down his story
L941
SEBRUARY,
ad and notified
ire Estate. He,
sked Condaffer.
as the reply
for the edge of
e steep descent
bottom of the
who had come
ported to a tall
luv the body of
deduced that it
i month. Going
to examine the
temple
» beside his com-
suggested.
1k his head. “She
le ber way here
answered. ‘“‘And
ientifying jewelry
xcept this.” He
ed to the small
le then removed
, the finger, and
in the palm of
numerals 1047,
or pawnbroker’s
» observed. “We
the girl through
juarters, the Lieu-
coroner and pho-
crived. While they
Sanderson made
» ground for clues.
thev had seen no
victured at the in-
ed with irrefutable
he was innocent
eres
EPR TEE
gun, and had disturbed nothing. The
moment they had spied the body they
had turned and run up the embankment.
A careful hunt through the underbrush
disclosed no weapon and no sign of the
girl’s clothing.
Suddenly Condaffer called to his as-
sociate. Indicating a flattened part of
the brush, he said thoughtfully, “It looks
as if the body may have been dragged
down here from a point higher up.”
Sanderson agreed and the two scram-
bled up the embankment, searching as
aden
ay
®
they went. Suddenly Condaffer halted,
his gaze fastened on a small object. that
glistened in the late afternoon sun. Drop-
ping on one knee he picked up a white
bead. Sanderson found three more.
Straightening, the latter remarked:
“The murder probably occurred here;
then the killer moved the body so it
would be less likely to be discovered.”
“We may find some real evidence at
this spot,” suggested his partner.
Their hunt was fruitless, however, for
at the end of an hour’s hunt they had
only the wedding ring and the four
white bone beads. The beads, they knew,
would not prove useful in identifying the
victim, for dozens of the girls in the De-
partment wore similar strings.
EANWHILE, the coroner, having
* finished his preliminary examination,
had ordered the body removed to the
Van Nuys Undertaking Parlors. Leaving
two detectives on guard, Condaffer and
Sanderson at last returned to their car,
convinced that further search would be
useless.
As they drove back to Headquarters,
they kept their eyes fixed on the road
ahead, and said little. Both knew that
they were facing an almost impossible
FEBRUARY, 1941
task. A gold wedding ring and four
small beads are not much evidence on
which to base a murder investigation,
when the victim is unidentified.
Leaving their car, they went at once
to the Missing Persons Bureau, where
they pored over the record. None of the
subjects answered the description of the
slain girl.
A eheck of pawnshops and jewelry
stores showed no record bearing the
number that had been scratched inside
the ring. None of the clerks recognized it
»
as
&
ty
<
as a ring they had sold.
At midnight the two officers headed for
Van Nuys to get the completed report
of the coroner. As they studied it, their
eyes hardened. The victim had been
going to have a child. One bullet had
been recovered. The report bore out the
Lieutenant’s deduction that, the murder
had been committed about thirty days
before.
In a puzzled tone, Sanderson remarked,
“T don’t understand it. That bullet
would not have killed her, but only ren-
dered her blind. Surely she was not left
to wander about and die of starvation in
that deserted canyon.”
“Let’s have the head X-rayed,” sug-
gested his partner.
When this had been done, the doctor
handed them two more bullets, saying,
“These were not visible to the naked
eye.”
Taking the bullets with them, the
Lieutenants returned to Headquarters.
The early editions of the morning papers
carried accounts of the finding of the
body and asked that any one having
knowledge of the disappearance of a
blonde girl in her twenties, should come
forward and aid the police in identifying
the victim. Condaffer hoped this would
Lieutenant Frank Condaffer
received a_ significant tip
from a taxi driver who told
of taking a frightened pas-
senger on a strange ride to
the isolated canyon
The slain. girl’s parents,
shown with their son, Harry,
and daughter, Elsie, saw Bar-
bara wave a cheery good-by
as she left on the trip from
which she never returned
bring results, but during that might no
one identified the girl.
“If we only had the clothing!” ex-
claimed Sanderson. “Or something more
personal than the ring and the four
beads.”
Condaffer did not reply, but his ex-
pression was worried.
He was still at his desk next morning
when a taxi-driver for the De Luxe Cab
Company was shown into his office. The
visitor stood hesitantly on the other side
of the desk, and the Lieutenant inquired:
“You wished to see me about the mur-
dered girl whose body was found in
Stone Canyon, I believe?”
“Well, I’m not sure. You see I took
a passenger to that part of Mulholland
Drive one day last month. He acted sort
of queer, and I wondered if he had some
connection with the crime.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, I picked him up at Fifth and
Broadway, and he told me to go out
Ventura Boulevard. After a time, he said
for me to turn into Mulholland Drive
when we came to it. I got the impression
that he was a stranger in town, as he
didn’t seem to know the streets. When
we had driven over Mulholland Drive
for quite a time, (Continued on page 3)
=
vé
him had she known of his crime.”
“Perhaps,” agreed the officers.
She saw that they were unconvinced,
and could not persuade them that she
had no idea where they could locate the
couple. From that day on, she realized
that all members of the family were be-
ing watched, and that the mail was being
kept track of in the hope that a letter
would lead the police to Beitzel.
As a matter of fact, she and her hus-
band had talked of trying to find Bar-
bara and bring her back home, but they
had no idea how to go about such an
undertaking. The girl had written that
she and Russell were heading for South
America, and that is a vast territory.
The distraught parents tried to ignore
the looks of their friends and neighbors.
They kept to themselves these days,
worried and ashamed, but they clung to
the belief that their daughter had been
innocent of any wrongdoing.
One afternoon, just before dinner,
George rang the bell. He gazed at Mrs.
Mauger in the dim hall, his face pale. He
believed she must have had some news
from the girl he loved. George had
learned of the warrant for his rival’s
arrest, and announced tensely that he
intended to spend his vacation in track-
ing down the couple and seeing that the
man paid for bringing disgrace on Bar-
bara.
“She wouldn’t listen to me,” he said.
His tone and manner frightened the
mother. Mrs. Mauger, as she watched
bim leave the house, wondered if he
vee
secieta
Lies
en
would find her daughter and bring her
home. But the unhappy woman was
never again to see her child alive.
N a hot afternoon several weeks later,
Lieutenant Frank Condaffer, of the
Los Angeles police, received a telephone
message from the head of the Fire De-
partment’s mountain patrol. The Lieu-
tenant happened to be in charge tem-
porarily of the Homicide Squad, and
when he had notified the coroner and
other experts, he called his partner, Lieu-
tenant L. E. Sanderson.
“Meet me out front,’ he suggested.
“We're driving out to Stone Canyon. A
body has been discovered out there.”
The two officers sped through the late
afternoon traffic to the outskirts of the
city, then continued along Mulholland
Drive. It was nearing five o’clock when
they rounded a sharp curve and came
on a group of men standing in the little-
used road.
“This must be the place,” observed
Condaffer, slowing down to a_ stop.
“There’s Captain Bergendorff, who tele-
phoned me.”
Stepping from the car, they went over
to join the others. It was an isolated
spot. A steep embankment led down-
ward at one side of the road. Buzzards
were circling above. Coming forward, the
Fire Captain explained:
“These two boys were driving along
the road and saw the buzzards. On
getting out of their car to investigate,
they came upon a dead body. They
climbed back to the road and notified
the ranger at the Bellaire Estate. He,
in turn, called me.”
“Know who it is?” asked Condaffer.
“We have no idea,” was the reply.
The detectives made for the edge of
the road, and began the steep descent.
When they reached the bottom of the
canyon, the two youths, who had come
down with the officers, pointed to a tall
yucca plant. Beneath it lay the body of
a young girl. Condaffer deduced that it
had been there for about a month. Going
slowly forward he bent to examine the
small hole in the right temple.
Sanderson stepped up beside his com-
rade. “A suicide?” he suggested.
The other officer shook his head. “She
could hardly have made her way here
without clothing,” he answered. “And
you'll notice that all identifying jewelry
has been removed, except this.” He
leaned over and pointed to the small
band of white gold. He then removed
the wedding ring from the finger, and
turned it slowly over in the palm of
his hand. It bore the numerals 1047,
scratched on the inside
“Maybe a jeweler’s or pawnbroker’s
identification mark,” he observed. “We
may be able to trace the girl through
this ring.”
Before leaving Headquarters, the Lieu-
tenant had notified the coroner and pho-
tographers, who now arrived. While they
went to work, he and Sanderson made
a minute search of the ground for clues.
The boys stated that they had seen no
The slayer (arrow) is pictured at the in-
quest. Though confronted with irrefutable
evidence, he insisted he. was innocent
.
gun, and h
moment tht
had turned
A careful h
disclosed no
girl’s clothn
Suddenly
sociate. In
the brush, h
as if the lx
down here {
Sandersor
bled up the
they went.
his gaze fast
glistened in 1
ping on one
bead. San
Straightenin
“The mur
then the ki
would be le
“We may
this spot,” s
Their bun
at the end
only the w
white bone |
would not p
victim, for |
partment w
EANWI
finished
had ordered
Van Nuys U
two detectiy
Sanderson a
convinced t}
useless.
As they «
they kept 1
ahead, and
they were |
FEBRUARY, 19
ease. —
the line. Then
‘e that accusing
” he said. “He
while the driver
” The man was
against Pease;
ier, of murder.
»bbery.
to the robbery
ntenced to five
ck entered San
{ since then has
id been released.
its attention to
ist Pease. Ar-
Judge Fred V.
v, Pease entered
| and ingenious.
liberty and my
naking forcible
loaded gun,” he
at I was within
self, so I shot
ficer; he was a
er the circum-
» attempt to ar-
ast me was the
man who had
he was correct;
to that charge,
the right to
iat he should
and turn me
!, but it was his
approached me
nd told me his
uuld have gone
vecause I could
f it. My very
rtner would be
erely the victim
ict that it was
that killed the
at was simple
f the eye-wit-
is, Pease’s un-
above) and
imental in
station ban-
wner of the
\STER DETECTIVE
willing companion in the shooting, left no
room for doubt in the minds of the mem-
bers of the jury.
Their verdict of guilty of murder in the
first degree was the only possible one. But
it was evident that the convicted man’s
ingenious plea had had some effect on
the jurors. When the foreman announced
that they found Pease guilty as charged,
it was with the added recommendation
that he be sentenced to life imprisonment
instead of receiving the death penalty.
Under California law, such a recom-
mendation is mandatory. Judge Wood
(since deceased) pronounced sentence of
life imprisonment. He was outspoken in
his concluding remarks following imposi-
tion of the life penalty.
“This gives you another chance to go
out and take the life of some other cr
cent fellow man,” the Court declared. ‘
my opinion you committed rato
cold-blooded murder. The jury should
either have acquitted you completely, or
have inflicted the full penalty of death.”
Pease is still an inmate of San Quentin
Prison.
(For obvious reasons, the actual name of
one of the characters in the foregoing story has
been withheld, and a fictitious one substituted,
namely: Hank Stevens.—Eb.)
Lost Lady
(Continued from page 37)
I began to realize that we were in a very
lonely section, and got sort of nervous. I
thought maybe the fellow was fixing to
hold me up.
“Whenever I asked him where we were
heading, he would tell me to keep on going
until he told me to stop. Once he had
me stop the cab and he got out and looked
around and then climbed back in again.
He seemed to be looking for something, I
thought. I couldn’t figure him out, and
wondered if he was crazy. By that time
my meter had run up to four dollars, and
I was nervous about that, too.
“Then suddenly he told me to stop,
and wait for him. I said he couldn’t leave
the cab without paying me what the meter
read. He handed me a five-dollar bill,
then walked back around a bend in the
road where I couldn’t see him. I waited
and waited, and after a half-hour he re-
turned and told me to drive like every-
thing back to town. I thought he looked
sort of scared. He got out at Fifth and
Figueroa.”
“When was this?” asked Condaffer, lean-
ing across the desk.
The driver got out a dilapidated black
book, and consulted it. He gave the date,
which was approximately a week after the
crime had been committed.
“Seen him since?” queried the Lieuten-
ant.
“No, that was the last I saw of him.”
He gave a good description of the man,
who was young and good-looking. He
had evidently had no special characteris-
tic, however, that would make him easily
identifiable.
“As you drive about the city, keep your
eyes open for this man. If you catch sight
of him, follow him, and get word to me
as soon as you can,” Condaffer instructed.
The taximan promised, and left his rec-
ord book containing the date and time of
the trip, with the detectives. Ten minutes
later the Lieutenant repeated the story to
Sanderson, who remarked:
“Tf it was the killer, he must have gone
out there to reassure himself that the
body had not yet been discovered. When
he found it, he must have felt pretty safe.”
Later that morning, Condaffer received
a call from the express company, inform-
ing him that the manager wished to see
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was pregnant and about to bear a
child, would the shock of the bullet
‘itself be sufficient to cause a miscar-
_.-Tiage or birth of the child?” asked the
--- reporter. - esaighis ph OR
_.<° “I would expect instant unconscious-
“ness,” replied Dr. Webb, “and in that
‘collapsed condition, if her vitality still
remained, she might have gone into
labor—might have given birth to the
child. It is possible, sir.”
Thus, into the case already replete
with ghastly, cruel details, was inter-
jected the shocking possibility that
this frail girl, who left her loved ones
to follow the will o’ the wisp of pas-
* sion, might, alone on the mountain
_ side, have given birth to the baby for
whose coming she had’ so lovingly
planned.
_ If this were so, and Nature, in at-
tempting to bring into the world the
tiny child, had disarticulated the thigh
bones, then the amputation of the right
leg at a later date when the body was
partly decomposed, would not have
_ been so difficult.
But why did the murderer want to
remove the right leg? :
The answer was supplied by Bar-
bara Mauger’s parents upon their ar-
rival in Los Angeles. .When Barbara
was but a child, a surgeon in Philadel-
phia had removed an extra bone from
the girl’s right foot. Had the right leg
been left on the body, the police would
have experienced no difficulty in iden-
tifying the skeleton due to this opera-
tion. pistes 3 Styne sae
And Beitzel‘/ knew of this operation.
“and had mentioned how little it had
changed the shape of the girl’s foot.
But there were other factors by
which the body of Barbara Mauger
was identified. . - “es
pes ~* Russell St. Clair Beitzel and a group
of neighbors were taken to the morgue
at Van Nuys to view the remains.
Beitzel had braced himself for the
visit. He entered with head thrown
i back and face a blank mask. Only
PASSE be
tte
\
two white spots on either cheek told
of tightly clenched teeth. He stood
well back of the neighbors but Detec-
tives Sanderson and Condaffer never
took their eyes from his face.
“That’s Barbara,” said Mrs. Maurice
Allen with a shuddering gasp. “I
know from the shape of the forehead;
: and those are Barbara’s hands.”
“I’m sure, too, it’s Barbara,” whis-
pered Mrs. Carroll Thompson as her
eyes took in the terrible sight. “Bar-
bara had a low, full forehead. Those
are her hands and feet—” ,
“Remember, Mrs. Thompson, any-
thing you say here you are going to
repeat in court,” suddenly interposed
Beitzel, who had been jotting down.
on a bit of paper what had been said.
Mrs. Thompson stared vindictively
into the cynical eyes of the accused
man, then repeated steadily, “That’s
Barbara’s body.”
Mrs. Mae Burns sobbing hysterically
was certain of the identification be-
cause of the ears and finger nails. “It
could be no one else,” she sobbed.
But Russell Beitzel refused to posi-
tively identify the body. “I can’t be
- sure. It could be,” he admitted. Then
eet watched with seeming indifference as
Detective Sanderson carefully placed
the wedding ring on the third finger
of the cadaver’s hand, which oddly
enough, still showed plainly that it
had been a well formed hand, with
‘. . fingers tapering, the nails long and
~ pointed and bearing evidence of hav-
ing been cared for.
‘Russell, can you see any resem-
50 |
Sens. hs
ee
gy # He had discussed it with the parents .
blance between that hand and that of
—your Wife?” asked Sanderson point-
edly.
Beitzel stood for a moment, gazing
. as though fascinated at the hand which
bore the narrow white gold band. Per-
haps he was seeing for the first time
how truly vital a real wedding ring
must have seemed to the blond young-
ster who had been his common-law
wife. Perhaps he realized that but for
this narrow band the body might
never have been identified. re
“Yes,” he replied finally. “There is
a resemblance, but still I can’t be
sure.” : i
The state did not have to depend on
Beitzel’s identification.
More and more damaging evidence
- was gathered against the accused. The
several packages of his wife’s cloth-
ing, which the neighbors reported
having seen Beitzel- wrapping in the
kitchen, while whistling loudly, and
in what seemed a very happy mood
the evening after Barbara left, were
located by the police at Phoenix, Ariz-
ona, where they had been mailed to a
fictitious address, with an equally
fictitious return address in Seattle.
All the tiny garments which the girl
had so lovingly planned for the coming
baby were found at the Reliable Stor-
-age Company, stored under the name
of Burholm. The report sent by the
Philadelphia Police disclosed that
many of the articles in this elaborate
layette had been stolen by Beitzel
. from the store where he and Barbara
~ worked. As credit manager, Beitzel
had access to the accounts so he had
the baby clothes and many garments
for Barbara charged to the inactive
account of a customer in a near-by’
city.
Just what odd quirk in Russell
- Beitzel’s make-up prompted -him to
keep the baby clothes, but send Bar-
bara’s clothing to Arizona, the officers
could not fathom.
“T.just wanted to get rid of her
things,” was all the explanation he
could give for this act.
“Didn’t you think she might return
and would need the things?” Sander-
son asked.
“Well,” said Beitzel, “she seemed
rather emphatic at the time she got
out of the car and I didn’t believe she
would be back any more.”
That Beitzel was certain the girl
would not come back, was shown
when he returned to Nicholas D.
Mitchell, a groceryman on West Ninth
Street, the small tiger-striped kitten
that Mrs. Mitchell had given Barbara.
“My wife will be back as soon as
the baby is born, but I can’t take care
of the kitten,” Beitzel told the grocery-
man. “Tige’s such a cute little fellow.
My wife just loved him.” And almost
reluctantly, Beitzel placed the kitten
on the counter and gently stroked its
back.
“Mrs. Burholm was such a sweet
little thing.” Mitchell told reporters.
“She always wore a little blue coat
and a kitchen apron and a string of
white beads on her neck.”
The string of beads which Baro pe-————-—-------7eeeeannnn
WHY WOULD A WOMAN KES?
bara Mauger always wore and the
four white beads, found near the mur-
der spot, played a vital part in the
case. Without exception, every neigh-
bor, as well as the groceryman, Mitch-
ell and his wife, recalled that they
had never seen Barbara without the
string of white beads around her
plump throat—beads similar to the
four found by the detectives.
_The four little white beads found
on the mountain highway must have
-such as Beitzel claimed to have tossed
- the weeds, was found along the moun-
_- The body had been found August :
'L. Edmonds and after a plea of not
. guilty and not guilty by reason of in-
/ awa
-claim that the ring Barbara had al-.
carried weight with the jury, so posi-
tive were the neighbors that the girl
was never without the string of cheap, -
white beads... Hag ATS
- When a box of .38 caliber. shells,
away about four miles from the mur-
der spot, was found less than a hun-
dred feet from the ravine down which
the body rolled, the officers believed .
their case was complete. The box,
from which 42 shells had spilled in _
tain highway by George J. Smith, an
employee of the Los Angeles Fire De-
partment who was cutting brush along
Mullholland Drive. This box of shells
had been sold by the B. H. Dyas Com-
pany—the .store from which Beitzel
acknowledged he had purchased the
shells for his target practice.
2nd, 1928, and on August 10th Beitzel
was arraigned before Judge Douglas
sanity, his trial was set for September
6th—thus, one year from the day he
and the golden-haired girl had slipped
from Philadelphia, the dashing
ex-fiyer was fighting for his life.
Defense alienists attempted to prove
that the airplane crash that grounded
Beitzel was responsible if he were
proven guilty of the crime and the ©
defendant’s attorneys, George Stod- ©
dard and Joe Fainer fought stubbornly
against overwhelming odds. But Thur-
mond Clark, Thomas Menzies and |
Clifford Thoms of the District Attor-
ney’s office, presented an iron-clad
case and the jury, after a very short
deliberation, returned the verdict of
guilty of murder in the first. degree.
Superior Judge Charles S. Burnell
sentenced Beitzel to hang for the mur-
der of his golden-haired sweetheart.
An appeal from this verdict was _
taken, but the Supreme Court in Banc.
ruled: “No doubt of the defendant’s
guilt. may be entertained. Judgment
and order are therefore affirmed.” —
Russell St. Clair Beitzel went to the —
gallows at San Quentin on August
3rd, just a year from the day he was
arrested. And up to his last breath he
protested his innocence. He claimed
that Barbara’s teeth were in perfect
condition and because no dentist came
forward to identify the work recently
done on the teeth of the corpse, that
the body could not have been B :
Every effort was made to locate the
dentist who had done the new ‘work
found in the skeleton’s teeth.* “Like-
wise, the Philadelphia police’ could
find nothing to substantiate Beitzel’s . “3
ways worn contained his and her in-
itials engraved inside. No trace was
ever found of such a ring—the ring
Russell Beitzel said he gave his golden
haired sweetheart on the beach at A%
lantic City. eee ute
Rees
$ 5 hail
eae Se,
HER PARAMOUR LOC
IN HER ATTIC FOR 10
“> READ! ge
The HOUSE of TOO MANY LU®
IN NOV. COMPLETE, DEt& ow: :
ON ALL NEWSSTANDS BOS]
vs
Bergendorff and a
Mulholland Drive.
the canyon. There,
nude corpse of an
\ eat tee
| ee MASTER DETECTIVE, September,
We clambered dow
to its huge spike of
Mute but damnin
identification appeared practically impossible, only the ‘teeth
ef hands and left foot being fairly well-preserved.
Continuing to examine the ground near by,
the body had apparent]
3 é 2, 1929.
BEITZEL, Russell S. white, hanged Calif. (LA) on August 2, 1929
“Looks like murder!” said Bergendorff,
Hastily relaying the gist of Captain Bergendorft’
partner, Detective L,.
for the designated spot
By following directions implicitly,
tortuous, little-used road, and at 5
S message to my
E. Sanderson, we set out in a police car
we found our way along the
o’clock came upon Captain
silent group of men standing near the top of
The fire patrol chief told me that the body had been found by
n a steep embankment, almost to the base of
near a tall, slender, yucca plant, and in contrast
white, lilylike, sweet-scented blossoms, lay the
apparently young woman.
gly eloquent testimony that this was no tragedy
“Not a shred,” answered Bergendorff.
“Then it can’t be suicide. This woman could hardly have made
r of the left hand was a white gold
wedding ring. Upon being removed, the gleaming little circlet was
scratched on the inside.
be possible to identify the wearer
of the ring through the number inscribed on the inside, if it had
been made by a Pawnbroker or jeweler,
t territory revealed a patch of
other find in the form of the skull
of a baby, possibly prematurely born.
we discovered that
y been dragged down to its present position
from a point fifty feet up the hillside. Flattened brush plainly
indicated its path of descent.
Near the spot where it had first lain, I found four white bone .
beads. These I dropped into my pocket. e
Then, finding no other evidence, we left two officers on guard
duty, and returned to headquarters. The coroner was notified of the
-ondaffer, Retired Detective Lieutenant
re
ngeles Police Departm: nt, astoled te
M. K. ARNOLD =
1948,
Freee
otha be ee
aa
company was installing a system at
the Biltmore Hotel at the present time.
The chase was growing hot. Repre-
senting themselves as buddies of Bur-
holm’s from Kansas looking for work,
the officers had no trouble in securing
the information they sought, from the
chief engineer, John Queen. Russell
Burholm was employed by the Carrier
Engineering Company and could be
found in the stock room at 911 Mateo
Street.
“I know who you boys are looking
for,” volunteered L. H. Pohlderman,
manager of the Carrier company,
when the officers stopped at his desk
a short time later. “You want Russell
Burholm.” - :
Sanderson only smiled. ,“Are you a
mind reader?”
Pohlderman grinned and told the
officers that when he read the morn-
ing papers about the murder he had
a hunch it might be Burholm’s wife.
Burholm, he said, had without reason
told him about his wife’s going east
and that all at the plant had noticed
the difference in the man. Where be-
fore he had been happy-go-lucky and
always playing jokes; now, he had
lapsed into gloom and was jumpy and
short tempered. He knew that Bur-
holm’s wife was going to have a baby,
but why he had connected the murder
with Burholm’s story, Pohlderman
could not say.
In less than ten minutes, Russell
Burholm was on his way to headquar-
ters. The arrest lacked drama. Bur-
holm was leaning across a desk, tele-
phoning, when Sanderson and Con-
epesedaffer walked down the long room.
~~ and stepped up on either side of him.
Except for a thickly beating heart,
evidenced by the pulse-throb in his
neck, Burholm showed no surprise.
“I thought you boys would be look-
ing me up this morning.” He told
them.
“Another mind-reader,” murmured
Condaffer as Sanderson slipped hand-
cuffs on the man’s wrists.
For a time, Burholm stuck to the
story of having taken his wife to Long
Beach—the same story he had told
the Golden Avenue neighbors.. Then
suddenly he changed his story. Now
he said he had taken his wife up along
Mullholland Drive for the picnic they
had planned; that while up there they
had gotten into a petty argument; that
his wife had jumped from the car and
said she would get home by herself.
When she failed to come home, he had
believed she had gone back to her
folks as she had threatened to do sev-
eral times.
“She wasn’t my wife, you know,” he
confessed staring ahead. “I have a
- wife and two sons in Philadelphia, so
I couldn’t marry Barbara.”
During the next few hours Burholm
changed his story in many details. At
first he said the girl he had been living
with was Barbara Morrow and that
she was an orphan—later he said she
was a waitress named Barbara Mau-
ger. He claimed his name was Russell
St. Clair Beitzel and that he had been
a flyer in the navy and that after a
crackup he had taken up engineering.
The suspect’s willingness to give
facts damaging to his case, puzzled
the detectives. Beitzel told of borrow-
ing a gun from Richard Rudolph Lay-
man of the Western Mutual Cooling
Corporation and of purchasing a box
of cartridges and of trying out the
gun, but claimed he tested the gun on
the Saturday before his wife’s disap-
pearance. Then just as calmly he told
the detectives that Barbara Mauger’s
parents were Mr. and Mrs. Henry L.
‘Mauger and that they lived in Phila-
delphia.
From Philadelphia came the par-
ents’ story. After graduating from the
Drexel Institute of Philadelphia as a
mechanical engineer, Beitzel had be-
come credit manager of Blaumer’s, In-
corporated, of Philadelphia. . There
he met and fell in love with Barbara
Mauger, one of the cashiers. Beitzel,
the handsome, dashing ex-naval of-
ficer, paid ardent court to the lovely
blond youngster. He represented him-
self as single, and the Maugers looked
on complacently. Then, one morning
in early September, 1927, a letter ar-
rived from Barbara, who was sup-
posedly on a week-end visit to friends.
Barbara, their gay, adorable daughter,
in a childlike fashion wrote her par-
ents that she and Russell were even
then on their way to South America.
Russell, she said, had a splendid posi-
tion on a coffee plantation and: soon
they would be married. In broken
sentences, she begged for forgiveness
and told her parents that the baby
clothes, which had been sent out from
the store where she worked—sup-
posedly for the wife of Russell’s
brother—she had taken with her for
the baby she and Russell hoped would
some day be theirs.
The parents awaited anxiously for
word from their beloved daughter.
Then, one morning police officers
called at the Maugers’ home. They
were looking for Russell St. Clair
Beitzel, wanted for embezzlement of
funds from Blaumer’s, Incorporated.
It was then Henry Mauger learned
that the man they had trusted, was
‘married. The reason for the elop-
ment was now plain. ,
So the parents waited for word from
their little Barbara. Months passed.
When word did come it brought
tragedy to the lives of these loving
parents—Barbara Mauger had been
wantonly murdered. Russell St. Clair
Beitzel stood accused of her murder.
Two days after Beitzel’s arrest, into
this story already replete with lurid
headlines, was inserted another chap-
ter, which to the police cleared many
unexplained points. Ted Redell, driver
for the DeLuxe Taxicab Company,
rushed to headquarters with a weird
story. Redell claimed he recognized a
picture of Beitzel as that of a passen-
ger he had taken fora strange ride
the first of July. :
Just as in fiction, the murderer, it
seemed, had returned to the scene of
his crime. Redell claimed that a man
he now believed to be Beitzel hired
his cab for a long, mysterious drive
to a spot along the Mullholland High-
way where this man claimed he had
a cache of whiskey. After a half
hour’s wait the passenger returned in
great excitement claiming his plant
had been raided, and he thought he
was being followed. The passenger
had been drinking all of the way out,
according to Redell and when he left
the cab had carried what looked to
be a bottle of gin wrapped in paper,
and a smaller package.
The story was bizarre, but if true,
explained much. If the bottle con-
tained creosote and the package a pair
of rubber gloves, then without ques-
tion the accused had returned to
where he had left his victim and
dragged or carried the body farther
into the ravine where the chaparral
was thicker. He had poured the creo-
sote over the spot where the body had
at first rested—to kill the odor which
must by then have been most pro-
nounced. This -would explain why
Police chemists found creosote mixed
_with body substance at the spot where
the corpse had lain.
The spot along Mulholland: Drive
where the taxi driver told the officers
he waited for his fare was about 150
yards from the ravine where the buz-
zards ‘fingered’ the skeleton. Redell
said he remembered the place because
he sat and tried to read all the words
on a highway fire warning sign.
Oddly enough, it was to almost this
‘some spot, that Bietzel, smoking an
endless chain of cigarettes, and ac-
companied by Chief of Detectives
Herman Cline, Detective Lieutenants
. Sanderson and Condaffer and Police
Reporter Nancy Lyman, directed the
police car when asked to show where
his wife had gotten out of the car on
that fatal Sunday afternoon.
- Thus, bit by bit, was the chain of
circumstantial evidence forged around
the accused ex-flyer.
The day following the arrest of
Beitzel, Detectives Sanderson and
Condaffer made a thorough examina-
tion of the flat at 841 Golden Avenue.
Every built-in fixture was removed,
the carpets taken up, the beds and
mattresses opened and examined as
was the incinerator in which the de-
fendant was said to have burned many
letters and other things during the
week he remained alone in the flat.
The net result was a bag containing
soiled laundry which Sanderson found
in the lower part of a studio couch.
From the sheets and pillow slips, San-
derson recovered several long, golden
hairs and some shorter black ones.
From some squares of soft cotton cloth,
several body hairs were obtained.
These hairs, Rex E. Welsh, Police
Forensic Chemist declared, were iden-
tical with hairs recovered from the
corpse found in the Hollywood Hills.
The case resolved into one where
scientific tests played a dominant part.
The prosecution’s entire structure
rested on whether or not the body
found in the ravine could be positively
identified as that of Barbara Mauger .
and whether or not the girl had been
slain with a bullet fired from the .38
Colt Army Special which Beitzel ac-
knowledged he had borrowed from a
business associate, and, which he most
obligingly told the officers, was
wrapped in a handkerchief and placed
back of papers in a drawer of his
desk.
Here science stepped in and proved
one point. The .38 Colt Army Special
had at some time been altered to allow
the fitting of a Maxim Silencer, thus
creating “burrs” in the nozzle of the
gun. The second autopsy of the body
after it had been frozen to make this
possible, disclosed that two more bul-
lets had entered the body. These bul-
lets were recovered—one from the
base of the skull and the other from
the decomposed tissues of the back—
and Ballistics Expert Edward. Cross-
man of the Los Angeles Police De-
partment, proved by the “gouges” on
the bullet taken from the back of the
corpse that this bullet had been fired
from that particular .38 Colt Army
Special which Beitzel acknowledged
he took into the hills for target prac-
tice. * :
Then one of the newspaper: men
opened up a ghastly supposition when
he questioned Assistant Autopsy Sur-
geon Frank R. Webb. >
“Would this shot have caused in-
stant death?” questioned the scribe.
“Not necessarily,” replied Dr. Webb.
“Doctor, assuming that a woman —
\=
=
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f the Moun-
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found in the
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in contrast
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no tragedy
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have made
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sition that
eeth, backs
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NOLD
CANYO
“He asked Barbara to get
a gun from a dresser
drawer and tell .
him the numbers on it,
wt
so he could buy the right
sized bullets for it.”
2 SORES
ee
S. Seteiint Se
40
“FISHING
SUPPLIES
swifter. The impact slammed him to the floor against the
magazine rack, and magazines tumbled from it into a
widening pool of blood. ;
The man with the gun entered the store. Behind him
came.another man, also armed. The second gunman, stand-
ing close to the crumpled form on the floor, fired one shot
into the head of the wounded proprietor. The other gunman
snatched up the metal cash box. Then the two fled to a
waiting car and vanished in the darkness.
Thirty minutes later a youth and a girl, driving along the
old highway, saw the lights of the liquor store. “Maybe we’
could get some aspirin there for my headache,” the girl
said.
The car pulled up in front of the store. The driver hopped
out and went to the door. It was open, and he glanced in,
For a moment he stood there, frozen with shock. Then he
raced back to his car. ‘‘We’ve got to find a cop,” he gasped.
“It’s a murder!” eos
When the Fresno County sheriff’s officers arrived, Homer
P. Bryan still lay sprawled on the floor just inside the
front door. A glance told them that the young man, who
had earned the Distinguished Flying Cross and other com-
bat decorations in the flak-filled skies over Europe during
World War II, was dead. The keys still hung in the door
and beside him lay the padlock with which he habitually
secured the lock. They noted that the cash register had been
emptied, but there was no sign of the-metal cash box, Nor
could they discover any clue to the killer, or killers.
