s flaming hair was
111 who saw him.
. shape to answer
s suggestion they
i donate blood for
t that Hahnel had
nths, and was not
his fellow officers,
along this line, the
> long, hard search
sly placed a man’s
. to go on. Neither
ticular attention to
mm their youth, the
1 and Hahnel had
er. The only really
rr of the car which
bly sure, had been
showed this to be
med John Johnson,
ad been visiting in
mber in the papers
d in to report that.
ibandoned on East
it showed splotches
colman aroused the
ards totaling $6,000
business,” asserted
dy at a conference
avoid a rap for a
. Those birds were
be made of a wide
‘er which the des-
f Hahnel. But the
weapon used, nor
thers, William and
:, noticed a package
ying on the side of
oped it.
covered with two
‘ONT PAGE DETECTIVE
Patrolman Michael Hahnel was mur-——~ Joe Primas, the man who actually
pulled the trigger, died in the chair.
dered in a particularly brutal fashion.
small towels, and what they found within caused them to
hurry down to Inspector Cody’s office with their discovery,
The inspector examined the two objects which the bundle
contained. One of them was the service revolver belonging
to Hahnel. The other was an old-fashioned .32 ‘caliber
Hopkins-Allen “bulldog,” from which one steel-jacketed
cartridge had been fired.
But it was the towels even more than the guns which
interested Cody. Silently he handed them over to Inspector
Sterling, Lieutenant Potts and a group of five or six other
detectives surrounding his desk. There was no marking of
any kind on the towels. Inspector Cody noted the puzzled
look of his associates.
“Know where they came from?” he asked.
The others shook their heads, ‘
“From one of the Standard Oil filling stations. I’ve seen
them in their washrooms lots of times. I think if we find
these two birds, we’ll have not only the fellows who shot
Hahnel but possibly also the men who’ve been sticking up
all the service stations during the past six or eight months.”
“You think that’s what they were afraid of?” Potts asked.
“It looks like it to me. I’m going over the blotter for a
few months back and see if I can find anything in con-
nection with these stickups which might give us a lead.”
For several hours Cody and his assistants paged through
the long list of complaints—charges of drunkenness, larceny,
assault, disorderly conduct, rape, burglary and stickups.
The result was worth their tedious work. The record
gave birth to a decidedly promising clue. For it disclosed
that just about ten minutes before Hahnel had been shot,
the filling station of John Schmidf, not three blocks away,
had been robbed by two young desperadoes.
Schmidt was brought to headquarters. He was unable to
give much of a description of either of the thugs. But one
thing he did notice—the leader had a thatch of bushy red
hair! ‘
The filling station proprietor looked over hundreds of
photographs of stickup men in the rogues’ gallery, particu-
larly those with red hair, but was unable to identify any
of them,
One thing was now established to Cody’s entire satis-
faction, however. It was not the pinch for reckless driving
which worried Hahnel’s assailants, but the fear that they
might be recognized as the perpetrators of at least two
FEBRUARY, 1942 -
Lieutenant Emmet Potts is shown with
the child who figured in the chase.
dozen robberies of filling stations throughout the city.
N MONDAY NIGHT Patrolman Hahnel died, another
of that legion of peace officers to become tragic martyrs
to duty. Stimulated by a bitter determination to avenge
his death, dozens of detectives redoubled their efforts, run-
ning down each one of the innumerable tips and rumors
that came to headquarters. Their work was in vain. At the
end of a week there still wasn’t even a remote indication of
who the thugs were or where they might be.
“Wanted” circulars, distributed within a radius of several
hundred miles, resulted in nothing but more vague tips
and the usual quota of cranks who “confessed” to the
crime. Likewise the questioning of persons living near
the scene of the tragedy was fruitless.
Inspector Cody decided the time for undercover work
had passed and that widespread publicity was now required.
He called in the newspaper boys and bluffed that he knew
who the red-headed murderer was. He said he ‘couldn’t
reveal his name until later. The reporters seized on the
story eagerly. The next day the papers all headlined it.
“It can’t do any harm,” Cody remarked to Inspector
Sterling. “If he’s already scrammed, we’ve got him on the
move and he’ll probably be easier to catch that way. If he’s
still holed up here, it may scare him out.”
Sterling agreed. “Even if it doesn’t do either one,” he
observed, “the story may come to the attention of somebody
who can give us some worthwhile dope.”
His conjecture proved correct, The papers had been out
on the street just a short time when a man who gave his
name as John Kalbac, of 3414 East Sixty-ninth Street,
visited, headquarters. He electrified Cody by announcing
he had rented the garage in back of his home to two young
men with a Peerless touring car, and that one of them had
red hair. “3
“When was that?” the inspector asked.
“That was on Friday, the day the policeman was mur-
dered. They rented the place in the afternoon and paid me
cash. They left that night.”
“Did they give you their names?”
“No, but I’m certain I’d recognize the red-head if I saw
him again.” .
Kalbac, like Schmidt, was unable to pick out any of
the pictures: shown him in the (Continued on page 53)
31
He couldn’t
ay he was un-
it of her going
out him.
d back to the
the tub. He
1e hypodermic
at arm. Beads
his forehead.
reached down
> his kit and
irgical scissors.
1 of pain as he
eft wrist. The
as he stared at
ry beat of his
NANTS W. A.
Meyers entered
ay. That was
15, 1941. Mrs.
s a nurse at the
vondered why
a at his office.
nd, Maurice, to
at 8963 Burton
hire District of
t.
vie had discov-
Nolan naked on
ked and bloody
~ still clutch-
Leroy San-
lshire Detective
ants Joe, Paige
Sanderson read
Nolan and then
verse lying on a
refully through
of the doctor’s
uart Elliott No-
ive man. Even
27, when he had
ilane University
id been torn by
»motions.
em,” Sanderson
it for a requiem
taut, strained
feared the dead
velled to break
For I'd slake
_ my thirst for
, when speech
“"iieal Let us
lightful drafts
s to forgetful-
vuxury of wil-
he book down.
te in his voice as
removal of the
nth you
int PAGE
ant price!
iT PAGE DETECTIVE
Cleveland’s Red-
Headed Murder.
Monster
(Continued from page 31)
rogues’ gallery. Cody felt, however,
that he was making a little progress,
as he now had one man and possibly
two who might be able to identify
one of the bandits.
Under the inspector’s instructions,
two of his detectives, John Lynch
and Martin Zalewski, had spent days
making inquiries at poolhalls, to-
bacco and stationery stores and small
restaurants. He knew from long ex-
: perience that young men of the type
who go out on petty stickup jobs
whenever they need money almost
invariably hang around such places:
At length the two detectives came
to a confectionery store owned by
Mrs. Grace Peters. t
For the hundredth time Zalewski
went through the weary routine of
giving the meager description of the
red-head. He and his partner were
jolted when the woman said prompt-
ly, “Yes, I know. who he is.”
“You do?” both officers exclaimed
simultaneously. ‘
“Yes,” the woman responded with
provoking slowness, “he works for a
transfer company on Prospect Ave-
nue.”
“All right, go on,” Zalewski shot
at her. “What’s his name?”
“Albert Holt. Everyone calls him
‘Red.’ He’s been in here lots of
times. Is anything the matter?”
“You mean to say you haven't
read about it in the papers?”
“No,” the woman replied, “what
is it?”
But the detectives didn’t answer.
They were already on their way to-
ward headquarters. Here, in the
rogues’ gallery, was a picture of
Holt, who had served a sentence in
the Mansfield Reformatory for steal-
ing an automobile. Ironically enough,
the photo was one of those which
somehow had not been shown to
Schmidt, Kalbac or Dietrich.
Now, however, all ‘of them identi-
fied Holt as the murder suspect. °
The photograph also was recognized
by Tom Dolan, owner of the transfer
company on Prospect Avenue. Dolan
told the officers that Holt had worked
for him for several months. 4
. “Have you seen him since the mur-
der?” Lieutenant Potts inquired. ,
“Yes,” came the astounding reply,
“he was in here on the 24th for a
few minutes. Wanted to borrow some
money.”
The officers looked at each other in
amazement. The murderer had the
brazen nerve not only to remain in
the city for a wéek while being hunt-
ed high and low, but even to appear
on the streets-and at the place where
he formerly worked!
“Did you give him any money?”
Cody asked. '
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“Yes, I let him have five dollars,
and told him if he came the next
day I would lend him forty-five
more. He never showed up again.”
“Was he upset when you saw him?”
“You bet he was. He kept talking
about $6,000 being on his head and
insisted that he didn’t have anything
to do with the murder. I asked him
why he didn’t give himself up if that
was the case, and he said he was
afraid the police would try to pin it
on him anyway because of his pre-
vious record.”
“Where does he live?”.
“At 6808 Carnegie Avenue.”* .
Here the officers learned something
more of the vile character of the man
for whom. they were searching. His
wife, a plump and attractive brunette,
mother of two small children and ex-
pecting a third, informed them that
her husband had deserted her and
had been tiving with another woman. ,
But when he found himself in a jam
| he was not too proud to return for
advice to the woman whom he had
so badly treated.
“He came here that Friday night,”
she sobbed, “and was no nervous and
worried that I insisted on his telling
me what was the matter. He told me
he had got-in trouble with the police,
then asked me what he should do.
I told him he ought to dye his hair
and get out of town. He gave me
a little money and asked me to tele-.
phone the place where he worked
and tell them that he wouldn’t be able
to come in. He promised to take my
advice and leave. He said that when
the excitement died down a little he
would send for me and the children.
But,” she concluded, crying bitterly,
“I know he won't.”
“How do you know?” Cody asked.
“Because he doesn’t care about
either me or the children. _ He’s
always with that other woman.”
Mrs. Holt didn’t know the name of
Holt’s mistress and contended that
she had no idea where they could
find her husband.
“Tt wouldn’t tell you if I did know,”
she added frankly. |
ONVINCED THAT SHE was still
in love with Red, notwithstanding
his ill treatment of oa Inspector
Cody placed the house under surveil-
lance. He took the same step at
the transfer company, exacting a
promise from Dolan to let him know
immediately if Holt tried to com-
municate with him.
Then he sent two of his men to
the Mansfield Reformatory to check
up on other prisoners with whom
Holt might have been particularly
friendly during his confinement. The
detectives learned he had been on
intimate terms with his cellmate, Joe
Primas. . They obtained a picture of
the latter, upon their return to Cleve-
land, showed it to Schmidt and
Kalbac.
“That’s the man!” they both ex-
claimed. ‘“That’s the one who was
with the red-head!”
Cody and the other officers were
elated. With nothing to go on but
a vague description and‘a series of
sprawling numerals, they had now
not only identified the criminals but
had excellent photographs which
could be included in the latest
“Wanted” circulars. From now on
the case would undoubtedly resolve
itself into the tedious routine of at-
tempting to follow the trail of the
wanted men, or waiting patiently for
them to be caught in some other
crime.
Had they been able to see even one
week into the future, however, they
would have known that this “rou-
tine” case was to develop into one
of the most exciting chases in the
history of the city’s police depart-
ment.
It was just three days later when
events began to follow one another
with kaleidoscopic rapidity. Lieu-
tenant Potts, on night duty, answered
a call at three o’clock in the morning.
“This is Mr. Dolan, the transfer
man. I just received a telegram
from A. F. Keating.”
“Who’s A. F. Keating?” ‘Potts
asked. :
‘Tt don’t know. I never heard of
anybody by that name. The telegram
says, ‘Wire immediately some money.’
It came from Wheeling, West Vir-
ginia.” .
Potts hurried over to see Dolan.
He was sure the wire came from Holt,
either sent by him directly under
another name, or through some
friend. He wrote out a message for
Dolan to telegraph to his would-be
borrower:
“Money will be sent you before
Monday noon.”
Dolan relayed it in the form of a
night letter, so that it would reach
the mysterious “Keating” in the morn-
ing. Then Potts got busy on the
phone, calling Chief of Police John
K. Irvin, in charge of the Shaker
Heights Department, and Chief of
Detectives Cody. Under the latteér’s
instructions he also aroused two de-
tectives, Gustave Reese and August
Hruska, both of whom knew Red
Holt by sight.
Chief Cody in turn busied himself
calling long distance to Wheeling. To
Chief of Police Fred Frazier of that
city he explained what had taken
place and asked his cooperation in
apprehending Holt.
Hidden behind a partition in the
Western Union office at Wheeling the
following morning were Chief Fra-
zier, Detectives Wallace Buccy, James
Stanley and William West, Patrol-
man William Brunhaus and United
States Deputy Marshal Welch.
For hours the officers waited in the
back of the dingy little room, cramped
into a narrow space and unable even
to smoke because it might reveal
their presence. The phony wire which
had been sent from Cleveland the
night before lay unopened on the
desk, while the nervous operator
waited to give the signal agreed upon
in the event it should be called for.
As the day wore on past two o’clock,
the discouraged officers felt that their
mission had been futile. Undoubt-
edly the message sender, becoming
wary, had been watching the tele-
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
graph offic
arranged.
The Cl
driven d
who wer
the purpv.
of the tele;
not be th
more disa
But the
back of t!
to eager <
a voice }
“Have yo
Keating?”
Their e
let-down.
a woman!
hiding pla
the speake
By her sid
- the grating
was hopel:
encased ir
The cle:
message.
of disapp«
She foldec
walked ou
she reache
certain th:
aroused.
ion to the
that it wo
her by
observed.
that he an
on foot.
The wor
chief’s hu
of being fo
repeatedly
hurry to
stopped tl
a newspap
a small t:
house fi
retraced
hotel ne..
sat in the
ing a new
detectives
Once m«
practically
fore, up or
going bac.
performan
over her
street.
Frazier
something
gone dow
street five
street line
class boar:
“T bet t
one of the
probably
chief obse
might not
off this blc
in it. We
E BRO!
A taxi:
into the b
stopped si
and the lit:
down, gra!
and tumb
the door
opened fo
FEBRUARY,
=
ast
—
THE STERN JUSTICE EXACTED
IN THIS CASE PROVED AGAIN
THERE CAN BE NO MERCY FOR
A HOODLUM WHO KILLS A CoP
long. He fought determinedly. He had to keep awake for
just one thing. The car was pulling away. It had already
gone several feet. Seconds more, and all chance would
be lost. Now, at this very moment, was the time.
Painfully he twisted his body around, He pushed him-
self up with his elbow until he supported his side on his left
arm. With glazed eyes he peered through the mist. Then,
with the index finger of his right hand, he scraped some-
thing into the thick dust at the side of the road.
It was 5-1-6-7-1-2—the license number of the fast-
receding car!
The effort exhausted him. His supporting arm slipped.
The upper part of his body fell back heavily, bringing
a fresh gush of blood to the surface of his wound. He had
little strength left. Yet somehow he managed to reach the
police whistle on his belt. He put it-to his mouth and
attempted to blow it. It did make some sound, a peculiar
gurgling one, caused by the mixture of ‘his breath with the
blood welling up from his throat. A car approached, The
feeling of relief which swept over him died into despair
as it whirled on by.
NCE MORE HE REPEATED the performance. And
once more a vehicle passed him by. He had barely
strength enough left to press the button of the flashlight.
It gave forth a feeble flicker. A third car approached. It,
too, went on past. But only for a few feet! The driver .
jumped out and hurried back to Hahnel. He -was appalled
at the sight of the bloody, ,dirt-encrusted figure on the
ground. .
“Were you hit by a car?” he asked.
“Shot—hospital—get me there quick!” Hahnel gasped.
The driver asked no further questions. He bundled the
wounded patrolman into his car and raced him to St. Alexis
Hospital. ;
Within a few moments every officer in Cleveland, includ-
ing those off duty, knew of the shooting. Inspector Charles
N. Sterling and Lieutenant Emmet Potts went to the hos-
pital to see the injured man and obtain information con-
cerning his assailant. There the resident doctor told them
that, although the bullet had lodged in the patrolman’s
back against the spine, he was still semi-conscious. “It
would have killed an ordinary man,” the physician added,
“and I’m not at all sure that it won’t kill him.”
30
Albert "Red" Holt's flaming hair was
remembered by all who saw him.
The two officers found the victim in shape to answer
only a few questions. At the doctor’s suggestion they
hurried out to find someone who would donate. blood for
a transfusion.’ Notwithstanding the fact that Hahnel had
been on the force for scarcely six months, and was not
even known to the great majority of his fellow officers,
hundreds of them volunteered.
Everything possible having been done along this line, the
heads of the Cleveland force started the long, hard search
for the brutal thugs who had so needlessly placed a man’s
life in jeopardy. They had little enough to go on. Neither
Dietrich nor Hahnel had paid any particular attention to
the two occupants of the car. Aside from their youth, the
one distinctive feature which Dietrich and Hahnel had
noted was the bright red hair of the driver. The only really
worthwhile clue was the license number of the car which
the officers found imprinted in the dust. ;
The machine, the officers felt reasonably sure, had been
stolen. A quick checkup of the number showed this to be
true. It had been taken from a man named John J ohnson,
who lived in Medina, Ohio, and who had been visiting in
Cleveland. Publication of the license number jn the papers
brought quick results. Someone phoned in to report that
the car, a Peerless touring, had been abandoned on East
Sixty-fourth Street. An examination of it showed splotches
of blood on the rear seat.
The brutality of the attack on the patrolman aroused the
fury of the citizens of Cleveland. Rewards totaling $6,000
were offered within a few hours.
“There’s something screwy about this business,” asserted
Inspector of Detectives Cornelius W. Cody at a conference
in his office. “Men don’t kill a cop to avoid a rap for a
traffic violation—at’ least, not ordinarily. Those birds were
fleeing from something.”
He gave instructions for a search to be made of a wide
area around the bridge and streets over which the des-
peradoes rode prior to the disposal of Hahnel. But the
hunt did not disclose any sign of the weapon used, nor
did it yield anything else of value.
Monday morning, however, two brothers, William and
Thomas Steadman, on their way to work, noticed a package
wrapped in some kind of heavy cloth lying on the side of
the road. They picked it up and unwrapped it.
The contents of the package were covered with two
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
i aia
Fa ny
Patrolmc
dered in
small tor
hurry dc
The insp
containe
to Hahn
Hopkins
cartridge
But it
intereste
Sterling,
detective
any kind
look of }
“Know
The ot
“From
them in
these tw
Hahnel t
all the se
“You t
“Tt loo
few mon
nection °
For se
the long !
assault, «
The re
gave bir
that just
the fillin
» had beer
Schmic
give muc
thing he
hair!
The fil
photogra
larly tho
of them.
One tt
faction, +
which w:
might be
FEBRUARY
To:
From?!
Victo
Michael Buzulencia
Subject:
Page:
4
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
r L. Streib
Sam Purpera
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
January l,
January 2,
January 3,
January 4,
January 5,
January 6,
January 7,
January 8,
January 9,
January 10,
January 12,
1921
1921
1921
1921
1921
192]
1921
Detroits Gang’s Ways Clua to Robbers
Who Kill 2 in Pay Holdup
Outrage on Outrage (Editorial)
Crimes Show Weakness in Court System
Question Woman in Holdup Murders
Guilty mscape Through Poor Co-Operation
Trap Sly Murder Suspects in Garage
Lax Penalties Disclosed as Crime Source
City Rallies Men and Flyers for Crime War
Friends Raising $5000 Reward in Sly Murder
Judges Urge Prosecutors to Hasten Cases
Crime War Plans Go on as Legion Backs
Police
War on Thugs (Editorial)
Says Police Prosecutors Cut Charges
Officials to Aid Study of Justice
Ask Standing Reward for Murderers' Arrest
A Crime Survey (Editorial)
Judges Move to Curb Jury System Abuse
Mayor Accepts Legion's Offer to Assist
Police
Suspect Freed In 2 Hours on $40,000 Bond
Legion to Guard City Approaches
County Commissioners Vote $500 Standing
Reward in Murders
Charges Crime to Lax Governnent
Five Bills
Crime
are Introduced to Curb Ohio
eka
"ee nace? Bilin Be ea
Le Essay
"A agai thick SO Da ~ Te ER tin
— ee Oe ey!
Ne le Sains <class
Me Boe fa ee RY ;
or. se SHS Ss stag F
RE AT Sate oe
Oe ie ee ae
CL se
ae
Cer ae
>
> Se rset,
*
SES:
nee:
SpE Eom tea
yo Re nat ee
trae od cel
AS
»
Me
=
ao
~
RED
he See
aX
ron a
a
is
= Pee
“x
1. yet salah Hho
cwirting Aas
Sie hth cal et 0 Bi ns le 8
sai dena AgNO dns Ou tla iasccces ales last Movil fate
howe
PAM be Torts
* 5 ham Mb hae tk Sree
“AND REPRESENTATIVE CITIZENS»
ing, but claimed that the shooting was done
while he was stunned from the effects of a
blow upon his heacl with a garden rake, in the
hands of the mother of his wife, who was
maliciously assaulting him at the time; that
there was no previous purpose to injure his
wife, and that the act was committed while
he was in a dazed condition from the blows
received by him, and was unconscious of what
che:was doing. Radford was a. man of very
“violent temper,
and had been abusive toward
his wife, who had the day before the murder
* commenced proceedings in the Common Pleas
court against him, for alimony. She was at’
her mother’s Aduse when the quarrel occurred,
“which resulted in the murder.
On. June 15, the court sentenced Radford
to be executed on October 12, 1883. This
sentence was carried into effect accordingly by
Charles . Pohlman, Jr., sheriff of Sandusky
County, at 12:10 P. M., October 12, 1883.
THE BILLOW CASE.
Perhaps: one of the most interesting crimi-
nal cases ever tried in the county, was ‘the case
-of the State against Louis Billow, at the Janu-
_ for,
ary term, 1900, of the Common Pleas Court,
for the murder of Jacob Hess on May 16, 1896.
Billow loved the daughter of Mr. Hess, and
had made her proposals of marriage which she
had rejected. Her parents supported her in
rejecting his offer. Persisting in his efforts to
eR ag ee
ia. Wutlad ls AeA
eS AG ee
therefrom, when the explosion wor'd occur.
one was injured by the explosion; but Mr..3
and his son rushed to the door, to ascertain ‘
cause of it, and thereupon Billow, from i
place of hiding, discharged his gun at ‘the.
The father, Jacob Hess was mortally wound
and died soon after being Shotgestas
seriously, but not fatally. wounded, and:reco |
ered. Billow’s basket with his name ‘writts
upon the handle, was found where he had ie.
it, after removing therefrom the dynamite.
made good his escape,
ileeing fre
state and at one time to Mexico,
more than three years, finally
County of Kittetas,
where he was found and captured.’.:
arrested he made no denial of
against him, but told the: officers all about t!
terrible tragedy, and of his many adventur:
in his various wanderings from place to placd
to escape detection and capture. Rs
The trial was begun February 6, 1900, a»
lasted till March 18.
presided and the jurors were, G.
John Elmers, Jonathan Bonowitt, john 1 Li
baugh, John Bender,
B. F. Bretz,
Keefer, T. H. Brewer and Join WV,
The State was represented by George ii
Russell,
. Withey,
George Kinney,
f ioca
ns son
3
mm. State
fugitive
ting in ti
State ‘ot WwW ashingtc
Judge Chari
Hugh
on ET 5
Hay \
Ws
prosecuting, attorney, 2
Francis
‘O’Farrell,:
the fan
es S.' oI
Vv T
‘i ds.
ens,
IsortlG 3.
Senne
assisied
Joks:
win the daughter, he believed that the parents Stahl and Meade G..Thraves. Tie altorne
for the defense were John T. Garver! Birt
were disposed of he would be successful in’ Garver, P. D. Garver, B. A. Fouche ands. c
were the main obstacle in his way, and if they .
gaining her hand., The day previous to the.
murder, he filled a basket with explosives, ~
which he took with him to the home of a rela-
‘tive, who lived a few miles distant from the
residence of Mr. Hess. ’ He remained with this.
went to Hess’s house, to carry out his evident
in placing the explosives, he put them
under that part of the residence containing
their bed room. He also had with him a dou-
ble-barreled shot gun.
which he had connected with the explosives,
-he secreted himself at a safe distance, but
within range of the house with his gun, ready
for use against any one who might escape
Igniting a long fuse _
Garver.
‘ .
ne Te
eae
&
The defendant’ S counsel ‘made the defente o
insanity,
only.
There’
was
probably’ no | "a
‘tried in this county, where,medical expert. test:
‘relative a part of the night, and from there ~Mony figured more than in’ the Bilowes
The defense produced, as medical expert::
purpose of destroyi ing the parents of the girl, i nesses, Dr. H. C. Eyeman, superintendent's 3
the insane asylum at “Massillon, Dr. Coops:
RP x
the Toledo Hospital for the Insane, and ‘iis
M. Stamm, R. B. Meek, M. O. Philips, R. !
Rice, O. C. Vermilya and C. B, Pinetree ©
the Jocal physicians and surgeons.
called Dr. S. V: Clevenger of Chicago, auth»
of a work entitled “Medical Jurisprudence «
Insanity,
7
Dr.