After arranging for the removal of the body, and for the
victim’s young wife to be notified in the Bryan home, seven
miles away in the center of Fresno, Detective Sergeants
Duane F. Lauters and Americo Papeleo went on to the
tavern near the murder scene. There they questioned cus-
tomers and employees, but no one there recalled hearing
any commotion or gunshots at the liquor store. The only
thing that might have any bearing on the murder was one
customer’s recollection that, at about 9:45, he had seen a
car driving slowly between the liquor store and the tavern.
But he could not describe the car. or its occupants. ;
The autopsy report, two days later, disclosed that the slug
which entered Bryan’s stomach was .32 caliber, but the
bullet in his head came'from a .22 caliber weapon. Obvi-
ously, then, there were two gunmen. A third bullet was dug
In five weeks detectives of three states tracked down gunmen who invaded liquor store and shot owner Homer P. Bryan to death
from the door of the store. This was another .32 caliber.
Sergeants Papeleo and Lauters worked tirelessly to get a
line on the gunmen, but none of their usual sources of in-
formation could provide a clue to the wanton killers. It
looked as if they must have come from somewhere outside
of Fresno County.
On May 26th funeral services were held for the former
war hero at 10 a.m. in the Tinkler Mission Chapel. The
services were conducted by fellow members of Fresno Post
4, American Legion, and the little chapel was filled with
friends who mourned the popular young businessman.
Meanwhile Sergeants Papeleo and Lauters continued their
search for his slayers. \
Many of Bryan’s former customers, learning of the slay-
ing through newspapers, radio and television, came in to
talk with the two detective sergeants, hoping to be of some
help. But though this helped the officers to retrace Bryan’s
entire last day, up to 9:50 p.m., no good lead resulted.
The cash register showed that two small sales had been
made after 9:50 p.m, Through the press police requested
the persons who had made those last two purchases to re-
port to them. But there was no response.
In Modesto, California, 98 miles north of Fresno on High-
way 99, police also were looking for two gunmen who had
held up the Red Carpet Liquor store on May 21st, the night
before the Fresno slaying. They had pistol-whipped the
young clerk on duty and got away with $200. The brutally
beaten clerk could only vaguely describe his assailants,
though he was sure he would know them if he saw them
again. He believed one of the guns with which he was
beaten was a .32 caliber pistol.
Fresno police considered the possibility that they might
be looking for the same two gunmen. But several weeks
passed and the combined efforts of the officials concerned
brought no break in the case. On June 14th a group of
Fresno area liquor dealers collected among themselves
$1,000, which they offered as a reward to anyone providing
any information which led to a solution of the Bryan slay-
ing. But this, too, failed to bring any helpful results.
The Fresno authorities routinely notified police of neigh-
boring states of their search for the two cold-blooded
killers of Homer P. Bryan, and as not infrequently happens,
a similar crime in another state finally gave them a lead.
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BY JOHN SINOR
HE SMALL LIQUOR STORE at the corner
of Shaw Avenue and Highway 99 in Fres-
no, California, was doing a thriving busi-
ness when Homer P. Bryan first acquired it,
seven years ago. But when the new Freeway
was opened, in 1959, the old highway becamea
side street. There were no houses nearby and
the only neighboring business was a small tav-
ern a few hundred feet to the south.
An ex-fighter pilot with the rank of first lieu-
tenant in the Army Air Corps, and after the
war a biologist for the state department of
fish and game, Bryan, now 37, made a com-
fortable living for his wife, Betty, and their
two small sons, Mark and Brad. He also wrote
a column on hunting and fishing in the San
Joaquin Valley for Western Outdoor News, and
he sold fishing supplies, magazines and news-
papers as well as liquor in his little store.
At closing time on the evening of May 22,
1961, Bryan emptied the newspaper rack out-
side the front door. Leaving his key in the
lock, he went inside, straightened the maga-
zines on the display rack, and removed the
money from the cash register. He placed the
money, about $130, in the small metal box
in which he customarily carried it home. It was
now exactly 10 p.m.
As Bryan turned toward the door he heard
footsteps outside. A map, hung across the
glass on the front door, prevented him from
seeing anyone standing outside. He opened
the door.
Light from the store glinted on the barrel
of a gun. With lightning-swift reaction Bryan
attempted to slam the door shut—but the
bullet that crashed into his stomach was
Bloodstained floor and magazines marked where victim fell s
Saeetditieed iikecanencenapemenenenaiemmanl —
+r P. Bryan to death
‘nother .32 caliber.
d tirelessly to get a
isual sources of in-
wanton killers, It
somewhere outside
&
ield for the former
ission Chapel. The
bers of Fresno Post
pel was filled with
sung businessman.
ers continued their
‘sarning of the slay-
2vision, came in to
sping to be of some
to retrace Bryan’s
lead resulted.
nall sales had been
ss police requested
yo purchases to re-
of Fresno on High-
o gunmen who had
May 21st, the night
pistol-whipped the
. $200. The brutally
ribe his assailants,
m if he saw them
th which he was
ity that they might
But several weeks
officials concerned
ie 14th a group of
among themselves
‘oO anyone providing
. of the Bryan slay-
ipful results.
ied police of neigh-
two cold-blooded
frequently happens,
gave them a lead.
Be
we
Bi:
a
+t
eee ie
TP eee AS Witter Ei
he report came from Arizona. In Phoenix, on June 20th, _
Edward F. Smith, 21-year-old service station attendant,
’ made his way to police headquarters. He had been held up,
shot and robbed of $100, he told the officials, by two gun-—
men who then flung him into their car and carried him out
to:a lonely road, where they dumped him out. Smith, who _
fortunately was not seriously wounded, told police his cap-_
tors had bragged about killing a man in a Fresno, Califor- —
nia, liquor store holdup. : ;
Taken to the Phoenix rogues gallery, the young service
station attendant picked out two mug shots and positively
identified them as those of his assailants. These were James
A. Bentley, 25, of Gilbert, Arizona, formerly of Artesia,
New Mexico, and Fred Dale Waldo, 23, of Modesto,
California.
A check by the Phoenix authorities revealed that the pair
had served sentences together at the Preston School of In-
dustry, a California Youth Facility in Ione, Amador County.
Police also learned that Bentley and Waldo had been seen
together in Gilbert, Arizona, two hours before the service
station holdup. °
Arizona also was looking for the unidentified killer or
killers of an Oklahoma couple, J. D. Welch, 33, and his wife.
Utha, 31, who were found shot to death in their car along
Highway 66 near Seligman, Arizona, on June 9th. The.
Welches had been driving from their home in Oklahoma to
visit relatives in California when they were slain. It was
now considered possible that Bentley and Waldo might be
involved in this crime.
On June 22nd Fred Waldo was picked up in Eloy, Ari-
zona. Unarmed, and sporting a black dye job on his hair,
Waldo offered no resistance, but he refused to answer any
questions. Taken to the Phoenix jail, he was booked on
charges of kidnaping, robbery and assault with a deadly
weapon in the holdup of service station attendant Smith.
A “Hold” was placed on him for the Fresno authorities.
Informed of Waldo’s arrest, Fresno Detective Sergeants
Lauters and Papeleo flew to Phoenix to question the sullen
young suspect. Waldo still refused to talk, but from the
Arizona officers the Fresno detectives got further informa-
tion on Bentley, whom Arizona now listed as its ‘Most
Wanted” man, warning all police agencies to consider him
“armed and dangerous.”
i P ‘ Sit a 4 SP st Ce ; = rae
Bryan was hit once by a .32 caliber bullet, once by a bullet from a .22 caliber weapon. Another .32 bullet was dug from door
The fugitive Bentley, the Fresno detectives learned, was
a former mental patient at Napa, California, State Hospital.
He was reported to be married and it was ‘believed that his
wife might be living somewhere near Modesto. Modesto po-
lice and the Stanislaus County sheriff’s officers had been
warned he might be headed their way.
It was also learned that the young service station attend-
ant, Smith, had recalled two names he had heard his gun-
men captors mention—they had said something about
working around Modesto with “Spider,” and another time
they had mentioned a name that sounded something like
“Chappelle.”
Informed of this, Modesto Sheriff Dan Kelsay directed
- two of his detectives, Sergeants Bob Field and Don Bear, to
search their nickname file. They failed to find “Spider,” but
another detective, Sergeant Jack Gaylord, pulled out of his
memory an old case involving a misdemeanor charge .
against a former Modestan, one Billy Joe Chapple; some-
times called ‘‘Spider.”
Chapple, a 23-year-old fruit picker, and his wife Linda
Kathleen, 22, were said to have moved away from Modesto
some time ago. But a check by Sergeants Bear and Field
produced a tip that the couple had returned to the city and
were living on the southern outskirts of town with their
“18-month-old daughter, Considering their connection with
Bentley and Waldo a tenuous one, the detectives did not
approach’ the Chapples, but kept under surveillance the
small rented house where they were living.
Meanwhile Sergeants Lauters and Papeleo were having
little suecess in their questioning of Fred Waldo. Fresno
County Deputy District Attorney George Carter had joined
them in Phoenix, but the solemn-faced youth merely stared
past the officers as the questions were put to him. Only once -
did he make an outright answer when, accused of the mur-
der of Homer Bryan, he emphatically denied it. But he did
not deny that he had bragged of killing a California liquor
store proprietor. ;
Discussing the suspect later, the Fresno officials felt con-
vinced that’ Waldo was one of the pair who had gunned
down Homer Bryan on May 22nd. Attorney Carter phoned
District Attorney E. Clarke Savory in Fresno, “Waldo
denies the killing, but we feel he’s a hot suspect.” It was
decided that murder and armed robbery charges would be
41
=
aden il ntaAD etl ci 22s
Homer Bryan was a decorated hero of World War Il,
but he never had a chance against
'
i the two gunmen who came at him with pistols blazing
9§
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I
ote
Bloo
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Two Lives for One—The Horror in Stone Canyon (Continued from Page 27)
“Well, she lives right beneath you,”
Condaffer said.
“Oh, you mean Mrs. Burholme—
Barbara—oh, my goodness. What
happened to her?”
“Easy, lady, easy,” I said.
“We just wanted to know if these
beads were hers,” Condaffer said gent-
ly. He pulled the beads from his
pocket and rolled them around in the
palm of his hand.? Mrs. Burns followed
them with her eyes.
“I don’t know ... they look like
some of Barbara’s .. . now let me see
... yes, I believe I did see some like
that on her. You know Barbara was
one of my dearest friends although
she’d only lived here a short while.”
“When did you see her last?” I
asked.
“Why, it was last June—she was go-
ing to have a baby and went to her
aunt’s in Long Beach—that’s what Mr.
Burholme told me, anyhow. That was
kind of funny, wasn’t it?”
“What was funny?”
N\A/HY, that she didn’t tell me about
it before she left.”
Both Condaffer and I were puzzled,
but we could do little about it. “Tell
us more about Barbara and her hus-
band,” Condaffer urged.
“Well, last April, or was it May—I
don’t recall which, but no doubt Mrs.
Murphy, that’s the landlady, can tell
you—the Burholmes moved in. His
name is Russell and I must say he is a
gentleman and handsome.”
“Yes, Mrs. Burns,” said Condaffer.
“Well, to get on with my story, Bar-
bara was a beautiful girl—so carefree,
so young—she was only about eighteen.
So young to have a baby. She was go-
ing to have the baby in a few days.
I wonder how she is getting on...
Barbara was looking forward to having
a child. She was so much in love and
she told me all about her romance. She
and Russell were married in Atlantic
City, she said, and had come to Los
Angeles to live—she said she hoped
it was for always.”
“Yes, Mrs. Burns. Did she ever
mention where her husband worked?”
I asked.
“Yes, she said he worked in the
Metropolitan Building downtown.”
“Did he own a car?” I asked.
“Oh, no. That’s what I was going to
tell you. It was only a few days be-
fore she left that Russell rented a.car
and took her out to Laurel Drive and
Mulholland Drive—you know, out near
Stone Canyon...”
“Yes, Mrs. Burns.” I tried to keep
the excitement out of my voice.
“Well, when they came back .. .”
“Oh, they came back?” I said in a
flat voice.”
“Why, of course they came back.
And they had such a lovely time. That
was in June.”
Both Condaffer and myself had
been sitting on the edge of our chairs
when Mrs. Burns mentioned Stone
Canyon, but we had settled back.
“Do you know if they got along all
right?”
“Why, yes, except there were times
when I went down to Barbara and I
thought that she had been crying—you
know, her eyes were red—but then I
always did think that expectant moth-
ers were so, so emotional—don’t you
think so, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Mrs. Burns,” said Condaffer.
“And, then, there was the gun...”
“The gun?” we both shouted.
Mrs. Burns jumped to her feet, she
was so startled. Then she sank back
in the depths of the armchair.
“Oh, there’s not much about that.
But you know the day that Barbara
and Russell went out to Stone Canyon
again...”
“Oh, they went again?”
“Yes. That was on June 24—I re-
member it because it was Sunday and
because I didn’t see Barbara after
(1 t g
“Yes, what happened?” Condaffer
said.
“Well, Russell called up three days
-before that and wanted Barbara to
read him the numbers on a gun he had
—a pistol—in his dresser drawer. He
wanted her to tell him what caliber it
was so he could buy shells for it. He
said they’d go up in the hills Sunday
‘and do some target practise. Both Bar-
bara and I were deathly afraid of the
thing—but Barbara called me and to-
gether we found out that it was a .38
caliber, Barbara told Russell and then
hung up the telephone.”
“Do you know any more about the
gun?” I asked.
- “No, except that Barbara told me
that Russell had borrowed it from a
man who he worked with and that he
might buy it.”
“Did they go to the hills for target
practise?” I asked.
“Yes, they went out that afternoon,
like I said. I never saw Barbara after
that. because she went to her aunt’s.”
“How do you know she went to her
aunt’s?” Condaffer asked.
“Russell told me so when he came
back that night without Barbara.”
“Have you seen Russell lately, Mrs.
Burns?”
“No, he left his apartment three days
later, June 27. I don’t know where he
lives now.”
“Do you know what the aunt’s name
was in Long Beach?”
“No, Barbara never mentioned it to
me—that’s what I meant when I said
it was so funny.”
Condaffer got something in his vest
pocket.
“Do you recognize this, Mrs. Burns?”
he asked.
“Oh, my gracious! That’s Barbara’s
wedding ring! What’s happened to
her?”
“She’s dead,” I said. “She’s been
murdered!”
Mrs. Burns fainted.
We left as soon as we could. Mrs.
Burns had given us a wealth of valu-
able material to work on, but the best
lead was the Metropolitan Building. It
was late and we let that rest for a
moment while we turned again to the
other residents of the Golden Avenue
Apartment building. The first woman
questioned was Mrs. A. M. Murphy, the
landlady. She had been out when we
rang before.
But Mrs. Murphy didn’t know any-
thing definite.
“I always did think,” she said, “that
there was something wrong about her
leaving—I mean Mrs. Burholme. I'll
bet you'll find that body is hers. I just
couldn’t accept her husband’s story.”
We next questioned Mrs. Thompson
and Mrs. Allen, neighbors who had
been social acquaintances of the Bur-
holmes. The last time Mrs. Allen had
seen Barbara was on June 24.
“She was very happy that morning,”
the woman recalled. “She was ex-
cited about a picnic she and her hus-
band had planned in Stone Canyon. A
little later, I saw her run out and climb
into the car, where Mr. Burholme was
waiting.”
<i Dig deg you recall anything about
the car—what make and so
forth?” asked Condaffer.
“It was a roadster. I think it was a
new Buick.”
“And when did the husband get
back?”
“That I can’t say. But I know he
was back the next day, because I heard
him singing in his flat in the morning.”
With that we left. Mrs. Burns had
given us a good description of Bur-
holme, and we felt sure that we could
find him at the Metropolitan Build-
ing—if he was still alive. We still
considered the possibility that he
might also be dead despite the fact
that two of his neighbors had said he
had returned from the expedition to
Stone Canyon. .
“You see,” Condaffer said, “it’s this
way. Burholme and his wife may
have been threatened. For all we
know Mrs. Burholme may have been
in love with someone ,else—a jealous
lover. Supposing he met them in
Stone Canyon, shot Mrs. Burholme
while Russell fled. He may have come
back and ducked out of town as
quick as he coyld. Ill admit that
sounds cowardly, but you ‘know how
some people are. I'll admit that our
strongest case is against Russell and
we must locate him, but we have to
keep an open mind on things like this.
I'll. say one thing, we’ve done pretty
darn well to get that body identified.”
“Right,” I agreed.
We went back and got Mrs. Burns
and her son, Ralph. They agreed to
accompany us to the Metropolitan
Theater, where they believed Bur-
holme to be working. Mrs. Burns had
recovered from her fainting spell and
had a good grip on herself. She was
silent on the trip downtown.
We reached the building just as the
crowds were emerging from the
theater, which occupied most of the
building. We began on the elevator
operators; none of them knew Bur-
holme or had ever seen him. That dis-
appointed us because at least two of
the operators had been on duty in the
building for a considerable length of
time, and because Mrs. Burns was
certain that Burholme had been one
= the elevator operators in the build-
g.
We went backstage where the
vaudeville performers were congre-
gated for after-the-show chats. Here
we questioned the manager of the
theater, but his information was the
same as the elevator operator’s—‘No,
I never knew the man.”
“But I know Russell Burholme
worked in the building,” Mrs. Burns
insisted. “Of course, I may be wrong
about what position he held.”
We left the Metropolitan Theater
and called the president of the Eleva-
tor Operators’ union; He checked the
records, but Burholme’s name did not
appear.
We went to bed.
T= next morning we found the pa-
| pers full of the mysterious murder
in Stone Canyon. Doctor A. F. Wagner,
autopsy surgeon of Los Angeles, had
made an announcement to the press
that lashed public opinion into a fren-
zy. It was the Doctor’s judgment that
the bullet wound would not necessarily
have been fatal had the victim re-
ceived medical attention.
It was probable, he said, that the girl
had been only blinded and stunned.
She had fallen to the floor of the
canyon to die a slow, agonizing death,
with wild beasts prowling about her.
During this time, her baby probably
had been born—prematurely ...
We called Mrs. Burns the first thing
that morning, thinking that she may
have recalled new details concerning
her strange neighbors. We were
lucky.
“T just remember,” she said, “that I
used to call a number for Barbara, It
was Metropolitan one-five-two-five,
and when she got the. number she
asked for the engine room .. .”
We dashed off for a phone. The
operator at the end of the information
line told us that the number was for
the Metropolitan Building, not for the
Metropolitan Theater.
We presented ourselves at the en-
gine-room.
“Is Burholme here?” Condaffer ask-
ed. “Burholme—Russell Burholme?”
“Sorry, nobody here by that name,”
Chief Engineer E. L. Sergeant an-
swered. He told us he was the only
engineer employed there and had
worked for a long time at the same
position. We were turning to leave,
when he said:
“Say, about three months ago, a
cooling system was being installed
here. There were a bunch of young
structural engineers working on that
job; maybe Burholme was one of
them.”
“What company installed the sys-
tem?” I asked.
“The Carrier Engineering Corpora-
tion,” he replied. “Their office is at
911 Mateo Street. They’re now in-
stalling a plant at the Biltmore Hotel.”
So we went to the Biltmore. There
we met Engineer John Queen. To him
we confided our quest, and he went
over his list of employes.
'HE fifth name on the list was—
Russell Burholme!
But Burholme wasn’t working at the
Biltmore. .
“He’s still employed by the company,
however,” Queen said. “I think you'll
find him over at the office—911 Mateo
Street.”
As we parked our car in front of the
building where the Carrier Engineer-
ing Company had its offices, a man
stepped from a machine directly ahead
of ours. We walked to the door; he
was at our heels,
“Pardon me,” he said, “were you
looking for someone here?”
We turned.
“Yes,” said Lieutenant Condaffer.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Polderman... L. H.
Polderman. I’m manager of the Car-
rier Corporation office here. You're
police officers, aren’t you?”
We nodded, surprised, wordless.
“T thought so,” said Polderman. “I
sort of expected you’d be around.
Looking for Russell Burholme?”
“Yes,” Condaffer admitted.
“What do you know about it?” I
was really astonished—the man must
be a mind-reader.
“Oh,” Polderman said easily, “I
haven’t any guilty knowledge—if that’s
what you’re thinking. But when I
read the newspaper this morning about
that girl’s body being found up in the
hills, I just had a hunch that she would
turn out to be Burholme’s wife.”
“Did you know the girl?”
“I met her several times. The paper’s
description hit her to a ‘T.’ I’ve thought
something funny happened ever since
I heard the story Burholme told me
about his aunt taking her East. There
wasn’t any reason for him to confide
in me—it struck me odd at the time.”
I said, “Is Burholme at work?”
“Yes,’”’
“Will you take us to him?” Con-
daffer asked.
Polderman pursed his ‘lips, then
said: “I’ll point him out to you, of
course, but I don’t want to be put on
the spot. I want to duck out of sight
after I show you who he is.”
That was agreeable and we followed
him into the building. Polderman led
us to the rear of the warehouse and
pointed to a young man standing at a
table in the back of the place.
“That’s Burholme,” he said, “talking
on the telephone.”
“Thanks,” said Condaffer.
We walked toward the young fellow.
Condaffer walked up to his right; I; his
left. He replaced the receiver on the
“Is your name Burholme—Russell
Burholme?” Condaffer asked.
“Yes ... you're police officers, aren’t
you?” His voice was firm. “I’ve been
expecting you,” he added.
I’ve never been expected by so
many people before, but I said only,
“Put out your hands.”
The Next Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES of
Women in Crime Will Be on Sale Wednesday, February 23
40
AD6
ished together. Two murders had ple, emerging from the right eye and
been committed—not one, on out through the bridge of the nose.”
“You know, this woman and child “You may be right, Sandy, but the
have been dead for a long while, She body may have been moved,”
was married. Why hasn’t her husband “That's right, Frank, but it also
turned in a missing complaint? Is he looks as if the hole in the base of the
dead, too?” skull had been made by a shot from
We went on with our gruesome behind. I’m going to stick to that
search, and under Some leaf-mold we theory, anyhow.”
found two Pieces of the infant’s pelvic We could find no exit hole for this
bone. Beyond that we found nothing. last, bullet wound, and if my theo:
We returned to the woman’s body was correct, we had high hopes of lo~
for a closer examination, Just back of cating the bullet inside the skull. This
the right temple—it had been con- would give us a definite lead on the
used
that they had been caused by a 38 find. He stooped over and Picked up a
caliber bullet and that at least one small white object which he rolled be-
bullet had been fired from behind the tween his thumb and forefinger,
woman
“It appears to me,” I said “that one
Shot was fired through the right tem- HE HAD a small bone bead—a bead
store variety, Realizing that it is upon
such slender clews that murder cases
» aS you said, the body was
moved later,” I added. “That probably
explains why a deodorant was
used. Whoever did the crime wanted
name was her right leg cut off?”
The author, Detective Lieutenant
Sanderson, ‘and Raymond Beitzel
examine a barrel full of rubbish
Mrs. Mae Burns, neighbor to the
woman who owned the clothes that
were packed and sent to Arizona
faces as we examined the dead wo-
man more closely,
Her skin, dry and parchment-like,
was taut as a drumhead against the
bones. :
“Must have been here at least two
me Posibi oie id Condaffer, “but i
“Possibly,” sa indaffer, “but in
this heat it’s more likely that she’s Preservation, The gmarksble, state o
4 jbeen here a month or so—if that ng, dainty—the | nails still showed
f ‘ signs of having been we manicur
sl wa a ghaty tal element peace, Peet well matics
Condaffer removed the ring care-
tight in a leering grin over the few — _ studied the inner aide for
teeth remaining in the mouth. These or y
‘eeth were white, well formed and “there’s no engraving. Nothing here
oven.
The ribs were expos ed on’ the right but some Scratches and the jeweler
ide of the body and a internal or-
‘ans were missing. But even more re- herd “0 eegeith 2 glass when we get
narkable was the fact that the girl’s Pgs ;
ight leg was missing, HERE ‘was nothing extraordinary
“And look. at it,” Condaffer ex- about the ring itself.
— “It’s been cut off—severed at row Bold band carved with a wreath
1e hip.” . a
There was no doubt that it had been lar rings could be found in Los An-
10pped off deliberately, because the geles within a half hour.
cin ended in a sharp line and col- It was getting late and Condaffer
psed inward where the flesh had Suggested that we all] join the search
rtted away. for some missing clothes. :
“Thompson and Murphy — look Some moments later he made the
ound. Find her missing leg and most remarkable and most horrible
me clothes. There’s nothing here to discovery of all,
entify her.” e stumbled upon another human
Condaffer and I bent over the body skull—a tiny skull—so small, indeed,
ain. The left leg, we could see, had ° it could only have been that of a pre-
en well proportioned despite the maturely born baby, It resembled a
immy-like skin which now encased portion. of an orange rind,
The left foot was equally shapely, The -rest of. the infant’s body had
r right hand had been badly muti- been consumed by the Scavenging
ed by vermin, rodents or coyotes, prowlers. There could be little doubt
‘, Strangely, the left forearm and that a.mother and her child had per-
SO EB Rs i Fly ile Qala
scription of the body in Stone Canyon, |
We did run across a peculiar item. It
had occurred several months before’
and may only have been the result of
some crank’s whim,
The report indicated that a woman
‘ had called, refused to give her name,
but. related .an incident which had oc-
i curred to her at a musical Show.
that during the
when the entire chorus had
danced onto the Stage, another wo-
man, a young girl, had leaned forward,
grabbed her arm and Said:
“There she is—the second girl from
the left as we face the stage—that is.
the girl my husband is in love with.
He’s going to get rid of me. I don’t
think I'll. be alive—”
Before her astonished neighbor could
make a reply, the pretty young woman
who had uttered these strange remarks
arose and darted up the aisle.
That was all there was to it, but
Condaffer and I mulled over the report
—more because of its curiosity than
anything else,
“It could have been her husband,
of course,” Condaffer Said,
“Now listen, boys,”
“you play ball with
ball-with you. We
pretty good yarn here, but we don’t
want to let too much of it get out at
once.” :
“Okay, Frank,” one of them said.
“Spill your stuff.”
“Well, we’ve found the body of a
in Stone Canyon,
We don’t know who she is yet, but
we're out. I don’t think
it will do any harm if you run her
description”—Condaffer nodded at one-
of the reporters—"yes, we think it’s
murder,” ;
ANX?.£0 the papers published our re-
constructed description of the mur-
dered girl. It ran something like this:
“American, blonde, eighteen to 25
years old; well formed; expected or
just had a baby; i
“Let’s take a look at that ring,
Frank,” I answered. :
Condaffer brought a magnifying
glass and together we studied the
scratches on the ring’s inner surface,
The band was Practically new and the
Scratches, under the glass, showed up
plainly.
“Qne-oh-four-seven,” Condaffer read
aloud and I jotted them down.
“Sounds like a Pawnbroker’s num-
ber. Let’s look over the pawn sheets,”
And so we settled down to the
drudgery of wading through a Pile of
pawn records, but before we could
really get started a couple of reporters
drifted: in. They were on the rounds of
their béat and their check was only
‘routine.
Mr. and Mrs. Mauger, bereft par-
ents, stand at the scene of Bar-
bara’s death with Lt. Sanderson
Evidence in a murder case: Three
bullets above, one ring and four
white beads, In the circle below
Russell Burholme, who
_ Sang” in his bath
to communicate with us .in the Centr;
Homicide Detail it they had any ir
formation regarding a young woma
answering to the description.
With the reporters
As
sociation He told u
the scratching must have been mad:
WE WASTED no time. It was past
early evening so we hurried with
all possible speed to the address he had
supplied — a yellowish-brown, four-
family apartment house, on the west
side of the street about a half-block
south of Eighth Street,
A ring at No. 841 brought no re-
Sponse. Using our flashlights, we dis-
Covered that th : :
Therefore we tried the near neighbors.
One family was out, b
that a Mrs. Mae Burns and her son,
Ralph, occupied the upper right-hand
flat directly over No. 841 and that they
had lived there for a considerable
length of time, «-¢: :
They were not at home, but we de-
cided to wait. At 10:30 p.m.—an hour
later—Mrs. Burns and her son drove
up. Mrs. Burns was a nervous, dra-
matic woman. - :
“Oh, my Soodness, the police,” she
= ainied when we. introduced our-
selves,
‘“We came about a Mrs, Barber,
ma’am,” I said.
“Mrs, Barber, Mrs. Barber? J don't
know her. Who js she?”
(Continued on Page 40)
27
He complied and I snapped the
handcuffs on him, ;
“You're here to question me about
my wife?” :
“We are.” bd
“Well, where can we go?” he asked.
“For a little ride,” Condaffer said
softly.
We left the building. I looked at Con-
daffer, who had a puzzled expression
on his face. My lips formed the word,
“Confession.” He nodded uncertainly
and we moved on. Burholme acted as
if he could scarcely wait to leave the
place before pouring out his whole
story. I was surprised, but Condaffer
was not, when we got into a cab and
Burholme burst out:
“When I read the papers this morn-
ing, I had a hunch that the body was
my wife’s. She’s been missing for a
long time,”
We were silent. Later he said:
“She met another man here. He was
infatuated with her, but I don’t think
she cared for him that way. She was
just mildly interested. But it annoyed
me that he paid her attentions; I often
chided her about him,”
Then we arrived at Headquarters,
and we decided to take Burholme out
to the scene of the murder.
Besides Condaffer, Burholme and
myself, we had Police Photographer
Harry Thorpe and the Department’s
official secretary, Miss Nancy Lyman,
in the car. We started to question him
almost immediately. Apparently he
didn’t realize it, but Miss Lyman took
down every question and answer in
shorthand.
Here is part of the record:
“What was your wife’s name, Bur-
me?”
e weren’t married.”
he was pregnant, wasn’t she?”
“es, but I’m already married.”
Here was our motive to an unspeak-
able crime,
. “What was this girl’s name?”
“Barbara Mauger.”
“How about the wedding ring she
wore?”
“Oh, she bought that herself,”
“How old was she?”
“She was nineteen.”
“Tell us just how you met Barbara.” :
“Well, it was back East in Philadel-
phia. I was working in a:store there,
Blaumer’s Department Store. She
ae there, too. That’s how.I met
ern G
And so the story continued, in jerky -
questions and answers, as the car took
the bumps and twists in the tricky
road leading to Stone Canyon. Many
times we had to repeat our questions,
and often it was necessary to make our
suspect repeat his answers. The going
was rough, and we wanted Miss Ly-
man to get it all down in her note-
book.
Then Condaffer fired a surprise shot:
“What’s your real name, Burholme?”
“Beitzel—Russell St. Clair Beitzel,”
he answered without thinking.
“Why do you go as Burholme out
here?”
“Trouble back home,”
“Where is your wife?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think
, she is with her own people near Lan-
caster, Pennsylvania.”
“Do you have any children?”
“Yes—two boys.”
“Where are you from?”
a WAS born in York, Pennsylvania.
I had a hitch in the Navy.”
Beitzel finally explained,the “trou-
ble” in Philadelphia which made him
a fugitive from justice, as well as a
sex-mad philanderer, and now—pos-"
sibly—the murderer of his sweetheart,
fe had misappropriated $5,000 worth
4 funds and merchandise from the
jepartment store, including a complete
set of baby’s clothes!
Clothes for a baby, destined to be
»orn prematurely in the bleak loneli-
' of Stone Canyon—and devoured
d beasts!
police car reached the point on
wlland Drive nearest the spot
where the mother’s body had lain
1aked to the wind, rain and vultures,
Beitzel stepped out, his air of un-
‘oncern apparently unshaken. We
stood clustered around him there in
ADO
the roadway, and the rapid-fire inter-
rogation continued. It was enough to
shake the nerves of an innocent man,
but he just smoked and answered all
questions easily, almost lightly.
Beitzel told of the picnic trip, on a
Sunday towards the end of June. Dur-
ing the ride, he said, the girl had
nagged him about marriage. A quar-
rel started. Barbara demanded that
he stop the car. He did. The girl got
out and walked away. ©
“Well?”
“I waited a while,. then came on
back to town.”
“You left her out here—a pregnant
woman, with no means of getting back
home—on a hot highway alone?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t ride with me.
She said she could manage.”
The party descended the steep bank
of the canyon and halted where the
body had been found. Condaffer kept
after the suspect:
“And you have never seen Barbara
since that Sunday, Beitzel?”
“That’s right.”
Why hadn’t he reported Barbara’s
disappearance to the police?
“Because I didn’t want to get into
any trouble.”
He feigned surprise when the exact
The “perfect witness,” Ted Redell, right,
LeRoy Sanderson what happened when Redell and Russell
We took him down there—to a room
lighted by a single drop bulb hanging
over a bare table. And on the table
—naked to his eyes—was the pitiful
wreckage of the woman who had
loved him enough to leave her home,
her family, her reputation.
The undertaker had placed the tiny
skull and pelvic bones of her baby—
their baby—hbeside . her. :
We stood around the table, far
enough out of the light so that Beitzel
hace see our faces as we studied
is.
He was perfectly calm, unemotional
as he looked down: on the body—the
little skull. He examined it with de-
tached interest until Condaffer couldn’t
stand it any longer. Suddenly he
shattered our grim silence, growling in
a low, portentous voice:
“Beitzel, how can you stand there—
looking down at the eyeless body of
the woman who loved you—at the
skull of your own child—and not
flicker an eyelash? What’s the mat-
ter with you? Haven’t you any feel-
ing?”
Beitzel lit a cigarette, looked over
into the shadows where we stood and
asked, drawling with amusement,
“What am I supposed to do—faint?
tells Detective Lieutenant
Beitzel,
center, took a wild cab ride one day to Stone Canyon and back again
spot where the body had landed after
its fall down the canyon was pointed
out .to him.
“Beitzel,” Condaffer shouted sud-
denly, “what did you do with the gun?
You brought one along on that picnic
trip—what did you do with it?”
He admitted having the gun for
target practise. He had not shot at
anything in particular, but merely
tried it out. “I thought I might buy
it,” he added. The gun was now in
one of the drawers of his desk, where
we actually found it.
Where were her clothes?
He had _ no satisfactory explanation,
but he did confess that he had packed
up the rest of her wardrobe and
shipped them to some town in Arizona,
giving a Seattle return address. Of
the clothes she wore that day we found
only four beads.
He claimed that he had been wor-
ried over Barbara leaving him—so
worried that he had not known what
he was doing.
But his neighbors said he whistled
and sang in their flat the morning
after the fatal trip.
With this he shut up like a clam,
refusing to make any further state-
ments until an attorney had been en-
gaged to represent him.
If that was all he was going to say
—that he had left her on the highway
and shipped her extra clothes out of
the State, then we had another idea:
The undertaker’s. ;
This isn’t Barbara. I don’t know this
woman.” :
We got him out of there, rushed him
to Headquarters and held him on
“suspicion of murder.” We had to
put him some place before one of us
took a poke at him.
For the next few days, the Barbara
Mauger tragedy was strictly Page One
news not alone in the Los Angeles
papers. In staid Philadelphia, the po-
lice located the parents of the dead
woman. Her father, Henry Mauger, a
hard-working railroad freight con-
ductor, made tentative identification of
the body from telegraphed descrip-
tions. He said that if the body were
really that of his missing daughter, it
would be brought back to Philadelphia
for burial, but expressed willingness to
journey to the Pacific Coast city, if
the authorities there needed him.
Then a fugitive warrant was issued
by the Philadelphia Detective Bureau,
to insure Beitzel’s return should he
escape the charge preferred against
him in Los Angeles. This warrant
covered his embezzlement from his
former employers, Blaumer’s Depart-
ment Store, of cash, checks and mer-
chandise. In checking up on Beitzel,
we found that after he and Barbara
vanished, the sum of $1,100 had been
missing from the delivery drivers’
drawer. He had been assistant credit
manager, and had used his position to
cash. several bogus checks totaling
$350, and to charge baby clothes and
- melodramatic was
garments for Miss Mauger to the in-
‘active account of a customer of the
store residing in Pottsville, Pennsyl-
vania.
The wife of the accused man, Mrs.
Jean Mellinger Beitzel, was near col-
lapse at the home of an aunt, who had
taken her in with her two children,
aged four and five. She wanted to
see her husband once more, but re-
fused to go to his aid,
Henry Mauger testified that he and
his wife had received a letter from
Barbara, a short time after her disap-
pearance, in which the girl begged for
parental forgiveness. She had written
that she and Beitzel were on their way
to South America, to live there as hus-
band and wife, “where no one would
be the wiser.”
BEZZZEL, from his jail cell, wrote
Barbara’s parents a letter, in which
he said:
“I know what you feel toward me
for what has happened, but I know
you do not believe I killed Barbara.
I loved Barbara too much—too much
to hurt her, anyway. I still love her
and do not believe she is dead.”
The bundle of clothing which Beitzel
had shipped to Arizona was located
and returned to us. Addressed to a
fictitious person, it had been held in
the express office for several weeks,
The items in the package were identi-
fied by Mrs. Burns as having belonged
to Barbara.
Then the widow of a Los Angeles
physician, the late Doctor J. Frank
Griffin, came forward.
Mrs. Griffin produced records show-
ing that Barbara Mauger had visited
the physician professionally, and that
he had told her she could expect her
baby about June 27. It was on June
24 that she went on the fatal Picnic
trip from which she never returned.
Doctor Griffin had died between the
time of Barbara’s call on him and the
discovery of her body. Thus the
physician spoke from the grave and
pointed one more accusing finger at
Beitzel.
Unexpected testimony was volun-
teered by B. T. Reddell, a chauffeur
for the DeLuxe Taxicab Company. So
the’ manner in-
which Reddell charged into Headquar-_
ters that the case might have acquired |
a-touch of humor had it not been for:
the deadly seriousness of his errand.
Laboring under the strain of intense
excitement, Reddell declared that he
had seen Beitzel’s pictures in the pa-
pers and remembered him-as a pas-
senger he had picked up downtown
and taken on a round trip to Mulhol-
land Drive. The chauffeur rattled off
convincing details in a rapid-fire
Style, giving the date, the hour and
other vital facts. He was so sure of
himself that his listeners were spell-
bound. He was the perfect answer to
a detective’s. prayer —a witness who
knows what he is talking about and
remembers everything.
Reddell had been engaged by Beitzel
at exactly 12:40 p.m. on July 1 (one
week after the murder), at Broadway
and Fifth Street. He drove to Mul-
holland Drive. He couldn’t forget the
man, he said, because he had been so
nervous and jumpy. Beitzel had
fidgeted all over the car, taking very
frequent drinks of liquor from a flask
he carried. He had invited Reddell to
take a drink, too, but the driver had
declined.
On Mulholland Drive, the passenger
suddenly shouted to him to stop and
wait.
“It seemed a lonesome.place to be
waiting out there,” Reddell said, “I
made him give me money as a de-
posit before I agreed to wait. Half
an hour went by and I was wondering
if he would ever come back and glad
I had got some money out of him,
anyway, when he came back running
down the road towards the cab. He
was pale as a ghost. ‘Let’s get out of
here,’ he says. ‘Get back to town—
drive like hell! I’ve got some liquor
up there in the canyon, and thcy’ve
found it and are after me. Make it
snappy’.”
Reddell traveled. His strange fare
demanded to be let out at Fifth and
4l,.
- “Nota stitch of clothing on the body. ‘Two Boy Scouts and the
‘Ranger for the Belle Air estate found it. The Ranger, Hoy
‘Rygaard, notified Captain J. H. Bergendorf of the patrol. up on
Mullholland Drive—he has a phone.” oe
Sanderson hurried to the Bureau of. Investigation for. a photog
rapher, ‘while Condaffer ordered the equipment and car.
ay was mid-afternoon of August. 2nd, that. the excited voice € Oh
Russell St. Clair Beitzel: “When she
left me last time, she said she’d
never come back. ie
"TI only wish we could
have had a real wedding.”
(Specially Posed)
So nleibernpeni imamate iinet sameness At AD OL
“Maybe. But what’s worrying me is how
he could afford them in the first place.”
- According to the landlady, the Burholmes
never got mail from anyone. So it seemed
unlikely that the collection of exquisite baby
clothing had been a gift. And it was ap-
parent that the couple had no close friends
or relatives in or near Los Angeles.
Both detectives slipped coveralls over their
business suits before going to the foreman
in charge of the Biltmore cooling system
job.
“We're buddies of one of your workmen,”
Condaffer told the foreman. “We're just in
from the East and would like to surprise
him.”
“Surprise who?”
“A guy named Burholme. Hooked nose,
hair parted in the middle,” recited Sander-
son. :
“Qh, you mean Russell! He’s down at the
storeroom over on Mateo Street. I'll phone
him and tell him to come right over—”
“No don't tell him we’re here,” urged
Sanderson. “We'll drop in and_ surprise
him!”
“Okay, just as you say!”
At 911 Mateo Street, a slender young man
sat on a desk, talking softly into a tele-
phone. His hat was pushed back on his
head, revealing brown hair parted in the
middle. His nose was prominent. Spread
out on the desk was the latest edition of a
Los Angeles newspaper emblazoning the
news of the finding of an unidentified blonde
woman in the hills above Hollywood.
“Hello, Burholme!” said Sanderson, step-
ping up beside him. “I see you've learned
from.the paper that your wife’s body has
been found!” :
Burholme cradled the telephone with a
steady hand and looked up.
“My wife’s body?” he asked incredulously.
“What are you talking about, anyway? My
wife’s in Philadelphia. She’s expecting a
baby and went there to be with her mother.
Who are you?” he asked.
Condaffer flashed his badge. “And you've
heard from her since she went Kast?” he
demanded.
“Of course I’ve heard from her!”
URHOLME WENT through an assort-
ment of letters in his pocket. “That letter
should be right here,” he said, after a time.
“Guess I must have left it in my room over
at the ‘Y.’”
Questioned further, he explained that he
had borrowed a car from a friend in which ©
to take his wife on a farewell picnic.
“In Long Beach I happened to sce my
aunt,” he explained. “Since Barbara had to
start East that week anyway for her con-
finement, I thought it would be nice to have
another woman along to sort of look after
her. So we decided suddenly that she could
go then as well as any other time and that
I could send her things on when I got back
to the apartment.”
“Very convenient!” declared Sanderson.
“But we’ve been to your Golden Avenue
apartment and checked on that story. It’s
as full of holes as a sieve. Better think up a
better one!”
“You guys look like square-shooters,”
came Burholme’s startling reply. “I’m going
to take a chance and tell you what really
happened !”
He lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Barbara and I quarreled after our picnic,”
he declared. “We were driving along Mul-
holland Drive and she jumped out of the
car. She screamed that she was going
to her mother. I was pretty angry, So I
drove off and left her.”
“She had carfare, I presume ?” interrupted
Condaffer. “Or maybe you thought it would
be nice for her to hitch-hike to the East
coast!” :
“Well, she—”’ Burholme hesitated nerv-
ously. “That was her problem!”
“What are you trying to say?” Sander-
son thundered.
“J want to tell you what we quarreled
about. Then you won't blame me so much,”
Burholme blurted.
“We're listening.”
“Well,” the youth began uneasily, “Bar-
bara had been talking about another man.
I—I didn’t know for sure whether I was
the father of the child she was expecting.”
“That still doesn’t excuse the fact that
you at least had a responsibility. She was
your wife, wasn’t she?”
“No,” came the amazing reply. “She
wasn’t! We were never married. I have a
wife and two children back in Philadelphia.”
Burholme added that he wished he’d never
met Barbara. He intimated that she had
lured him away from his family, only to
play him false.
“What’s your real name?” Condaffer ven-
tured abruptly.
“Russell St. Claire Bietzel,” the suspect
admitted readily. “It was Barbara who sug-
gested that we call ourselves Burholme.”
“Why should you change your name?”
“Because, well— Say, you’re a couple of
pretty smart guys!” he snapped. “Suppose
you find out!”
Burholme was taken to headquarters for
more questioning while all angles of the case
were being probed.
At the Hertz Rental Agency detectives
found the yellow roadster in which Bur-
holme had driven Barbara to the picnic.
Under the rubber floor mat were dark dis-
colorations which had the appearance of
bloodstains. A chemist was assigned to the
task of examining the car.
Telegrams flashed between Los Angeles and
Philadelphia.
Since September, 1927, a nineteen-year-old
blonde girl named Barbara Mauger had been
listed as missing in the Philadelphia missing
persons bureau. She had vanished under
unusual circumstances.
The lovely Barbara Mauger after finish-
ing high school had obtained employment
at a candy counter where she attracted the
attention of Russell St. Claire Bictzel, Bietzel
was well educated and a neat dresser and
had a veneer of sophistication which the girl
found irresistible. Being wholly inexperi-
enced in regard to men, she soon succumbed
to his blandishments.
Bietzel appeared to be an excellent matri-
monial prospect. He was personable and held
an excellent position as credit manager for
a large Philadelphia clothing company.
Barbara’s parents met and approved of him.
He resided at the Y.M.C.A. in Philadelphia,
and his character seemed flawless.
Bietzel spoke a good word for Barbara to
his employers, with the result that she ob-
tained employment for several months with
the same company as her sweetheart.
Then, one night in September, 1927, Bar-
bara failed to return’ home from work.
Such a thing had never happened before and
Step up, gentlemen
and get 2O
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CITY. aeons STATE.
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her parents were sick with worry. All night
they paced the floor, but the morning mail
delivery brought them good news. A letter
from Barbara informed them that she had
eloped with Bietzel to South America where
he was to manage a coffee plantation. “We
will be married on the boat,” she wrote, “and
T’'ll write as soon as we get there.” But no
letter followed.
A check-up with the clothing company
brought to light the fact that Bietzel had
skipped with $700 in cash, $400 in checks
and merchandise valued at $1100! So Biet-
zel’s name, too, was listed with the missing
persons bureau.
Barbara’s parents then learned that Bietzel
was married and that he had deserted his
wife and two small children at about the
time he met Barbara. This, to them, made
Barbara’s plight even more tragic, for it
meant that she could not legally become
Bietzel’s wife. .
Confronted with the information that his
past transgressions had been brought to
light, Burholme lost some of his bravado.
Early in his married life he had taken a
girl, with whom he had become infatuated,
on a vacation trip to Florida. Mann Act
charges had been filed against him at the
time, but the intervention of friends and
the complete forgiveness of his wife had re-
sulted in the case being dropped.
UT NOW all the cards were against him,
as well as his old friends. Pawn tickets
were found in his room disclosing that he
had stripped Barbara’s slim hands of a
valuable watch and a ring which he had
pawned within a week after her death.
The postal packages were found to con-
tain women’s clothing which witnesses
identified as Barbara’s. The addressing on
the packages matched Burholme’s hand-
writing. Confronted with this indisputable
evidence, he was white-faced and silent.
The borrowed revolver, its barrel shortened
to permit the fitting of a silencer, lay in a
dresser drawer in his room.
“Did you have this gun at the picnic?”
Burholme was asked.
“Sure!” admitted the suspect. “That’s why
I borrowed it—for target practice. I fired
eight shots, but the gun made Barbara nerv-
ous so I put it away.”
Tests bullets fired from this gun were
compared with bullets recovered from
Barbara’s body and their markings found
to be identical. ;
Sifting of the ashes showed that clothing
had been burned by Burholme in the in-
cinerator, and a charred shoe buckle was
found. It was identified as belonging to the
shoes which Barbara wore.
Due to the brilliant’ and speedy work of
Sanderson and Condaffer, Russel St. Claire
Bietzel, alias Burholme, was indicted on
August 17, 1928, for the brutal murder of
Barbara Mauger. The case came to trial on
oe 15 before Judge Charles S. Bur-
nell,
Bietzel pleaded “Not guilty” and “Not
guilty by reason of insanity!”
For five days the jury listened to evidence
—all of it circumstantial. Less than half an
hour was required to agree on a verdict.
“Guilty of first degree murder!” the fore-
man read. “We recommend no mercy.” This
verdict automatically condemned Bietzel to
death by hanging.
The elaborate layette which Bietzel stored
was identified as the property of the Phila-
delphia clothing firm for which he former-
ly worked. His victim’s severed leg never
was found.
The last -week in September Bietzel was
moved to San Quentin. Pending appeals and
requests for re-trials delayed carrying out of
the sentence until the summer of 1929. But
then, on the first anniversary of his crime,
Russell Bietzel paid with his life for the
murder of innocent little Barbara Mauger
and her unborn child.
POISON RIDDLE
(Continued from page 13)
and why? Had it been somcone trying to
warn him of impending danger, as Boone
had intimated? Did Cleaver know his
enemy ?
The phone company officials informed Mc-
Collum they could not tell him who had
been trying to complete the mystery call.
He would have to go to Camden to find
out about that.
The deputy hurried back to “the sheriff's
office and told his father what he had un-
covered. “So it seems there might be some-
thing in what Boone says,” he recounted.
“Those matches point to an arson attempt.
If someone had been trying to fix the wires,
say Cleaver, he would have used a flashlight.
It looks more like someone stealthily cut the
wires by the light of the matches so there
would be no outgoing calls.”
But the elder official shook his head.
“Nope, Oliver, right now I’m not bringing
in any outside complications.”
“But what else have we got to work on?”
“Just this. I’ve found out that Mrs.
Cleaver was preparing to sue for divorce!”
“Sue for divorce! How do you know
that?” .
“T'll tell you briefly what happened. I
got a phone call from a woman by the name
of Naomi Lamb who said she wanted to
see me. When she came over she said she
and Ozella were first cousins. She told
me that recently Ozella had told her she
was going to divorce her husband, that she
asked Naomi to go with her to Shreveport
to see if she could secure a job as a beauty
operator. If she could, then she wouldn’t
ask for any alimony.”
At this last sentence, disappointment
crossed the deputy’s face. “That makes it
less likely that Cleaver would kill her. But
your supposition is that he did, ch?”
“Kind of. Maybe he was in a rage be-
cause she was going to leave. Maybe she
was in love with someone else.”
“But look, dad, the medical examiners say
she died a natural death.”
Sheriff McCollum shook his head slowly.
“J know. They’re good, competent men,
but there is a possibility they may have
missed something. The best doctors some-
times do. That’s why I’ve taken the liberty
of summoning Dr. Matthews from Shreve-
port.”
“You mean the famous pathologist at
Louisiana State Hospital ?” .
“Right.”
The younger McCollum eyed his father
narrowly. “He’s an expert on poisons, The
examiners were careful about that. They
found no trate of any in her stomach. What
made you do that ?”
Sheriff McCullom tapped his pencil idly
on the desk. “Because of something Naomi
Lamb said. . . . Mrs, Cleaver once told her
if she died suddenly to be sure and have
an autopsy performed on her body!”
Early the following day the two officials
began a vigorous attempt to plunge through
the fog of suspicion to something more
tangible. Despite his father’s hunch, young
McCollum couldn’t dismiss the words of
Boone, the telephone repairman. When Cor-
oner Lewis warned them that their time was
almost up, Deputy McCollum queried him
as to the existence of any insurance on the
dead woman.
“Cleaver only had a $300 burial policy
on her, so far as I know,” reported the
coroner.
This increased the deputy’s belief that
they were on the wrong trail.
Even the sheriff frowned in disappoint-
ment at news about the insurance. “That’s
unusual, son. Cleaver had a_ prosperous
business. Any man in love with his wife,
thoughtful of his family, would have had
HEADLINE DETECTIVE
n
eaao¢
HE GIRL sgeished on nie fend was lovely Still in her.
teens, she was slender of waist, yet fashioned by nature
with full thighs and aS firm » Ue that promised a
u n W a AE tT e d. on her loveliness.
.-' “Here, child, here's your ring. You'll need it on our trip.
i il | only wish we could have had a real wedding.” Unmindful of th
to the girl’s as he slipped a ring on ae hand.
“°Ti] death parts us,” he murmured.
@ ep ll never take my ring off!” the girl said passionately as she.
pressed her oe to the pian band. “I'll keep it even after death!”
m rT) t i T @ f After death. .
Pj SreCiive LIEUTENANT FRANK CONDAFFER reached
H > wearily for the telephone.
is 2 “Los Angeles
. Homicide—Condaf-
| . fer,” he droned au-
| EF] Aa S$ Cc a PER G a tomatically as he re-
luctantly laid aside
the early sports edi-
AMAZING TETUCTIVE, = Bog oe ee
December, 190. stant he was galva-
nized into action as
he swiftly scribbled
the information that
came over the wire.
“Looks like we’ve
62
HIGHWAY OF THE HUMAN WOLVES continued from page 31
The youngest boy liked to jump up in the
morning and run and hug his parents. He
stirred at sunup. While his brothers still were
pulling on socks and shoes, the youngest boy
jumped up and ran to the car, parked only
three feet from the tent.
“What’s the matter with Mom?” he asked,
coming back in a hurry. “She has something
on her face.”
One of the other boys looked and saw blood.
He called to his father. He jumped in the back
seat and lifted his father’s head. It was bloody,
too. Both parents had been shot. many times
in the head.
He staggered out of the car, clutching at his
brother. Screaming, the four boys ran to the
pavement, and tried to flag down passing mo-
torists. Two or three cars whistled by without
slowing. Then a car stopped and two men
pulled up beside the boys.
“Somebody shot Mommy and Daddy,” one
of the boys sobbed.
The two men flagged other motorists and
asked them to notify authorities. Highway Pa-
trolman Dan Birdno was the first officer on
the scene. Yavapai Deputy Sheriff Perry Blank-
enship arrived just before 6 a.m. Sheriff James
Cramer was soon on the scene.
Dr. A. J. Gungle of Seligman examined the
bodies. Welch had been shot four times in the
head, his wife three, at close range with a small
caliber weapon, probably a .22, probably while
they were sleeping. The doctor said it ap-
peared they had been dead several hours. The
position of the bodies indicated the slayer may
have put the muzzle to the head of the mother
and fired while she was sleeping, then shot the
father at close range as he raised up from the
back seat. ,
The woman’s diamond wedding and engage-
ment rings were still on her fingers. Her purse,
containing $147, was under her pillow. This
weakened the theory of a robbery motive, al-
though Welch’s billfold was missing.
Subsequent autopsies conducted by the medi-
cal examiner called in from Maricopa County,
revealed that the barrel of a small gun, possibly
a .22-caliber pistol, had been pressed against
Welch’s temple. Time of the deaths was estab-
lished as 4 A.M. Because both victims had been
shot at extremely close range, officers theorized
that there might have been two slayers who
waylaid them and fired almost simultaneously.
The boys were taken to the sheriff’s substa-
tion at Seligman. Strangely, none of them had
heard any shots, even though they were sleep-
ing only three feet away.
Officers asked the boys where the family had
stopped during the day and night before the
slaying. They took the boys to the courthouse
in Prescott, where a secretary at the court-
house, and other citizens, took charge of them.
They fed them. The boys got their gloves and
ball and bat and played a dazed and half-
hearted baseball game on the courthouse lawn.
Officers began phone calls, to notify their rela-
tives of the tragedy.
Sheriff Cramer retraced the family’s move-
ments. They had stopped at 8:30 p.m. about
100 miles east of the murder scene, to visit a
friend in Flagstaff. This man told officers the
Welches dropped by his house and left an
hour later.
In Ashfork, Ariz., 30 miles east of the scene,
the Welches had stopped and bought gasoline.
A service station attendant told officers Mrs.
Welch gave her husband $65 there. He paid for
the gas with $5 and put the rest in his waltet.
Relatives in Oklahoma City said they be-
lieved the Welches had about $200 when they
started the trip.
A motel operator apparently was the last to
see them alive. They had stopped at a motel
in Ashfork at 11:30 p.m. “But he thought the
price was too high so they didn’t stay,” the
motel operator said.
Sheriff Cramer checked a rumor that Welch
had been having trouble in the teamster’s union
in Oklahoma. Authorities there checked, but
could not substantiate the rumor. Welch was
an individual who always spoke his mind, but
his associates admired him because of it.
Cramer all but dismissed the rumor.
“I’m inclined to believe it was some punk
who’d kill for fifty cents.” ;
He was remembering other murders on US
66. This was the fourth along the same stretch
of highway in the past three years. There was
no immediate link between the killings. Sixty-
six is one of the nation’s busiest highways, and
one of the most secluded as it inches through
the desert wastes of the southwest. Human
wolves prowl there, ready to pounce on inno-
cent campers, or some kindhearted soul who
picks up a hitchhiker.
From 1935 to 1961, 19 died or vanished on
highways in New Mexico alone. Ten of these
murders happened on US 66. Only eight cases
were solved. Only three slayers were given the
death penalty in New Mexico courts.
One of the biggest US 66 mysteries oc-
curred in 1935, when two Illinois couples van-
ished somewhere on the highway. The bodies of
Mr. and Mrs. George Lorius and Mr. and Mrs.
Albert Heberer were never found. Their burn-
ing luggage was found near US, 66 east of
Albuquerque.
On December 2, 1953, a recently released
mental patient, carnival operator Carl Folk,
trailed a Wattsburg, Pa., couple along US 66
from New Mexico into Arizona. When the man
and woman camped for the night near Hol-
brook, Folk broke into their trailer and tied
them up. He tortured the 22-year-old woman
with burning newspapers, raped, choked and
killed her as the husband looked on. Folk was
later captured and executed in Arizona.
During the 1935 to 1961 period, at least
seven murders happened along US 66 in Okla-
homa.
Sheriff Cramer and his deputies know it
isn’t safe to pick up hitchhikers or stop and
sleep or camp beside US 66. Thousands do it
every night, and wake up safe and sound,
rested and breathing deep lungfuls of crisp
desert air. Others, like the Welches, don’t make
it
ii is a transcontinental route and the slayer
might come from anywhere. The news
spread and, all day long after the murders, the
sheriff’s office took long distance calls from
points all over the country.
“Everyone thinks he knows who the mur-
derer is,” he said. “But they don’t know any
more than we do, and at this point all we know
is that there are two dead people and four
orphans.”
Sheriff Cramer and his men, including Un-
dersheriff Sam Saum and Deputies Percy
Blankenship, L. H. Johnson and Jerry Foster
worked around the clock, checking out each
tip. Cramer organized a horseback and Jeep
search party of 75 volunteers. They spent the
weekend riding the brushy desert, looking for
the murder weapon, the billfold, any clues.
Cramer sent his deputies to all service sta-
tions and all-night cafes in the vicinity. Maybe
somebody had seen something or somebody
suspicious on the night of the murder.
The wife of the first deputy sheriff on the
scene was a waitress in a Seligman cafe. She
recalled an unusual incident the night of the
slaying. A man came into the restaurant late
at night and wanted coffee. She started to
draw the cup.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “How much does
it cost?”
“Ten cents.”
“How about a nickel?” he said. The woman
took note of the man’s face, with its pasty ex-
pression. He was thin as a scarecrow. She
drew the coffee and slid it down the counter.
“Here, ’'m buying you a cup of coffee,” she
said. The man reached out with trembling fin-
gers and murmured thanks.
A few hours later, she said, the man re-
turned. His attitude had suddenly changed.
This time he was self-assured, almost arrogant.
He ordered a full meal, including tomato juice.
He acted as though he didn’t even recognize
the woman as his coffee benefactress. He ate
the hearty meal and paid for it with a $20
bill. She took the money and gave him his
change without questioning him. She said she
had never seen him before that night.
Maybe the man was only a moocher, officers
theorized. Or maybe he’d come into the cafe
with the intent of robbery, then chickened out
and bluffed for the coffee because there were
too many patrons in the place. But he had
ordered the big meal after 4 A.M., time of the
murders. He thus became a prime suspect.
There were no other robberies in the area that
night, and the waitress said the man didn’t
look like the type who could get a midnight
loan of a $20 bill.
The search in the desert first yielded a pack
of cigarets and a cigaret lighter with the name
of a Tulsa firm printed on it. Neither Welch
nor his wife smoked, but perhaps the slayer
had lost the items. They were found near
the highway two miles west of the scene. The
next desert find, near Seligman, was the vic-
tim’s billfold. Identification papers were still
in the wallet, but no money.
The investigation continued, as relatives of
the victims gathered in Phoenix; on Saturday,
eleven persons made up a three-car caravan
leaving Prescott and heading for Oklahoma
City where the funeral service would be held.
One of the Welch sons supplied a possible
clue. He told his relatives that he had awak-
ened and looked through a peephole in the
pup tent. He saw a bus stopped on the high-
way, near the car. He said he saw two men get
out of the bus and walk towards the car. And
he thought he saw one man open the trunk
of his parents’ car and look in. But he wasn’t
sure about the time. Maybe it was a frag-
ment of nightmare.
Sheriff’s men checked bus schedules and lo-
cated a bus that had stopped to change a flat
tire only yards away from the death car at
5:10 A.M.
The mystery deepened. A woman bus pas-
senger told officers she saw a boy peeping
from the tent, and that she saw movement in
the car. This conflicted with the autopsy re-
port, which indicated the victims had died at
4 am. or before. Questioning of other passen-
gers indicated that none had got off the bus
during the stop. Perhaps the boy had his times
confused, and had seen two men approach the
car and onc open the trunk either (1.) During
the initial investigation when he was in a state
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of shock or (2.) Just before the murder, and
before the bus stopped.
Jails in Prescott and nearby towns filled
with suspects. An itinerant attempted to swap
a wallet for a jug of wine, and ‘he was ar-
rested. The wallet turned out to be his own.
Tucumcari, N.M., police arrested a 36-year-old
man from Wichita, Kans., who was trying to
sell a .22-caliber, nine-shot pistol. Authorities
rushed the gun to FBI laboratories in Wash-
ington, D.C. for ballistics tests. But the sus-
pect came up with an alibi.
Officers sought some connection between the
Welch slayings and the highway slaying of
John A. Whitaker at Tullahoma, Tenn. Whita-
ker was slain and his car was stolen on Wednes-
day, two days before the Welch slayings.
Descriptions were issued for two men wanted
in the Tennessee slayings.
At this time, two Tulsa; Okla., men report-
ed they were traveling on US 66 the day
following the Welch murder when two young
toughs flagged them down and tried to hitch
a ride. This happened near the New Mexico-
Arizona border. The two men said they were
from Tennessee, and they were heading east.
An APB was issued for the pair. One was
about 18, six feet two, 160 pounds, blond,
wavy hair and blue eyes. The other was about
24, five feet seven, 140 pounds, dark’ brown
hair. Names unknown.
The suspects in the Whitaker slaying had
told somebody in Tennessee they were headed
for California. Officers started a nationwide —
alert along US 40, and on Saturday, two days
after the Welch slayings, Sheriff Fay Gillette
arrested two suspects in a stolen car near ,
Grantsville, Utah.
The two, James Douglas Latham and George
Ronald York, were AWOL from Fort Hood,
Tex. On Sunday they cracked, admitting a
seven-murder spree from Florida to Colorado.
Their victims included a man from Tennessee,
one from Litchfield, Ill.; a third, a Union
Pacific roadmaster, killed near Wallace, Kans.,
and a girl from Craig, Colo., whom they met
the previous Friday night and whose body was
found along a river outside town next morn-
ing, and others.
But the time-distance element eliminated
these two as suspects in the Welch case.
A hijacker seldom hits just once. Sheriff
Cramer knew all holdup men are repeaters,
and once they’ve pulled that trigger they usual-
ly pull it again. Every holdup suspect in
Arizona was a suspect in the Welch case.
On Tuesday, June 20, two men shot and
robbed a 20-year-old youth from Phoenix,
Ariz. He sirvived his wounds. On Thursday,
June 22, authorities arrested one of the young
men in a tiny community of southern Arizona,°
and charged him with this shooting. The sus-
pect was James Bentley, 24, of Gilbert, Ariz.,
a town near Phoenix, 150 miles southeast of
the Welch scene. Bentley and his buddy, ar-
rested with him, established alibis in the
Welch case. Bentley had relatives in Fresno,
Cal., who said he was in Fresno, 500 miles from
the scene, on the night of the slayings.
Two other suspects switched the investiga-
tion to Oklahoma. Arizona authorities were still
looking for the owner of that cigaret lighter
with the Tulsa firm name on it, On June 13,
four days after the Welch killings, a Western
Auto Store in Broken Arrow, Okla., was
robbed of $5000 in merchandise.
Informants named a 16-year-old boy and
his brother-in-law as the culprits. The 16-year-
old gave his address as Fort Worth, Tex., and
the older man was from Jay, Okla. But the
younger of the two was traced to Seligman, ’
Ariz., where he had been living with an aunt
at the time of the Welch killings.
‘The older. suspect was located and placed
under arrest. The youth was arrested in Okla-
homa, although his aunt, in Seligman, told
officers he was at her home until about 8 P.M.
the-night—before- the Welch murders. Tulsa
County Deputy Lieutenant Floyd Jordan went
to Arizona and returned the suspect to Tulsa.
He talked with Yavapai County Deputy Fos-
ter. Foster said, “We consider them both
suspects, of course. Anybody who was in this
area could be called a suspect.” ,
Back in Tulsa, officers questioned both sus-
pects about the Welch slaying. They denied
knowledge of the crime...
Jordan and Deputy John Bell took the
younger man out of the Tulsa County jail. so
he could show them the location of some sto-
len property. They were walking to the depu-
ties’ car when the youth hit Jordan with a
rolled-up sheet and fled. Bell ran after him,
but got close enough only to grab a handful
of shirt. Fifteen minutes later, Deputy Bob
Duckert spotted the-boy in an alley.and caught
him. The suspect, crying, kept repeating, “I
didn’t kill those people.’ Subsequent question-
ing convinced officers that these two were not
the slayers.
By June of this year, Yavapai County Sheriff
Cramer and his men had questioned more than
300-suspects, am average of almost one-a day,
but the Welch case remained unsolved. They
were still getting tips from all over the country,-
and checking them out.
They got a new lead the first week in June.
_ It came, through jailers, from an inmate in
Fresno, Cal. The inmate said another prisoner,
under death sentence, had told him he killed
two people near Seligman, Ariz. The man was
James Abner Bentley, 26, the suspect whose
relatives in Fresno supported’ his alibi.
He and his companion had been released
on bail in the shooting. case in Phoenix. Exact-
ly eight days after that attack and 21 days
after the Welch slayings, Bentley shot and
killed a liquor store operator in a Fresno hold-
up. He had been arrested in Fort Scott, Kans.
He failed in a suicide attempt, and-was con-
victed and sentenced to death for the Fresno
slaying. He entered San Quentin December 12,
1961. In April he was sent to Vacaville, Cal.,
for medical tests. He was there when Arizona
officers got the tip.
Officers took mugshots of him to the waitress
who identified them as pictures of the man who
_couldn’t buy a dime cup of coffee, but a few
hours later, on the night the Welches died,
paid for a full meal with a $20 bill.
Authorities concluded the women who veri-
fied Bentley’s Fresno alibi were mistaken.
They questioned him, and on Saturday, June
9, 1962, exactly a year after the Welches were
murdered, Sheriff Cramer pronounced the case
solved.
On June 13, Yavapai. County Attorney
George Ireland filed first degree murder charges
against Bentley for the deaths of Mr. and Mrs.
Welch. The victims’ sons have moved to Cali-
‘ fornia where they live with selatives.
For awhile after the slayings last year, mo-
tels were jammed. There were few campers
along Route 66 in Arizona. People scare easily,
but forget quickly. This season thousands of
lights flicker each night in cars and tents be-
side the highway. Sheriff Cramer and his men
patrol and hope. But they know some of the
sleepers will never make it home again. ||
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30
US 66 and wake up safe, sound and rested. Others,
Thousands of tourists stop, sleep or camp off
od OAS Se ON ial ia Sf a i ii i
‘Occupants of the tent were not touched.