Carpenter,
Superin
The-S
tendent
RADFORD, Jack, white, hanged at Fremont, Ohio, on 10-12-1883,
"JOHN RADFORD'S AWFUL CRIME. = John Radford of Bellevue, Ohio, the wife murderer, has
just been convicted of his crime, the jury returning a verdict of murder in the first
degree. Radford has always been known among his acquaintances as 'HandsomeJack Radford,'
His wife, Annie Greenslade, a beautiful woman, to whom he had been married ten years, was
killed by him on the lth of November, 1882, For some time previous to the crime they had
been living ungappily because of the husband's overbearing disposition and cruelty toward
the wife. In October last she, with her two children, left him and went to live with her
parents, On Nov. ), Radford was informed that his wife had begun proceedings against him
for divorce and alimony. He had previously made the threat that if she left him he would
kill her, Arming himself with a revolver, we went immediately to her father's house and
forced an entrance by breaking in one of the doors which had been locked against him,
His wife, her sister and brother were in the house, He went upstairs to his wife's room,
After exchanging a few words, she came down with him and they stepped out of the kitchin
door, The sister, Mary Greenslade, had followed them, Without a word Radford knocked his
wife off the steps to the ground, and drawing his revolver pointed it at the sister de-
manding that she go into the house or he would shoot her, She went in, but her mother
appeared the next instant to witness Radford standing over his wife and firing two fatal
shots into her body. One shot entered her neck, the other her temple, A more cold-blooded
murder was never committed. Coolly pocketing his revolver, Radford left the house and
started West from the town, but was soon overtaken and brought to the Fremont jail where he
has since been confined." NATIONAL POLICE GAZETTE, New York, New York, June 30, 1883 (5.)
"At Belleville, Ohio, on the th inst., John Radford, who had cruelly abused his wife, was
served with the papers in a divorce suit which she had begun against him. He flew into a
passion and going to the residence of his wife's parents, kicked in the door and entering
the house caught the poor woman and blew her brains out,"
NATIONAL POLICE GAZETTE, New York, NY, November 25, 1882 (10-2.)
a ‘RADFORD, J emont, Ohio,
mane oh, fA telat ves Sy dg
‘the fatal one was not known.
deceased. } 2
~ County and were good people, but the son had
John M.
f 4
HISPORY OF
on Octaber
upp,” were present.
facts as to the shooting during the quarrel were,
substantially these: ‘Cupp raised his hand,
calling Hays a vile name. Hays pushed: Cupp
back with ‘his left hand, telling him to keep
away. Cupp then struck Hays a blow in the
face, knocking him against the bar of the
saloon, and started to run towards the end of
the bar, lays fired at him; Cupp then caught
hold of a young man, who was present and
swung him between Hays and himself, and -
doced to get behind the bar, and w hile he
was passing around the inside corner of the
bar and fired the third shot.’ Which shot was
crouched down behind the bar on his hands
and knees; whereupon Hays reached over the
bar and fired the third shot. ° Which shot was
Uays was then
caught by some men present and put out of
the saloon. (pp got up and was helped out
through’ a back door, into a room nearby,
Where he, in a few minutes, died. Hays
denied havi ing premeditated the killing of Cupp,
or any iutention of getting into a quarrel
with ( sg before meeting him in the saloon;
he also cl aigjed to have been so dazed by the
blow struck by Cupp, as not to be conscious of
the shooting done by him; and further-claimed
that he was carrying the pistol, with which
the shooting was done, for protection against
a threatened assault by an Indian residing in
Clyde at the time, with whom.he had had a
quarrel,
The verdict of the jury was “not guilty.”
The complete acquittal was a surprise to all.
who had knowledge of the facts in the case,
and could only be accounted for upon. the
grounds of the general bad character of the
Hays’ parents resided in Wood
04" “ :
a violent temper and was posed to be quar-
relsome. ; "
WELCH CASE, |
The State against John Welch, was tried at
the April term, 1880, Judge J. H.. Doyle of
Toledo, Ohio, presiding. The State was rep-
resented by John I. Garver, prosecuting attor-
ney, assisted by T. P. Finefrock and J. R.
Bartlett. The defense by TH. Remsbure and
Lemon, The jurors ‘were, George
4
1
‘for life; which commutation was by the defend- =,
Kl tapes COUNTY :
1883, : ;
Bitrin, Jacob Dicker, T. T. Harrison, G Seorge:
fiictian George Sherar, Edward Kern. Henry-
Gervin, ‘Andrew Kline, Morris Haff, Levi “
Wolf, John McBride and E. A. Beebe, te
The defendant was indicted jointly wit tt
others, for the murder of a Stranger who:
name was then unknown, stopping at the Co ot
mercial Hotel in Fremont, who in the nj cbt br
was decoyed-by a feprale accomplice to an’
unfrequente d spot in the city, and there rmur-
dered and robbed by Welch. ‘The trial lasted »
about two weeks, and the defendant. was found” .° 4
guilty of murder in the first degree! On July." ¢
12, Judge Doyle ‘sentenced him to be executed 9.0" |
on December 3, 1880. December't, sentence.
was suspended until February 2s, 1881. On*ié
February 25, sentence was suspended until |
Marck 4. On March 3, 1881, sentence was
commuted to imprisonment in the peniten: lary *%; ee
ant accepted March‘4. He afterwards com.
mitted suicide in the penitentiary. | /\° :
The other parties, one being the iemale)’ —
accomplice, jointly indicted with Welch, were =<?
never tried, and the indictment as to them was
nollied. This female gave her testimony
against Welch at the trial. The murdered:
man was ascertained to be Anthony Gottsacher
of Greensburg, Pennsylvania, a tailor, who...
was seeking 2 “business logation. «uty a
"RADFORD CASE, | *
John Radford was tried and convicted at*! .
the April term, 1883, of the niurder of his.)
wife, Anna Radford, November 4; 1882. near.
Bellvue, Ohio. At ‘the. January terin, 883,
he was indicted for murder in the first degree,
and was tried at‘‘the April term: following,
before Judge C.. P.;Wicklann, and a jury asi@.) |
follows: A. H. ‘Ake, J. Stout, Ir, Daniel Park-\9
hurst; William Myerhoitz, Henry H.:Taulker, |
George - Ash, ‘Joe? Plagman, Jacob: Bris ler, a
Rudolphus Dickingon,’ John Harris“. Wal-.?*"
hoff and Titus Nolf. The State‘ was oe pet:
sented by George: Kinney, prosecuting atto:s
assisted by John Lemon and Col. J: R, Bart.
lett. The defense’ was conducred by ‘Y. P.:
Finefrock, T. R. Strong and O Keliogg.
The trial lasted ten days, and on May 30, the
jury returned a verdict of guilty as charced
in the indictment. | _ Radford admitted the kill-
'
skillfully,
<s on un-
> making
} helpless
er of his
lvins and
1 the full
ke Helen
ocal hos-
ninor in-
o young
awed at-
onstantly
ut threats
ees con-
e David
he pudgy
her arm
mber 19.
droning,
d her to
ned tug,
, scream-
Avenue
however,
cked and
‘ees. Be-
veloping
a heavy-
ve in his
hand, loping around the corner and out
of sight.
Miss Beatrice Gallagher, an attractive
23-year-old girl, was returning from a
dance on the night following the attack
on Rose David. She started across the
street on the 1800 block of East 87th
Street, where she worked. Then, before
she could reach the opposite curb, a
man with thick, trembling lips stepped
out of the darkness and planted him-
self in her path.
“Well, pretty girl . . .” he began.
Miss Gallagher screamed.
The youth cursed. He lifted his right
hand and pointed a nickel-plated re-
volver at her back as she ran from him.
There was a sharp explosion, a spit-
ting flash of phosphorescent yellow.
Miss Gallagher felt the sticky warmth
of her own blood on her shoulder as
she raced towards the yard of her em-
ployers, Mr. and Mrs. R. H. Perdue:
Then there was another shot—and a
third, a fourth, a fifth!
When Mr. Perdue ran out to find her
unconscious on the lawn the assailant
had already disappeared.
One bullet was later removed from
the girl’s left lung. Others had grazed
her arms, legs and shoulder. As doctors
pronounced her “safe” and on the way
to recovery, she uttered, “Thank God
it was the bullets that touched me—and
not that man!”
But to Matowitz, Story and Barry at
Cleveland police headquarters Miss Gal-
lagher’s narrow escape from death con-
tained one element which was rife with
frightening possibilities.
The fiend was armed!
UTRAGED public opinion, unrea-
soning in its fear, demanded that
the lustful animal be tracked down,
caged and destroyed.
Desperately needed municipal operat-
ing funds were shifted to the police de-
partment. Members of the force duti-
fully gave up vacations and eight-hour
days. Nearly 900 policemen were as-
signed to seven-day duty—each working
12 bours per day in an effort to keep an
SHRUBBERY—
Official eye on every unescorted woman
in Cleveland after dark.
More than a score of specially select-
ed officers were attired in women’s
clothing and assigned to. act as lures in
the dark East Side residential streets.
They were armed and, on Matowitz’s
instructions, ready to fire at a moment’s
notice. _
But it was impossible for the police
to patrol every square foot of the
sprawling city. There were openings in
the city-wide blockade. The passion-
crazed attacker found them!
Hardly two minutes after a squad car
had cruised by and turned left onto
nearby Hough Avenue, on the night of
December 22, 26-year-old Roberta
Kelly, a blue-eyed, tall brunette, was
accosted by the lop-jawed rapist.
She felt his damp palm on the back
of her hand. A gleaming nickel-plated
weapon jabbed against her ribs.
She swayed, afraid to cry out and
unable to disengage herself from his
Neighbor points to spot in park where the body of Mary Jane Brady. was found.
Dh ae
ra hy rae :
BEREAVED—
Dorothy Brady, mother of slain child.
grip. She stumbled forward as the
heavy-set man led her firmly towards
an open lot.
“Kill me!” she pleaded hysterically.
“Shoot me and kill me!”
She was still muttering this phrase
a half an hour later when an elderly
housewife passed the spot, heard the
girl’s cries and summoned police. The -
unfortunate girl, babbling incoherently,
was unaware of the people who crowded
about her, unaware of the winter air on
FRIENDS—
Part of. the huge crowd that attended
her half-nude body. Her clothing lay
in shreds at her side.
It was fully 48 hours before Roberta
Kelly recovered sufficiently to relate her
experience to Lieutenant Story.
But even as Miss Kelly lay in half-
conscious agony—exactly one day after
she had been assaulted—another woman
fell victim to the. fiend.
Twenty-year-old Mrs. Mary Pschock,
a bride of three months, passed the Lex-
ington Theater on East 55th Street, con-
fident that the glow of thoroughfare
lights provided adequate protection.
When she got approximately a block
from the theater she suddenly found a
heavy-set man walking at her side.
She quickened her pace, but the
stranger continued alongside. At last
he twisted his plump lips into a mirth-
less grin.
_“T like your looks,” he said.
Mrs. Pschock gasped, spun around
and faced him. She glanced down at
the shining weapon in his right hand.
Then, with an impatient gesture, he
clutched her arm and tugged her toward
the protection of a billboard.
As they neared the edge of the bill-
the funeral services for young Janet.
board Mrs..Pschock twisted away. The
action took her assailant by surprise.
She faced him briefly—just long
enough to feel a stabbing pain in her
abdomen as the nickel-plated pistol ex-
ploded. Despite the pain, however, she
turned and made a dash toward the
theater. The gun barked again. There
was a raw sting high on her back as she
stumbled, crawled, felt her way forward
toward the box office.
The theater manager rushed her to
Charity Hospital, where she lay in
critical condition for 24 hours while
police tried in vain to locate her at-
tacker.
At last, when police assured her that
the fiend hadn’t.touched her, she began
to improve rapidly.
Story, Detective Wolf and Captain
Thomas Fonley stood by as Mrs.
Pschock described the gunman.
“I got a good look at him,” she told
the investigators.
The man who had accosted her on
East 55th Street was of medium height,
heavy, with a somewhat lop-jawed ap-
pearance. His forehead wrinkled slight-
ly over his right eye.