Occupants of the car were murdered.
such as the Welches, never make it
PRESCOTT, ARIZ., JUNE 15, 1962
@ Every night, people pull off the road and nap in their
cars beside US 66, the Murder Route West. Some never
wake up. This is the story of two of them.
The day before they left home, J.D. Welch sat in the
barber chair getting his hair cut. Tt was Tuesday,’ June 6,
1961, in Spencer, a suburb just northeast of Oklahoma City.
“We've been planning this trip all year,” he told the
barber. “I’m anxious to get going.”
It was a hot day. A fan whirred and the barber’s clippers
made a cool, monotonous drone that, matched the clean tonic
odor of the shop. Welch’s four sons sat in a line on the’
waiting bench. They scanned comic books. They mck
get crewcuts.
“What route are you taking?” the barber asked.
“Straight to California on 66,” Welch said. “Going to.
visit kinfolks there. My wife’s mother lives: in Colorado
Springs, and we want to see her on the way back.”
Welch was a husky truck driver, 33 years old, driving
for Trans-Continental truck lines. He drove Route 66 regu-
larly, and knew it like the back of his hand. While he sat _
by PAUL McCLUNG
in the barber chair, his 31-year-old wife Utha Marie was
down the street loading a basket of food at the grocery
‘store. She bought thick slices of sandwich meat. and king-
sized sacks of potato chips, quart jars of pickles and salad
dressing; cookies, apples, oranges, bananas, for the boys to
munch during the trip. Just feeding four sons ranging in
age from-five to 12 would take all the normal energy of
‘a mother.
Mrs. Welch found time to keep them fed-and in freshly
washed and ironed clothes, and to lead church, PTA and
Rebekah Lodge activities.
’ Mrs. Welch loitered at the counter, chatting with the
proprietress, describing the family plans for their three-
week..vacation. The two women were good friends. Mrs.
Welch was room mother of the sixth grade at Spencer
grade school, and the proprietress was . assistant room
mother. Their sons had gone on Boy Scout camping trips
together.
“We're planning to leave early in the morning,” Mrs.
Welch said. “The boys are excited as can be. They want to
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, October, 1962,
a>
Facing
take th
to roug
I told t
nating
They
The kx
to figu
Som
“You
“This
The b
dad’s t
“Hey
Welc
don’t |
we ha:
Befo
their |
up wit
clambe
Was Si
thing
anticly
A fe
out of!
siding
the ca
and g:
were
The
squatt
2re not touched.
‘e murdered.
off
‘d. Others,
Utha Marie was
at the grocery
meat and king-
ickles and salad
for the boys to
sons ranging in
rmal energy of
{ and in freshly
urch, PTA and
itting with the
their three-
d friends. Mrs.
‘de at Spencer
assistant room
‘ camping trips
norning,” Mrs.
They want to
Facing death for one murder, convicted slayer (L.) confessed in prison to double murders of the Welches (R.).
take their pup tent and camp at night. But I’m not eager
to rough it. I'd rather sleep in a good soft bed in a motel.
I told them if we take the tent I’m going to insist on alter-
nating and staying at a motel at least every other night.”
They did most of the packing that night before they left.
The boys lugged bags out to the car and their dad tried
to figure how to make everything fit in the car trunk.
Somebody stuffed a baseball glove into a corner.
“You guys always want to take too much,” Welch said.
“This is like a troop movement instead of a vacation.”
The boys laughed. One of the younger ones tugged at his
dad’s trouser leg. —
“Hey, Daddy, you know what I’m thinking about?”
Welch saw the twinkle in his eye. “Yes, I know. You
don’t have to tell me. The pup tent. We’ll take it, maybe, if
we have room after everything else is packed.”
Before they pulled out, the boys managed to squeeze in
their baseball and bat and the pup tent. The family was
up with the sun on Wednesday, June 7, 1961. Each boy
clambered into the car, claiming his favorite seat. The car
was so heavily loaded the rear springs sagged, but every-
thing was neat and shipshape. The boys’ faces glowed in
anticipation under their fresh new haircuts.
A few neighbors saw them off. They watched them back
out of the driveway in front of their rambling brick and
siding house. The boys’ year-old dog, Fluffie, bounced around
the car whining to go along. The neighbors would feed him
and get the mail and cut the grass while the Welches
were gone. ;
The neighbors waved. The Welches waved back. Fluffie
squatted on the driveway, his tail wagging back and forth.
Then the car rounded the corner and vanished and the
tail slowly stopped wagging.
The neighbors felt a strange sense of poignant loss. Maybe
just summertime departure blues. Maybe something deeper.
The neighborhood wouldn’t be the same until the Welches
returned. They were the kind of people who would do
anything for anybody, Welch coached Little League baseball.
The Welch lawn was frequently a neighborhood baseball
diamond, ringing with shouts, laughter, the pop of a home-
run. It would be very quiet now.
Welch was the kind of man who one Christmas bought
$20 worth of groceries for the family of another truck
driver who had been ill. The Welches frequently boarded
another youngster who lived in a foster home. The boy was
a friend of their sons, and they hauled him to Scout meet-
ings and treated him as one of their own.
_ The family headed west on US 66, past the oil wells and
state capitol building in sprawling Oklahoma City, and out
through the flat wide plains of western Oklahoma, golden
with wheat. ‘
They spent the first night, Wednesday, visiting relatives in
Amarillo, Tex. They left Amarillo early Thursday morning,
and drove all day through vast, isolated reaches of the
Texas Panhandle, New Mexico and Arizona.
It was midnight Thursday, June 8, when they stopped
beside US 66, 50 miles northwest of Prescott, 13 miles west
of Seligman, Ariz. They used the car headlights and flash-
lights and set up the pup tent about three feet from the
car. The boys bedded down in the tent and the parents
slept in the car; Mrs. Welch curled up in the front seat
and Welch in the back seat. (Continued on page 62)
lst paragraph:
McElwee Harper, 36, and Emery Bolden, 27, convicted in Jan-
uary (?) 1944 for the murder of W.E. Bennett, a Salinas truck
driver, were executed in San Quentin's (?) gas chamber this
morning.
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th of two leading foea of: S==2.
atration’s food subsidy defended paiate captured by the | :
delayed a house vote on} Nazie -ia , thetr: now-atalled at- “i
e, previously scheduled for, HR Salinas Man
ntil later in the week... “Furthes, to the aquth, “the Ger-| Sagas, ;
sximately 12 heures after pong faced a new threat to their! :
Wiitiam Ditter, (B.. Pa.) ; all-but encircled positions in the}
Hed laet night in an, alr- { puige of the Dnieper as sien
crash, Rep. Heary D. : tanks and Sones ar Hc .
i (D.. Ala). died ef a lout below Kremenchug toward the
malady in Geerge Wash- ;key communications: center © of
tintversity hospital teday. ;Znamenks. 4
y 40,- wee eRairman<et } Another Ravingy ‘buttte’ raged In-
-erful house banking. and : decisively on the west bank of the}. B
§eommittee which pro-' Dnieper around Cherkasi, while as rutally Beaten
he anti-subsidy legisiation ‘decp insids the river bend the Rus- * And $500. Taken .
h the house had completed sians squeezed the Germans out of;
debate last week. Mitter ; eight more atrongly fortified; “Battered body of Wilton ‘i. Ben-
of the leading Bee cer :towns east of Krivoi Rog, killing | nett, 58, brutally Deaten with his
subsidies. | | pearly 2,900 enemy troops. => ; Skull crushed by’ a blunt: inatru-
Floor Manager” | j_«- To the: north, Red armies: ad. ment, was found: beside the high-/
all. a member of congress © yancedin all directions from cap-* way'one and a half miles north of
14, died cf a heart attack i tured Rechitsa, further tightening, Hoodvale, 400 yards from highway
Friday after hin last ap~-their ring uround German-held Go-/ 101; at noon yesterday, according
ey “house finor: Inas-| mel, 25 miles ‘east of Rechitse ' to County Coroner J. A.-Cornett. es
all was. the bill “ British Advance": . | Bennett is believed to have ee MARC
‘his desth may Ge-- Yn - Italy, Gen. Sir Bretard: L:j about $500 with him, and the ob-
vote, by more mes gue a, : Montgomery's Sth army veterans! ject of the murder, which was =
~~ .feontinued on the-ettack for the! reported by Joe Matteis of Prune-
Brent peace 4 ID. Ky" third straight daye bah bed. mud: dale, who found the bedy. oe bey
‘majority memper of the® _rain-swollen rivers. - Hieved ‘to be robbery. ; : .
and currency committee.i- ‘The Fifth army's front on the _ Sheriff's deuties, : ‘police! ant
bly will succeed Steagall.; west flank of the Allied line re- |: “Califorsia highway patrol, of--
unding “No” Expected. | mained =upracticalty unchanged, :|- ficers combed. the Sana area.
ever it comes, the subsidy | although: fierce artillery duels’ |” yesterday fers suspect ta the”
expected to bring a: re-} continuously as’ both; sisying, believed by: officers ‘te
no” from the: house de-? aiden prepared for the- expected © be. ry Neate, whe :
itn hour sdministretion ~ angio- American assault.) '
s that a ban,on food sub-!° The: sth army fought its way gla was found
ould force those. ‘hghtin, “asto Girard) and San Pietro, {Thea feet from the body, which
ost ancteasee te make-& at the intand end of the Sangro/ had been dragged through the brush
t retreat’ before rising’ river, shoving their forward posi’ by the killer. officers believe, ho
“8 : : {tons closer: to che: streem,: eee apparently slugged his. yictim be-
drepresents the western anchor. of side the car and then attempted to
: sppartely were. grounded y bad?
sing? HEADQUA ARTERS, | | weatherquring the night. London
Department 12) ~ LUA. | oneepvers “said, jewever, hat. the
nd James Duffy. Bishop, : » merican - :
mf ne and both Light-i nave ream:
Pilots of the 11th air) oc aetenses
awarded. air. metals;
teat ‘clusters for, action?
elang “the” ‘following | mepehildren; |
Mr ay ee bal and Pedy
Honea wit a ‘sheeting. of Presi-| ;
“| dent Roosevelt, Prime. Minister |
| Churchill -andPremier, Stalin re- Wil D tascun e NiR eg th? ka
| ported. Anminent,: : ‘barcnu Cl nk O ® rash renee “| tween Nimits and Lt, Gen. Robert
e- od tons A wo ef aM ¢, Richardson, Jr, army command-
q Working: Classes” asserted : cdot |: : MONTERNY-—New president “WASHI HTON ar Petroleum er in the central Pacific, “efter the
there ia treason to believe the tong- ithe ‘Monterey’ chamber of’ com: Admintatrat Harold -L. Ieken | invasion was annevunced pete es
= awaited opening pee thi secon meres is Perry W. Reel; named £0 pro fody that the _Pre-Invaaten.
-{ front a “not far o . i | mueceed. ‘W. J. Follett, who had de- posed today tha U: 8. gov~| Army Liberators started the pre
L. That speculation coincided with) ined re-election: after”: serving | ernment. @iscontinue its $130,000,- pees blasting of the Gilberts |
dare besaatans tasters IRINEE || three years in the presidency. | 000 Canadian oil development pro-|And-the adjacent Marshall talands
mbaasaco fi nines Ce My Goldsworthy | was eistitien immediately, “without open both north of the American-held _
Lreports. of new Allied amph:hions Firat vire- spresident. and Fong _Q. | nnother dime tice istands “+R week ago inet
ville fol-
igus, let-
.ceording
in their
corpses.
the roll
added,
through
t in the
y would
uddenly
‘unning
runnin
‘ht, ha
x. Both
ind had
abbed!”
n going
Sheriff
ow the
‘gun to
a shiny
) he was
irderer,
smack suspiciously of murder. “This certainly was no
accident,” he said,
The sheriff agreed. “I’ll send Deputy Cochran right
away,” he stated. “You two keep on the investigation until
it’s cleared up.”
Deputy Sheriff Ross Cochran, like Constable Losey, was
a veteran peace officer. They had been teamed up before
and had a good number of solved cases to their credit.
When Cochran arrived, he too, photographed the car and
scene, while Losey told what had happened. Cochran
weighed the slugs in his hand. “They’re pretty light,” he
estimated. “Almost too light for real .32 bullets.”
He fished out a pocket knife and removed the lead from
one. “Look at this. No powder in the shell.”
“Dummy cartridges are used only for show,” Losey said.
This led only to speculation. Also, Losey and Cochran de-
cided there was no use trying to obtain fingerprints. Fire-
fighting chemicals had washed and sprayed everything,
and the flames had done the rest in destroying traces.
“We'd better check with who reported this car on fire,”
Cochran said. “We’ve got to make a start somewhere.”
Captain Riley explained that a cab driver called: the
Highway Patrol but that some farmer had telephoned the
fire department, At this point the tow-car came and Riley
and Kolber accompanied the death car to Tulare.
“If the farmer saw the fire,” Losey reflected, “maybe
he saw something else. He must live near here.”
HE first two farmers visited had not heard or seen
Tanything unusual during the night. They were among
others who visited the scene that morning, but could
offer no help. The third farmer, Henry Naylor, said it was
he who had made the telephone call to Tulare.
“My dog had been barking excitedly for about fifteen
minutes,” he related. “I got up to investigate, and saw the
flames. I was pretty sure it was a car on fire, so I called
the fire department.
“Did you see anyone drivin along the road at that
a Losey asked. “Any headlights? Did you hear any-
thing?” :
Nava shook his head. He had been sound asleep, he
said.
“It was about a mile and a half from here,” Cochran
informed him, “If the dog barked for fifteen minutes be-
i 3 Te , wa %.l.s wane iY
fr be Wetiten Mini WEA Hy
y, * Hi Ca erg Me Radi sie 4}, 4 Oe One
443 * . a
€! PEACH ORCHARD——.
In this peaceful spot were found pieces of evidence that
gave the investigating officers some valuable leads. The
subsequent developments landed a killer in gas chamber.
fore you got up, then hé must have heard something going
on over there.”
The officers made a circle of the scene, checking with
several other dairy and fruit farmers. But they failed to
get another lead. Each farmer, however, was cautioned -
to report anything he heard or saw that might bear on the
burned sedan. This done, they drove to orterville and
visited Constable Williamson, requesting him to be on the
lookout for any clues that might turn up among the resi-
dents in his district.
“Somewhere before the two men got to Porterville,”
Losey declared, “the car was turned around and headed
back. What happened, where it was turned around, might
mean anything. There may be a .32-calibre gun. There
may be a piece of clothing.”
- “Pll circulate in the district,’ Williamson promised.
“Particularly along the Woodville Road. Some of those
farmers or ranchers may find something in their fields.
HE next step, while in the town, was to interview
Villanuevo’s relatives and neighbors and try to identify
the other corpse. The officers found that some two dozen
men from the colony had gone north to work in the aspara-
gus fields and Cochran listed their names. About ten had
already returned. Among these was Marcelino Bautista.
It had been believed, at first, that Bautista might be the
other dead man. ’
The entire colony was talking of nothing else but the
tragedy, and all offered their help. The other dead man,
they said, could be any one of a dozen. Bautista said he
returned by bus. He had seen Villanuevo in Stockton the
night before, in his car, and had been invited to ride back
with him,
“How come you didn’t?” Losey asked.
“At that time I was thinking of taking the bus over to
San Francisco, and seeing relatives. Then I ‘decided my
wife wouldn’t like me to spend the money. By the time
I changed my mind, Villanuevo had gone.’ be
He said he had no idea who the man’s passenger might
be. Nor could Pena or Luzon, or any of the others give any
suggestions. Each one expressed doubt about a murder.
Villanuevo, they declared, was extremely popular.
Deputy Cochran and Constable Losey were not so sure.
They held a council of war. (Continued on page 58)
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58 Truteove, 313 East 13th St., Dept. 105-F, New York ¥
fellows came along. I wasn’t quite
fast enough.”
On Wednesday morning a coroner’s
jury promptly confirmed the cal-
ioused confession and charged Young
with the crime of murder, A criminal
complaint was signed by Edgar Dye,
brother of the slain youth, and Friday
morning the confessed killer was ar-
raigned in justice court, waived ex-
amination and was bound over to
Superior Court for trial.
Astor nents retained for Foutg ap-
peared before Superior Court udge
Fred W. Fickett and pleaded for time
in which to prepare a proper de-
fense. At first asserting that he was
anxious to “get it over with,” Young
appeared in court and entered a plea
of not guites: Trial was set for
April 28th.
Following a parade of defense char-
acter witnesses, AT gas | took the stand
in his own behalf. For three hours
he sat dazedly in the witness chair,
answering dully the questions that
were fired at him. He remembered
‘nothing of the fatal night, couldn’t
recall knowing John Dye or any con-
nection with the “81” cab company.
It was apparent that the defense
‘was working toward an insanity plea.
Hall acted swiftly to block such a
move by calling 13 new witnesses,
including three doctors, to testify
that Young had been completely sane
both before and since his brutal crime.
After three days of sensational
testimony, during which special
uards surrounded Young to protect
Eig from angry, muttering citizens
who crowded both the court room and
corridors of the county building, the
jury returned a verdict of guilty and
recommended the death penalty.
On May 1, 1930, Judge Fickett
pronounced sentence of death by
hanging, thereby denying a defense
motion for a new trial. Four days
later Young was transferred to Death
Row in the Arizona State Prison at
‘lorence, where he remained a resi-
dent for more than a year through a
series of legal manipulations which
finally succeeded in carrying the case
to the Supreme Court, where the ver-
dict of the Pima County Superior
Court was fully sustained.
On August 21, 1931, he paid the
supreme penalty.
Eprror’s Nore: The names Pat
O’Toole and Pat Risko, as used in this
story, are fictitious.
TERROR TORCH
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 23
About the only salient facts unearthed
were that the driver of the death car
did not drink and he did not own a
certain than ever that their ie gn
were more than mere guesswork. For
a drunken stupor could be eliminated
as a reason of the men being trapped.
“If we do prove anything,” sey
said, “I’ve got an idea our work’s cut
out for us.’ :
“Well, the other meri should be back
today or tonight. Some of them may
know something about the other vic-
tim’s identity. ~ Let’s see what the
mortuary has found.”
4{N TULARE they found that Coroner
/ Brooks had finished the autopsy.
~ But little could be learned from the
badly charred bodies. t was impos-
sible to distinguish any possible bullet
holes or stab wounds. A careful ex-
amination of the lungs _ by Brooks,
however, showed a barely perceptible
hint that the men were dead before
the car had become filled with smoke.
‘Of course,” Losey conceded, “the
other victim may be a hitchhiker that
Cochran nodded, “Maybe he picked
up two of them and one was in the
If Villanuevo mentioned
working in the harvest field, he would
expected to have money. If some-
one killed for robbery, then the other
man was killed to silence him. And
yet, maybe he was a harvest worker
who also had wages.”
At this p
urgent message, requesting them to
drive to Porterville at once. The of-
ficers knew he must have found some-
thing important. Climbing into
Losey’s car, they quickly set out.
Williamson was waiting in front of
his office. “Let's go out the river
road,” he announced, getting in with
them. “I spread the word along the
gun. But this made the Officers more .
fruit ranchers there, and I just got’a
call from a fellow who found some-
thing in his orchard.”
He guided Losey along the river
road to that hi hway’s intersection
with the Woodville Road, and into a
ranch yard, A young farmer, Bert
Jackson, came out and fFrected them.
yesterday, I remembered what you
said about not touching anything.”
He led the officers through a field to
a peach orchard bordering the road
and pointed to a spot between two
“Look at the soft dirt torn up!”
Cochran exclaimed. “There must
have been a struggle of some kind,
sure enough,”
“Here’s a brand new tan shoe,”
Losey added. “And a pencil, and
some unsmoked cigarettes scattered
around. They fell out of Some man’s
pocket,”
Between the roughened area of soil
and the paved road, Williamson
. Spotted a piece of Paper. It was an
ordinary sales s} from some un-
known store for $1.03, made out to
the name Bucsit.
“All this could easily tie in,” Coch-
ran announced. “This road _ runs
straight to where the car was found,
and this is a lonely place. We'll have
to see if this Bucsit worked in the
asparagus harvest.”
“Why would he leave a new shoe
here?” Losey wondered.
“He could have lost it in a fight,
especially if he’d been running,” Coch-
dragged but a body?”
At the paving they found further
evidence of a fi ht. Several dark
light dust of the roadbed. They ap-
peared suspiciously like blood.
“Did you hear any noise, last night?”
Cochran asked Jackson.
“No, not a thing.”
Seve
intend:
nuevo.
say the
ad Se x
Villani
gus ca
might
“Yes
of the
seen h
They
again,
was fi
. Then he bought a bus ticket, all . most likely hiding spots. Almost im- -
right; thought the Surprised Losey, mediately
( : they found, in a lounge ‘lanuevo was one of my best friends. found no bullets in either body. I
ut he. didn’t use it! He must have chair upholstery, a 32 calibre re- So was Bucsit.” they were- shot, it must have bee:
ridden with Villanuevo. For some volver. The housewife was obviously ; “No one saw you on the bus,” Losey outside the car, where the bullet:
reason, he says.he didn’t. It’s either sincere in her amazement, protesting insisted. “But you were seen talking Passed clear through them.”
to shield himself or the real killer. she had not known it was there. to the murdered Villanuevo after the Concealing his disappointment, the
Quietly he asked the men: “Dig Williamson sniffed the gun barrel. bus had gone. And someone, just like sheriff returned. “T’ll prove you
Bautista play cards?” “It’s been fired recently,” he declared. you, got on the bus near the burned killed them,” he told the suspect
“Yes,” one answered, “but not very “Too bad we can’t make a ballistics ' ear that very morning.” “First, my officers will tell you how
well. He was always losing.” test.” 7 ae Bautista smiled faintly. “Lots of you did it.” He nodded to Losey. _
“Any idea how much he lost, this “I don’t think it wil} be necessary,” men look like me, I suppose.” Losey began to recount the crime
harvest?” Losey predicted. “Finding this gun “That may be,” osey conceded, as he and Cochran had reconstructed
No one knew exactly. Most of in Bautista’s house ought to make “but somethin about your Story is it in their minds.
them guessed that he lost at least half him do a lot of talking.”
of his wages to Villanuevo and Bucsit.
wrong, and we’re going to see Sheriff “You held the gun in Villanuevo’s
ere was now little doubt that Sh i
erman about it ome on.” back, all the way to the peach orchard.
: ‘ Bucsit was the unidentified victim and The veteran sheriff was skilled in’ There you made him stop. You shot
Losey believed he saw the motive. Bautista the criminal. Yet the evi- questioning reluctant men. Patiently him in the back. Bucsit got out and
2€ man had been afraid to face his ence against him was circumstantial. he drew from Bautista his story of you shot him, but only wounded him.
Wife with no money. That he feared Would it stand up in court, before a. the night’s travel. It never deviated He ran into the trees. He was hurt,
<1 was evident, when he didn’t go to jury? from that told .to Losey and Cochran. and you caught him and clubbed him
visit relatives in San Francisco. Taking the gun with him, Losey He firmly denied any part of the to death. Then you dragged him to
. drove back to Tulare where Cochran crime. the car. It was dark, though, and you
OSEY decided that a Search of Bau- and Bautista awaited him. When “I don’t know anything about the didn’t know that things fell from his
tista’s home would not be amiss. confronted with evidence of the gun gun,” he reiterated, “Anybody could pockets.”
He got Constable Williamson, and and also the fact that he had been have put it in my house.” He eyed the young man as he
together they went to the house. Mrs. Seen in Stockton after the bus had “True,” the sheriff conceded. “But talked, but the Suspect only stared
autista offered no objection to the. departed, the suspect calmly denied why would anyone choose your house _ back blankly. Losey went on, ham-
Search, but it was Plain she was ut- the crime. - to hide it?” mering Home the words, repeating
terly unable to understand why it was “I rode the bus,” he Maintained. - Bautista only shrugged. “Prove the that the man had killed his best
One. She had never, she told them, “Why else would I spend money on a gun killed them,” he invited. _ friends. “Then,” Losey said suddenly,
seen her husband with a guin. . ticket? As for the gun, somebody The sheriff left the Toom and tele- “you pulled off the gas tank cap and
The two Constables began with the must have put it in the chair. Vil- Phoned Coroner Brooks, “No,” the threw in a'match. Your friends
coroner replied to his questions, “we cooked alive!”
CARRIED TO COURT
CHARGED WITH ROBBERY
aR "ig as ee ae eae eT
acct amarante setae
irda § ,
incre wire
block such a
new witnesses,
rs, to testify
ompletely sane
is brutal crime.
of sensational
which — special)
ung to protect
tering citizens
‘ourt room and
’ building, the
of guilty and
1 png
Judge Fickett
of death by
ing a -defense
. Four days
rred to Death
‘ate Prison at
lained a resi-
sar through a
lations which
ying the case
here the ver-
ind Superior
a
he paid the
names Pat
S$ used in this
\GE 23
ee,
I just gota
found some-
ig the river
intersection
{, and into a
farmer, Bert
reeted them.
out in my
d. “There's
wasn’t there
d what you
anything.”
igh a field to
ig the road
etween two
t torn up!”
‘here must
some kind,
tan shoe,”
pencil, and
‘Ss scattered
some man’s
area of soi]
Williamson
It was an
some un-
ade out to
in,” Coch-
road runs
vas found,
We’ll have
ced in the
new shoe
n a fight, °
1g,” Coch-
id. “And
between
would be
1 further
ral dark
ined the
They ap-
od.
it night?”
The officers thanked Jackson and
hurried back to Porterville. In uiries
at once revealed that Macario Bucsit
was one of the harvesters and a good
friend of Villanuevo’s. He had not
yet returned. He had been wearing
identical tan shoes.
Yet there seemed still a chance that
Bucsit could be the criminal. But if
he was the victim, then the officers
realized they had not progressed very
far. Several of the men verified that
Bucsit, a single man, did not drink.
Neither did he own a gun, that any-
one knew of. In fact, none of the
men could recall anyone in the colony
who owned a gun.
“Were Villanuevo and Bucsit ever
known to quarrel?” Cochran per-
sisted. “Or did they ever quarrel
with anyone else?”
“No,” a man named Luzon answered
“I know everybody in the crowd.
There never has been quarrels or
fights. When the fellows gambled, it
was nearly always Villanuevo or
Bucsit who won, They were friends
of everybody, just the same.”
“Oh, so they gambled! Then they
must have had a lot of money, between
them?”
Luzon shrugged. “It is likely.
Everybody has lost to them at some
time. They were good players. But
I never saw anybody angry at them.”
Losey and Cochran exchanged sig-
nificant glances. Here was a motive
gambling winnings that far exceeded
harvest wages. A killer either rode
back with them purposely, or trailed
them.
The sedan burning so far off the
direct road to Porterville was mysti-
fying. The officers, trying to recon-
struct the crime, could on y conclude
that as the car neared Porterville a
Passenger in the back séat had thrust
a gun into Villanuevo’s back and
ordered him to drive down to the river
road to the peach orchard. There,
they theorized, Villanuevo was shot
and killed.
The other passenger beside Vil-
lanuevo, although wounded, may have
gotten out of the car and started to
run into the shelter of the orchard.
But the killer caught him. Wounded,
he was easy prey for a vicious club-
bing, after which he was dragged back
to the automobile,
The slayer drove his death cargo
back to where it was found, robbed
the men, and set the car afire. Ad-
mittedly, it was pure conjecture, but
the clues pointed to it as the most
likely theory.
ORKING closely with the Vil-
W ianuevo family and relatives Losey
and Cochran were now i ormed
that all the men had returned from
Stockton and were accounted for, ex-
cept Bucsit. The statements of the
later arrivals tallied with ‘the others,
and none put forth any idea of motive.
All agreed, however, that the money
which the two men were supposed to
be carrying was a motive for robbery.
_ Several had heard Bucsit say he
intended driving back with Villa-
nuevo. Also, they had heard Bautista
say the same.
2f we can find someone who saw
Villanuevo start back from the aspara-
gus camp,” Cochran told Losey, “we
might solve it.”
“Yes, Villanuevo left before some
of the others, Somebody must have
seen him pull away.”
They went from house to house
again, asking more questions, A man
was found who said: “I saw Vil-
lanuevo putting suitcases in his car.
At that time, Bucsit and Bautista were
talking to him.”
“I heard Villanuevo and Bautista
talk about buying gas,” another said.
“They were arguing about what kind
was best.” ‘
As far as they could learn, no one
had seen Villanuevo actually depart.
The officers again sought Bautista.
“You seem to be one of the last to see
Villanuevo alive,” Losey told him.
“You were talking to him when he
packed his car. idn’t he mention
who was riding back with him?”
“No,” Bautista answered. “I took
it for granted Bucsit was going, for
he had talked about it. I told them
I was going to the bus station. When
I changed my mind and came back,
they had both gone. So I didn’t see
them start.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I_waited around until the bus left
for San Francisco. But I let it go be-
cause I had decided to come straight
to Porterville, after all. So I took the
Tulare bus.”
“We'll have to start clearing these
men, one by one,” Losey said to his
partner, “if it takes all summer.
Somebody’s guilty, or at least knows
something they’re not telling.”
“May as well start with Bautista,
here,” Cochran suggested.
Bautista art ogee his willingness
to give all the help he could and
readily accompanied the officers on a
drive up to Stockton. There they took
him to the Greyhound ticket agent,
who was positive Bautista had pur-
chased a ticket for the 10 p.m. bus,
Saturday night.
The driver of that particular bus
was found at the bus terminal, He
could not remember Bautista defi-
nitely being a Passenger, saying he
had been too busy that night, with a
crowded bus, to pay close attention to
his fares.
Back to Tulare they went and
waited for the bus driver of the bus.
running from Tulare to Porterville
to check in. He, too, viewed Bautista
and said that he recalled a panepnge.
closely resembling him, who had
boarded the bus at Tulare.
' “But there was another dark-com-
plexioned man,” the driver added.
“He also looked a lot like this’ man.
He got on my bus about ten miles out
of Porterville, and rode into town.”
Losey and Cochran: jerked instantly
alert. “That would be about the spot,”
Losey said, “if the killer cut across the
fields from the burned car to the Por-
terville highway. How about it,
Bautista?”
“Yes, that’s right: I remember him.
He wore a gray sweater. But he was
taller than me.”
“Somewhere, something is decid-
edly wrong,” Cochran reasoned.
“Now before we can eliminate
Bautista, we’ll have to find someone
who saw him on the bus, either at
Stockton or Tulare.”
“You two stay here at the police
station,” og | said. “T’ll see what
some of his fellow workers say.”
Again the harvest workers were
queried. Three were found who had
come back by the 10 o'clock bus from
Stockton. bo had sat up front, near
the driver, and had not seen Bautista
on the bus, although they admitted he
could have been on it,
“Why, he couldn’t have been on it!”
spoke up Luzon. “These fellows left
on the ten o'clock bus. I saw him
talking to Villanuevo and Bucsit at
half-past ten.”
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(Continued from page 52)
Cline said.
He reached for the phone. It took
only,a moment for the police’chief to
describe the suspect to the foreman
and learn that a man, answering Bur-
holme’s description, who was known
to his foreman as Russell Beitzel,
could be located at the firm’s Mateo
Street building.
The address of Caleb Frankholf, to
whom the mystery gun was registered,
was at the same number. Were Frank-
holf and Beitzel the same persons?.
Officers hadn’t found Frankholf in
when they sought to question him
concerning the gun.
When Condaffer and Sanderson ar-
rived at the Mateo Street address,
they were referred to a small office.
Inside a young man sat on the edge of
the desk talking into a desk tele-
phone. His brown hair was parted in
the middle and his hat was pushed
back. Spread in front of him was a
copy of the latest edition of a Los
Angeles tabloid with lurid details of
the city’s latest murder mystery.
Sanderson strode to the desk and
picked up the paper. “Well, Russell
Burholme, I see where they found
young Mrs. Burholme’s body,” he said.
The young man stiffened. In a stir
of guilty panic the knuckles of his left
hand went white under the pressure
with which he gripped the desk tele-
phone.
“Mrs. Burholme’s body?” he blurted
out, cradling the phone .blindly. He
gulped, swallowing ‘audibly. “You
can’t mean—” :
“I mean your wife, Barbara,’ San-
derson snapped.
“Why, there must be some mistake.
I’m Russell Beitzel. My wife is in
Philadelphia. I’ve got her last letter
right here—’ He fumbled through a
few envelopes he took from his pocket,
then looked bewildered. “Must be in
my room at the ‘Y’,” he stammered.
. “It must be in your head!” Sander-
son’s sarcasm cut deep. “I’d tell the
truth, if I were in your place, Bur-
holme, Beitzel or whatever-your-
name-is.” : ;
The suspect sized up the situation at
a glance. “All right,” he said. “I'll
tell my side of the story. There's al-
ways two sides to every story, you
know.” With that remark the lighted
up a cigarette, sat back in a chair, and
perched his feet up on the glass sur-
face of the desk.
He told about taking Barbara to a
picnic and of a violent quarrel they
had indulged in while in the Holly-
wood Hills. During this emotional
outburst, he claimed, the girl had
leaped from the car screaming that
she was going home to her mother.
Burholme said that he had made no
effort to stop her. He knew she was
without funds, he explained, but said
he had felt no obligation since she
chose to act in so unreasonable a
manner.
“Barbara had been taunting me
about there being another man in her
life,’ Burholme explained. “I wasn't: .
even sure I was the father of the child
she was expecting.”
“But she was your wife, wasn’t
she?” Condaffer demanded.
“No, she wasn’t,” the young man re-
plied. “We were never married. You
see, I have a wife and two children in
Philadelphia.” :
He blamed Barbara for everything.
She had. “gone to work on him,” he
said, back in that Eastern city almost
*a year before. It was she who had in-
54 sisted that they go away together. It
peach
was she who had proved unworthy.
“You must have been a pretty weak
character, if you were married and
couldn’t stand on your rights as a hus-
band and father,” Sanderson com-
mented evenly. “By the way, what’s
your real name?”
“Russell St. Claire Beitzel,” he re-
lied. “Barbara cooked up that Bur-
olme alias.”
“Where’d. you get the gun?” Con-
daffer asked.
“Borrowed it from a fellow who
used to work here. Wanted it for
target practice. Guess Barbara must
have shot herself with it after she saw
I wouldn’t run after her,” he volun-
teered.
“A likely story! Now, suppose you
tell us just why you did change your
name.” <
His dark eyes flashed a challenge.
“You're a couple of smart dicks,” he
replied. “Suppose you find out and
tell me!”
O THEY took him to headquarters,
where shortly afterwards reports
a
Beitzel at a cigar and candy counter
where she worked. Beitzel was her
first heart interest. She fell madly in
love with the dapper, somewhat
sophisticated fellow and his glib blan-
dishments. ; :
He was a graduate of Temple Uni-
versity and Drexel Technical Insti-
tute and held an excellent position as
credit manager for a large Philadel-
phia department store. He impressed
Barbara and her parents as. being a
matrimonial prospect far above the
average. For he had conveniently
neglected to mention the fact that he
already had a wife and two fihe chil-
dren,
Through Beitzel, Barbara came to
work for his firm. Then one night the
girl failed to return home from work.
Next morning a letter from Barbara
informed her parents that she and
Beitzel had eloped and that they were
enroute to South America where
’ Beitzel would assume charge of a
started coming through from Phil-,
adelphia: Police found out that the
girl’s name was Barbara Mauger, and
.that both she and Beitzel were listed
as missing since September, 1927.
Messages flashed from West Coast to
the East. And the picture finally came
into sharp focus.
Barbara Mauger, a perfect honey-
blonde, had met Russell St. Claire
noReN
.
THIS IS WHERE THE KILLER SAID HE LEFT HIS WIFE— a
Street corner in Long Beach, Cal., where Beitzel claimed he met his aunt, who -
offered to take Beitzel’s wife, Barbara, with-her back to her home in the East. .
.
large coffee plantation. She said they
would be married on the boat, and she
would write later. But weeks and
months went by and no letter came.
Later Barbara’s parents learned that
Beitzel had left his job under a dark
cloud. $700 in cash was missing from
the store’s funds as well as $400 in
‘checks and merchandise valued at
$1,100.
Shortly afterwards. the Maugers
learned that Beitzel was already
married. They begged his wife to
obtain ac
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Ironically, the mur-
dered girl wore a wed-
ding ring, though she
never went through a
legal marriage cere-
mony. It is shown en-
circling the gun used
in the slaying. Below:
Detective Sanderson
(right) and the sus-
pect examine the re-
volver.
DWIN HITCHCOCK and Vernon
Johnson, members of a Los Angeles
Boy Scout troop, plodded sturdily
upward along Mulholland Drive. The
boulevard rimmed a high ridge that had
been flung skyward in the last great ice-
age upheaval, its wooded slopes now in
the full flush of a California summer.
Far below, like a toy town in fairyland,
lay the red roofs, white bungalows and
fantastic studio lots of Hollywood, and
the two scouts climbed slowly as they
gazed at the enchanting scene.
Suddenly a black, slow-moving shadow
crossed the roadway. Johnson glanced
upward. Nearly a dozen huge, black
birds circled and settled at a point less
than a hundred feet beyond the roadway.
“Look, Ed!” he said excitedly. ‘Aren’t
those buzzards?”
“They sure look like buzzards,” young
Hitchcock agreed.
The unhurried flappings of the winged
harbingers of death filled both boys with
vague apprehension.
“Wonder what’s up?” whispered John-
son.
“Let’s go and find out!”
The boys plunged through the under-
brush and pushed toward the spot where
the sable birds had descended. The buz-
zards, reluctant to leave, rose and circled
sluggishly. As the boys drew closer, a
sickening odor struck their nostrils.
Young Hitchcock, who approached first,
tore at the bushes and jerked back the
Circling vultures led to
HEADLINE DETECTIVE
| HEADQUARTERS
(DETECTIVE
¥
his passenger coincided perfectly with
that given by the sporting goods.
salesman of the greenhorn who had
purchased ammunition. This seemed
like more than mere coincidence.
“Twenty-nine days have passed
since the date of this taxi driver’s
experience,” Cline told his men, after
he had dismissed Lockridge. “The
killer must be pretty jittery by now.
We'd better check hotels and—”
The telephone at Cline’s elbow sud-
denly shrilled. With unconcealed ex-
citement in his voice he spoke into the
mouthpiece, listened intently for a
moment, then said, ‘Hold everything.
We'll be right over,” and hung up.
“Tt’s the morgue,” he explained,
grabbing his hat. “Looks like a posi-
tive identification. Come along!”
Upon arriving at the morgue they
found two middle aged women wait-.
ing. Both were red-eyed and visibly
shaken.
The eldest of the two introduced
herself as Mrs. Julia Franks and ad-
mitted that she was the one who had
reported the girl as missing.on the
evening of June 24th. “I didn’t have
anything -to go on, really,” she ad-
mitted, “but I couldn’t get over the
feeling that something was wrong ~
when Barbara didn’t come home from
the picnic.” :
She struggled for control while her
companion, Mrs. Mary Atwood, who
said that she was a roomer in the
apartment house Mrs. Franks man-
aged, sought. vainly to comfort her.
The murder victim was identified as
Barbara Burholme. ‘She was un-
happy and sure that her husband
didn’t love her anymore,” Mrs. Franks
explained. “Her husband, Russell
Burholme, didn’t want Barbara to
make friends in the apartment house.
But the poor girl needed a friend, and
I tried to be one.” ;
Mrs. Franks said the young couple
had resided in her apartment butilding
at 841 Golden Avenue for a little over
two months. Mr. Burholme had been
disliked by everyone, due to his ob-
vious efforts to thwart any possible
approach toward friendliness.
“There was something mysterious
about that man to make him act the
way he did,’ Mrs. Franks said with.
her: emotions somewhat under con-
trol and with firm conviction. “Bar-
bara wanted a permanent home so
badly, and a family. Yet he kept
moving her around from pillar to post
—six times in as many months—and
always in the middle of the night
when Barbara least expected to have
to move. It was as if her'husband was
afraid something or somebody might
catch up with him—or them! I know
now that Barbara didn’t tell. me
everything.”
Mrs. Franks thought that the couple
had come to California from Pennsyl-
vania, but she said that they never re-
ceived mail at the Golden Avenue
address.
“Barbara had a gorgeous layette for
the baby she was expecting,” Mrs. At-
wood volunteered. “She’d sit in her
apartment alone, day after day, look-
PASSION PUZZLE OF THE UNWED MOTHER
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 25
ing at it and crying fit to break your
heart.” She daubed at her overflow-
ing tears.
the fact that Mrs. Franks was the
woman who had assisted Barbara
in obtaining the necessary information
to enable Burholme to purchase the
box of cartridges.
According to the motherly Mrs.
Franks, Barbara had been happy over
the purchase, because this meant that
Burholme was planning to take Bar-
Fhe tact questioning brought oyt
bara on a picnic the following day *
to celebrate Burholme’s giving up ‘“‘the
_ other woman.” Burholme planned to
hunt rabbits and do some _ target
shooting. And since the young wife
had been neglected so long, she was
thrilled and happy at the prospect of
so pleasant an outing.
The couple had left as planned,
Sunday forenoon, in a bright yellow
roadster which Mrs. Franks thought
Burholme might have borrowed from
a friend. They carried a picnic lunch
which she had helped Barbara pre-
pare.
“When Burholme came back alone
that evening, I was greatly upset,”
Mrs. Franks continued. “He told me
a fantastic story about how they had
driven down the Coast Highway to
Long Beach. He said that just as they
stopped at a pedestrians’ crossing near
the Pacific Electric Station, he had
been surprised to see his aunt, loaded
down with suitcases, crossing right in
front of the car.
“He told me he hadn’t known his
aunt was anywhere near California,
and he had hailed her excitedly and
found out she had made a short trip
here ‘just to see the country,’ and was
leaving at that moment to return to
her home in the East.
“Since Barbara wanted to be with
her mother when. the baby came, he
said, he had given her the necessary
funds for the trip so that she could go
with the aunt and would not have to
make the long trip alone. He ex-
plained that his aunt had some cloth-
ing which Barbara could wear en-
route, and he was sending her things
on to her at her mother’s.
“Burholme moved out a day or so
later, saying he wanted a single room
where he could cut expenses, and I
was glad to be rid of him,” Mrs.
Franks explained. “He left a bag of
soiled clothing behind. I’m a senti-
mental old woman, I guess, but I
haven’t even touched the apartment
since he left. I prayed Barbara might
come back and need a home.”
According to-Mrs. Franks, the
young wife had a growth, hardly no-
ticeable, on her right foot, sort of a
“fifth toe’ about which she was ex-
tremely sensitive.
Elated over this “break,” Sanderson
and Condaffer accompanied the two
women to the Golden Avenue address
to check the Burholme apartment.
Meanwhile word was relayed from
headquarters that ownership of the
gun had been traced to Caleb Frank-
holf, an employee of the Garrier En-
TE EET ER Se
gineering Corporation on Mateo Street
in the industrial district. While officers
sped to question -Frankholf, others
were checking hotels and rooming
houses.
In the recently vacated Burholme
apartment, the detectives found a
bloodstained turkish towel and man’s
handkerchief. A few gleaming strands
of blonde hair clung to the towel,
which. obviously had been used to
staunch a heavy flow of life’s blood.
It seemed likely that the right limb
had been crudely hacked off at the
scene where the murder had been
committed, then disjointed and trans-
ported to the apartment. Later it was
returned to the hills for permanent
disposal.
Beneath the rug four slips of paper
had been concealed. Three were post
office receipts for registered packages,
and one was a storage receipt from a
Los Angeles warehouse on nearby
Ninth Street.
Condaffer glanced over the postal
receipts, hoping to find a Philadelphia
or Pittsburgh address that might clear
up the mystery of where the girl’s
parents lived. But, oddly enough, all
the receipts showed that the packages
had been mailed to Phoenix, Arizona,
to three men named “Stone,” all with
varying surnames and addresses. The
sender’s name was identical in all in-
,stances, being given as J. J. Stone,
Box 214, Seattle, Washington.
“Obviously a clumsy attempt to
balk any possible later attempt toward
tracing the girl’s personal effects,”
Condaffer commented. “In that case,
he wasn’t smart to keep them around
at all.”
Mrs. Franks had not been able to
tell the detectives what type of work
Burholme had been doing. But she
showed where his young wife had
scribbled his business phone number,
just in case it should be needed in an
emergency.
HILE Condaffer checked the num-
ber, Sanderson departed with the
storage receipt. There was just a
chance that some prized possession
might yield a clue. A scant half hour
later the pair met, as agreed, at head-
quarters.
“The package contained baby clothes
—exquisite ones,’ Sanderson reported.
“The kind which nobody out of the
big money brackets could possibly
afford. Now I'd like to be able to
figure out why a fellow who would
murder his wife when she was on the
verge of motherhood would be senti-
mental about keeping baby clothes in
storage.”
“Maybe we'd better ask the guy and
find out,” was Condaffer’s laconic sug-
gestion. ;
The phone number Condaffer had
checked was for the engine room of
the. Metropolitam Theatre. Further in-
vestigation had revealed the fact that
the Garrier Engineering Corporation
had recently installed a cooling sys-
tem there. “The company’s installing
a unit now at the Biltmore Hotel,”
(Continued on page 54)
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obtain a divorce on the grounds of de-
sertion. They felt certain that Bar-
bara and Beitzel would anticipate the
possibility of a divorce action after
which they could»wed. .
But Beitzel’s wife was adamant in
her refusal to divorce her. errant hus-
band. Early in their married life
Beitzel had become infatuated with |
another girl. They had gone to Florida
together on a vacation trip. As a re-
sult, friends of his wife had filed a
Mann Act charge against Beitzel. But
due to the fact that Mrs. .Beitzel com-
pletely forgave her husband, charges
were dismissed and the case was never
brought to court.
In this instance, however, Beitzel. *
found himself without friends. In his
room at the Y.M.C.A. police found
pawn tickets showing that he had
pawned a ring and wrist watch be-
longing to the murdered girl less than
a week after her murder.
The lethal weapon was also found
in his room. The sights had been filed.
off, and a silencer had been fitted in
place. While Beitzel.admitted borrow-
ing the revolver for “target practice,”
he couldn’t account plausibly for any
reason why a silencer had been neces-
sary except that ‘loud shooting made
Barbara nervous.”
‘Tf I killed her, I sure must have
been crazy,” he. remarked.
The yellow roadster was located at
a car rental agency. On the floor mat
and underneath on the floor boards
were dark stains which ‘chemical tests
later proved to be human blood.
On August 17, 1928, Beitzel was in-
dicted for the murder of Barbara
Mauger. On September 15th the case
was brought to trial in Judge Charles
S. Burnell’s court. Beitzel . pleaded,
‘not guilty!” and “not guilty by rea-
son of.insanity.”
Trial proceedings pointed out that
Beitzel’s interest in another woman
had lighted the fuse to murder. En-
amoured of a new love, he had sought
—through murder—to rid himself of
Barbara and their unborn child. The
girl’s love and loyalty for Beitzel was
unquestioned. With no word of com-
plaint she had forsaken family and
friends to be with him, never taking
the slightest interest in another man.
The layette was identified as one
stolen from the Philadelphia depart-
ment store. where Beitzel had been
employed. He was believed to have
stored it with the-intention of selling
it later. It, too, symbolized Barbara
Mauger’s broken dream of a happy
marriage and children.
On July 20th the jury returned a
verdict finding Beitzel guilty as
charged, with no recommendation of
mercy. This meant death by hanging.
Appeals and requests for a new trial
delayed carrying out the verdict. The
condemned man’s last minute reprieve
. was denied by Governor C. C. Young.
On August 2, 1929, Beitzél mounted
the steps to the scaffold and felt the
‘hood and noose being adjusted. Then
he plunged into eternity! :
The missing right leg of the victim
was never located. The clue of “Love
Eternal” was indeed prophetic. Al-
though the ring’s inscription was one
of ultimate endearment, it seemed
clear they were meaningless to the
bogus husband who had slipped the
golden band on the trusting girl’s
finger.
And so a killer’s calloused indiffer-
ence to sentiment spelled his doom,
while Barbara Mauger’s loyalty to her
vows of “Love Eternal” paid off in
violent death at the hands of her
faithless lover.
Eprror’s Note: The names of Eddie
Lockridge, Mrs. Julia Franks, and
Mrs. Mary Atwood are fictitious in
order to conceal the identities of per-
sons questioned by the police.
HEADQUARTERS
DETECTIVE
easily turn into a killer if he were ever
cornered. I believe he should be in-
vestigated at once.”
Decker nodded. “First, we'll get out
a search warrant_and go after Haley,”
he said. “Then I’d like to have a look
at that garage where Hunter’s truck is
-kept.”
But Haley was out when the officers
arrived at his apartment. They
searched his room thoroughly but
found no evidence to connect him with
the robberies. Curtsinger and Decker
then went to the garage where the Ford
pickup was kept. Ten minutes later
they were both breathing excitedly,
aware that they had struck pay dirt.
In a corner of the garage Decker
found an acetylene torch. The sheriff.
checked it immediately with a list of |
the loot. “Here it is!”” he exclaimed ex-
ultantly. “This torch was stolen from
a machine shop in Whiteright. And
that robbery was just like a dozen
others the pickup truck burglars have
pulled.” :
Tense, now, with the first major
break in their case, Decker and Curt-~
singer laid their plans carefully. “If
we work this right, we’ll round up the
entire gang,” Decker prophesied.
The truck was watched for several
nights, but no one was seen to approach
it after Hunter put it up for the night.
“They know we’re watching the pick-
up,” Decker decided. “We'll check up
and find out who Haley and Green-run
with.”
It was not until March 4th that the
officers were ready. They had several
Dallas addresses where, supposedly,
the men ‘associated with Haley and.
Green were hiding out. That night a
squad of officers, headed by Sheriff
Schmidt raided a half dozen houses.
When the raid was over, Roy Green,
Everett Duncan, and Bill Johnson,
were in the hands of the law.
A search of the various homes taken
in the raid brought forth a mass of evi-
dence. Loot taken from a half dozen
counties was piled high in Sheriff
Schmidt’s office. Item after item was
identified as having been stolen in one
of the various burglaries and robberies.
Still the officers knew that this was
not the major portion of the loot and
that they had not captured the head of
the gang. But the prisoners refused to
talk for several days. Then when they
were shown evidence sufficient for
conviction, they realized that the court
would be more lenient if they told the
whole story. So they finally confessed
their own crimes of burglary and rob-
bery and told the officers where most
of the booty was hidden.
Curtsinger and other officers, follow-
ing information given by the prisoners,
drove down a county lane near Plano
in Denton county. Back from the road
, in the hills, stood an old, abandoned
building. ‘
“This is the place!” Curtsinger told
the group.
It took time to complete the search
of the building. When the work was
done, Curtsinger and his aides had re-
covered over $10,000 worth of mer-
chandise taken in robberies in a dozen
Texas counties.
Green was left in the custody. of
Sheriff Curtsinger for crimes in Den-
ton county, while Duncan and Johnson
were turned over to Deputy Cariker
and Postal Inspector Long on charges
from Ellis county. :
Swift punishment was meted out to
the offenders. They were convicted
of robberies in seven counties. Each
>
>
DEAD IN THE HEART OF TEXAS
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 49
one of them was sentenced to serve
from two to four years for his crimes,
with sentences to run concurrently.
Officers all over North Texas
breathed a sigh of relief when the
criminals were transferred to Hunts-
ville. But their work was not finished.
In each of the confessions, the robbers
‘refused to name their leader. Finally,
however, Green revealed that the man
was W. T. Haley, Jr.
“Just as I suspected,” Curtsinger
said, “and he’s the most dangerous
criminal in Texas, a natural killer on
the loose.” .
Word went out instantly to the coun-
ties where the bandits had worked.
Every officer was given a description
of W. T. Haley, Jr., and each officer
was warned that the man was dan-
gerous, and not to take unnecessary
risks.
Summer passed and Haley still
eluded capture. It was on the night of
September 1 when the scene suddenly
shifted to Forth Worth; and again ex-
citement flared.
City deteotive Cleveland listening to
a police broadcast, jotted down the li-
cense number of a stolen automobile.
The car had been taken from the
streets in Graham in West Texas.
Cleveland had a hunch the car would
show up in Forth Worth, and he kept
an eye peeled.
Driving along East Belknap Street,
along with Detective Chaffin, Cleve-
land suddenly spotted the stolen car.
It was parked in the driveway of a
residence. As the detectives watched,
a young man, neatly dressed, with
darting, dangerous eyes, came down
the sidewalk and turned in toward the
house.
“Take no chances!” Cleveland told
Ca eh ti
55
here—the scalp caught on the bush
and came off.” It was likely that the
body had been taken away in an auto-
mobile, but on the chance that it had
not, the officers recruited Rygaard
and his crew of firemen to aid in
searching the dense brush of the can-
yon wall which sloped sharply down
- from the road.
. . About 300 feet down the moun-
tainside they found the completely
nude and scalped body of a woman,
mummified by exposure to the blis-
tering summer sun. She lay on her
back, arms outflung, and her right leg
missing.
The deputy coroner estimated that
the body, which appeared to be that
of a girl about 20 years old, had been
lying exposed on the mountainside
for at least a month, perhaps six
weeks. Punctures in the parchment-
like skin of both temples looked like
bullet holes.
On the left hand was a thin white
gold wedding band and near the high-
way shoulder Lieutenant Con-
daffer found four small white beads
on a broken string, part of a necklace.
There was no sign of the dead
woman’s clothing or purse. Leaving
the Van Nuys officers to rope off the
area and search the area more thor-
oughly, the homicide men headed
back to headquarters, while the coro-
ner’s wagon took the remains to a
mortuary in Van Nuys.
When a check of the police missing
persons files failed to turn up any clue
to the dead girl’s identity, Chief of
Detectives Herman Cline issued a
teletype bulletin carrying her descrip-
tion to police departments throughout
California, and enlisted the aid of
newspapers. The coroner’s office
supplied the meager data: Between
18 and 22 years old; approximately 5
feet 4 inches, 130 pounds; plump
build; very light blonde bobbed hair;.
color of eyes unknown; fingernails
well manicured; approximately
eight months pregnant at time of
death; dead about five or six weeks.
The condition of the body precluded
the taking of fingerprints.
Late that afternoon, a detective as-
signed to the Missing Persons Bureau,
noting the description, hurried into
the office of Homicide Capt. James
Bean. “I think we may have had a
call about this girl a.week or ten days
ago. Some woman called in and said
she was worried about a young mar-
ried friend of hers, about to become a
mother, who had dropped out of
sight. She did not have much to go
on, so I told her she would have to
come in and file a report.”
The woman had reported her
young blonde friend had vanished
some time in June. The girl’s husband
said she had gone back East to visit
her parents, but soon after, he moved
away from the neighborhood. The
caller refused to give her name.
“As near as I can recall, the missing
woman was a Mrs. Barber, or some
name like that, and she lived around
Westlake.”
It was a slim lead, but Captain
Bean and Chief Cline asked the
newspapers to appeal to the anony-
mous woman caller to come for-
ward. Early the next morning, Fri-
day, Lieutenants Sanderson and
Condaffer, who had worked late into
the night checking various reports on
missing wives, drove to Van Nuys on
a promising tip which was a false
alarm. On their way back, they
stopped at the mortuary where Dr.
A.F. Wagner, chief county autopsy
surgeon, and Dr. Frank Webb were
completing their post mortem exami-
nation.
“Shot through the head,” Dr. Wag-
ner said. “Bullet entered the right
temple, curved around the forehead
without touching the brain, and came
out the left temple. The slug must be
still out there somewhere.
“She lived for several hours after
she was shot. The wound wouldn’t
have caused immediate death, though
she was probably unconscious.”
Lt. Sanderson sifting the ashes in the outdoor incinerator where he found victim’s purse clasp.
“What about the missing leg,
Doc?” )
“It was hacked off with a butcher
knife a long time after death!”
“Hacked off!” Sanderson echoed.
“Now what do you suppose anyone
would do that for? We’ve had dis-
memberment cases where the body’s
been cut up at the scene of the murder
to facilitate getting rid of it, but-this
body was already out there in that
lonely spot. Why would the murderer
come back later?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Dr.
Wagner nodded. “My guess is that the
leg or foot had some deformity, some
identifying mark. The killer got to
worrying about it, and he came back
later and cut the leg off. Then too, he
must have come back to move the
body down the hill.
“Here’s something he forgot,
though. Her wedding ring. I cut it off
the finger. If you look closely, you
can see a number or something
scratched on the inside.”
He was right. Under a magnifying
glass the tiny figures “1047” were re-
vealed. “Must be :a jeweler’s num-
ber,” Condaffer frowned.
“It could be a pawnshop number,”
Sanderson pointed out.
The homicide men took the ring to
Saul Zemansky, president of the
Pawnbrokers Association. Squinting
through his glass, he confirmed that
the inscription resembled a pawnshop
code number.
Picking up a heavy ledger, Zemans-
ky ran his finger down a table of fig-
ures. “We’ve just started coordinating
these marks, you know, for our own
protection. The 1000 series was used
in June by a shop over at Fifth and
Main,” 2s: fi
Sanderson and Condaffer hastened
to the small shop, where the pawn-
broker readily identified the number
and produced his record of the trans-
action. The wedding ring had been
pawned for 50 cents on June 4, and
redeemed four days later by a woman
who signed herself Mrs. Barber, 841
Golden Avenue.
“I remember that girl,” the broker
told the detectives. “She was a pretty
blonde about 18. She was pregnant
and she was crying. She said she
didn’t have carfare to get home. The
ring wasn’t worth anything to me,
but I felt sorry for her.”
“The killer probably didn’t know
she had ever pawned the ring,” Sand-
erson said, getting into the car again.
Barbara Mauger, the victim.
Uncovering her identity was
only tip of the iceberg.
“It was only in pawn four days and
not long before she was killed. So he
never dreamed there was an identify-
ing number scratched inside it!”
The Golden Avenue address, near
Westlake Park, was a modest two-
storey stucco apartment house. No
Barber was listed on the mailboxes.
The manager, Mrs. Margaret Laird,
did not recall any tenant by that name.
But when the homicide men de-
scribed the young mother-to-be, gray-
haired Mrs. Laird cried out in shocked
alarm. “Why, you must mean Barba-
ra—Barbara Burholme! Has some-
thing happened to that poor girl?”
When they broke the news to her,
the elderly apartment manager said, “I
guess I’m really not too surprised. We
thought all along that there was some-
thing fishy about her going away so
suddenly. But her husband seemed
like such a nice young man.”
Russell and Barbara Burholme, it
seemed, had moved into one of the
ground floor apartments in April. Bar-
bara was expecting her baby late in
July or early August. They were a
quiet, pleasant young couple who
kept to themselves and paid their rent
on time. Mrs. Laird did not know
what Russell did for a living, but he
went to work every morning in a
business suit, not overalls or rough
work clothes.
On Sunday, June 24, the landlady
told the officers, Russell Burholme
drove up in a rented automobile. and
announced he was taking Barbara on
a picnic. That night he came back
alone. The next evening he knocked
at Mrs. Laird’s door to tell her his
wife had gone back East suddenly,
and that he would be giving up the
apartment.
“He said they had. met an aunt of
Barbara’s getting out of a taxi in
front of the railroad station in Santa
Monica. The aunt was taking a train
back East. They talked things over,
and Barbara decided on the spur of the
moment that she’d like to go back and
be with her folks when she had her
baby.”
Russell Burholme, who explained
he was going to move into a smaller
apartment in his wife’s absence and
then probably buy a house when she
returned with the baby, moved out a
few days later, on June 27. That was
the last Mrs. Laird had seen of the
Burholmes.
“Barbara never talked about her
troubles, at least not to me,” Mrs.
Laird said. “But she may have con-
fided in Mae Burns, the lady who has
the other apartment downstairs. She’s
a widow and works as a housekeeper
at the Biltmore downtown. Mae was
her closest friend around here.”
The widow, however, had left on
a month’s vacation to visit her family
in Chicago and wasn’t due to return
until Sunday.
The apartment manager added sev-
eral more significant items. The day
after Barbara was last seen, Bur-
holme had gone out to the backyard
incinerator and burned some gar-
ments.
Mrs. Laird did not know who had
called the police to tip them about
Barbara’s disappearance.
But when the detectives talked
with the neighbors they soon located
the anonymous informant, a widow
whose small neice had often visited
(continued on page 41)
23
blonde hair all right, with two dark
eyes peering out.
Suddenly the fire warden sucked in
his breath and paused in mid-stride.
“You’d better Stay here, boys, while I
go in and take a look.”
A mop of bobbed straw-blonde
hair was there—but there was noth-
ing attached to it but a scalp. The gris-
ly relic was caught ona branch.
Strips of the torn scalp hung down to
simulate cheek-bones and eyes and a
gnarled stump completed the startling
Illusion of a crouching woman. In the
sultry air, the fetid odor of death arose
tom the thicket, mingled with the
smell of disinfectant. Nothing else but
he dangling blonde Scalp was in evi-
lence. a‘
Rygaard, taking the two wide-
yed boys with him, hurried down
1€ trail to the nearest telephone on
entura Boulevard. “Do you think it
ould be Indians?” one of his young
ompanions wanted to know. But, of
durse, since it was 1928 no Indians
Detective Chief Cline put out meager
description of victim, but it paid off.
iad been in the area for a long while.
This was murder.
The fire warden’s call brought a
uniformed crew from the Van Nuys
station of the Los Angeles Police De-
partment. Detective Lts. LeRoy Sand-
erson and Frank C. Condaffer of cen-
tral homicide arrived with a deputy
coroner and technical team.
The woman had Obviously
been blessed with ©
exceptional good
_looks—or was it actually a
curse? The bullet Slugs in
her temples made a
strong case for the la tter.
Russ Beitzel went by many names. His
charm persuaded trusting girl to go to
her doom long before her time.
It was apparent that a decomposing
body had recently lain under the man-
zanita bush. Twigs were broken and
the leaf-mold matted in a dark brown
mass. The deputy coroner detected
the antiseptic odor. “Creosote!” he
announced. “Somebody poured cre-
osote on the body and pulled it out of
(continued on next Page)
FRPRAR EK
«!
RRS
Ft}
ARARSAR
Clark Street residence.
Sgt. Ray Lorin, of the Lakewood
station of the Los Angeles County
cu.~riff’s Department, explained that
ities spotted the vehicle about 6
a.m. on January 21. As they ap-
proached the parked vehicle, the driv-
er sped away. Immediately they gave
chase, tires screaming.
By the time the two officers had
piled into.their police cruiser, the sus-
pect had a good head start, but, as the
two cars careened around sharp
curves, sometimes spinning on the
‘ road, the police vehicle began to gain.
Shots were fired and the suspect’s
windshield was splintered, forcing
him to pull over. Fortunately, it was
early and few cars were on the usual-
ly busy road, or somebody might have
been killed or seriously hurt.
The two policemen, guns-at-the-
ready, sprang from their police vehi-
cle, seeing as they did a dark figure
scuttling from the driver’s side of the
car.
“Halt or we’ll shoot!” came the
warning. From behind the other side
of the car came a trembling voice
from a crouching man: “Don’t shoot!
Don’t shoot!”
Tohn Tyrone Wilson was quickly
idcuffed and taken to Lakewood
poiice barracks, after being warned
of his rights. Among the items in his
possesion was a man’s wristwatch
later identified as having belonging to
Oliver Bolds.
Booked into Riverside County Jail
for suspicion of murder and atte-
mpted murder Wilson heard a county
magistrate set bail at $250,000.
Unable to make bail, Wilson sat in
jail until the early part of December,
1987, when he was brought to trial in
Riverside Superior Court. Mean-
while, Sgt. Szeles would not com-
’ ment on the evidence in the case, ex-
cept to say that Silver Bolds had been
interviewed. “She gave some infor-
mation about what had happened,”
Szele said.
He added that the children had also
been interviewed and “they are com-
pletely aware of what happened.”
Aside from family members, a few
old pals of the murdered man who
had worked with him at the Long
Beach Shipyard, and a scattered few
neighbors from Mead Valley, the trial
‘John Tyrone Wilson went virtually
unnoticed by everyone but the press.
During his opening statement,
D.A. Rodric A. Pacheco said that the
squabbles that neighbors had heard at
the Bolds’ residence was between
Oliver Bolds and his grandson, John
Wilson.
He said in an hour-long, taped in-
terview with Riverside County Sher-
iff’s Department Investigator Dennis
Harper, the distraught prisoner
sobbed, “I killed my grandfather. |
don’t understand why. I didn’t want
to do it.”
Pacheco said that during the inter-
view Wilson said he was having
troubles with his estranged wife and
his grandparents had taken him in be-
cause he had no place else to go. He
moved out several times and moved
back in again. This last time his
grandfather tried to get him to do
some chores around the place, like
gardening. They argued, Wilson
shouting that he wasn’t about to
work around the house, “free rent or
no free rent.”
On that fateful day, while Silver
and Oliver Bolds were at church,
Wilson removed a_ .22-caliber rifle
from his grandfather’s closet and hid
it in the living room couch. When the
couple came home the old man got on
Wilson’s case because the gardening
had not been done. Once again he or-
dered him out of the house.
“All of a sudden I just snapped like
this,” Wilson said snapping his fin-
gers. “And then when I realized what
was going on, I was standing over
my grandfather just watching him
crys.
Then he turned the gun on his step-
grandmother.
He instructed the two kids to get
into the back room and stay there.
Then he drove off.
During his interview shortly after
his capture in Lakewood, Wilson said
that he wished that the deputies who
shot at him during their pursuit had
killed him.
After the judge allowed jurors to
hear the taped interview with Wil-
son, Silver Bolds testified that she
could not remember details of the
shootings because of apparent brain
damage brought on by the bullet that
had been lodged in her head. The two
children did not testify.
Deputy coroner Rick Bogan testi-
fied that Mr. Bolds had been shot six
times with .22-caliber bullets, the fa-
tal bullet lodging in the victim’s heart.
In citing his contention that revenge
was the motive for the brutal crimes
against his grandparents, Pacheco told
jurors that the evidence should pro-
vide for a first-degree murder and at-
tempted murder verdict against John
Tyrone Wilson. .
Wilson’s court-appointed attorney,
Jay P. Grossman, argued that Wilson
had no record of violent crimes and
was no threat the society, and there-
fore should be shown a little mercy.
On December 15, 1987, after final
arguments and instructions to the jury
by Riverside Superior Court Judge A
William Mortland, the case was sub-
mitted to the jury for deliberation. It
took longer than anticipated. The ju-
rors filed back into the courtroom af-
ter a day and a half of deliberations
with a verdict of guilty of first-degree
murder and attempted murder.
Upon hearing the verdict, the ac-
cused man bowed his head and
sobbed, “I don’t know why I did it.”
Wilson now faces a maximum
sentence of 39 years to life. *
Death Ride For The Beauteous Blonde
(continued from page 23)
with Barbara. She was a woman
who professed to have a “sixth sen-
-se” about such things, and she hadn’t
been able to shake off her strong intu-
ition that Russell—whom she said
she had known as Russell Barber—
had done away with his wife.
Sanderson and Condaffer inter-
viewed elderly Mrs. Zeta Thompson,
who said she had often sat in the back
yard with Barbara while the young
woman, who had recently turned 19,
knitted baby clothes.