“He’s a y
tim conclu:
twenty-two-
Meanwhil
land’s interr
lon expert,
Burton and
the first sig
taken from
Gallagher
Cowles said
caliber pistc
HE CUN
continue
nights later
saulted on
The followi
ress had h
body by tt
who had a;
Three days
an identica
blocks fron
she worked
Then, wi
day season,
The first of
action on t
DANGER P(
"X" marks
Janet.
iy. The
rise.
t long
in her
stol ex-
ver, she
ard the
There
< as she
forward
her to
lay in
s while
her at-
her that
e began
Captain
is Mrs.
she told
her on
1 height,
wed ap-
d slight-
“He’s a young fellow,” his latest vic-
tim concluded. “Maybe twenty or
twenty-two—no more than that.”
Meanwhile, David Cowles, Cleve-
land’s internationally renowned Bertil-
lon expert, provided City Manager
Burton and Safety Director Barry with
the first significant clue. The bullets
taken from Mrs. Pschock and from Miss
Gallagher matched perfectly. Both,
Cowles said, had been fired from a .32
caliber pistol.
HE CUNNING, murderous sex fiend
continued to stalk the streets. Two
nights later a university co-ed was as-
saulted on her way to her dormitory.
The following night an East Side wait-
ress had her clothing torn from her
body by the armed, heavy-set youth,
who had appeared from behind a tree.
Three days later a stenographer suffered
an identical experience less than four
blocks from the East Side office where
she worked.
Then, with the approach of the holi-
day season, the attacks suddenly ceased.
The first of January passed without any
action on the part of the gunman. The
DANGER POINT—
“X" marks the spot where pretty Janet
Blood, 17, was attacked on January. 3.
second day, too, passed uneventfully.
“Maybe,” Story said hopefully in a
conference with Matowitz, “he’s been
scared off.”
“J doubt it,” the inspector commented.
“This man’s lust has taken full com-
mand of his senses. It’s taken possession
of him. He can no more give up his
nightly assaults than he can give up
eating.” : ‘
Story realized this was true. He
mused on the history of the case to date.
He recalled the first advances against
Helen Reese, Florence Alvins and Helen
Kilmer, all conducted while the assail-
ant was unarmed. Then had come the
attack against Rose David with a length
of pipe; then, the shootings with the .32
caliber pistol.
“I only hope,” Story said, “that we
can get our hands on him before he
kills someone.”
It was shortly after eight o’clock on
January 3, a dark night with the faint
sliver of autumn moon obscured by.
clouds.
It was.on the West Side, at least 15
miles from Hough Avenue, Ashbury,
East 55th Street, the Lexington Theater
—already familiar and tragic landmarks.
But the street along which Janet
Blood walked on the night of January -
3 was far away from all that. West
106th Street, near Clifton Boulevard and
bordering the exclusive suburb of Lake-
wood, was a tranquil residential neigh-
borhood.
Janet, a strikingly beautiful West
High School senior of 17, was a half
a block from the house where she was
going to return a book she had borrowed
from a friend. (Continued on page 75)
VICTIM—
Janet was shot in the back as she fled.
DETECTIVE—
Lieut. Frank Story tangled twice with the wily murderer.
glimpse of the big midnight attacker.
Then, shortly before midnight, Octo-
ber 22—just four days after the attack
on Helen Reese—another woman, pretty
34-year-old Mrs. Florence Alvins,
passed a vacant lot on Vineyard Avenue.
A strange figure suddenly darted
across the street toward her. Before
she was fully aware of his presence the
man was behind her, one hand en-
circling her throat while the other
tightened around her upper arm.
Mrs. Alvins screamed as he began
tugging her towards the desolate lot.
Her outcries brought several people
from the neighborhood to their win-
dows and doors. The stranger cursed,
released his grip and raced away -into
the darkness. Mrs. Alvins fied in the
opposite direction.
She didn’t stop running until she
spotted a squad car a block away on
Vineyard Avenue. Breathless, she told
her story to the officers in the car.
She could only describe her assailant
as heavy set.
The officers promptly reported the
incident to headquarters, then attempted
——unsuccessfully—to pick up the trail
of the woman’s assailant.
WO weeks later, on November 11,
the mad attacker tried again.
Miss Hilda Kilmer, 22, froze in her
tracks as a husky voice sounded behind
WITNESS—
her near the poorly lighted corner of
Pratt Avenue and 99th Street.
“Come on, pretty girl,” the voice
said. “Come on, because I don’t want
to hurt you...”
Miss Kilmer found her voice as she
felt a damp hand on her arm: She spun
around on the ball of her foot and
shrieked for help. A meaty fist caught
the side of her head, and she slumped
to the pavement.
All she could see was a burly figure
racing away into the darkness.
Three nights later Miss Esther At-
kinson, 26, on her way to her home at
4140 E. 11th Street, suffered a similar
experience. The fleshy fist brought
blood to her lip, and when she con-
tinued to scream the heavy-set youth
kicked her brutally in the ribs before
making good his escape.
Private citizens demanded protection;
women requested police escorts when
returning home alone during the late
night hours; three city newspapers cried
out for action.
But Cleveland police needed no urg-
ing. Spurred by their own desire to
bring the criminal to justice and by
frequent admonitions from City Hall,
Inspector. George J. Matowitz and his
superior, Safety Director Edward Barry,
masterminded the grim manhunt.
But it soon became apparent that the
maniacal character they sought was
Mrs. Mary Pschock was able to describe thé’ brawny gunman.
cunning.as well as dangerous. Skillfully,
he continued his vicious attacks on un-
suspecting women, each time making
certain that he left his victim helpless
so he could make a getaway.
By mid-December the number of his
victims neared the 20 mark!
A few women, like Mrs. Alvins and
Mrs. Atkinson, luckily escaped the full
ravages of his lust. Others, like Helen
Reese, weren’t so fortunate. Local hos-
pitals treated his victims for minor in-
juries and for shock. Two young
women, victims of the lop-jawed at-
tacker’s lust, had to be constantly:
guarded lest they might carry out threats
to commit suicide.
Meanwhile, the cruel .sortees con-
tinued.
Terrified, 19-year-old Rose David
struggled to free herself from the pudgy
hand that fixed itself around her arm
on the moonless night of December 19.
‘The hoarse voice that kept droning,
“Come on, pretty girl,”. caused her to
wince. Then, with a determined tug,
she wrenched herself loose and, scream-
ing loudly, rushed up Asbury Avenue
towards East 99th Street.
Before she could get away, however,
something struck her ribs. Shocked and
winded, she dropped to her knees. Be-
fore she succumbed to the enveloping
_ blackness she saw her assailant, a heavy-
set man with a length of pipe in his
hand,
of sig
Mis
23-yei
dance
on R«
street
Street
she c¢
man
out ©
self is
“yw
Mi
Th
hand
volve
Th
ting
Miss
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ploye
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third,
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had
16
Harold H. Burton (above),
Acting City Manager, met
crisis in this baffling case
with.-an unprecedented move
bert:
upon
‘sidewalk. Her assailant had vanished.
Nathan drove the unconscious girl
to St.-John’s Hospital. The bullet was
found to have ripped through'a kidney
and lodged in the diaphragm.
Many hours later when the girl re-
gained consciousness, she told Lieuten-
ant Story and Detective Sergeant Ed-
ward Koryta that the gunman was not
over twenty-five years old, about five
feet six, with a round face and promi-
nent nose. He wore a shabby tweed suit
but no overcoat, and a dark gray cap.
The vicious attack on the attractive
high school senior hit the city with ter-
rific impact. The newspapers stormed
for action and leveled blasts at the
police department. As a. result, Safety
Director Edwin D. Barry raised Inspec-
tor George Matowitz to active charge of
the department.
In his first order, Matowitz—now
Cleveland’s police chief—canceled all .
furloughs and all days off, and shifted
870 members of the force on seven-day,
twelve-hour duty. ’
Next, he assigned scores of policemen
into plainclothes for night street patrol.
In addition, he summoned ten care-
fully chosen men to his office.
“I want you to be bait for the at-
tacker,” he told them. “You will be
provided with women’s clothes. Walk
. where it’s dark, in lonely, unfrequented
spots.”
In high-heeled slippers, dresses, and
long coats, their faces heavily bedaubed
with powder, rouge and lipstick, the
ten human traps for the sex fiend set
out the night of Saturday, January 4th,
on their novel assignments. But not
one was approached.
Instead, along East 93rd Street near
Euclid Avenue, an_ eighteen-year-old
bride, hurrying home on this well-lighted
street between two busy | traffic
throughfares, suddenly saw before her
the man described in. the newspapers, a
-nickel-plated gun in his hand.
. “Don’t scream, baby,” he warned. He
(Above) Judge Samuel Sil-
“The first time in 31
years as judge I’ve agreed
the
' garage,
death penalty”
slid the gun into a side pocket and linked
his other arm in hers. “If you scream,
I'll have to shoot you,” he cautioned.
As they walked, he took a dollar from
her purse. Abreast of a big dark house,
he steered her into an unlighted drive-
way, threatening to kill her if she made
an outcry. He forced her to enter the
A half-hour later he released
her.
Weak and hysterical from her horrible
ordeal, the girl staggered to her home.
She was sped to a hospital. She told
police that her assailant’s general ap-
pearance fitted the sex attacker’s de-
scription. In her shock and fear, she
had paid little attention to his features.
And the: following evening, while
Janet Blood was fighting for her life in
St. John’s Hospital and the city’s hys-
teria climbed, the terrorist revisited the
“Somebody slipped up miser-
ably,” stated Chief Justice
Homer Powell (above) ‘in
denouncing _ killer’s
(Above) Supt. David Cowles,
one of top scientific crime
detection men‘ in country,
parole aided in solution of crimes
neighborhood where he had beaten Miss
David.
It was 9:30 p. m., Sunday, January
5th, when Miss Betty Kmetz, eighteen,
of Amherst, Ohio, returning to 1377
East Boulevard where she was em-
ployed as a maid, stepped off a streetcar
at East 105th Street and Ashbury Ave-
nue. As she moved away from the
lighted corner, a dark shape sprang up:
from the shrubbery. She saw the shiny,
nickel-plated pistol in his hand.
“Sh-sh,” he warned her. “Don’t
scream, You’re a pretty kid. I’m not
going to hurt you if you don’t scream.”
Miss Kmetz knew about the other
vicious attacks. As he strove to pull
her into a driveway, her terror mount-.
ing, she fought and screamed. She
heard his muttered curse.. When the
gun swung toward her, she made a
As lovely Janet Blood walked along this street, a man loomed out of the darkness.
“Don’t scream,” he said, gripping her arm, “or I'll have to shoot you.” Desperately,
the girl wrenched herself free and began to run, but a shot felled her at spot (X)
stile
After eleven
Frank W. Si:
again to me
der startlin,
desperate eff
hand. She
away. She
frantically.
out of breath
the man was
a filling statio
Called by ti
cars soon rea
the neighborh
Streets, set u)
motorists, ped
all to no avail
eluded capture
The city’s n
size type for
Ministers, civi.
spokesmen anc
tives demande
end the attack:
J. M. Saur
American Legi
called upon all
the hunt for
“Cleveland saf.
mothers and da
Meanwhile,
had steadily w:
lirious, she- s,
mother. :
“Daddy, can’t
she asked him
her bedside at |
night.
As her conc
sufferings of th
high school gi
county. The hc
flowers and gif
in such quantitie
were assigned t.
of every ten cal
her condition.
On Friday, Ja:
she was shot, a
Albert J. Koch
Street, a neighbc
to halt the ebbir
She was delir
now and (Con
» the walk.
rose a man
glistening,
ned softly,
ing her to-
strove to
the grip on
ed for help
a a final tug
he could get
| veled at her.
s, “I warned
his the man
the Perdues
id the, badly
They drove
i where one
pierced her
er arms and
t Frank W.
nd strength
ailant as: five
twenty years
killer (center).
ream!”. he fired
ht) was gravely
tragedy of all
Lew fire
“lll know him if I ever see him
again,” she - assured ‘Lieutenant Story
when she ‘found herself faltering in
describing his features.
As in the other assaults, no clues were
found near the scene of the attack.
Two nights later, the terrorist struck
again.
It was Sunday evening, nine o’clock,
Decembér 22nd. Pretty Mrs. Mary
Pschock, twenty, married three months,
left her third-floor apartment at 1786
East 55th Street and walked toward the
Lexington Theatre near by. Her. hus-
band, busy with pre-Christmas ar-
rangements, was at an uncle’s home. At
Utica Avenue, a young, plump man ac~-
costed her.