“I can tell you why Russell Bur-
holme killed his wife,” Mrs. Thomp-
son declared. “He was running
around with another woman—anoth-
er young blonde—a dancer of some
kind. He was making Barbara’s life a
hell, but she couldn’t leave him on ac-
count of the baby.”
Another neighbor, Mrs. Marice Al-
len, apparently had been the last
friend to see Barbara alive. She had
been watering her lawn on that Sun-
day morning in June when Russell
Burholme drove up about 10:30 in a
(continued on next page)
41
Ooty. ee Weittiamn RM Morerth boar
for he Mirclue + eR on 1/26/16 F 2."
a BE ge abr 3/2 £/1854- Wee oe Pid yeh
/ Thu nurde 9 Yithian +t i. ) "es
Se ne ~~
ace
1]
|
j
640 Cal. 169 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
not error. When it is coupled with the the performance of any unlawful -
two other statements above quoted it be- whether battery or a traffic Noga ve
comes clearly misleading and erroneous. in an ensuing, sudden, violent arg
It excludes from the required showing any growing out of the remonstrance = e
deliberation and premeditation between the ceased against the commission of see =
intent and the act of killing and since the lawful act, killed deceased with a ; ea 4
other statements eliminate any necessity weapon, the accused would be = = «
for deliberation or premeditation in form-| murder of the first degree. uc :
ing the intent (‘He can premeditate course, is not the law. The ine gees
* * *® the moment he conceives the made transgresses the rules #2 a =
purpose,” etc.), the effect of the whole appertain to voluntary manslaug - aD
instruction is to completely delete the only as they relate to differentiation fe we
difference, in the type of murder to which first and second degree murder. e “a
the instruction is applicable, between first ond and third sentences of this pres a
and second degree murder. Instructions are manifestly erroneous if, ri ged
on this subject must not emphasize the parently do, they refer to ster egree ye
element of haste to the exclusion of the der. (People v. Thomas i :
element of preconceived design, As held Cal.2d 880, 898, 156 P.2d pee
in the Bender case (163 P. 20), “while the Bender (1945), supra, spears “ a
jury may be told that the brain can func- They destroy the —— i tiaras
tion rapidly they must not be misled into the degrees of murder and wou —
thinking that an act can at the same time ize conviction of first degree one sa
be hasty, hurried, and deliberate or impul- proof of facts amounting to ad th
sive, unstudied and premeditated.” For degree murder. The scepter sich ‘
roaions hereinafter stated, however, the could not have prejudiced defen we <a
error in giving the above quoted instruc- ard, who was admittedly engaged i
i i the unlawful act of rob-
i i r the facts of this case, perpetration of ful
eae " bery at the time of ‘the killing. But the
instruction is erroneous, confusing, and in
[8-11] The jury were told, by a stock jts literal application to possible factual
instruction, that “If the accused was en- situations absurd, and the practice of giv-
gaged in the performance of an unlawful ing it should be wholly discontinued.
ier res ice pebiene gE: - [12] Errors in the instructions relating
awful manner to prevent the performan ; ae
a such unlawful eA and if, while so en- a praise rere pan ahery
deavoring to prevent the same, the defend- nya spe ives en ‘mae ek
aninee Atere Sey soy tor ee Ee bead weapon with intent. to commit mur-
of revenge, or to enable him to carry out y
: i cerned, for the law (Pen.Code,
his unlawful design, so interfered with by ers eeconitin laa aah ale
said deceased, attacked the latter with a 1 with te ciate wanier of
deadly weapon, intending to kill said de- $44
egree.
: : second, as opposed to the first, deg:
ceased, and did, under such circumstances, , P
carry such intention into execution, the [13] So far as the murder charge bc
fact that defendant was in a passion would concerned, in a case such as this, 7 <d
not mitigate or excuse such homicide, but the facts impel a conviction of mur ie
the crime committed would in such case the first degree both because the : on
be murder in the first degree. It is not was committed in the debian 3 ‘A
less murder because the act is done sud- bery and because it was eS a ned
denly after the intent to commit the homi- means of lying in poopie ecg
cide is formed. It is sufficient that the mit upon any view of t - evi Ya tok
malicious intention precedes and accom- finding other than of murder 0 os
panies the act of homicide.” (Italics add- degree, there is no popes py comeated
ed.) Under the first sentence of this in- to give instructions ca ns mane das
struction, if the accused was engaged in between the degrees of m ,
prejudicial.
ALFORD y, INDUSTRIAL ACCIDENT COMMISSION Cal. 641
Cite as 169 P.2d 641
although the instructions as to such differ- Civ.Proc. §§ 12, 13, 473, 660; Labor Code,
ences were manifestly erroneous, the er- § 5950; Pol.Code, §§ 12, 13.
rors cannot have prejudiced the appealing
defendant.
The judgment and order appealed from
are affirmed. ‘
4. Workmen’s compensation €>1280
As respects limitations, in the case of
a latent and progressive disease, date of
injury should be deemed the time when ac-
GIBSON, C. J,. and SHENK, CAR. si aa Nea enapaen in a disability
TER, TRAYNOR, and SPENCE, JJ, ee ee eee ae
concurred.
and by exercise of reasonable care and dili-
gence it is discoverable that a compensable
EDMONDS, J., concurred in the judg injury was sustained in performance of
ment,
w
© & ney KumBER system
T
ALFORD vy. INDUSTRIAL ACCIDENT
COMMISSION et al.
L. A. 19573.
Supreme Court of California, in Bank.’
May 14, 1946.
1. Time ¢=10(1)
Generally, when the last day for per-
formance of an act provided by law falls
on a Sunday or a holiday, that day is ex-
cluded in computation of time and act may
be performed on the next succeeding day.
Civ.Code, §§ 10, 11; Code Civ.Proc. §§ 12,
13; Pol.Code, §§ 12, 13.
2. Time G>10(1)
As respects computation of time for
Performance of an act when last day for
Performance falls on a Sunday or holiday,
Considerations affecting construction of a
Statutory limitation upon power of a trial
court to pass on matters such as a motion
for a new trial have no bearing upon gen-
cral rule governing procedure to be fol-
lowed by party to an action. Civ.Code, §§
10, 11; Code Civ.Proc. §§ 12, 13, 473, 660
Labor Code, § 5950; Pol.Code, §§ 12, 13.
3 Time @>10(9)
Where last day of limitation period
for filing application for writ of review
directed to award of Industrial Accident
Commission fell on a Sunday, application
filed with appellate court on the following
day was timely, Civ.Code, §§ 10, 11; Code
169 P.2d—41
,
duties of employment. Labor Code, § 5405.
_ 5. Workmen’s compensation ¢=1939
As respects limitations, the question
regarding claimant’s possession of knowl-
edge of cause of ailment or as to whether
disease has progressed to an extent which
constitutes compensable disability is pri-
marily one of fact for Industrial Accident
Commission and Supreme Court will not
interfere with commission’s finding in that
regard provided it is supported by substan-
tial evidence or by reasonable inferences
drawn from testimony adduced. Labor
Code, § 5405.
6. Workmen’s compensation ¢=1682
Substantial evidence sustained finding
of Industrial Accident Commission that
more than six months prior to date of filing
of petitioner’s claim, petitioner was aware
that his respiratory disability was attribut-
able to his employment and that hence his
claim was barred by limitations. Labor
Code, § 5405.
7. Workmen’s compensation G=>1857
Where compensation claimant did not
raise question of Industrial Accident Com-
mission’s failure to adjudicate a particular
issue in claimant’s petition for rehearing
before commission, the point of deficiency
in the findings was waived and was not
open to judicial review. Labor Code, §
5904,
—_—__——_
Proceeding on petition of Edwin W. Al-
ford to review an order of the Industrial
Accident Commission denying compensa-
tion for personal injuries and to annul cer-
tain awards.
Awards affirmed.
ft SS
Se ee
———
Petes ars
‘
=
SRO cae.
\
any bie
638 Cal.
1938 and during this period he worked for
the Abbotts from time to time on various
“odd jobs.” On May 19, 1945, when the
crimes charged were committed, Mr. Abbott
was 76 years old and nearly blind; Mrs, Ab-
bott was 70 years old.
On Friday, May 18, 1945, in Los Angeles,
Bernard for the first time met defendant
Hawthorne. Bernard told Hawthorne that
he planned to go to Chatsworth, rob the
Abbotts, “and leave them locked up so the
police could find them.” Hawthorne and
Bernard went from Los Angeles to Chats-
worth. On Friday night they hid near the
Abbott residence. Hawthorne was armed
with a club cut from a tree; Bernard was
armed only with a pocket knife. Defend-
ant saw Mr. Abbott come out of his house
and stand for a few minutes on a small
porch which adjoined his bedroom, They
did nothing, Bernard said, because they
were too far from the house to approach
without attracting Mr. Abbott’s attention.’
On Saturday night, May 19, defendants
again hid near the Abbott residence. Each
was armed with a club. Again they saw
Abbott come out of the house and stand on
the porch for a few minutes but they did
nothing. When Abbott went into the house
they stationed themselves on either side of
the porch door and ‘remained hidden by
shrubbery until, about an hour later, Abbott
once more came onto the porch. As Abbott
turned to go into the house, Bernard
stepped behind him and struck him on the
head with the club. Abbott tried to cross
his room, apparently to reach a gun which
hung in a holster at the head of his bed
Bernard struck him repeatedly over the
head with the club, shattering his skull.
Mrs. Abbott was in her bedroom at the
other end of a hall which led from Abbott’s
room. The lights in her room were out
but she was awake and heard a sound
which she believed was Mr. Abbott falling.
She called, heard no answer, started ‘to
get out of her bed, and the defendants
came into her room. Bernard, whom she
recognized, stood in> the doorway while
Hawthorne struck her four times over the
head with his club, inflicting severe wounds,
then pulled a pillow case over her: head.
The defendants went back and forth be-
tween Mr. and Mes. Abbott’s rooms sev-
169 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
eral times. Bernard ransacked the rooms
while Hawthorne tied a towel about Ab-
bott’s mouth, bound his hands and feet,
placed him in the closet of his room, and
locked the closet door. Hawthorne then
tied Mrs. Abbott’s hands and feet and locked
her in the closet of her room. Mrs. Ab-
bott, who did not lose consciousness, wait-
ed quietly in the closet until she believed
the defendants had gone, then slipped out
of her bonds, climbed out the closet win-
dow, and went around the house and into
her husband’s room. She called her hus-
band, heard no answer, found his closet
door locked, and went to a neighbor’s
house for aid. Neighbors who went to the
Abbott house found no key to Mr, Abbott's
closet, pried open the closet door, and
found his body. (One of the neighbors,
a doctor, testified that, although he did not
touch Mr. Abbott, in his: opinion Abbott
was dead when they found him.) The po-
lice arrived soon after the body was found.
Defendants were arrested in Los An-
geles on Sunday morning, May 20, 1945.
In Bernard’s possession ‘were many arti-
cles of personal property, including jewel-
ry, purses containing money, and a gun,
which Mrs. Abbott identified as having
belonged to her and Abbott. Defendants
returned to Chatsworth with the police,
pointed out the locations where they had
hidden keys which they took from the Ab-
bott house and the clubs which they had
used, and reenacted their entrance into the
Abbott house. Other evidence, including
testimony showing many admissions of
Bernard, and real evidence linking defend-
ants with the crimes, needs ‘no further
specification.
[2-4] A confusing and erroneous stock
instruction concerning the degrees of mur-
der. was given. It. contained, among
others, the following (italicized) erroneous,
statements of law: “There are certain;
kinds of murder which cerry with their
conclusive evidence of premeditation.
* * *& These cases are of two classes:
First: Where the killing is perpetrated by
means of poison, etc! Here the means
used is held to be conclusive evidence of
premeditation. Second: Where the kill-
ing is done in the prepetration or attenpt
PEOPLE vy.
sive evidence of premeditation. Where
the case comes within either of these class-
es the test question: Is the killing will-
ful; deliberate and premeditated? is an-
swered by the statute itself. * * * But
there is another and: much larger class
of cases included in the definition of mur-
der in the first degree, which are of equal
cruelty [etc.] * * *.: In this last class
of cases the legislature leaves the jury
to determine, from all the evidence before
them, the degree of the crime, but pre-
scribes for the government of their de-
liberations the seme test which has been
uscd by itself in determining the degree
of the other two classes, to wit: Is the
killing willful, deliberate, and premeditat-
cd? 0 *.'.* + ®” \(Ttalics added.) Of
course the fact that a killing is commit-
ted in the perpetration of, or attempt to
perpetrate, one of the five felonies enu-
merated in section 189 of the Penal Code
1s not conclusive, or necessarily any, evi-
dence that such killing was willful, de-
liberate, and premeditated. Even where
the killing in perpetration or attempted
perpetration of one of the named felonies
is unintended and accidental, nevertheless,
as held in People v. Lindley, 1945, 26 Cal.
2d 780, 791, 161 P.2d 227, 233, “the of-
fender ‘is guilty of, murder of the first
degree by the force of the statute.’ [Cita-
tions.] If the evidence establishes con-
clusively that the murder was so commit-
ted, then only.a verdict of murder of the
first degree may properly be rendered.
And even where the showing is. not con-
clusive, if the. record affords substantial
support for the conclusion that one of
the. enumerated’ felonies: was perpetrated
or attempted, and the killing was commit-
ted in :such: perpetration or attempt, the
judgment must be affirmed. [Citations.]”
Similarly the murderer who kills by tor-
ture or poison may intend only to inflict
suffering, not death. Evidence of the
means used might support an inference
that the killing was willful, deliberate, and
premeditated, but where the jury has
found that the killing was by poison, lying
m wait, or torture it is not their func-
BERNARD '*‘t °°! :
Cite as 169 P.2d 636 ; Om 639
io perpetrate, some one of the -felonies
enumerated in the statute [Pen.Code, §
189], here the occasion is made conclu-
tion to go farther and draw inferences as
to the manner of the formation’ and car-
rying out of ‘an intention to kill. In such
a case the question which the statute (Pen.
Code, § 189) answers affirmatively is not,
“Is the killing. willful, deliberate and pre-
meditated?”; it is, “Is the killing murder
of the first degree?” Killings by the
means or on the occasions under discus-
sion are murders of the first degree be-
cause of the substantive statutory defini-
tion of the crime. Attempts to explain
the statute to the jury in terms of non-
existent “conclusive presumptions” tend
more to confuse than to enlighten a jury
unfamiliar with the inaccurate practice of
stating rules of substantive law in terms
of rules of evidence.
[5-7] The jury were instructed that
there need be “no appreciable space of
time between the intention to kill and the
act of killing—they may be as instantan-
eous as successive thoughts of the mind”;
that “A man may do a thing willfully,
deliberately and intentionally from a mo-
ment’s reflection as well as after ponder-
ing over the subject for a month or year”;
and that a man “can premeditate, that is,
think before doing the act, the moment
he conceives the purpose, as well as if
the act were the result of long pteconcert
cr preparation.” The first of the three
statements (that there need be “no ap-
pteciable space of time between the inten-
tion to kill ‘and the act of killing
* * *") is abstractly a correct enun-
ciation of the law. As has been said be-
fore “It will be properly understood (at
least upon deliberation) by those learned
in the law as referring only to the inter-
val between the fully formulated intent
and its execution, and as necessarily pre-
supposing that tre deliberation and pre-
meditation characterized the process of,
and precedcd ultimate, formulation, of such
intent.” (People v. Bender (1945), Cal.
Sup., 163 P.2d 8, 19; People v. Thomas
(1945), 25 Cal.2d 880, 900, 156 P.2d 7.)
But, as was also pointed out in the Bender
case, holding that such declaration is a
correct statement of an abstract principle ~
is not a holding that the same declaration
made to a jury without explanation is
tees
ee
11 IEIZ 0.3)
EXECUTION OF BERRY. *
PS abe
He Hangs in Expl
-, . Crime of furder. ay
As stated in the telegraphic columns
of the Nuws yesterday evening James
Berry, the colored man who, in a cold
blooded manner, shot and xilled his
wife in this city on the 19th of last May,
was executed according to the regula-
tions of law yesterday morning at two!
minutes past 10 o’clock. a a
Eurly yesterday morning a long tele-
gram from hie mother, Matilda Campbell
of Parie, Missouri, was handed to Berry. [*
It was a farewell message and the re-}
cipient broke down and wept profusely.
Ia a ehort time he resumed his com-
posure and was ready for the ordeal.
Shortly before 9 o’clock in the morn-
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company with the undertaker who was
to take charge of the remains. Berry
was found in a jolly mood, ready to joke
aod engage in light talk. He aleo talked
ia a business manner upon eubjects
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gard to what belongings he left at Mo- |
desto when taken to Folsom. He re-|
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buried in a ehirt and necktie that had
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he be buried at Modesto. The latter}: =
wag the only thing -that seemed to|l;
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The housing shortage is causing some
odd things to happen—in the New York
City, area, anyhow. In fact, it’s driving
veterans to prison! But wait a minute—
they don’t have to stay there if they don't
want to. But they do want to. And how!
Four student veterans at the College
of the City of New York are grateful to
the Department of Correction for giving
them work at Rikers Island Penitentiary
in exchange for lodging, food and laundry
service. They don’t mind concrete walls,
cells, steel-barred windows, gloomy cor-
ridors. They’re better than the cold, cold
outside world. They’re shelter, at least.
“It’s a very good deal in every way,”
said Sidney Love, a former infantry ser-
geant. When Love returned from service
he found that his brother and the wife
that the brother had married in En land,
where he had been stationed, were living
_ THIS DOES NOT A PRISON MAKE!
in Sidney’s former room. Sidney tried to
get suitable lodgings—and couldn't.
William Tibor also thinks the plan
“modern and progressive and of great
benefit to the men.” Tibor spent four
years in the navy as a gunner,
The program, developed by Correction
Commissioner Amoroso and ytd Miller,
assistant director of the Social Research
Laboratory at the College of the City of
New York, affords the veterans—in addi-
tion to comfortable living quarters—the
opportunity of applying practical field ex-
perience to the theories taught in the
classroom and results in credit toward
their degrees in sociology, in which they
are majoring.’ Student veterans selected
after a screening process are Love, the
first to move in, and Tibor; also Martin
Bernstein and Howard Shaw. Other stu- |
dent veterans may move in later.
Bautista gulped, and shifted in his
chair. “I didn’t do it!” he said
hoarsely.
The sheriff turned to his officers.
“We'll have to hold him. You two go
back to his home. If you have to tear
the place to pieces, find that money he
took from the dead men.”
By now another morning had rolled
around. The tired officer partners
stopped at an all night restaurant on
the highway, where each had a well-
deserved steak.
“The sheriff was right,” said Coch-
ran, as they ate. “Bautista likely
hid the money at home. Those fel-
lows don’t trust banks.
wouldn’t want even his wife to know
he had it.” - ’
“Yes, and it will still be there,”
Losey prophesied. “Because I’m cer-
tain that his wife doesn’t suspect it—
any more than she knew that the gun
was there.”
The next sudden search likewise
bewildered the Bautista home. This
one was more thorough. The _ bed
springs, mattress,
the chicken pens, the cistern—all re-
ceived a fine-combing.
In a decrepit shed they came across
some old_ clothes hanging on nails.
Deputy Cochran began rifling the
dusty pockets. Suddenly he jerked
out his hand as if burned.
“Holy Smoke!” he exclaimed. “Look
here!” He held up a thick roll of bills.
Eagerly the officers counted it. It
totaled $1352!
“Put it back in the sweater pocket,”
Losey suggested. “We’ll take them
both back. And by the way, it’s a
gray sweater. That’s what he said
was worn by the man who boarded
the bus.” Shy
_ They stopped in the house, showed
it to Mrs. Bautista. “Did you know
Also, he’
dresser drawers,.
‘
this money was in the shed?” Losey
asked. .
Her dark eyes widened. “Why, no!”
she gasped. “How did it get there?”
“Your husband put it there. He
killed Villanuevo and Bucsit with the
gun we found here. Then he robbed
them.”
“He told me he didn’t make much
money,” she said bitterly. “But I
suspected he lost by gambling.” She
started sobbing in despair.
An hour later Bautista. was shown
the sweater and the huge roll of
money in the pocket. He swallowed
hard. “Yes,” he said, dejectedly, “you
found it. .I might as well tell you.”
Sheriff Sherman sent for a court
reporter, who took down the suspect's
statements. His story proved to be
almost identical with that guessed
by Cochran and Losey. When he
finished, it was read back to him and
he signed it. He said the dummy
bullets were his own, the results in
experimenting with reloading shells,
The statement, the evidence, and the
officers’ reports were turned over to
District . Attorney Walter Haight.
Marcelino Bautista was held on two
charges of first-degree murder.
The 31-year-old confessed killer
was brought to trial in the Superior
Court at Visalia on June 19, 1943.
Still calm, he pleaded guilty to both’
the murder charges.
Superior Court Judge Frank Lamer-
son immediately sentenced him to
die in the lethal. gas chamber at San
Quentin Prison. osey and Cochran
took him there to await the death
pet.
On January 21, 1944, he entered the
gas chamber and was strapped in the
chair. The cyanide pellets were
dropped in. Five minutes later he was
pronounced dead. :
REAL
DETECTIVE
esting cases from
CRIME
. | 2 a mls fk oe eee
These four fact-detective magazines cover all inter-
police blotters throughout the
United States. They are bountifully illustrated: with
actual photographs of the victims of the crimes, the
killers—if the story is about murder—and'the detec.
tives who worked on the cases.
FEADQUARTERS
UNCENSORED
DETECTIVE
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satacittms --
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pe
~ ah
eat
Se
erry re eee
5
Lata cae m2 © Fr OwOU I pemes TEC jibe “Et
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his headlights first picked out the shad-
owy form of the automobile in the ditch ahead,
George Bropin had a strange feeling. He
slowed quickly. His first thought was that someone
was in trouble.
Bropin knew most of the automobiles in that area of
the rich San Joaquin Valley, but he did not recognize
the dark green Dodge Sedan standing in the shallow
ditch a few feet from the edge of the blacktop road.
He let his own car come to a stop a little beyond the
car in the ditch.
He reversed and backed up to where the car was in
the direct beam of his headights. There was no one
around the car, nor were there signs of anyone inside
‘it. And there weren’t any indications that there had
reported the burning sedan.
~ 2a
been an accident. ,He could not quite understand why
the car had been left there alongside the lonely stretch
of county road. ©
Bropin started to get out to examine the car more
closely. But on second thought, he decided it was none
of his business. He shrugged, threw his car into gear
and drove on toward his home. He was tired and an-
xious to get to bed.
A half hour later—at about 3 a.m. on Sunday,
May 30, 1943, a taxi-driver came along the same little-
used road as he headed back toward Tulare, Califor-
nia. He hummed bits of “Paper Doll” to keep himself
awake. ;
His humming stopped suddenly as he saw a bright
flame flaring in the darkness a couple of miles ahead.
His first thought was that it was a crashed airplane
from the Rankin Aeronautical Academy, a busy pri-
mary training base for the Army Air Corps, a few miles
away. He stepped hard on the accelerator of his cab.
But as the cab driver reached the spot, he saw that
it was a burning automobile. The interior was a mass
of fierce flames. He stopped his car, at a safe distance, ~
and tried to get close enough to see if there was anyone
trapped in the inferno. The heat kept him back.
He could not tell whether there was anyone in the
car or not. And if there were, there was nothing he °
could do. He climbed back into his cab and drove fast
toward Tulare, eight miles northwest. He didn’t stop
until he reached the City Hall.
The cabby raced into. the police department and
The police. dispatcher
flashed the report to the County Fire Department, to
the California Highway Patrol, and to the office of
Sheriff S. B. “Bud” Sherman in Visalia, 11 miles
north of Tulare. Then he telephoned Constable Gene
Losey, of Tulare Township, at his
home. ;
By the time .Constable Losey
reached the scene, the fire depart-
ment was smothering the licking
flames with chemicals. Losey, a big,
soft-spoken man, climbed out of his
car and watched the firemen gradu-
ally bring the fire under control.
Dawn was pushing against the .
towering Sierra Nevada Mountains
ce
YOFF |
Part of the mystery was cleared up when a
farmer became suspicious of the conditions of the
ground in his peach orchard, Police became
convinced the murder had been committed here.
to the east and beginning to spread light across the
broad, flat floor of the San Joaquin Valley before the
fire was extinguished. As the smoldering mass cooled,
Losey approached the car, flashing his light around the
gutted interior.
“Great Scott!” Losey exclaimed, as his light played
on the charred remains of two human beings roughly
piled against the right-hand door of the front seat.~
“Two people here. Leave everything just as it is until
the coroner and the sheriff get here.” ‘
Losey went back to his car and used his radio. “I
don’t know what this is,” he told the dispatcher. “Get :
Bud and Brooks out here right away.”
As Losey climbed back out of his car, Captain W. E.
Riley, Chief of the Tulare County section of the State
Highway Patrol, and Patrolman Eugene Kober drove
up. “Two people burned up,” Losey greeted them.
“Accident?” Captain Riley asked as he approached
the charred sedan.
But even as he asked, Captain Riley doubted that it
was an accident, at least not a traffic accident. The
sedan sat upright, and faint marks in the dry, hard
earth suggested it had been driven into the shallow
ditch,
“Fhére were no skid marks on the blacktop roadto
suggest that the car might have been forced into the
ditch. The left front fender of the sedan was dented,
but a close examination showed rust where the paint
had been knocked off, indicating that the dent had not
been recently made.
Riley instructed Kober to take the license number
and the engine number and to radio headquarters to
check the official registration of the automobile with
the Department of Motor Vehicles in Sacramento.
The sun followed the dawn closely, and soon the
scene was bright. It was obvious from the manner in
which the car had burned that the fire had started in
the front seat. Officers theorized that the two occu- °
pants might have been sleeping,
and a carelessly dropped cigarette
butt might have started the fire.
Coroner Roy Brooks, of Visalia,
and Deputy Coroner Fred Meyers,
of Tulare, arrived at the scene a
man and Deputy’ Sheriff Ross
Cochran. .
“Looks like it’s your case,” Cap-
tain Riley waved to them, “I find.
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few minutes before Sheriff Sher- .
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IN SECRECY, GRIMLY DETER- Bes Mapp Se. ds ete Re if es
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HIS MOTIVE WERE CLOAKED
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no évidence that this was Caused by a traffic accident.”
Coroner Brooks thought the positions of the black-
ened bodies were strange. One was slumped to the
right and forward from a sitting position. His head
was almost under the dashboard. The other was
partially atop the first body, as though it had fallen on
the other one. Both were burned beyond recognition.
“Could be murder and suicide,’’ Brooks announced.
. Sheriff Sherman was looking into the rear of the car.
On the scorched steel floor of the rear compartment
‘he saw three empty cartridges, each half-melted.
“Could be,” he agreed. His eyes kept searching for
the gun.
Deputy Cochran was standing on the opposite side
of the car. His eye caught a blotch of brownish stain
on an unburned section of the running board. He
~ squatted down and looked at it closely. He decided
that’ it might be blood.
“How could it be murder and suicide?” he queried
the coroner and the sheriff. “If I’m not mistaken, this
is blood, but it’s not near the bodies. Anyway, who
would set the car on fire if the two were already dead?”
.Brooks and Sherman came around the car and
looked at the stained spot. It could be blood, they
admitted, but the intense heat of the fire had parched
the area and it was impossible to be sure what the
“Whatever it is,” Brooks said. “We've got to find
out who they are.”
Constable Losey was at the rear of the sedan. He
noticed that the-lid of the rear trunk compartment was
Partially open. He lifted the lid and looked inside.
The fire had only partially burned the contents of
the trunk compartment. There were two crates of
_ freshly cut asparagus, and the remains of a wooden
box. On one of the asparagus crate slats were stamped
the words “STOCKTON , CALIF.” . , ;
Losey called to the other officers. ‘This’ll tell us
what they did,” he said. “They have been cutting
asparagus around Stockton. The season has just closed .
Sherman nodded his. agreement. He knew that .
thousands of transient workers follow the vegetable
crops up and down the San Joaquin Valley. It was
customary for such workers to carry off with them
Produce from the fields in which they worked.
Officers, right, at the grisly task of removing the cadavers from the car,
Left, a closeup of the sedan‘s interior depicting the extent of the holocaust,
4
ae ~
ou ES 7 ei
here’d be a
“We might
However,
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cartridges. 1
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“Two crates of asparagus is more than even two
people would be able to use,” he reasoned. “They’d
only have that much if they were headéd toward home
where it could be canned,”
Losey poked into the scattered asparagus and pulled
out a piece of heavy box. Painted olive green, it was
obviously part of a foot locker. In the light, he saw
that part of a name was stenciled in black letters. He
could make out the letters “AUTISTA.”
“What Spanish names end like that?” he asked.
“That’s most of it but not all of it.”
“Couldn’t be anything but Bautista,” Cochran said.
“That’s probably the name of one of the victims.”
While they continued their probe of the rear of the
automobile, Brooks and Meyers moved the bodies
from the front seat. When the top body was lifted out
Inside the pocket was found a badly seared gaso-
line ration booklet with C coupons. The last name on
the ration booklet was barely legible. It-was “Villla-
nueva.”
“That ought to identify both of them for us,” Brooks
thought. “One is Villanueva and the other is Bautista.
The car registration will give us an address. Maybe
this will be easier than we thought.”
While Brooks and Meyers were supervising the load-
ing-of the bodies into a hearse from the Globe Mor-
of Porterville, California.
“That about does it,” Brooks said. He ordered the
bodies returned to Tulare, and requested that Dr. C. M.
Mathias perform autopsies immediately. “We’l] go on
over to Porterville and see if we Can get some relatives
‘ Shortly after Brooks and Meyers left for Porter-
ville, a thriving farming center about 15 miles east of
the scene, a radio call to Sheriff Sherman demanded
his return to Visalia on other matters. “Until the
coroner decides who the victims are and what caused
their death,” he addressed Cochran and Losey, “There’s
not much we can do. You boys take charge,”
_ For the next hour, Cochran and Losey poked through
the ruins of the burned automobile. “I don’t believe
AW?
ee “The bodies
they were s!
a “This could h
* “Tl call Tu
house, and a
freshly-washe
Officials curiot
“We're loo
Brooks spoke
The woma:
said. “He is i
As gently a:
Dodge Sedan
moment, the w
burst into tea:
happened? W
After she h
asked her if s
Bautista. “Hi
husband’s frie
Stockton, too.”
Mrs. Villani
Bautista. A y
door. “How
had happened.
Within a few
Bautista had b
mobile spread
_and relatives r
Brooks and M
formal identifi
women to go tc
. It was near],
officials escort
women into t!
Mrs. Villanuev:
of the two bo:
uncontrolled sx
It’s him,” she
pened to him?”
Mrs. Bautist:
sure about t)
Whether she \
lieve that her |
whether she co:
blackened rem:
know. “I can’
repeating. ‘It
must not be.’’
. “When did ,
your husband,
Brooks question:
Mrs. Bautista
had not heard f1
several days. |
ville with Villa:
asparagus harve
Narea. She had
abe
|
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YEARS OF
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Baffled at 47—Feels Like a Young Man at 77
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Street .......ccccecccceccccos veeeeeewerees
City... cece cece eee eeeeeees State........
Later that night the officers had Beitzel
brought into Chief of Detectives Cline’s
room for further questioning. The Chief
told the prisoner:
“The employees of the automobile com-
pany from which you hired a drive-your-
self car on the day of the crime, have
identified you. The ballistics expert has
just reported that a gun, found hidden in
your room, fired the fatal shots into the
defenseless girl. There is no longer any
doubt of your guilt.”
The accused man remained silent, and
the officer continued:
“You duped that poor girl into thinking
she was going on a gay adventure, which
would end in matrimony. She was madly
in love with you and easily influenced by
you. When she insisted upon your marry-
ing her, you decided to murder her.
“You planned the crime for the end of
the month, when it would not look sus-
picious if you moved suddenly. Then you
hired the drive-yourself car and told her
you were taking her on a picnic. You took
her to the lonely Canyon where you shot
her with a pistol borrowed from one of
your fellow workers. You told him you
were going on a picnic and wanted to do
some target shooting. You never returned
his gun.”
“Tt’s a lie!” exclaimed Beitzel. “I am in-
nocent.”
E still refused to confess when the ex-
press company clerk identified him
as the young man who had shipped the
bundle of clothing to Phoenix on the day
after the murder.
When formally charged with the crime,
he pleaded “Not guilty” and “Not guilty
by reason of insanity.” Thirty days later
the case was called for trial. Meanwhile the
slain girl’s parents had come from Phila-
delphia. They sat, white-faced, listening
to the testimony. Beitzel’s attorneys tried
to prove he was insane, because of an air-
plane accident he had been in. On Sep-
tember 24th, 1928, however, he was con-
victed and sentenced to be hanged.
The young man who had been seen
calling on the girl turned out to be a
salesman who had been trying to sell her
some electrical household equipment.
The parents felt convinced that their
daughter had known nothing of the em-
bezzlement when she left Philadelphia
with Beitzel. He admitted this before he
was put to death, on August 3rd, 1929, and
also that he had killed her because she
kept pleading with him to marry her. The
mother said sadly:
“Barbara was always so kind and good,
and so trusting. No wonder she didn’t
write to us. He wouldn’t let her.”
During the trial a picture of the golden-
haired girl who had not yet reached her
twentieth year, developed. It became ob-
vious that she must have undergone a ter-
rible experience, learning at last that the
man she loved was a criminal and had run
away because he was wanted by the police.
All those weeks she had spent alone,
away from her family, knowing she was
about to give birth to a nameless child,
and bring disgrace not only upon herself
and the child, but also on her family.
Beitzel later told how she had purchased
the gold wedding ring for herself, so that
neighbors would not guess their secret.
The grocery clerk at the corner had given
her a small kitten, explaining to the Court:
“She was such a sweet little thing, and
seemed lonely. I thought it would keep
her company. But her husband returned it
a few days later, telling me his wife had
gone away.”
Gradually the net had been woven about
her until she had been unable to extricate
herself and escape the cold-blooded killer
with whom she had trustingly left the
security of her parents’ home.
MASTER DETECTIVE
Hogan, or vice vers:
had been signed o1
another application,
The Agent checked
nature down at t!
They were the same
He sped from ¢!
Bureau to the Hote!
famous hostelry lo
Union branch-office
“Yes.” the latter -
messages for Mr. Fo
tell vou more. becat
application and rene
The manager hes)
Foran’s description
when he learned this
nal case—even thou:
nocent. He was take
Attorney's office wh
fore a Grand Jury.
“Ves.” he stated n
sages come in for )
to a number he gay
quickly to obtain tl
IS description o
actly with the
Hogan
As no home addi
given, Shamhart ha
telephone number, a
the man resided in a
hotel on West Fifty
hattan.
The Treasury slei
vices of a deputy |
police detective ser
would make a New
and also help if ther
and they taxied to 1
address.
On ringing “Josep
bell, they received 1
board attendant sai
gone out, but might
trio took up their vis
“What does this
sergeant asked. “Go
“Not one in existe
replied Shamhart. “J
one—but no luck. H
good description of }
They waited ther
hungry for food and :
Scores of persons ¢
but the Treasury sler
sight of each of them
Shortly after eight
saw two men step o
across the sidewalk t¢
came through the do
One of them tipp
hart’s mind. He wa
faced—it must be Da
nodded and whispere
“That’s the man.”
But things weren’
strange as it may ¢s
high-powered rifle—s
a man just returne:
game outside New
brazen was his con
fellow—evidently tl
bodyguard. He carn
Shamhart. who was
of wirv strength, and
ing himself physics
tackling Hogan. ma
sight of the guns put
on things.
The Agent had be
so persistently that
to return to his lug
for his service revo
carriers passed on the
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him. Putting on his hat he hastened to
the office, where the manager pointed to
a bundle on his desk.
“When I read of the murder in the paper
this morning, I wondered if this package
could have played any part in it. It’s a
long shot, but I decided to notify you,”
he explained.
Condaffer’s eyes wandered to the paper
package, as he waited for the man to go
on. The latter began to untie it, saying:
“Some one sent this bundle from this
office to a Mr. Stone in Phoenix, Arizona.
There was no such person or address in
Phoenix, and when we tried to trace the
name and return address, we discovered
that there was no such person or address
here in the city. It contains a woman’s
clothing.”
“When was it shipped?”
“A month ago.”
With swift, capable fingers the police
officer sorted out the pieces of clothing.
He saw that the garments were the right
size for the girl discovered in the Canyon.
It was the golden hairs clinging to a wool
dress that interested him particularly.
Carefully he removed the hairs and placed
them in an envelope. Then he re-wrapped
the bundle and took it back to his office,
where he gave an order, and went on up
to the laboratory.
GIVING the clothes to one of the scien-
tific experts, he asked him to see if he
could find anything that would aid in
identifying the person to whom they had
belonged. He handed him the envelope
containing the blonde hairs, suggesting:
“See if they match those we took from
the head of the victim.”
He stood by, watching, while the labora-
tory expert washed the hairs carefully,
then mounted them on slides. When they
had been placed beside the hairs from the
head of the victim, they studied them un-
der a powerful microscope. The hairs were
identical. So the clothing had belonged to
the girl whose identity they were so des-
perately trying to solve!
Meanwhile pawnshops were being
watched in the hope that the killer would
try to sell or pawn the lethal weapon.
Dozens of guns were brought to Headquar-
ters, but the bullets fired from them did
not bear the same markings as those taken
from the victim’s body.
Throughout that day the two officers
worked without ceasing. That evening
they talked over the case in Condaffer’s
office. Sanderson paced slowly back and
forth before the desk. At last he an-
nounced:
“I’m going over the files of the Missing
Persons once more to make certain that
we haven’t skipped anything.”
He left his colleague pondering over a
report from the laboratory.
While he was gone, Detective Lieuten-
ant A. C. Christenson came in to report
on a message he had received concerning
a young married woman who had been
missing from her home for about a month.
He was not permitted to give the name of
his informant, he said, but the young wo-
man had lived on Golden Gate Avenue.
Soon Sanderson returned, and placed a
card on Condaffer’s desk. “Read that,” he
said. “I found it filed in an envelope
marked ‘anonymous communications.’ ”
Condaffer read the card, noted that it
bore an address on Golden Gate Avenue,
then looked at Sanderson with a glint of
satisfaction. “Come on,” he said, getting
to his feet.
They sped to Golden Gate Avenue,
where they pulled up before a small apart-
ment building and rang the bell marked,
“Superintendent.”
When a kindly faced Irish woman
opened the door and asked what they
wished, they informed her that they had
been told a young woman had disappeared
from that house.
“That’s news to me,” she replied, shak-
ing her head in bewilderment.
“Some one telephoned in to the Missing
Persons Bureau, and suggested that police
investigate the sudden disappearance of a
young woman from this address,” Con-
daffer explained.
The woman’s face brightened. “Why,
that must be Mrs. Burholme. But she
hasn’t disappeared. She’s gone back to
her folks to have her baby.”
“What did this girl look like, and about
how old was she?”
“Well, she was a pretty blonde—about
twenty years old,” answered the witness.
“You say she was about to have a
baby?” queried Condaffer.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“When did she leave?” cut in Sanderson.
“A month ago,” was the prompt reply.
“Any one heard from her since she went
away?” inquired the other Lieutenant.
“That I couldn’t say. But she was very
friendly with Mrs. Burns, who was in the
apartment next to her. If you ring Mrs.
Burns, she can tell you much more than
I can.”
After thanking her, the officers took her
advice. They found Mrs. Burns at home,
and she answered their questions willingly.
AKING out the wedding ring, they
showed it to the woman, “Did your
friend Mrs. Burholme wear a ring like
that?”
Her eyes widened on the small white
band, and she turned pale. In a dry voice,
she said, “Yes, she wore a wedding ring
similar to that one.”
“Have you heard from her since she
went East to have her baby?”
“No, I haven’t. To tell you the truth I
was rather annoyed at her, for I had been
seeing quite a bit of her, and she left with-
out a word. I couldn’t understand it.”
“Tell us everything connected with her,
Mrs. Burns. You say she lived here with
her husband and that he moved away
shortly after his wife left at the end of
July? You have not heard from her since?”
“No, I have not heard from her.”
“Where can we locate her husband?”
“JT have no idea. He seemed very upset
when he told me she had left.”
“When was that?”
“Well, I had a habit of running in to
see Mrs. Burholme, and one day she wasn’t
there all day. That evening I passed Mr.
Burholme in the hall and he told me some
one had come from her home town un-
To Newspapermen, Police Officials
and Detectives ;
If you have in mind any fact case, with actual photographs, deemed
suitable for publication in this magazine, please address the Editor,
‘MASTER DETECTIVE, 122 East 42nd St., New York City, and ask
for our “Letter of Suggestions,” covering full information relative
to writing the accounts of fact crime cases for this magazine.
64
MASTER DETECTIVE
expectedly and
her baby with |
depressed, 7
the month, v
moved out ¢
“Know wl.-
officer.
“No, I have
plied,
“Mrs. Burns
had seemed h
“Yes, I tho
sweet girl. Or
had been cry
saying she go
a while. Wher
from, however
and didn’t tell
“Would you
Headquarters
some clothing
The witness
office, where t
fore her. She
the things at
her young fri
her to the Van
where she also
of Barbara Bu
ART of the
investigato!
their hands, f
any one else s
details of the
that of the hu:
find no trace o:
ing to Mrs. }
night, Condaff:
“Try to thin
us in clearing
member seein;
young couple’
“Well,” sai
call on them
the day befo
disappeared.”
“Yes?” ence
“A young !
and rang her
door I heard |
one she knew.
ing, and wh
gone. I nev
“What kir
“A Buick is
hesitation.
“Did her In
Condaffer.
“No, they bh
They had s
earlier visit, |
this point, fc
tuken the girl
Canyon in a1
from all tran
condition to
A second \
forth no furt}
ready assured
warding add
taken the ap
rent in advan:
he had moved
He had also
suddenly deci
to have her t
was too large
By questio:
elicited the i
the young mu
pression that
Metropolitan
He seemed t
thought. as
course he mi
the picture.
This was ni
all the office:
to the theat:
manager. Sh
Condaffer as}
FERUUARY, 194
tess the Editor,
City, and ask
iesk. “Read that,” he
filed in an envelope
.
communications.
> card, noted that it
Golden Gate Avenue,
erson with a glint of
on,” he said, getting
olden Gate Avenue,
before a small apart-
ang the bell marked,
faced Irish woman
ad asked what they
d her that they had
yman had disappeared
e,” she replied, shak-
lderment.
ned in to the Missing
suggested that police
n disappearance of a
this address,” Con-
’ brightened. “Why,
Burholme. But she
She’s gone back to
baby.”
| look like, and about
pretty blonde—about
swered the witness.
is about to have a
daffer.
-e?” cut in Sanderson.
the prompt reply.
mM her since she went
other Lieutenant.
iy. But she was very
surns, who was in the
er. If you ring Mrs.
vou much more than
. the officers took her
Mrs. Burns at home,
ir questions willingly.
wedding ring, they
» woman, “Did your
ne wear a ring like
on the small white
pale. In a dry voice,
wore a wedding ring
from her since she
er baby?”
) tell you the truth I
it her, for I had been
her, and she left with-
’t understand it.”
g connected with her,
v she lived here with
hat he moved away
‘e left at the end of
veard from her since?”
eard from her.”
cate her husband?”
fe seemed very upset
- had left.”
ibit of running in to
nd one day she wasn’t
evening I passed Mr.
and he told me some
her home town un-
fficials
graphs, deemed
mation relative
magazine.
MASTER DETECTIVE
expectedly and taken her back to have
her baby with her people. He seemed very
depressed. The next day was the end of
the month, when his rent was up, and he
moved out of the apartment.”
“Know where he works?” asked the
officer.
“No, I haven’t the faintest idea,” she re-
plied.
“Mrs. Burns, would you say the couple
had seemed happy?” inquired Sanderson.
“Yes, I thought so. She was such a
sweet girl. Once or twice I thought she
had been crying, but she explained it by
saying she got a bit homesick once in
a while. When I asked her where she was
from, however, she changed the subject
and didn’t tell me.”
“Would you mind accompanying us to
Headquarters to see if you can identify
some clothing as hers?”’ queried Condaffer.
The witness willingly went down to his
office, where the clothing was placed be-
fore her. She gave a low cry, identifying
the things at once as: having belonged to
her young friend. The officers then took
her to the Van Nuys Undertaking Parlors,
where she also identified the body as that
of Barbara Burholme. :
part of the mystery was solved, but the
investigators still had a difficult job on
their hands, for neither Mrs. Burns nor
any one else seemed to be able to supply
details of the slain girl’s background, or
that of the husband. The detectives could
find no trace of Russell Burholme. Return-
ing to Mrs. Burns’ apartment late that
night, Condaffer urged:
“Try to think of something that will aid
us in clearing up the crime. Don’t you re-
member seeing any friends calling on the
young couple?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Burns, “no one did
call on them so far as I know, except on
the day before she is supposed to have
disappeared.”
“Yes?” encouraged the officer.
“A young man drove up to the home
and rang her bell. When she opened the
door I heard her exclaim, as if it were some
one she knew. I went out to do my market-
ing, and when I came back the car was
gone. I never saw Mrs. Burholme again.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“A Buick roadster,” she replied, without
hesitation,
“Did her husband own a car?” probed
Condaffer.
“No, they had no car.”
They had asked this question on their
earlier visit, but wanted to make sure on
this point, for the killer had obviously
taken the girl to the lonely spot in Stone
Canyon in a machine. It was too far away
from all transportation for a girl in her
condition to have gone on foot.
A second visit to the landlady brought
forth no further information. She had al-
ready assured them that she had no for-
warding address for Burholme. He had
taken the apartment and paid a month’s
rent in advance. When the month was up,
he had moved out. That was all she knew.
He had also told her that his wife had
suddenly decided to go back to her family
to have her baby, and that the apartment
was too large for him alone.
By questioning her for some time, they
elicited the fact that once she had met
the young man downtown and had the im-
pression that he had come out of the
Metropolitan Moving Picture Theatre.
He seemed to be coming from work, she
thought, as it was about five; but of
course he might merely have been seeing
the picture.
This was not much of a lead. As it was
all the officers had, however, they drove
to the theatre, where they asked for the
manager. Showing him their credentials,
Condaffer asked:
FEBUUARY, 1941
“Have you any one working for you
named Russell Burholme?”
“No,” replied the man flatly. “Never
heard of him.”
“Looks black, but it’s our only clue to
finding him,” commented Sanderson. “Let’s
try the office building, next door.”
They found it locked up for the night.
They could do nothing further on this
angle of the case until the following morn-
ing. Returning to Headquarters, they went
over the various phases of the mystery,
trying to find something that would point
to a clue as to where the girl’s family lived.
But they developed nothing new that
would help them.
At eight next morning they were back
at the Metropolitan Office Building in
which the theatre was housed. Seeking the
superintendent, they asked him if he knew
Russell Burholme. He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “We have no one work-
ing bere by that name.”
hey visited the buildings on each side,
with the same result, then returned to
hang about the Metropolitan to interview
the various employees. At last one sug-
gested:
“He might have been part of the outfit
that installed the cooling system about six
weeks ago.”
“What company did it?” inquired Con-
daffer.
The witness did not know, but said that
he heard they were also going to install
a cooling system at the Biltmore Hotel
ballroom.
“You may find them working over
there,” he added.
“Thanks,” said the Lieutenant, and he
and his partner headed for the Biltmore.
Sure enough, the Carrier Company was at
that moment in the midst of installing a
cooling system, and a number of men were
working in the basement. Going down-
stairs, the detectives studied the men at
work. The foreman came over to them.
“Looking for some one?” he inquired.
“Yes, a friend of ours named Russell
Burholme,” replied Sanderson. “Is he
here?”
“No one by that name is working on this
job. Who are you, anyway?”
“A couple of his friends. We have to
leave on the afternoon train for San Diego
and hoped to see him before train time,”
said Condaffer.
AISING his voice, the foreman asked,
“Any of you fellows know a man
named Russell Burholme?” When no one
answered, he turned to the detectives, say-
ing, “Sorry I can’t help you. If you’re sure
he works for this company, they might
know him in the office.”
Climbing into their car, they sped to the
offices of the Carrier Company, where they
asked the girl at the switchboard for the
young man. Without glancing at them,
she pointed her pencil toward an inner
room.
“You'll find him in there.”
They entered the room and stood in the
doorway, scrutinizing the various men bent
over drawing boards. Then, exchanging a
significant glance, they walked up to one
of the employees.
“Hello, Russell,” they said.
The young man bending over the draw-
ing board looked up with a puzzled ex-
pression. “Just who are you?” he asked.
“Police officers,” replied Condaffer. “We
want to talk to you about your wife’s
suddenly leaving town.”
“Well, what about it?” inquired the
husband coolly.
“Have you had any news from her since
she left?”
“No,” admitted the young draftsman,
his eyes .fixed steadily on the officers.
“Something must have happened to bring
(Continued on page 67)
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“The Rosicrucians are NOT a religious organization”
65
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——_————
MASTER DETECTIVE
(Continued from page 65)
you here. What is it?”
“Where does her family live?” parried
Condaffer.
“In Philadelphia,” was the prompt an-
swer. “She went back to have the baby
there and be near her mother,” he ex-
plained.
“That was over a month ago and you
have received no word from her since she
left?” probed Sanderson.
“That is correct. There is a special rea-
son for it.”
“What?”
“Something between us, which I shall
not explain to you,” retorted the husband.
He was calm, and apparently unafraid.
After a silence, he said, “I would be grate-
ful for any news you have of her. She
went away suddenly and I have been very
worried at not hearing from her.”
“With whom did she go East?” asked
Condaffer.
“I can’t tell you that. I don’t know.
She telephoned me at my work on Monday
morning, saying a relative had come for
her and was taking her back home. That
night when I reached our apartment she
had left. She has not answered my letters.”
“WW BAT is her father’s name?” asked
Sanderson.
“Henry Mauger.”
They asked him to accompany them to
Headquarters, where they told him his
wife had been identified as the slain girl
found in Stone Canyon. He refused to
believe it, insisting it could not be true.
“Who could have killed her?” he de-
manded.
“We don’t know yet,” they told him.
“Had you two quarreled?”
“Not more than couples usually do,” he
said. “We were devoted to each other and
very happy about the baby.”
While Condaffer queried him, Sanderson
slipped out of the building to search his
apartment and put in some telephone
calls. When he returned, the two held a
short conference, then announced they
were taking him out to Stone Canyon. He
sat between them in the back seat, and
Chief of Detectives Herman Cline took
his place in front. Beside him sat the
Department’s pretty little secretary, Nancy
Lyman, notebook in hand.
On reaching the spot, the husband sent a
swift glance around him. Another car was
parked farther along the road. Its driver
was standing beside it. Walking back to
speak to this man, Condaffer let the others
descend into the Canyon. Then he, also,
followed with the driver of the other car.
Stepping over to Burholme, who was look-
ing about him in a stupified way, the
Lieutenant asked casually:
“Why did you pay all that money to
be driven out here on the week after the
crime? Nine dollars is a lot of money for
a taxi ride. And I thought you told us you
had never been to this place before?”
“I never have been here, and I never
paid a taxi to bring me here,” insisted the
young man. “I don’t know what you're
talking about.”
The driver pointed an accusing fore-
finger. “If that isn’t him, it’s his twin
brother,” he announced. “You're the fel-
low who hailed me at Fifth and Broadway
and directed me to bring you out here,
which I did.”
“You're crazy!” exclaimed Burholme.
He turned to face the officers, and told
them calmly, “If you think I ‘killed my
wife, you’re wrong. I am completely inno-
cent, and am not at all certain that the
young woman whose body was found here
is Barbara.”
From the Canyon, they drove him to the
Van Nuys Parlors, where he could not or
would not identify his wife’s body. Back
at Headquarters, they asked:
“By the way, where were you two
married?”
For the first time he seemed nervous.
He hesitated, before finally replying, “The
truth is that we were not married.”
“Why not?” asked Condaffer sharply.
“The girl was expecting a baby.”
“I wasn’t ready for marriage,” said Bur-
holme. “We had agreed not to marry until
later on.”
“Tt couldn’t have been because you were
wanted by the Philadelphia police on a
charge of embezzlement, or because you
already had a wife and two children?” de-
manded the Lieutenant quietly,
‘The accused man sent a swift look from
one officer to the other. Their calmness
had not betrayed the fact that they had
already checked up on him.
“Your name isn’t Russell Burholme, but
Russell Beitzel,” added Condaffer.
The young man merely stared, without
replying. Although ‘the detectives had
this much knowledge, they had no real
evidence that he had committed the mur-
der. By bringing him to the scene of the
crime, they had hoped to break him and
get a confession. He now spoke calmly,
admitting:
“Well, yes, perhaps those were the rea-
sons. How aid yin find out?”
“TINHE moment we knew the family’s
name, we contacted the Philadelphia
police, who sent us back word that Barbara
had eloped with a man named Russell
Beitzel—wanted in that city for stealing
$1,100 from the department store where
they had both worked.”
“Well,” replied Beitzel, still calm, “what
if that is true? It doesn’t prove that I
shot Barbara.”
He had pointed out that, as he did not
own a car, he could not have driven the
girl to the isolated canyon where her body
had been discovered. Detectives were sent
to investigate this angle and to see if he
had access to any car. He had also denied
owning a gun.
HAVE YOU A STORY?
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| zine, please address the Editor, MASTER DETECTIVE,
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of Suggestions,” covering full information relative to
writing the accounts of fact crime cases for this magazine.
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ANTED EVE
67
$m Ste rt ae ete at ee ee Nae
em he
nd
by BARNABY FRAME .
m Barbara Mauger had been working at
the candy counter for a week when the
man came in and started to sweet-talk
her. He was a fairly tall, fairly good-look-
ing man. He had a better-than-fair line,
however, and a few minutes and a neatly-"
wrapped pound of chocolate-dipped par-
lays later, Barbara: fell in love with him.
She was 17 and this was her first love
and she took it very seriously. She in-
vited her beau home to dinner the next
night to meet the family.
The beau impressed the family tremen-
dously. His name, for one thing: Russell
St. Claire Bietzel. His clothes: so neat
and expensive-looking. And his job: a
credit manager for Blauners,.a fine Phila-
delphia department store. True, he was
27, ten years older than Barbara, and
true, he was hard of hearing and occasion-
ally had to cup his ear so that he could
hear you. “But,” as Barbara said after he
left that night, “he’s rich and he went to
college and he speaks so many languages,
even Chinese. And he’s not snooty-rich or
snooty-smart, either. He’s democratic. He
lives in a little room at the ‘Y’ and he
teaches swimming there to the poor neigh-
borhood children.” .
After a week, and at Russell’s urging,
Barbara quit her job in the candy store
and went to work at. Blauners as a stenog-
rapher in his department. Then, in no
time, Russell was in and out of the Mau-
ger home, almost as though he were al-
ready a son-in-law, and Mr. and Mrs.
Mauger conceded that Barbara could not
have done better if they had arranged the
match themselves.
The Maugers began to plan a big church
wedding and they were understandingly
disappointed the day—three months after
Barbara and Russell had met—they. got
news their daughter had eloped.
The news came in a letter postmarked
Chicago, and was penned in Barbara’s own
girlish hand. She and Russell, she wrote,
were en route to Central America where
he’d been made an offer to oversee the
operation of a coffee plantation business.
His presence was required immediately
and, because it was so splendid an oppor-
tunity, they had decided to leave at once
—without farewells or anything—and be
married on the way. She :would write
again soon, of course, and when they had
made their mark they would return to
Philadelphia for the parental blessings.
She knew they (Continued on page 82)
2
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He phoned his victim. “We're 3
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Killer (left) : “You'll find she’s gone off with an- ; Chica
other man. That body in the canyon isn’t her.” _
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From clothes hamper in abandoned apartment,
a neighbor retrieyed enough clues to clinch case.
26
Acir Lage ALAA LLL,
ceeee
62
all these facts?” he was asked.
Redell produced a small black book from
his pocket.
“We have to keep a record of every call
we make,” he replied. “Soon as I saw that
picture in the paper, I remembered I’d
hauled that man somewhere, not very long
ago. I looked through my old call-books,
and sure enough, there it was.” He opened
the notebook and showed us the entry,
which tallied with the hour, date and loca-
tions he had given. ‘
Redell was taken to Beitzel’s cell, and
asked to look at the defendant.
“That’s the man!” he said instantly. “You
know me, too, don’t you?” He walked
close to the bars of the cell and addressed
the prisoner.
“I never saw you before in my life!”
sneered Beitzel. But the sudden recession
of color from his face belied his words,
For the purpose of verifying Redell’s
statements, we asked him to take us to
the location to which he had driven Beitzel,
without directions from us. He directed
the police chauffeur unerringly to the spot.
“This is where I let him out,” he said.
“I remember, because I sat here a long
time, and I recall looking at that sign-
board.” We were convinced that his story
was another connecting link in the chain
of evidence which would send Beitzel to
the gallows.
Upon our return to the police station,
we dismissed Redell, after thanking him
for his cooperation.
Next, the bundle of clothing which Beitzel
claimed to have shipped to Phoenix was
located by the express company and re-
turned to our department, at our request.
It was addressed to “F. A. Stone,” and had
lain in the express office more than a
month. The package had been traced
through the return .address in Seattle,
which Beitzel had admitted giving.
We turned the package over to Police
Chemist Rex Welch, who made a minute
examination of the articles it contained.
Several blond hairs were found clinging
to various pieces of dress fabric which
were identical with some taken from the
victim’s head. The clothing itself was identi-
fied by Mrs. May Burns as having been
worn by the girl whom she knew as Bar-
bara: Burholme.
The next development was a telephone
call from the county autopsy surgeon, re-
questing me to call at his office at once.
Taking along the gun which had been
found in Beitzel’s office desk and which
had been recovered by us the day before,
I hastened to keep the appointment. In
accordance with my expectations, his post
mortem revealed new evidence of great
value.
Dr. Webb tendered me a small box, con-
taining two spent bullets.
“The X-ray showed one bullet imbedded
in the base of the skull, the other in the
spine,” he announced. “They would never
have heen visible to the naked eye.”
I highly appreciated the physician’s ser-
vice, as this new discovery lent weight
to une theory I had kept secret.
A box of shells for a .38-caliber revolver
had been found by a hunter in Stone Can-
yon about a half-mile from the scene of the
murder—a few weeks prior to the discovery
of Barbara Mauger’s body. After reading
of the ghastly crime, this man had reported
his find to the police department, and had
turned in the box containing forty-seven
unused shells,
I had made a special trip to Stone Can-
yon, but, search as I might, I could find
no trace of the three missing bullets. That
Beitzel had shot his victim once was obvi-
ous. However, this wound would not, of it-
self, have been sufficient to cause instant
death; and it was incredible that any man—
even a scoundrel as cold-blooded and
utterly heartless as Beitzel had shown him-
self to be—could have abandoned this
young girl, blinded by one bullet, to a
lingering death from starvation and ex-
posure.
Hence, I was elated to learn that Dr.
Webb had located these two other bullets,
Here was proof positive that the murderer
had done his job thoroughly! I anticipated
no difficulty in proving that the two bullets
recovered by the autopsy surgeon had been
fired from the gun Beitzel admitted having
had in his possession.
Carefully pocketing the little box, I went
directly to the offices of Edward C. Cross-
man, retired Army captain and world-
famous expert in the study of ballistics,
When I had explained the case, Captain
Crossman took the proffered gun and
bullets, and bent over them attentively.
“This is going to be easy,” he said, run-
ning an explorative fingertip over the bar-
rel-end of the gun. “Come back tomorrow
and I'll have something for you!”
Well satisfied to leave the matter in his
expert hands, I left his office and returned
_to the station.
On the following day, August 6th, an
inquest was held over the remains of the
murdered girl. Several people, including
Mrs. May Burns, Mrs. Morris Allen, Mrs.
C. Thompson, and N. D. Mitchell, were sub-
poenaed to attend. The last-named _in-
dividual was a grocer: with whom “Mrs.
Burholme” had traded, and to whom he
had given a kitten:a few days before her
disappearance, “to keep her company,” he
said.
Mitchell testified that, a day or two after
her visits to his grocery had ceased, a
young man who identified himself as Mrs.
Burholme’s husband, returned the kitten to
him, explaining that his wife had gone
away, and that he would be unable to
care for it.
The neighbor women reiterated their
belief that the body was that of Mrs.
Burholme, and one of them drew down
the wrath of Beitzel, while so testifying,
He interrupted her to say furiously:
“You'll have to prove what you say in
court, Mrs. Burns! Remember that!”
When questioned, Beitzel himself stub-
bornly maintained that he was unable to
say whether or not the body was that of
his common-law wife. “It looks some-
thing like her,” he admitted, “but who-
ever it is, I had nothing to do with it!”
After the inquest, I again called at Cap-
tain Crossman’s office. He informed me
that he had made several test shots, using
a bale of waste for a target; in each case,
the markings on the spent bullets proved
identical with those found on the slugs
which were taken from Barbara Mauger’s
body.
With this damning evidence in my pos-
session, I felt more certain of our ability
to. obtain a verdict of first-degree murder
against the inhuman monster who had
so wantonly murdered a trusting girl and
her unborn baby. Even though it proved
impossible to identify positively the victim
as Barbara Mauger, the state, supported
by all the other evidence, might obtain
a conviction on the ground that the gun in
Beitzel’s possession had slain the person
found murdered.
On the morning of August 7th, Beitzel:
was formerly charged with murder on two
counts. He pleaded “not guilty,” and “not
guilty by reason of insanity.”
It was exactly thirty days later that the
case was called for trial. Beitzel, cool and
indifferent, appeared confident of acquittal
—until the moment Captain Crossman was
called as a witness for the state.
Captain Crossman testified that the two
bullets taken from the body of Barbara
Mauger had been fired from the gun which
Beitzel admitted having had in his pos-
session. The expert based this statement
on the fact that the muzzle of the gun had
been sawed off to permit the attachment
of a Maxim silencer; that this process had
caused a roughness which “burred” the
bullets.
Ordered by Deputy District Attorney
Thomas P. Menzies to produce proof to
corroborate this vital testimony, Captain
Crossman exhibited large photographs
plainly showing the jagged edge of the
barrel of the gun, and the grooves on the
three bullets that proved beyond doubt
or dispute they had been fired from the
same gun.
It was then that Beitzel turned white,
mopped beads of perspiration from his
face, and for the first time displayed a
palpable nervousness.
Deputy District Attorney Clifford Thoms
made the concluding argument for the
prosecution. After: a scathing denuncia-
tion of Beitzel’s crime, which he char-
acterized as “one of the most heinous
on record in California,” Thoms turned
to the five women and seven men of the
jury, and ended his plea with the dramatic
appeal: “I ask you, ladies and gentlemen,
to hang this man!” i
On September 24th, 1928, Russell St.
Clair Beitzel was sentenced by Superior
Judge Charles S. Burnell to “hang by the
neck until dead,” for his infamous crime.
This sentence was carried out a year later,
when on August 2nd, 1929, Beitzel was.
hanged at San Quentin.
Some time later, I had a long talk with
Henry and Elsie Mauger, parents of the
dead girl. They told a pathetic story of
Barbara’s infatuation for the man who had
so basely deceived her, and who had
brought about her death.
“Barbara was always too trustful,” said
the mother sorrowfully. “She was a sweet,
sunny-dispositioned child—unwilling to be-
lieve evil of anyone.”
I learned from the father that Barbara
had first met Beitzel at the department
store. where both had been employed, he as
assistant credit manager, she as cashier,
He had showered attentions upon her
from the first, calling regularly at her
home and ingratiating himself with Mr.
and Mrs. Mauger. Several times he had
accompanied the whole family on pleasure
trips to Wildwood, New Jersey, and when,
on the evening of September 10th, 1927,
Barbara had told her family that her
sweetheart had asked her to visit his mother
on a weekend trip outside the city, the
parents had given her their permission
to go.
The next morning they received a gay
little note from Barbara. She confessed
that she had told them a little fib, and that
actually, she and Russell were on their
way to South America to be married. She
promised to write them again when she had
become settled in her new home.
Not another word was heard until the
morning of August 4th, 1928—her father’s
birthday—when the parents were notified
by thé Philadelphia police of her tragic’
death,
Subsequent investigation of Beitzel’s ac-
tivities in the East had revealed the fact
that he was married, and the father of two
children.
“No wonder Barbara didn’t write to us,”
said Mr. Mauger, tears dimming his honest
eyes. “I guess he wouldn't let her!” And
later: “I wish you would have the story
published, Lieutenant Condaffer. It may
be that other young girls, and their parents,
will profit by our daughter’s terrible ex-
perience, and investigate more closely the
wolves in sheep’s clothing who prey upon
trusting girls like Barbara.”
Nore: Pictures of the perpetrator, |
.| Russell Beitzel, appear on pages 12 and |
60. |
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continued from page 27
would understand. The Maugers didn’t quite
understand; but then, as long as Barbara and
Russell were happy, that was all that mat-
tered.
The letter had hardly arrived when the
scandal began to break. First came depart-
ment store investigators with questions about
the whereabouts of the missing pair. Russell
Bietzel, they.said, had absconded with some of
the firm’s money—at least $700 of it.
Then came the police with the news that
the man who had lured away their daughter
was already married, that he was the father
of two sons, that he liked to run around with
other women, and that he was, in short, a
real lady-killer.
“Did your daughter say anything in her
letter about being pregnant?” .a detective
asked the Maugers.
They shook their heads.
“I was wondering,” the detective said, ‘‘be-
cause along with the $700, he took something
else from the store—a layette, a complete
baby layette.” He shrugged. “These Romeos,”
he said. “Some of them think of everything!”
The police left a little while later and the
Maugers settled back uneasily and waited for
a letter. A search, meanwhile, fanned out
across the country and spread eventually to
Central and South America and finally to
Europe. Russell and Barbara were unreported
anywhere. Day after day, the Maugers waited.
And no letter came... .
A little more than six months later—on
August 2, 1928—and a little more than 3000
miles away—in Stone Canyon, just outside
Los Angeles, Cal—two Boy Scouts, who’d
been hiking in the woods bordering Mulholland
Drive, stopped short when they saw a blonde
woman’s head peering up at them from under
a bush.
They stared at the head for as long as they
had to. Then they turned and began to run.
They ran to a cabin about half a mile away
and told a’'man what they’d seen. The man
telephoned the police.
Detective Lieutenants Frank C. Condaffer
and LeRoy ‘Sanderson of the Los Angeles
homicide bureau were sent out to investigate.
They drove. to Mulholland Drive by way of
Hollywood and were joined at the scene by
coroner’s men, Van Nuys division officers, a
police forensic chemist and a police photog-
rapher, '
"THERE was no blonde woman peering up
from under a bush, as reported by the
frightened young Scouts. What the two boys
had seen: was a human scalp with-blonde hairs
still adhering to it. The scalp clung to the base
of the bush.
Two hundred feet farther down the moun-
tain they found the rest of the corpse. The
mummified body lay on its back, nude, its
right leg missing. :
The men studied the body. It’s middle had
been torn open, from navel to pelvis—obvi-
ously by animals. The internal organs were
gone. There appeared to be a tiny fracture on
the left side of the forehead. :
The woman ‘unquestionably had been young,
probably no more than 20. The reglilarity
4
of the features indicated she had been pretty.