“Hello, baby,” he said. “You're a.
pretty kid. Let’s you and me go some-
where.”
She gave.him one look and made a
quick attempt to pass him but in the
next instant he was alongside her.
“Don’t scream,” he warned, “or I'll
have to shoot you.” ,
She saw the nickel-plated revolver
in his right hand, jabbing ‘at her side.
“Over there,” he ordered, gesturing
with his head. “Behind the billboard.
I won’t hurt you if you don’t scream.”
Aware of the shooting of Miss Galla-
gher, the young bride turned in the in-
dicated direction, her eyes frantically
darting up and down the street. No one
appeared near enough to be of help. As
she hesitated, the gunman warned, “keep
walking.”
Instead, she halted and held out her
purse to her unwelcome companion.
Throughout the night a frantic mother led the search for Mary Jane Brady. At
_spot in park ( indicated by neighbor) an officer suddenly shouted, “There she is!”
“Here,” she offered, “that’s all I have.
Take it.”
He pawed through it, extracted the
three dollars inside and handed it back
angrily.
“Come on with me,” he ordered, grip-
ping her arm.
With all her strength, Mrs.’ Pschock
‘began to fight, simultaneously scream-
ing at the top of her lungs. Just as her
arm finally came free, she saw the shiny
pistol being ‘pointed at her.
“J .warned you,” the gunman said.
He fired twice’ and fled into the dark-
ness of Utica Avenue. :
With one bullet in her abdomen and
another in her back, Mrs. Pschock reeled
toward the theatre lights. Miss Helen
Johnson, theatre cashier, seeing her ap-
proach, her dress torn and blood-soaked,
called out the manager, J. J. Harwood.
He carried the wounded girl to his car
and drove her to Charity Hospital.
_. As soon as she was able to speak, Mrs.
Pschock told Lieutenant Story, Detec-
tive Bernard Wolf and Captain- Thomas
Donlin that she had gotten a good look
at her attacker.
“He was about twenty-two. Heavy-
set. He had a round, full face. I'll
never forget it.” :
Ballistics tests showed that Mrs.
Pschock and Miss Gallagher had been
‘shot from the same gun.
Numerous suspects were brought ‘the
following week to the bedsides of the
two wounded victims. They shook their .
heads.
“No. It’s not him.”
The year came to an end without any
further attacks on women. But the new
year was only three days old when he
struck again in a manner that sent .
Cleveland’s indignation soaring to fev-
erish pitch. ‘
It was seven-thirty, Friday evening,
January 3rd, 1930. Along Clifton Boule-
vard near West 106th Street walked a
girl.
She was Janet Frater Blood, just
past her sixteenth birthday, a stunning
beauty with wavy, blonde hair, an honor
. student _at West High School, and one
of the most popular members of the
class that was being graduated the end
-of the month. .
She was the only daughter of William
Blood and had kept house for him since
her mother’s death two years before.
The evening was one of her first free
ones in a long time as she had been at-
tending her father during a protracted:
illness from which he had recovered
_only three days previous.
She had left her home at 1308 West .
108th Street a few minutes earlier, car-
rying under her arm a copy of Eugene
O’Neill’s Strange Interlude, intending
to return the book to her friends, Mr.
and. Mrs. Edward Decker on Clifton
Boulevard. :
At West 106th Street, she saw a man
approach from the. darkness. She
quickened her step to pass him. Sud-
denly her arms were seized.
“Don’t scream,” a smooth voice whis-
pered. | “You're a pretty little kid. I
know who you are and where you live.
Everything will be all right. I want
everything you’ve got.”
“T have nothing,” she replied.
- He grinned.
“Then I’ll take this,” he said, seizing
her by the fur collar of her cloth coat
‘and tugging her to one side. “And don’t:
scream or I’ll have. to shoot you.” A
shiny, nickel-plated pistol appeared in
- the other hand. :
Janet Blood: suddenly found her
voice. With a scream, she wrenched
herself away, turned, and began to run.
An instant later a shot rang out. She
collapsed on the sidewalk, with a bullet
in her back.
The shot was heard by Morris Nathan,
of 1327 Bonnieview Avenue, Lakewood,
driving along Clifton Boulevard. A
moment later he saw the girl on the
upt. David Cowles,
yp scientific crime
men‘ in country,
solution of crimes
he had beaten Miss
, Sunday, January
y Kmetz, eighteen,
returning to 1377
ere she was em-
.pped off a streetcar
| and Ashbury Ave-
od away from the
ck shape sprang up
She saw the shiny,
in his hand.
rned her. “Don’t
yretty kid. I’m not
‘ you don’t scream.”
w about the other
; he strove to pull
‘, her terror mount-.
nd screamed. She
i eurse.. When the
| her, she made a
1 out of the darkness.
sot you.” Desperately,
‘elled her at spot (xX)
After eleven years, Inspector
Frank W. Story (above) was
again to meet the killer un-
der startling circumstances
desperate effort to knock it out of his
hand. She saw him dodge and back
away. She suddenly turned and ran
frantically. When she slowed down
out of breath and glanced back fearfully,
the man was gone. She staggered into
a filling station at the corner and fainted.
Called by the attendant, a dozen police
cars soon reached the scene, closed off
the neighborhood within a radius of ten
Streets, set up road-blocks, questioned
motorists, pedestrians and residents, but
all to no avail. The sex fiend again had
eluded capture.
The city’s newspapers dug up large-
size type for their Monday headlines.
Ministers, civic group leaders, veterans’
spokesmen and other group representa-
tives demanded more efficient steps to
end the attacks.
J. M. Saunders, chairman of the
American Legion’s Community Council,
called upon all ex-service men to join in
the hunt for the terrorist to make
“Cleveland safe for our wives, sisters,
mothers and daughters.”
Meanwhile, Janet Blood’s condition
had steadily weakened. Frequently de-
lirious, she: spoke much about her
mother. ;
“Daddy, can’t you see mother here?”
she asked him often. He had not left
her bedside at the hospital since Friday
night.
As her condition grew worse, the
sufferings of the beautiful and popular
high school girl aroused the entire
county. The hospital was deluged with
flowers and gifts which kept arriving
in such quantities that two storage rooms
were assigned to hold them. Nine out
of every ten calls were inquiries about
her condition.
On Friday, January 10th, a week after
she was shot, a blood transfusion from
Albert J. Koch, of 1308 West 108th
street, a neighbor of the family, failed |
to halt the ebbing of her vitality.
She was delirious most of the time
now and (Continued on page 97)
THE
Te DEAD WOMAN was slender,
and not more than twenty-eight to
thirty years old. She was wearing
neither shoes nor stockings and her
navy blue cotton dress was torn
and dishevelled while numerous
bruises marred an otherwise pretty.
face. She was lying on the gravel
shoulder of Highway 63 in Penn-
sylvania’s Montgomery County.
Clustered around her were the
laundry routeman who had dis-
covered the body, Detective Chief
David S. Ennis, Coroner Winslow
Rushong and . Detective Daniel
O’Mahoney. It was ten o’clock on’
the morning of July 2nd, 1948.
Completing his examination, the
coroner turned to the two detec-
tives, “There’s no doubt she was
murdered,” he told them. “Hap-
pened sometime around midnight
last night.” ‘ :
“Any chance that she was a hit-
run victim?” O’Mahoney asked.
The coroner shook his head.
“From the nature of the wounds,
I’d say she took a terrific beating
from someone's fists. Concussion
was probably the actual cause of
death.”
Chief Ennis stared thoughtfully
at the corpse. “The first job will
- be to identify her,” he pointed out.
“We'll have to find out who she is
and where she comes from before
we can locate her killer.”
The third finger of the woman’s
hand was adorned with a narrow
platinum wedding band and a soli-
taire to match. But an examination
of these disclosed neither an in-
scription nor a manufacturer’s
mark. Ennis and O’Mahoney be-
gan a search of the area in the hope
of finding the woman's purse.
Meanwhile, the coroner prepared
to remove the body to the morgue.
Although the detectives spent the
next hour combing the vicinity,
they found no sign of the woman’s
belongings. Nor did they find any
indication that a struggle had tak-
en place. There- were no foot-
prints, bloodstains or tiremarks.
But the complete lack of clues was
in itself revealing to the two vet-
eran homicide sleuths. They con-
Aan ¢,
A/ Winn |
i ni : im
Orr.
ANY oe
UNFORESEEN
cluded, logically, that the woman
had been murdered elsewhere and
transported to the spot, most like-
ly in a car. :
The detectives conducted an in-
quiry in the sparsely. settled neigh-
borhood but none of the residents
could supply any information about
the murdered woman. Driving to
the county morgue the chief and
his aide compiled a complete de-
scription of her for comparison
with the missing persons list. While .
noting scars, moles and other iden-
tifying marks their attention was
drawn to an odd, diamond-shaped
pattern impressed in the fleshy
part of the girl’s leg. The pattern
was etched in red and perfectly
symmetrical, with inch-square sec-
tions. O’Mahoney carefully sketched
the pattern. There was, in addition,
a small, circular scar above the
knee and a vaccination mark.
After jotting down these details,
the officers turned to the table
near by on which was piled the
victim’s clothing. On close exami-
nation, the cheap cotton dress
yielded what .appeared to be a
laundry mark, . ‘
'“That should help identify her,”
Ennis said hopefully. He handed
the garment to O’Mahoney. “See
what you can find out on it. In the
meantime, I'll check the missing
persons’. file.”
Late that afternoon the two
sleuths again met in the chief's of-
fice. Nothing had been. turned up
in the missing persons’ file but
O’Mahoney had. struck pay dirt
with the cryptic-appearing laundry
mark, He had traced the mark to
a laundry in the adjoining city of
Philadelphia. There he had learned
that the woman. was Mrs. Alberta
Graham, a housewife of that city.
‘Better bring in her husband to
make positive identification,” Chief
Ennis directed. “Then we'll see if
he can tell us anything about her
murder.”
A half-hour later John Graham,
a 30-year-old truck driver, tear-
fully identified the: body on the
morgue slab as that. of his wife,
(Continued on page 63)
ver, almost two years
the Supreme Court
tence.
her scheduled execu-
reporters called upon
rly the next morning
o San Quentin. Miss
ien a feature writer
Herald-Express, and
ote a story for her
interview, parts of
lerwood’s permission,
~os Angeles, where
who am about to
ive been convicted
lid not commit. I
I have accepted
ley Morris Lavine
with the United
osurt, but I think
wrong with the
hat do not permit
into evidence at a
important to the
“prosecution.”
to be photographed,
Ss up and I am smil-
> people who would
n’t want to see me
t= to see me suffer.
chin is up. I feel
‘4
r ace reporter,
born under an
y half a century
kirts like a fatal
. Her three hus-
icide. A Texas
iself after being
‘ft of which she
ied today in San
Id, unloved and
nitted suicide be-
2e, and two others,
id befriended her,
on the morning of
{ a printed house-
neatly curled, she
lethal chamber.
ium cyanide eggs
Iphuric acid solu-
gases.
in an attempt to
‘al, had instructed
the fumes. This
2s later she was
physicians.
was flown to Los
was the seventh
suming lust for
dn of this writer,
he eighth victim
d on the altar of
hur Logan who
1g himself aban-
m he had loved
thirty years. In
ould be alive to-
> path of treach-
ts used in
the real
. This in-
v-~~n a ficti-
9 protect his
Girl Killer
(Continued from page 17) frequently re-
lived the horrible experience she had un-
dergone. She would open her eyes and
call to her father:
“There’s a girl been shot.
know who it is?”
A slight improvement in her condition
on Wednesday, January 15th, spurred new
hope for her chances of recovery and
for the first time since the brutal attack
on his daughter, the father left the hos-
pital overnight. Scores of her friends and
strangers offered blood for transfusions,
the entire West High basketball team in
a body, with Coach Walter Schupp, ap-
pearing at the hospital to add to the host
of others.
Do you
| pl within two days, on Friday, her
condition took a decided turn for the
worse. Dr. J. R. Ripton announced that
an operation to remove the bullet offered
a tiny and last hope of saving her. An-
other blood transfusion was given her
just before the operation, the donor being
James L. Potts of 14908 Clifton Boulevard.
As the father held the unconscious girl
in his arms, when she was about to be
taken into the operating room, her eyes
slowly opened and it was plain she
realized she was dying.
“Poor Daddy,” she sighed. “You're going
to be all alone now.”
She was right. At 11 p.m. that night,
Dr. Ripton wearily instructed hospital
switchboard operators to inform callers
the end was near.
The ballistics department the following
day found the markings on the extracted
bullet too obliterated and battered for
use in tests.
Janet died on Sunday morning, Jan-
uary 19th, after sixteen days of agony.
And a city that had taken the girl to its
heart, promptly smothered the hospital
with flowers.
Thousands jammed the Caxton-Daniels-
Mastic funeral parlors at 13215 Detroit
Avenue to pay final respect to Janet Blood,
wearing in death the white dress in which
she was to have been graduated.
Now the clamor of the city rose to an
unprecedented pitch. Notwithstanding the
efforts of the police force, the arrests of
more than 200 suspects within two weeks,
and the paucity of clues, the uproar of dis-
satisfaction dinned on all sides as the
public demanded the capture of the girl’s
slayer.
This situation was met with an unex-
pectedly dramatic move on the part of a
new figure to enter the case, Acting City
Manager Harold H. Burton, who had
replaced City Manager W. R. Hopkins
a week before.
Burton, now an Associate Justice of the
United States Supreme Court, in one of the
most memorable of his first official acts
as Cleveland’s chief executive, issued an
executive order in which he assumed per-
sonal command of the entire police de-
partment.
Immediately after taking this step, he
summoned Safety Director Barry, Police
Chief Jacob Graul, Inspector of Detec-
tives Cornelius W. Cody and Inspector
Matowitz and ordered them to report
to him daily until further instructions.
Also, by his direction, Matowitz called .
in Lieutenant Story.
“You’ve been chosen to take charge of
a special squad to hunt the murderer of
Janet Blood,” he informed Story. “You
can have Detective Sergeant Koryta as
your right-hand man. You can pick vut
any twelve men in the department. You
will be relieved of all other assignments.”
Story started on his job without
dramatics. Emphasis was placed on quiet
digging into files, Thousands of records
of young men with previous convictions
were studied and sifted. Back reports of
robberies and burglaries were carefully
gone over to screen out those in which
guns were taken. :
“Let’s trace every lead we can find on
a nickel-plated gun,” Story urged. “Let’s
check all pawnshops and other places
where such a gun might have been ac-
quired.”
While directing his men in this work
and also following through on numerous
phone tips, Story, aided by Koryta, marked
off with red-crayon crosses on a city map
the locations on each street of more than
sit inn vicious assaults on women and
girls.
With a forefinger, Story traced a rec-
tangle enclosing most of the marks.
“They’re largely concentrated between
East 105th and 79th Streets and between
Hough and Park Avenues,” he observed.
In the next twenty-four hours, a diligent
Search of the files disclosed four reports
of burglaries within this area in the previ-
ous six months. Detectives George Clark
ane Orley May were assigned to investigate
them.
Late the following day, they reported
to Story. Three leads had turned out
unpromising.
“We just got through checking the fourth
spot,” Clark went on. “The proprietor gave
us a rather peculiar story. He runs a
tire shop on Hough Avenue near Eighty-
second. On December 4th he reported
some tires and tubes missing. Since then
he hasn’t been able to find his gun. It
was a nickel-plated .38 caliber revolver.”
Story looked up quickly.
“He suspects one of his former em-
Ployees. He fired him several months
ago after the cash register had been short
a few times. The man’s description seems
to fit the sex attacker. We went to his
rooming house. He moved in October
and left no forwarding address.”
“What’s his name?” Story asked.
“Edward Ralph.”
“Find him,” Story instructed, “and be
quick.”
AFIER twenty-four hours of questioning,
checking and plodding, Detectives Clark
and May found a lead from an all-night
filling-station attendant at 79th Street and
Wade Park Avenue, who knew Ralph by
sight and had seen him pass the station
often at two and three in the morning.
“He seems to turn into a roominghouse
a block away,” the attendant told them,
Clark and May waited at the station.
About 3 a.m. the attendant nudged them.
“There he is!”
They saw a young man of about twenty
with a round, boyish face pass by. They
followed him and observed him turn
into a house at 8010 Wade Park Avenue.
Watching from across the street, they
saw a light go on upstairs at the rear
of the house. They crossed the street,
entered the driveway, looked around and
spotted a ladder leaning against the garage,
“Help me get this up,” Clark whispered.
“Here’s a chance to look him over.”
Quietly they moved it against the house.
May’s foot held down the bottom rung.
Clark climbed until his eyes were on a
level with the window ledge. The young
man with the round face was in bed read-
ing. His clothes were lying over a chair.
Following instructions, Clark phoned
headquarters. A squad headed by Sergeant
Learn AUTO BODY g\\\""'
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Emil Ziegler raced to the address. It was
ful area.
97
Before Kansbottom'!s execution took place, vigorous efforts were made to induce
the Governor to commute his sentence on the ground of insanity, but without
success. Up to the moment of his execution, he persisted in a denial of all
knowledge of the transaction for which he died condemned.
At the time of the execution, the old jail stood in the courthouse lot, and
the workmen began the erection of a gallows immediately opposite and under
Ransbottom's window, and he watched their movements with a lively interest.
It would appear that he never really believed that his execution would take
place, but after the beginning of the erection of the gallows, a marked
change for the better in his demeanor took place.
Between 9 and 10 o'clock on the morning of the execution, the people began
to gather in crowds around the enclosure and from that time until nearly
4, in the evening, the courthouse ground and adjoining streets were filled
by several thousand people anxiously watching the progress of affairs,
though it was known that the execution would be privete. The presence of a
strong armed guard and the firm and substantial manner in which the enclosure
had been constructed alone prevented its being torn to pieces by the excited
multitude.
A plece of ground, 18 by 13 feet, one side embracing the south door end
window of the prison, was firmly enclosed by sawed pickets 18 feet in height
and buried 3 feet deep in the earth. This enclosure was on the Greene street
side of the courthouse about opposite to the Greene street entrance of the
new courthouse. The piece of ground thus fenced in was covered with sawdust
and in the center, a small stake was driven to which a rope was attached,
running over wheels placed in a beam overhead dow again at the side of the
enclosure and attached to a heavy iron ball a couple of feet from the ground.
This was the gallows.
About 3 o'clock, th, prisoner was arrayed in a complete suit of grave clothes,
joined in prayer for the last time with a minister in attendance, and
announced that he was ready. He walked with a firm step, unsupported, cool
and collected and took his position beside the upright rope, saying as he folded
‘his hands over his breast, "Oh, Lord. Have mercy upon me. Oh, my poor mother,
my poor wife, my poor children.” A bystander inquired, "Where is your wife?"
"T don't know." The rope was then properly adjusted to his neck and attached
to a ring in the perpendicular rope about a foot above his head. "Now, Jesse,"
said the Sheriff, “Have you anytiing more to say? Any request to make?"
"Yes, will you see that I am buried up yonder?(alluding to Champaign County).
The Sheriff hesitated. He had already made other arrangements and the grave
had already been prepared. "I'il see that you are decently buried, Jesse."
"Up yonder?" “Yes, up yonder." He again joined his hands upon his breast
and looked around him for a moment on those he was about leaving. The cap
was pulled over his face, the rope cut, and in a moment more he was launched
into eternity. He met his death with unexpected fortitude. Not a muscle
moved or a nerve trembled. He died almost without a struggle.
Talking with one of our old citizens, Mr. Mark Chambliss, concerning the
execution of Ransbottom, he told us that he had made the coffin for the
murderer's body, being employed at that time by David Medsker, the oldtime
cabinet maker and undertaker. The Sheriff of the County at that time was Samuel
Harry, father of Capt. Samuel Harry. Ransbottom was supposed to have been
buried at the outskirts of the city but there has always been some doubt of
this, and many were of the opinion that the body was given over to a medical
college, |
END
NOTE: Probably written by George F. Robinson, later author of 1902 History.
LEGAL EXECUTIONS = Aftermath
Extracted by C. L. Strobridge, Xenia, Ohio, June 2, 1977.
Xenia Daily Gazette & Torch Light, April 6, 1901, p 2, col. 2.
WHY I WAS GOOD FOR THREE WHOLE DAYS
The Scare of My Life While Playing "Fox and Hound"
When Just Twelve Years Old.
by George F. Robinson
Editor - Gazettes In my last, I told you how a lot of us boys, January 25,
1850, saw the hanging of Ransbottom. Now comes scene number two.
It was a bright moonlight night. Placed between what is now known as the
Allien and Steele buildings, Main street, Xenia, a large number of boys
gathered, the cause of said assembly, the old fashioned play of "Fox and
Hound." First came the work of dividing the boys. One half were to represent
the "Fox", the other half the "Hounds." That part done, away we go down
Main street. At that point, we scattered, part going south on Maxwell,
what is today called King street. I shall never forget to my dying day
what direction I took that night from what followed.
On the west corner of Main and King street was the residence of Dr. Nathan
Engle, as fine a man as ever lived in Xenia, who had erected the building
yet stending there. He also owned and laid out the grounds and erected
a beautiful home now owmed by Mr. William Poague west of the Hooven and
Allison Cordage Works. I turned north on King street with others of the
boys who were imitating the "Fox", At the sound of the unearthly noise
that the “Hounds” made, we were humping ourselves.
I had reached the small] back alley back of Dr. Ingle's stable. Down that
I ran, until passing the stable, I looked over the fence ancd saw a large
barrel sitting outside the stable. A good place to hide thought I. Quicker
than it takes me to tell it, I was over the fence, had thrown a wide board
off the top of the barrel, and sprang up to get into it. The moonlight
was shining brightly into the barrel, but Oh, Horrors! there I saw the place
where the eyes of Jesse Ransbottom had once looked out! I was almost
paralyzed. I fell to the ground and crept to the fence, went home to my
mother without being told to, and for et least three days was the best boy |
in Xenia,
lesson in anatomy, had cut and slashed to their satisfaction, and the body
had been removed from the table in the cellar under the house to this barrel
of liquid compound for the purpose of removing the flesh so as to preserve
the skeleton, Dr. William subsequently had this.skeheton in a case in his
back office. This office is still standing, being the east room in the
residence of Mr. Jacob Harner, West Main street.
The doctor and his students had previously exemplified their interesting
After so long a time, it is strange how many of the names can be recalled
of the old boys who took part in that play of the "Fox and the Hound" that
night. Many of them are dead, but some of them are still living.
I remember the names of Coleman, Heaton, George and Leander Bunnell, D. W.
Cosley and his brother, George, Bill Ghenny, Charley Ulery, Mart Ulery,
T. B, Walker, Joe Barlow, Tip Bratton, Tip Persinger, Al Bodine, George Bodine,
Bill and Towell Heaton, Jim Beall, Ned Beall, Aaron Nebiker, Riley Helmick,
Bushrod Frizell, Henson and John Robinson, Cortson Coulter, Jeff Hurst,
William Beatty, Henry beatty, Ike and Dave Kelley, John Young, Upton Bowers,
In conversing recently with Mr. D. W. Cosley, he informed me that he met
Dr. Engle at a small town in North Dakota, near Fargo, and conversed with
him, but since then he has heard of the doctor's death. Mr. David Fields,
yet living in Xenia, says that he remembers, whilst doing some brick work
for Dr. Engle, of his telling him that the promise of Sheriff Harry had been
made good and that Ransbottom was buried alright, but that night the doctor
had driven out to the place where Jesse had been buried and two medical
students already had the body taken up and were waiting for him. The body
was placed along side of the doctor in a sitting posture and thus brought
to town, and thus it happened that it afterwards found resting place where
it gave me the worst scare of my young life.
END
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APPEALS
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Execution
FROM/1-8
Franklin County Sheriff Earl
Smith, who, as a county detec-
tive, helped arrest Reinbolt for
the Weaver murder, said he
favored the death penalty and
The Ohio electric chair that 315 men and women have died"
fe photo
in.
cites Reinbolt as a reason. “I
remember that Reinbolt showed
no remorse at all,” Smith said.
Smith said the death penalty
had a deterrent effect. “Without
the death penalty, murder
doesn’t bring any worse sentence
than robbery, so the robbers
might as well kill their victims
rather than leave witnesses.” |
ooo |
er DAU
te
Only clues at the death scene were
these spent cartridges and a bullet
Prosecuting Attorney Earl Allison
arrived in another car.
The officers were met at the door of
the grocery by young Stischok. A
woman and several smaller boys were
talking excitedly at the front of the
store.
“What's the trouble here?” Beck
inquired.
Leading the way, the slim blond
youth hurried to the back of the store
and pointed nervously. ‘“There—there
he is. I—I think he’s dead.”:
Lying face up, near the meat counter,
was the bloody body of the gray-haired
grocer.