The fingers were long and tapering, the nails
gave evidence of careful tending. But the body
itself was now little more than a shell, the
skin burned brown by the sun and drawn
tight about the bones,
Circling the left ring finger was a white
gold wedding band.
In the bridge of the nose and below the left
breast wére two bullet holes. They were exit
wounds and the coroner’s men put on their
rubbér gloves now and turned the body over.
The woman had been shot three times, evi-
dently—in the back of the’ head, the slug
emerging in the nose; between the shoulder
blades,. accounting for the chest wound; and
in the lower spine. Apparently this last slug
was still embedded in the body.
The coroner’s official estimated the woman
had been dead from four to six weeks.
Condaffer and Sanderson scoured the area,
convinced that animals could not have gotten
far with: the missing leg in such impassable
underbrush, They failed to find it, What they
did find, hidden in the chaparral a few feet
from the body, was a section of a baby’s skull
and two tiny leg bones.
The detectives’ glances swung instinctively
to the mummified body. They studied it care-
fully. They saw it now—in the structure of the
abdominal bones. The woman had been preg-
nant. .
The homicide men worked back up to th
bush with its clinging scalp, then climbed the
remaining 30 feet to Mulholland Drive. Here,
in the dust beside the brink, Condaffer spotted
four shining objects: ivory-hued’ bone beads,
a length of broken thread holding them to-
gether.
The discovery indicated the killing probably
had taken place here, on the desolate summit
road. There had been a struggle, the woman
had attempted to run away and had been shot
in the back. The body had then been stripped
and flung over the side.
THE investigators spent another hour in the
canyon, then returned to Los Angeles
where they received a summons from the
county autopsy surgeon.
“We've cleaned up the body and have it on
ice,” the surgeon said. “Here’s her ring. And
here’s the slug I removed from her. spine.”
Sanderson picked up the slug. It appeared
to be a 38-caliber. :
“Any idea what she looked like in life,
doctor ?” ae,
“Yes. Here’s a typed report. Probably five
feet four, 130 paunds, very blonde, plump, ,
well preserved—a woman between 18 and 25
years of age. And I find nothing to indicate
she had an artificial right leg.”
“Condaffer and’I have been thinking, doc-
tor,” Sanderson said. “The leg might have had
something wrong with it—a deformity of some
kind that could lead to the woman’s identifi-
cation.”
“And you fellows think the killer removed
the leg?” the doctor wondered. Then he nod-
ded. “It’s very possible—a simple job once
the body started going to pieces out there in
the hot sun.”
The detectives reported to Captain James
Bean and Chief of Detectives Herman Cline.
Bean issued a teletype describing the mur-
‘der victim and Condaffer and Sanderson went
to their! office and studied the white gold
wedding band under a magnifying glass.
Inside the ring a number had been scratched:
1047, It was the custom of Los Angeles pawn-
shop brokers to use such a method of record-
ing articles otherwise difficult to identify.
A call to the Pawnbrokers Association
brought the information that 1047 was in a
code series used by a pawn shop at Fifth and
Main Streets.
The detectives drove out to the shop.
Ticket 1047, the pawnshop’s records showed,
had been issued to a “Mrs. Barber, 841 Golden
Avenue, Los Angeles.” On June 4 Mrs. Barber
had received a loan of 50 cents on the ring
and she had retrieved it four days later.
“T remember the transaction very well,” the
broker said. “The girl couldn’t have been a
day over 18 and she was pregnant. The ring
wasn’t worth anything but I was sorry for
her.”
The Golden Avenue address was a lower
right apartment in a two-story yellow stucco
apartment building. There was no answer to
their knock and the two men sought out the
manager, Mrs. M.. Laird, a grey-haired, wrin-
kled little woman who resided in the lower
left apartment.
RS. LAIRD said she didn’t know any
“Mrs. Barber.” But when Sanderson de-
scribed the girl as blonde and pregnant, the
old lady clenched her fist and said, “You must
mean Barbara. Something has happened to
Barbara, hasn’t it? Russell Burholme, her hus-
band—he’s the one behind it, you can be sure.”
“Why do you say that, Mrs. Laird?”
“And why not?” the old lady said. “We all
felt it, ever since that picnic when Barbara
didn’t come home. Poor, dear thing. "Mae can
probably tell you a great deal. Mae Burns, I
mean. She’s a maid downtown at the Biltmore
Hotel. She’ll be home later this evening and
she can tell you. She lives in upper right. She
and. the girl were very close.”
“In the meantime, tell us what you can,
Mrs. Laird,” Sanderson said.
Well, the woman said, the Burholmes had
moved into their apartment back in April.
Barbara was .expecting her baby in late July
or August. They seemed to be a fine couple—
Barbara and Mr. Burholme—and they paid
the rent on time and gave no trouble. Russell
Burholme went away to work each morning,
a neat, nice-looking, sober-type fellow. No
one knew what he did, but apparently he had
had a good job and was well paid.
Barbara plainly was not happy, however.
She cried often and there were times, at night,
when her voice could be heard pleading with
her husband. But what it was she pleaded
about, none of the neighbors knew.
Then, on June 24, a Sunday morning—Rus-
sell Burholme rented a car and took his wife
out on a picnic—or so he said. When he re-
turned that evening, he was alone. “He told a
ridiculous story,” Mrs. Laird said now—a story
about how on their way home from the picnic
they had gone by way of the ocean and that
in Long Beach, Barbara had spied her aunt
getting out of a cab at the railroad station.
Barbara’s aunt was returning to her home in
the East and on the spur of the moment, Bar-
bara had decided to go with her, so she could
be with her mother and father when she had
the baby.
Then, the next day, Burholme was _ scen
burning many of his wife’s things in the
backyard incinerator. He also mailed a number
of parcels. He even gave away Barbara’s pet
cat, Mewsie.
A few days later Burholme moved away,
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nN
BY D. L. CHAMPION
se
A man and his wife were savagely slain while their
four sons slept nearby along a desolate stretch
of the transcontinental highway. And the case might never
have been solved, but for the dogged persistence of an Arizona
sheriff who devoted a full year to the investigation
FAMILY MURDER ON ROUTE
T WAS A MOST UNLIKELY campsite. On one
side buses rumbled and trucks roared along U.S.
Route 66 between Seligman, Arizona, and the
California border; on the other, a barren waste,
stretching as far as the eye could see, its flatness
broken only by two 12-foot piles of rubble. ,
A car was parked between the two piles of rubble;
a few, yards from the car stood a canvas pup tent.
It was a noisy spot and an unattractive one; never-
theless, the six members of the Welch family slept
soundly—so soundly, in fact, that two of them
would never waken again.
James D. Welch, a 33-year-old truck driver, and
his wife, Utha, two years younger, were vacationers
from Spencer, Oklahoma. On Wednesday, June 7,
1961, the Welches and their four sons, Jimmy, 12,
Tommy, 8, Billy, 7, and Johnny, 5, set out on a trip
to Colorado and California.
At dusk on Thursday, June 8th, the Welches
stopped at Ashfork, Arizona, for gasoline. James
Welch talked to the station attendant about local
motel rates. Considering the quoted price too high,
the Welches continued driving westward. Some 13
miles beyond Seligman, Welch pulled off Highway
66, parked the car between the tall piles of rubble
and made camp.
The family ate a picnic supper, then Welch
pitched the pup tent for the boys. He and Mrs.
Welch prepared to spend the night in the car. By
_ 10 o’clock the excited activities of the boys had
stopped. An hour later, their parents also slept.
Weary from the long day’s drive, they didn’t hear
the noisy traffic on U.S. 66, nor did they hear
cautious footfalls approach their car in the night,
from behind the piles of rubble.
It was almost 7 o’clock Friday morning when 5-
year-old Johnny awoke his eldest brother. “Jimmy,”
he said, “there’s something the matter with
Mommy. She’s got something on her face.”
Jimmy threw aside his blanket, pulled on his
blue jeans and ran to the car. He opened the rear
door and saw, with alarm, that the “something” on
his mother’s face was blood. He touched her shoul-
der. Fearfully he called her name—but she did not
move.
The boy opened the door at the driver’s seat. His
father, his head covered with blood, lay there, as
cold and unresponsive as his mother.
Young Jimmy was not yet 13 years old but he
knew what death was. Dazedly, he realized that
somehow, during the night, death had taken his
parents—and now he and his three younger brothers
were left alone there. He walked slowly back to
the pup tent, feeling frightened, bewildered and
bereaved.
Some 10 minutes later, Harry Netten, a California
salesman, and his companion, Wilbur Layne, drove
eastward along Highway 66, from Coconino Caverns
TRUE DETECTIVE, Nove, 1962,
‘It seemed a safe place to camp out for the night—
but in the morning two lay dead in their car
-~
“~~
May Oo st Ct
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there, Sheriff Cramer promptly put
through a telephone call to George Carter,
deputy from the office of the county at-
torney in Fresno. The sheriff reported the
details of his interview with James Bent-
ley, and asked the California officer to
check the alibi of the suspect.
Four days later, on Wednesday, July 5,
1961, Deputy Carter stopped by in person
at Sheriff Cramer’s office. The Fresno
lawman was on his way to Fort Scott,
Kansas, to pick up the blond prisoner, who
had waived extradition proceedings on the
charge involving the stick-up slaying of
the liquor store merchant.
“The news aT good,” reported Deputy
Carter. “The. alibi offered by James Bent-
ley holds up—at least on the face of
things.”
The deputy elaborated. The women
relatives of the suspect had, indeed, sup-
ported his alibi. They were willing to
swear that James Abner Bentley had
spent the night of June 8 at their home.
Sheriff Cramer sighed. Something per-
sisted in the back of his mind, some un-
explainable hunch, that James Abner
Bentley was involved in the double kill-
ing. But, as Deputy George Carter had
indicated, there was absolutely no way
of proving the case against the suspect.
And, as the months passed, Sheriff
Cramer found out that there appeared
to be no way of establishing that any-
one else, either, had committed the kill-
ings.
The lawman and his deputies stuck
doggedly to their task, tracking down
every slim and futile lead, interrogating
almost every felon arrested in the State
of Arizona.
By the end of December, 1961, the
hard-working lawmen were no closer to
a solution of the mystery than they had
been on that melancholy day, six months
before, when the four little orphans had
mourned their dead parents by the road-
side.
Then, on Tuesday, December 12, 1961,
news came to the lawmen at Prescott
that James Abner Bentley had been found
guilty of the murder of liquor store oper-
ator Homer Bryan. He had been sentenced
to die in the gas chamber at San Quentin
Prison.
Thus, the California ,case was marked
closed—but unfortunately the mystery
“surrounding the slaying of Utha Marie
_ and James Welch remained wide open.
Spring of 1962 came but did not bring
with it the answer to the Highway 66
murders. Still present in the mind of
Sheriff Cramer was the hunch that James
Abner Bentley was somehow involved in
‘the double slaying. fhe
In April, the lawman learned ‘that the
suspect had been transferred from San
Quentin’s death row to the prison hospital
at Vacaville, California, to be given men-
tal tests by the state psychiatrists.
James Abner Bentley was still under
medical observation on June 1, 1962, when
an urgent message from the San Quentin
authorities came to Sheriff Cramer. A con-
vict who was about to be paroled from
the California prison had volunteered
some information to the warden. Charles
_Leemin had been a cellmate of Jim Bent-
ey’s. Now, as part of his parole arrange-
ment, the about-to-be-released prisoner,
had made an affidavit swearing to the
fact that, during a conversation with
. James Abner Bentley in the prison, the
latter had told Charles Leemin a story
about murdering a man and a woman in
a car near Highway 66.
According to the statement, James
Abner Bentley had fixed June, 1961, as
the date of the double killing. He had
stolen the man’s wallet, which had con-
92 ad
tained identification papers and $61.
Bentley had boasted that the law had .
never pinned the crime on him.
Sheriff (Cramer slowly read Charles
Leemin’s affidavit, then he read it again.
This was the first confirmation of his
hunch that James Abner Bentley was
actually involved in the roadside mur-
ders. But as he considered the matter,
the lawman realized that the word of a
convict against a fellow felon wasn’t the
strongest evidence in the world in a dou-
ble murder case, especially when it was
contradicted by an alibi furnished by two
respectable women relatives of the sus-
pect.
Faced with this dilemma, Sheriff Cramer
conferred with County Attorney Ireland,
bh emia Saum and Deputy Blanken-
ip.
“Our only hope to clinch the case
against James Bentley,” observed the
sheriff, “is to crack his alibi. If we can
prove that Bentley’s relatives are cover-
ing for him, we can proceed with our
investigation.”
The county attorney agreed, then asked
CHARLES L. BEY !
ACQUITTED
In our story “If Suddenly We Die To-
gether .. .,” published in the March,
1962 issue of STARTLING DETECTIVE,
we stated that Charles L. Bey had
pleaded innocent to all charges in con-
nection with the murder of Rodney and
Florence Peter in the basement of their
farm near Belleville, Illinois. We are
pleased to report that, on July 12, 1962,
a jury before Circuit Court Judge Joseph
E. Fleming returned a unanimous verdict
in favor of Charles L. Bey, and exoner-
ated him completely of any knowledge
of, or connection with, the double mur-
der. He was also cleared of the technical
charge of parole violation.
’ pressed.
how they were to go about breaking the
suspect’s alibi.
“Tl get a photo of James Bentley from
the prison in California,” stated Sheriff
Cramer. “We'll make a dozen copies. Then
we'll go out and show them to the res-
idents around the Seligman area. Maybe
someone will recognize the suspect and
remember seeing him in the vicinity of
the roadside at the time of the double
killing.”
Undersheriff Saum nodded. “It’s a long .
shot,” he commented. “It all happened a
year ago. The chances are that, even if
someone did see Bentley at the time, he
or she won’t recall it.”
Sheriff Cramer admitted that his plan |
was a gamble. He added that it was also
the only possible thing to do.
On the morning of Saturday, June 9,
1962—exactly one year after the double
slaying on Highway 66—the sheriff’s dep-
uties were driving along the road, stop-
ping at each gas station, each bar and
each restaurant, exhibiting the blown-up
photograph of James Abner Bentley.
In the town of Seligman, Deputy Perry
Blankenship stopped in a local cafe for a
‘cup of coffee and to pass the time of day
with his wife, Bertie, who worked there
as a waitress. As he sipped the coffee,
the deputy remarked, “Oh, I’ve got a pic-
ture here I want you to look at. Then
I wish you’d show it to your co-workers.
{
Take a look and tell me if ou’v Sa,
seen this fellow before.” : Ate
The deputy’s wife took the photograph
from her husband’s hand, blinked and ~
said, “Sure, I’ve seen this fellow. He was ¥
in here twice on the same night the cou- *~
ple were killed!” a 8
The lawman put down his cup. “How
can you be so sure of the date?” he
Bertie Blankenship said that that wal"
easy. Early in the evening of June 8, 1961,
the man in the picture had entered the *
cafe and inquired if he could buy a cup ~
of coffee for a nickel. The waitress had ~~
informed him that coffee cost a dime.
“But,” she related to her husband, “he &
told me that he only had a nickel. So oe
took pity on him and I bought him a cup
of coffee myself.” rn
&
Deputy Blankenship was impatient. é
was in here twice.”
Bertie nodded. “That’s right,” she re-
plied. “He came back at about 4 or 5
“You said,” he prompted, “that the man f
o’clock in the morning. He ordered a full f
meal, starting with tomato juice, and he
paid for it with a $20 bill.”
Deputy Blankenship was pleased with
his wife’s information, but he wanted to
be certain of his facts.
“Are you absolutely sure of the dates?”
he asked eagerly.
“Absolutely,” his mate answered. “The
next day no one talked of anything else
but the killings. That makes everything
easy: to remember.”
Convinced of his ground, the lawman
raced for the telephone and put through
a call to Sheriff Cramer. Two hours later,
Bertie Blankenship was making a state-
ment to Sheriff Cramer and County At-
torney Ireland.
Later that afternoon, the sheriff called
a press conference. He categorically
named James Abner Bentley as the mur-
derer of Utha Marie and James Welch.
The county attorney concurred and an-
nounced that he would immediately file
two first-degree murder charges against 7}
the convict.
Sheriff Cramer theorized that, early
on the evening of June 8, 1961, James
Abner Bentley had entered the cafe where
Bertie Blankenship worked, with the in-
tention of holding it up. fi:
“But,” commented Sheriff Cramer, “he
probably changed his mind when he saw
half a dozen customers there. Then, after
Mrs. Blankenship served him a cup of
coffee, Bentley, in all likelihood, went
driving down the highway until he saw
the parked car and the pup tent. It was
then he committed the robbery and dou- *.
ble killing.”
On June 11, 1962—one year and two :
days after the cold-blooded crime on
Highway 66, County Attorney Ireland
filed the two murder charges against
James Abner Bentley. The already con-
victed killer is, as we go to press, still
being held in the mental hospital at Vaca-
ville, California. It is improbable that he J)
will ever leave the California prison alive.
But, if for some strange reason he does,
Arizona’s County Attorney George Ire- a
Sor ee
a
&
&.
§ 4
ian ites tila “i hs ad
hina
eed
ye
cs
‘;
4
. <
land will be waiting for him with a dou- B's
ble murder warrant in his hand.
Somewhere in the United States—the Pd
~ Welch family will not tell where—are four =
parentless children, four boys who will
never know a mother’s love or a father’s E:
affection. They are deprived of these vital |
elements of life in order that a callous, =
wanton killer could make a profit of $61. E.
(Note: The names Larr
Klinny, Claire Hunner,
Salazar, George ee ay
rank Amorr and.
Charles Leemin, as used in the foregoing story, ? 2
are fictitious. The real names have been = i
changed to protect the identities of the actual | :
Set
persons concerned.)
gee,
where they had spent the night. Layne,
the father of three children, first saw
the unhappy quartet standing help-
lessly at the side of the road.
“Hold up, Harry,” he said. “Those
kids may be in some kind of a jam.”
Netten braked the car. Layne leaned
out the open window and asked, “Any-
thing wrong?”
Jimmy Welch answered in a low,
unsteady voice. “I think somebody’s
shot Mommy and Daddy. They’ve over
there, in the car.”
Layne investigated. A woman lay on
the rear seat of the Welch sedan, her
face covered with blood. In the driver’s
seat lay a man, cold and still, with
bloodstained hair. There was no doubt
that both were dead.
Layne ran back to Netten’s car. “The
kid’s right,” he said, shocked. “It looks
like a double murder. I’ll stay here
with the boys—you find a phone and
call the sheriff.”
The office of the Yavapai County
sheriff, it appeared, was some 80 miles
away in Prescott. Therefore, the opera-
tor routed Netten’s emergency call to
Deputy Perry Blankenship, who lived
in Seligman, barely 13 miles away.
After telephoning Sheriff James
Cramer at Prescott and notifying him
of the tragedy, Deputy Blankenship
piled into his car, opened up the siren
and sped to the murder scene. Arriving
there, he spoke briefly with the chil-
dren, and to the motorists, Netten and
Layne. Then the deputy scrutinized the
bodies in the car. It was apparent that
the victims had died of bullet wounds
‘in the head. Deputy Blankenship de-
cided to await the arrival of the coro-
ner before moving the bodies.
Again he talked with the children.
Only Jimmy seemed to have realized
fully the tragic truth. He was quiet, se-
rious. The younger boys behaved quite
normally, laughing and playing. Five-
year-old Johnny proudly exhibited his
blue jeans to the deputy.
“They're brand new,” he said.
“They've never been washed. But I
guess Mommy's dress will have to be
washed—it's got blood all over it.”
Deputy Blankenship asked Jimmy if
he had heard anything unusual during
the night. The lad recalled that at an
early hour—he guessed it was some-
where about 4 or 5 o’clock in the
morning—a bus had pulled to the side
of the highway. Jimmy had peered out
the tent flap and saw two men chang-
ing a tire.
“Sometime before that,” the boy con-
tinued, “I saw the lights go on in Dad’s
ear and I heard a door slam. But I
thought it was Dad getting up and I
didn’t pay any attention to it.”
A siren sounded down the highway
and, a moment later, a pair of county
cars drew up. Sheriff James Cramer,
Sheriff’s Captain L. H. Johnson, Under-
sheriff Sam Saum, Yavapai County At-
torney George Ireland and the coroner,
Dr. Daniel J. Condon, had arrived.
As the coroner turned his attention
to the bodies, Captain Johnson and Un-
dersheriff Saum began a careful search
of the immediate terrain and Deputy
Blankenship briefed the sheriff on the
few details he had gleaned.
Presently, Dr. Condon called the
sheriff over to the car. “The man was
shot four times in the head,” he said.
“The woman, three times. The weapon
was probably a small caliber revolver,
perhaps a .22. I'd estimate the time of
death at 2 or 3 o’clock this morning.”
Sheriff Cramer observed that Mrs.
Welch still wore her wedding band, a
ical
gh!
diamond ring and a wrist watch. More-
over, when the body was removed to an
ambulance to be taken to Prescott for
an autopsy, her purse, containing $147,
was discovered on the seat beneath her
body. But no wallet, no money and no
papers were found on the person of
James Welch. The sheriff questioned
Jimmy Welch.
“Dad carried a wallet, all right,” the
boy said. “When we stopped for gas at
Ashfork. Mom gave him $65. He paid
for the gas and put the rest of the
money in his wallet.”
Sheriff Cramer ordered Captain
Johnson to track down the bus which
Jimmy had seen during the night.
Then, he turned to Deputy Blanken-
ship. “Perry,” he said, “take those kids
into Seligman and see that they get
some breakfast. Find someone to take
care of them, until we can drive them
into Prescott later.”
Captain Johnson and Deputy Blan-
kenship drove off. The deputy took the
boys to the Johnson Coffee Shop in
Seligman, where Mrs. Bertie Blanken-
ship, the deputy’s wife, worked as a
waitress. After a hot breakfast, the
children were put in the care of Mrs.
Mae Gibson, the local correspondent
for the Prescott newspapers. :
In the meantime, the sheriff, the une
dersheriff and County Attorney Ireland
conducted a painstaking search of tie
area in an effort to find some clue to
the identity of the double killer. But
by late afternoon, they had found noth-
ing at all.
As they drove back to Prescott, the
sheriff and Attorney Ireland speculated
on the motive for the killing.
“If it was robbery,” the county attor-
ney remarked, “it’s strange that the
killer didn’t take Mrs. Welch’s money
and jewelry.”
“He didn’t see the money,” said
Sheriff Cramer. “She was lying on her
purse. Maybe he was frightened off be-
fore he could take her rings and watch.
Or perhaps he was afraid they might
be traced when he tried to dispose of
them.”
Attorney Ireland speculated that the
Welches might be alive if they had not,
picked that particular campsite.
“You're right,” the sheriff agreed,
“Those two piles of rubble constitute
the only cover for miles around. They
could conceal someone sneaking up and
also prevent the drivers on Highway
66 from seeing him, too.”
Captain Johnson was awaiting Sher-
iff Cramer when he reached his office.
“I found the bus,” the captain reported.
“I caught up with it in Kingman. It
pulled up within a few feet of the boys’
pup tent at 4:45 this morning. It had a
flat. The driver and one of the passen-
gers changed the tire. No one on the
bus noticed anything out of the ordi-
nary.”
That evening, the Welch children
were driven to Prescott and lodged
with county welfare authorities. Sher-
iff Cramer telephoned the Welchs’
home town of Spencer in Oklahoma, to
ce Se
Volunteer searched concrete culvert for murder weapon or victim’s missing wallet
pee my . LS SR Tr ong esemargte
Sheriff Cramer described crime to Ivan Murray (r.) of Prescott Evening Courier
check with their relatives and the local
police there.
He learned little. The Welches had
planned their vacation for some time;
the ultimate destination had been Tu-
lare, California, where a sister of Mrs.
Welch resided. The trip had begun on
Wednesday, June 7th, That night, the
Welches had arrived at the home of a
relative in Amarillo, Texas, where
they stayed until early Thursday morn-
ing. The sheriff knew only too well
where the family had spent Thursday
night.
Over the week end the search for
some tangible clue to the identity of the
double killer continued. The Prescott
Jeep Posse, the Sheriff's Mounted
Posse and some 30 officers on foot
combed the roadway along U. S. 66,
tramped across the barren terrain in
the foothills of the Juniper Mountains,
seeking the death weapon, Welch’s
discarded wallet or any other signifi-
cant item.
At dusk on Sunday night, the posse
was weary and thoroughly frustrated.
It had turned up nothing. Sheriff
Cramer and Captain Johnson returned
to their Prescott headquarters shortly
after 8 o’clock that evening. Less than
half an hour later, two items of en-
55
“Somebody Shot Mommy
and Daddy’
[Continued from page 51]
Now Undersheriff Saum _ spok
“What about those children?” a fee
quired. -
I've notified the Spencer, Oklahoma,
police,” answered the sheriff. “He’s to
break the news to members of the Welch
family. I expect one of the relatives will
come out here to take charge of the
youngsters. In the meantime, see that a
gel is sent to Seligman to bring the kids
re.
As the undérsheriff attended to thi
matter, the sheriff’s telephone rang. The
caller was the police chief of Kingman
— who mons checked the west-
uses as Deputy Bl i
requested puty Blankenship had
The chief's information corroborated
th
story which young Jimmy Welch hed
already given the officers. It appeared that
at 4:45 on that fatal morning of June 9
a California-bound bus had pulled up
only a few yards away from th
tent in which the children were Sates.
The bus driver and a passenger had set
about replacing a flat tire with a spare.
bane ee gy piscine two other
a so halted to see i ist-
— = needed. rags at
either the bus drivers no
passengers had observed anything ae
cious or unusual in the vicinity of the
tent or the cream-colored sedan. The
temporarily halted vehicle had continued
on its way at 5:15 am. Most of the bus
riders had slept through the tire chang-
ing, but a woman passenger, Mrs. Claire
Hunner, of Pasadena, California, stated
that she had had a “perfect view” of the
parked Welch car and the pup tent.
“They were only a few feet from my
window,” the matron averred. “I saw
ve ie xm move slightly as if someone
e peeking out. But I didn’ i
anything else unusual.” oe
Shortly after Sheriff Cramer had re-
ceived the report from Kingman, Under-
sheriff Saum arrived .in Prescott with
the four small children of the murder
victims. Jimmy was tired and shaken but
he answered the questions put to him by
County Attorney Ireland.
All I know is what I told the sheriff.”
stated the youth. “I saw lights go on in
our car sometime after the bus had
~ parked. In the morning, J ohnny woke me
up. He told me that something was wrong
with Mommy, that she had something on
her face. When I looked into the auto, I
found that the ‘something’ was blood.
I yelled at Mommy and Daddy. I told
them to wake up. Then, all of a sudden.
I knew they must be dead.” f
County Attorney Ireland thanked the
boy for his co-operation and made ar-
rangements for him and his brothers to
spend the night at the home of a sym-
pathetic and prominent family in Prescott.
At the crack of dawn on Saturday
June 10, 1961, while the orphaned young-
sters were still in bed, Sheriff Cramer
rallied a posse, consisting of all his
deputies, a dozen Arizona State troopers
and a score of volunteers, to search the *
terrain between Highway 66 and the ~
Juniper Mountains; and from Seligman ~
b beats to the Hualpai Indian Reserva-
nm. : +> “4 ig
It proved to be a long, arduous and
completely unrewarding day for the posse.
After some 12 hours of tramping over ~
rocky and hot terrain, the searchers:‘had \
-
!
h
- fugitives. .
SIT RS
found no clue to the identity of the
wanton murderer or murderers who had
left four young boys parentless.
When Sheriff Cramer called off the hunt
and returned to his Prescott headquarters,
he found Raymond Welch, brother of the
murdered man, and his sister, Mrs.
Beverly Davis, waiting for him. The uncle
and aunt of the boys made arrangements
to return the children to Oklahoma on
the following day.
Later, after talking to her nephews,
Mrs. Davis issued a statement to the press.
“You read about these things in the
paper,” she remarked bitterly, “but some-
how you never think it can happen to
you. When it does, it’s an awful shock.
It’s just terrible. The boys are taking it
"fairly well. The younger ones don’t really
understand what happened and Jimmy
just doesn’t want to talk about it.”
Beverly Davis and her brother took the
children back to Oklahoma, where they
were to live in the home of another mem-
ber of the Welch family.
In the meantime, Sheriff Cramer and
his aides, having no solid clues with which
‘to work, were forced to adopt the cus-
tomary routine procedures. All vagrants
and itinerants in the area were ordered
picked up and questioned. Every known
criminal, every paroled felon in Yavapai
County was to be detained and inter-
rogated. In addition, the sheriff decreed
that anyone arrested for the commission
of any crime at all in his bailiwick was
to be examined intensively about the
wanton crime on Highway 66.
By June 22, 1961, almost two weeks after
the baffling double slaying, more than
100 suspects had been questioned by the
sheriff's deputies and the Arizona State
police. Some of the prisoners had iron-
clad alibis; those who could not account
for their whereabouts at the time of the
murders appeared to answer the lawmen’s
questions honestly. In the end, none of
the suspects could be tied up with the
crime which had orphaned four boys.
During the next day, a routine report
came to the desk of Sheriff Cramer. Ac-
cording to the police at Phoenix, Arizona,
two men, Frank Amorr and James Abner
Bentley, had robbed a gasoline station in
the state capital and had shot and
wounded Edward Smith, an employe. Both
bandits were residents of Gilbert, a town
some 15 miles southeast of Phoenix. Two
witnesses who were acquainted with
Amorr and Bentley had seen the hold-up
in progress as they’d driven by in a car.
The report on Sheriff Cramer’s desk con-
tained detailed descriptions of the two
| Anxious for a break in the double-
murder mystery, Sheriff Cramer sum-
moned Undersheriff Saum and showed
him the document. “These two stick-up
artists might be the killers we’re looking
for,” remarked the sheriff. “They’re rob-
bers who are quite willing to use a gun.
Notify all officers in this county to watch
out for them. I’ll get in touch with the
Phoenix authorities. In case they pick.
up Frank Amorr and James Abner Bent-
ley, I want to question them.”
. Three days passed, and neither the law-
men of Yavapai County nor the police
of Phoenix had found any trace of the
bandits. But on June 26, 1961, Sheriff
Cramer received a second official report
which mentioned the name of James
Bentley. This document was from Fresno,
California. It stated that on May 21, 1961,
—two weeks before the murder of Utha
Marie and James Welch—the proprietor
of a Fresno liquor store, Homer Bryan,
had been fatally shot during a hold-up.
The Fresno authorities had evidence
which caused them to charge James Abner
Bentley with the liquor store murder,
This report made Sheriff Cramer even ~
more zealous to question the suspect, but
his desire was to be frustrated. ee ok a
Meanwhile, in less than 24 hours, the ©
police of Phoenix announced that they
had arrested Frank Amorr, the killer’s
accomplice. As a result, Sheriff Cramer
climbed into his car and headed for the
Arizona capital. Coincidentally, at the
same time, George Carter, a deputy from
the county attorney’s office in Fresno,
California, also set out for Phoenix to
question Frank Amorr regarding the
liquor store murder and to attempt to
find out the present whereabouts of James
Abner Bentley.
Unfortunately, neither Sheriff Cramer
nor the lawman from California were
successful in their quest. The prisoner
stated flatly that he had no idea where
his partner was, and if Bentley had com-
mitted the hold-up killing in Fresno, -
Amorr didn’t know anything about that,
either. lieth
Next, when the prisoner was questioned
by Sheriff Cramer concerning the wanton
slaying of Utha Marie and James Welch,
he shook his head, smiled and remarked,
“I’m really clean on that one.” ieee
Asked to elaborate on this statement,
Frank Amorr went on to say that he knew
about the Highway 66 killings; he had
read about them in the paper. yea:
“And I know,” he added, “that, accord-
ing to the coroner, those people were
murdered in the early morning of Fri-
day, June 9. Well, I have the most solid
alibi you ever heard. On the evening of
June 8 until dawn of the next day I was
at a dance in Globe. At least 50 people
saw me there. You can check them.” ,
“T will,” promised Sheriff Cramer. “Was
Jim Bentley with you at the dance?” ,
Frank Amorr shook his head. “No. I
don’t know where Bentley was. Wh
don’t you ask him?” he countered. ./)*
“T will some day,” replied. the lawman.
On the following day, Undersheriff Sam
Saum drove to Globe, the seat of Graham
County. He spent half a day interviewing
a dozen witnesses, all of whom supported
Frank Amorr’s alibi. - 2 a es
After the undersheriff had returned to
Phoenix and made his report, Sheriff
Cramer stated to the press, “There is no
doubt of the suspect’s alibi, but we are
still very much interested in James Abner .
Bentley.” | aan Say
Sheriff Cramer was still interested
the blond-haired suspected slayer when,
on June 29, word came that he had been
picked up in Fort Scott, Kansas, where
he was being held on a detainer filed by
the Fresno, California, authorities.)
On Saturday, July 1, 1961, Sheriff
Cramer and Undersheriff Saum set out
for Kansas to question the prisoner. “~~
Upon the arrival of the Arizona law-
men, ‘the Fort Scott police officers re-
ported that James Abner Bentley was
nervous and unstable, that on two oc-
casions he had attempted to commit sul-
cide in his cell. However, when the Pres-
cott officers interrogated the suspect, he
appeared sane enough. 1 ee ee?
“Tt know about the murder of Mr. and
Mrs. Welch,” stated the prisoner. “And I
know that I was in California when they
happened, and I can prove it.” \) 2h )/nys
James Abner Bentley went on to say
that he had spent the night in question,
June 8, at the home of two women rela-
tives. “They'll swear to it,” he said. “I
wasn’t within 400 miles of Seligman, Ari-
zona, when the couple was killed.” 19%
Skillful questioning failed to elicit any
further information from the suspect.
Disappointed, the Arizona lawmen re~
turned to their headquarters. Arrived
Meg
‘Siete
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