Beck knelt beside the insert form.
“Shot in the head and the stomach,”
the Lieutenant muttered. He could feel
no pulse. “Call the coroner, Clyde,” he
directed Sergeant Mann.
THEN turning to Stischok, Beck mo-
tioned him to the front of the store.
After getting the young man’s name,
the Lieutenant said, “Now, tell me
exactly what you know about this.”
“I came into the store for some ice
cream,” the youth began, “I didn’t see
anyone and so I sat down on the counter
over there to wait. I didn’t think
anything was wrong because the meat
cutter was running and Mr. Weaver
often steps out for a few minutes to
help carry packages for customers who
live near the store.”
“What time was this?” Allison asked.
“About three-thirty or so,” Stischok
replied.
‘ Pre glanced at his watch. It said
“After about fifteen minutes, I
figured something might be wrong
because Mr. Weaver is seldom away
from the store that long. I decided to
look down in the basement, figuring
maybe he was sick or something.”
“You're sure no one else was here
when you came in?” Beck asked.
Stischok shook his head.
“A couple of small boys and a woman
came in while I was waiting, but they
said they’d be back. Those are the boys
over there.” He pointed to two young-
sters near the front window.
By this time Sergeant Mann had
completed a quick check of the store.
“There’s no sign of a fight,” Mann
reported to his superior. ‘Also, there’s
some money in the cash register, which
makes it seem unlikely robbery was
involved.”
At this point, Doctor Robert Evans,
the Franklin County Coroner, arrived
and began his examination of the dead
grocer. In a few minutes, he had these
facts to report to Lieutenant Beck:
“Mr. Weaver was shot four times,
once in the right cheek ranging upward:
another in the middle of the back, a
third in the stomach, and the fourth
in the right wrist. Which caused death,
we won’t know until we conduct an
autopsy.”
“What about the bullets?” Beck
asked.
“They’re still in him. We’ll turn them
over to you after the autopsy at Univer-
sity Hospital,” Doctor Evans replied.
By this time, word of the grocer’s
Left, Mrs. Weaver told police and reporters her husband wouldn't have resisted a robber;
above, Robert Stischok, the eighteen-year-old who discovered the tragedy and called police
death had spread through the neigh-
borhood and the victim’s wife, Mrs.
Ruth Weaver, had been notified.
Accompanied by her son, Edgar E.
Weaver, and a stepson, Robert Johnson,
she arrived at the scene of the slaying.
When Mrs. Weaver viewed her hus-
band’s body, she burst into tears and
was led from the store by her sons.
“We realize how you folks feel about
this,” Lieutenant Beck remarked to the
victim’s family, ‘but we’ve got to have
some information so we can get to the
bottom of this terrible thing.”
Beck was told that Weaver had been
in the grocery business at the same
location for some 30 years.’
“Do you know of anyone who had a
grudge against your husband?” Beck
asked. The bereaved woman shook her
head.
. “Everyone knew and respected him.”
Mrs. Weaver sobbed. “During the
depression he extended credit to anyone
who was deserving, just so they
3/15/1963
os 14, 2
bhatt salen ake hid ae
ae
A a Pu
The market, just outside Columbus’ city limits, where Edgar Weaver's customers were his friends—until one of them came shopping with an automatic
Case of the
Abandoned
Bullet
Police knew that four shots had
killed the Columbus, Ohio, grocer,
but the motive behind the slaying
was as obscure as the clue which
was buried months before the crime
By M. D. Portman
Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
RS. DIXIE COTTMAN frowned
as she waited for the elderly
man at the other end of the
telephone wire to resume their conver-
sation. The young housewife had tele-
phoned her usual grocery order to
Edgar L. Weaver on the Monday after-
noon of August 28, 1961.
“That doesn’t sound like Mr. Wea-
ver,” Mrs. Cottman told herself, “and
he seldom keeps me waiting like this.”
After about five minutes, the man
returned to the telephone and finished
taking the order. His tone was brusque
and strangely formal.
About an hour later, Robert Stischok,
eighteen, of Trabue Road, just outside
the northwest city limits of Columbus,
Ohio, entered the Weaver store. A short
time later the youth was frantically
dialing the office of Sheriff Stacy Hall.
“Something terrible has happened
here!” he exclaimed. ‘‘Send somebody to
the Weaver Store on North Hague
Avenue right away. Mr. Weaver’s been
hurt!”
The North Hague Avenue location is
about ten miles from the Sheriff’s
Office in downtown Columbus and in
a matter of minutes Lieutenant Ells-
worth Beck was at the scene with Ser-
geant Clyde Mann. Moments later
ldn’t go hungry. And he still has
ity of people on the books. He was
1ys kind and thoughtful. Why would
one do such a thing?”
‘rs. Weaver said she was preparing
0 to the store from their west-side
\e at four o'clock, to help her hus-
i wait on customers until the six
1. Closing time. ,
d your husband ever have any
ble at the store? Was he ever
up?” Sergeant Mann asked.
vever,”’ Mrs. Weaver replied. “There
» several burglaries, but only a few
eries were taken. I know he
dn’t resist a robber.”
‘K thanked Mrs. Weaver for her
elp and the woman was escorted
er son’s car. Turning to his col-
ie, Beck ordered the store locked
a guard posted outside.
VYhat do you think?” Sergeant
n inquired.
‘m puzzled, all right,” the Lieuten-
replied. “According to the wife, Mr.
ver had no enemies. There’s no
of a struggle and apparently no
y was taken from the cash
ter,"”
“S possible the killer became
itened after the shooting and ran
out taking time to grab the money
ume for,” Prosecutor Allison theo-
ck nodded and said, “Or he might
recognized the gunman and was
i so he could not identify him.”
hat’s always a possibility,” Mann
‘d.
ases like this, according to my
ience, almost always involve
y or a woman,” Beck declared,
since there’s no woman to con-
it must be money.”
‘here do you think we should
»”* Mann asked.
The mystery deepened when Lieutenant Beck and his colleagues
found that the money in the cash register had not been taken
Beck pondered the question momen-
tarily. He then suggested they examine
the slain grocer’s credit ledger. “The
names might give us a lead to someone
who argued with Mr. Weaver over
money. But first, I’d better call the boss
and tell him what we’ve found here.
We'll also need some extra men to
canvass the area and interview the
neighbors.”
This call was followed by another
to the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investi-
gation at nearby London. Beck reported
the crime and requested assistance
from the state agency’s ballistics and
identification departments. He asked
that the fingerprint men go over the
counter and cash register.
Mann left the store to begin the next
phase of the investigation—a canvass
of the neighborhood and customers
whose names had been listed in the
credit ledger.
Beck decided to have one last look
around the grocery before joining Ser-
geant Mann. He went over the front
part of the small establishment, peering
behind shelves, boxes and _ baskets.
Finding nothing to help him, he walked
to the spot where the body was found
near the basement stairway. And when
he stooped to search under a counter,
the officer found his first clue—four
tiny brass objects. They were fired
cartridge cases.
“These ought to help,” Beck said,
lifting them carefully and depositing
them in a plastic tube. ‘The killer used
a twenty-five caliber automatic,” he
mused.
What appeared at first to be a bit of
dirt turned out to be another object
the officer was seeking. Near the end
of the counter where the slain grocer
apparently had been working just
before he met his death, Beck found a
bullet. He placed this with the cases
and turned to the door.
In a matter of minutes, the shells and
slug were on the way to London, Ohio,
for analysis by the ballistics experts.
The rest of the afternoon was spent
interviewing the residents of the area
in an effort to learn if anyone had heard
Pistol shots or seen a suspicious-looking
person leaving the grocery store.
The efforts were fruitless. North
Hogue Avenue, on the city’s far west
side, is a main cross-county artery,
heavily traveled by trucks and cars. A
block from the scene of the crime, work
on a building project produced consid-
erable pounding throughout the day,
and heavy shovels added to the noise,
which probably had prevented house-
holders or passersby from hearing the
pistol shots.
|X THEIR inquiries, deputies substan-
tiated Mrs. Weaver's description of
her husband's relations with his cus-
tomers. The slain grocer was a friendly
man, highly respected in the neighbor-
hood where he had operated his little
grocery for more than a generation. He
had seen children grow to adults and
knew almost everyone in the area by
his first name. When told of the killing,
the victim's customers expressed shock
and regret, but none could offer a clue
to the slayer of the 69-year-gld mer-
chant.
Early that evening, the officers got
their first lead when one of Weaver's
telephone customers, Mrs. Dixie Cott-
man of Britton Avenue, told them:
rer eee enenmam
“About two-thirty this afternoon, -I
called in for some groceries and noticed
something odd about Mr. Weaver's
manner. He was usually quite talkative
and friendly, but today he sounded
different. For awhile I thought I was
talking to someone else.”
Mrs. Cottman said once the grocer
told her to “wait a minute,” but it was
more than five minutes before he
returned to the telephone.
“While I talked, he answered only
‘yep, yep, yep.’ Not at all like his usual
self,” the young housewife related. .
This meant the shooting must have
occurred between 2:30 and 3:30 p. m.,
when the Stischok youth had entered
the store.
Darkness now had set in and Sergeant
Mann and Lieutenant Beck returned to
the Sheriff's Office to confer with
Sheriff Hall and Prosecutor Allison.
“Doctor Evans thinks Mr. Weaver
was shot first in the back,” Allison
reported, “and that this most likely
caused his death. Assuming robbery
was the motive, it appears the victim
definitely recognized the gunman and
paid for it with his life.”
Sheriff Hall agreed. “But who could
it be?”
Beck shrugged. “There wasn’t a soul
who had anything but kind words for
the old grocer,” the Lieutenant pointed
out. “Which makes it hard to decide
on the motive since nothing apparently
was taken from the cash register.”
“Unless the killer panicked after the
shooting and beat it without taking the
money,” the Sheriff reminded them.
“What about Mr. Weaver's pockets?”
Hall inquired.
“Just a few coins, a card or two,
handkerchief, and that’s about it,”” the
Lieutenant replied. “Wait a minute—
I just thought of something.” He moved
to the telephone and dialed the number
STATE OF OHIO
OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR
COLUMBUS I|!5
JAMES A. RHODES
GOVERNOR
March 8, 1963
Warden E, L. Maxwell
Ohio Penitentiary
P, O. Box 511
Columbus 16, Ohio
Re: Donald L. Reinbolt
114-314 OP
Dear Mr. Maxwell:
| This is to acknowledge receipt of your letter of
March 5th in which you recite the contents of the Ohio
Penitentiary record of Donald L. Reinbolt, whose execution
| is set for March 15, 1963.
|
I am directed by Governor Rhodes to advise that
as of this date there is no reason to expect intervention.
|
| incerely yours,
|
9% fb
JOHN M, McELROY
Assistant to the Governor
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TRIAL
APPEALS
LAST WORDS
EXECUTION
SOURCE
(Above and right) The Red-
Haired Phantom’s Tool—the
man who actually murdered
Patrolman Michael Hahnel on a
desolate road on the outskirts
of Cleveland on the night of
October 17th, 1924. The re-
markable photo above was
snapped less than an hour after
the desperado had been sentenced
to burn. It shows him about to
eat a piece of mince pie, which
at the moment was his chief
concern
ATROLMAN MI-
P CHAEL HAHNEL
of the Shaker Heights
Police Department
paused in his task of painting
the word “Stop” in huge white
letters on the bridge at the
intersection of South More-
land Boulevard and Lee Road,
Shaker Heights, just outside
of Cleveland, Ohio. It was
after eleven o’clock at night.
Through the midnight mist
Patrolman Hahnel’s eyes saw
two blobs of white. His keen
young ears heard the deep,
throaty warning of an exhaust.
Three feet away Patrolman
Frank Dietrich, unconscious of the
speedily approaching menace, was care-
fully applying paint to the pavement
sign.
Its headlights cutting the fog like the
eyes of some nocturnal nemesis, the
huge automobile bore down upon the
two officers. .
“Frank!” Hahnel shouted. “Jump!”
Dietrich abandoned his paint brush
and leaped. He shouted an angry re-
buke at the carelessness of the autoist.
Hahnel himself was forced to sidestep
to avoid being struck by the gray car
as it roared across the intersection.
“Stop!” Hahnel commanded.
To the shrill grating of hastily applied
brakes the large gray touring car Ca-
reened to a skidding halt fifty feet
beyond the two officers.
The two policemen walked over to
the car. Behind the wheel sat a young
man of light complexion. He wore a
blue serge suit, a light cap and a gabar-
dine coat. ,
48
“Hue Dialesles
Februar, JG 3 /
RIDDLE of the
By CORNELIUS W. CODY
Inspector of Detectives
Cleveland Police Department
As told to
FRED ALLHOFF
The alert Patrolman Hahnel, who was,
like his companion, Dietrich, wearing
overalls over his uniform, noted that
the driver had red_ hair.
Another young man sat beside the
driver. His complexion was sallow;
his nose and chin were prominent.
He wore a light gray suit and a
light cap.
“Where are you two going?”
Patrolman Dietrich de-
manded. “What 'do you
think those stop signs are in
the middle of the stre:t for?”
The man beside the driver
twisted his
hands nervously,
smoothed out an
he
**So much
ywe didn't
the sign.”
He spoke
queerly, Patrol-
man Hahnel ob-
served. Some im-
pediment gave his speech a jerky accent.
“And,” supplied the driver of the car,
“J didn’t know I was supposed to make a
stop there at this hour of the night. Give
us a chance, will you, officer?”
Dietrich shook his head.
“You were driving carelessly,’’ he said.
“Take ’em to the station, Mike,” he added,
turning to Patrolman Hahnel.
“Right,” said Hahnel, climbing into the
rear seat. ‘“‘Let’s go, boys.”
The driver shrugged his shoulders and
skilfully managed to turn the car about on
the highway. Patrolman Dietrich clung to
the running board until the car again reached —
the intersection where he and Hahnel had
been painting. The driver accommodatingly
slowed down and Dietrich leaped off and
waved a farewell to his fellow officer.
The car pursued its way slowly down Lee
Road toward the Shaker Heights Police
Station.
“You sure,” the driver requested genially
of Patrolman Hahnel, who slouched com-
fortably in the rear seat, “that you can’t
give us a break?”
“Sorry, fellows,”
the darkness.
The driver did not reply.
said Hahnel, smiling in
Stealthily,
mi
howeve
he kick
The
the cor
man H
Slowly
the flo
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added
with tl
The «
yards a
Police $
The
ripping
_uniforn
from it
Patri
blood, «
were n
Stifling
“playec
The
the Sh
and d:
wheels
Betwee
ington
themsel
wounde
“Stoy
me a lif
it came
The
grabbed
roughly
car.
Patri
Careful
pulled <
The f
He had
grit, the
68
ei Hahnel, signified their willingness to
submit to bloo
e considered
transfusions should more
cessary.
Inspector Stephen Murphy and Lieu-
tenant Ernest
officer. both o
Pugh, Hahnel’s superior
i whom were attempting to
obtain more of a detailed statement from
the wounded
see him becat
rviews with
driver of the
\s the new
escriptive po
optimism said
ture within tw
help smiling t
all, so many 1
Two gunm
ing the heavy
red hair. Litt!
called, b
rrorial enth:
heen conqueré
And, in. the
destined to h
William an¢
Union Avenu
obs:
and
vered objec
ene side of
tion was und
The cloth
sewed togeth
disclosed two
Patrolman H
doubtedly, wi
had been sh«
\pparently
the towels
nd to muff
rake upon
ing auto.
hoped
n, but
TT TE gun
by Hahn
with which
six bullets,
charged.
I examine
n it was
what is knov
or range m
facture. ©
was the m
plate was t
Since the
old I had
able to trac
g or su
The gun
th steel
Hahnel ha:
lead pellets
the firearn
survived th
grave dang
T scarcel
the gun an
ing a letter
numbers \
rang.
one sig?
man were not permitted to
of his weakened condi-
1
ficant fact arose from in-
fahnel and Dietrich. The
tr had flaming red hair.
apers recorded this salient
and, with characteristic
hat police expected a cap-
aty-four hours, I could not
myself. There were, after
en with red hair.
n, somewhere, were evad-
rand of the law. They had
one meager clue. One of them had
enough to work with. Yet,
rowing some of the rep-
siasm, difficult cases had
on little more than that.
next few minutes, we were
e more “to work on.”
Thomas Steadman of 8907
cn route to work, Saturday
ved at East Eighty-eighth
ion Avenue, some cloth-
on top of a slag pile at
street where an excava-
way.
yroved to ‘be two towels
r, Unwrapped, the towels
-evolvers. One of these was
hnel’s gun. The other, un-
the gun with which Hahnel
they had been wrapped in
conceal them temporarily
any noise which they might
ing tossed from the speed-
pparently, too, the gunmen
throw them into the exca-
d missed their mark,
ter identified as that owned
was fully loaded. The gun
he had been shot contained
ne of which had been dis-
the latter carefully. As a
tot uninteresting, for it was
1 as a .32 caliber bulldog type
lel of Hopkins-Allen manu-
the bottom of the handle
ther 6635A. On the inside
number 6688.
un was at least fifteen years
ttle hope that we would be
its ownership with any de-
ess.
iad contained three lead and
cketed cartridges. Although
been struck by one of the
she rusty, ill-kept condition of
led me to fear that if he
wound itself he would face
from infection.
had concluded examination of
set about the task of prepar-
in an effort to trace the serial
n the telephone on my desk
True Detective Mysteries
- The Riddle of the Red-Haired Phantom
(Continued from page 51)
The auto of the gunmen had been found!
It bore the license number Patrolman
Hahnel had scrawled in the road.
A citizen who had read newspaper ac-
counts of the shooting had noted the num-
ber and had found the car in East Sixty-
fourth Street. He notified the Broadway
and East Fifty-fifth Street Precinct
Station.
“Stake some men out there,” I ordered
over the telephone, “and don’t move the
car just yet. It’s a long shot, but one of
these birds may come back to get it.”
The auto had run out of gas. In the
rear seat was a smudge of blood and
Patrolman Hahnel’s badge.
Since the gunmen had driven into
Cleveland I played my hunch and immedi-
ately summoned various detectives from
the bureau.
“Split up,” I cautioned, “and cover the
whole territory in the vicinity of 2996
East Sixty-fourth Street where the car
was found. See if you can dig up any-
thing on these two men. They’re prob-
ably in the stick-up racket.”
My statement that the two men we
wanted probably were hold-up men like-
wise was an inference. Had I gone
further I would have added that their
activities were concentrated upon gaso-
line filling stations. For the towels in
which the guns had been wrapped were
of a type I had seen before. They were
the kind used in filling stations. I recalled
half a dozen recent hold-ups in which such
towels had been used to bind or gag rob-
bery victims.
Thus our men were members of the
underworld—men who had served their
apprenticeship in crime and now were
branching into a more hazardous field,
that of possible murder. The theory fitted
admirably into the cold-blooded, merciless
pattern that represented the callous shoot-
ing of the young patrolman.
Too. the car in which the shooting had
occurred, our license files disclosed, had
been stolen two days previously from a
down-town Cleveland parking place. It
was the property of John Johnson of
Medina, Ohio.
LOOKED over robbery reports of the
past twenty-four hours. If I had hoped
to find some clue there I was more than
rewarded.
One of the reports indicated that John
Schmidt, 2477 Princeton Avenue, atten-
dant at the Standard Oil Company filling
station at Fairmount Boulevard and Taylor
Road, in the vicinity of the shooting, had
been held up and robbed of sixty-two
dollars by two men Friday night.
Hastily I checked details and reviewed
the report mentally. The bandits had
visited the station in a large gray touring
car. The hold-up had occurred ten min-
utes before the shooting. Unquestionably
the bandits who had robbed the filling sta-
tion were the same men who had shot
Halmel.
Rapidly, I relayed orders to request
Schmidt to come to Central Station.
Neither he nor Dietrich, as I had hoped,
was able to pick positively any likely sus-
pects from the pictures in our Bertillon
files. However, Schmidt proved of ad-
mirable assistance; for, linking his de-
scriptions with those of Hahnel and [Diet-
rich we were able to obtain a rather ac-
curate picture of the two men,
And, in the reward posters that later
were to travel across the country in the
wake of radio descriptions, the driver ot
the gray touring car was allotted a sig-
nificant phrase of description. [t read
“He has reddish hair.”
The clue of the red hair was expanding
We now had three witnesses. any one
of whom, I felt, should be able to blame
or exonerate future suspects.
In the afternoon a car from the police
garage pulled up to the abandoned Peer-
less to tow it to the Police Station. The
detail guarding the car had been removed
and the policemen engaged in removing
the auto could not have been expected to
observe a truck of smal! model that pulled
up near a group of idly curious pedes-
trians.
The driver of the truck, like the curious
gathered about the gray touring car, mani-
fested keen interest. As he drove away
the afternoon sun cast slanting rays upon
the hair that peeped from beneath his cap
It was red hair!
He was, in fact, the driver of the car
on the night of the shooting!
UNDAY and Monday passed. Although
I had every available man at work in
the neighborhood where the car had been
abandoned, there was a dearth of clues
Our men had vanished completely. True.
onef suspect after another was lined up i
the “show-up” room, but I had little faith
in any of them, including one red-haired
‘youth who told a wild story of being
forced by the two bandits we wanicd, to
participate in the robbery of a theater.
Monday night Patrolman Hahnel died.
Only his magnificent grit, physicians
pointed out, had enabled him to withstand
so long the ravages of a bullet that had
pierced his stomach and intestines, grazed
his liver, lodged near his spine and cre-
ated a nasty infection.
The two gunmen who had committed
auto theft and robbery now were mur-
derers. Public sentiment was aroused by
the brutal slaying and by Wednesday, Oc-
tober 22nd, the Plain Dealer Publishing
Company had offered a $4000 reward
while the Village of Shaker Heights.
through its mayor, William J. Van Aken
and the Commissioners of Cuyahoga
County had offered rewards of $1000 each
Tips poured in, but the slayers of Pa-
trolman Hahnel, with $6000 upon their
heads, remained in hiding. However
through tracking down hundreds of tips
an occasional step forward is made and
I had been in police work long enoug!
to know that every bit of information,
matter how worthless it seemed. demande
respect.
Nearly a week had passed. The inves
tigation seemed at a_ hopeless stand-still
But I was not disheartened.
Suddenly our men turned in informa
tion that slowly, but relentlessly. seemed
to bring us closer to our man with the
(Continued on page 70)
The Bo
of Ame
Is the ¢
Club Ti
You
|
|
|
Readin
race et
that \
tii t
rH
ING, M
Bat
art
as t
iver requested genially
the | RED-HAIRED PHANTOM
V.CODY |
ectives
epartment
)
FF
{ahnel, who was,
ietrich, wearing
rm, noted that
sat beside the
-xion was sallow;
were prominent.
gray suit and a
u two going?”
Dietrich de-
‘What ‘do you
stop signs are in
{ the strest for?”
beside the driver
twisted his
handsnervously,
ene natn pact iad Si
*Sorry,”’ he
Bo “So much
wives we didn’t
see” the sign.” |
ie spoke
eerly, Patrol- |
in Hahnel ob- |
ed. Some im-
ky accent.
driver of the car,
upposed to make a
e night. Give
th ”
ead
carelessly,” he said.
in, Mike,”’ he added,
Jahnel.
|, climbing into the
bovs.”
{ his shoulders and
irn the car about on
an Dietrich clung to
the car again reached
he and Hahnel had
iver accommodatingly
‘trich leaped off and
his fellow officer.
way slowly down Lee
raker Heights Police
who slouched com-
seat, ‘that you cant
sid Hahnel, smiling in
a reply. Stealthily,
A dying patrolman lying by the
roadside, scrawling in the dust the 0 ee
license number of the vanishing |
murder car....
Such was the tragic scene that
marked the opening of this infamous
Cleveland mystery!
4 |
however, under cover of darkness and the hum of the motor
he kicked his companion and whispered: ‘‘Let him have it.”
The man beside the driver turned‘ as though to continue
the conversation. A gun in his hand cracked once. Patrol-
man Hahnel half raised his arms as if to fend off a blow.
Slowly he slumped in his seat, then sprawled grotesquely onto
the floor of the car.
Ais
A“
“TOR God’s sake,” said the driver’s companion, “go faster.
Turn down the first side street to the left,’’ he
added as he climbed over into the rear compartment
with the seriously wounded patrolman.
The driver wheeled sharply, for just a few hundred
yards ahead gleamed the lights of the Shaker Heights
Police Station.
The man in the rear seat with Hahnel now was
ripping the patrolman’s badge from his
uniform blouse. He tore a police revolver
from its holster.
Patrolman Habnel, weak from loss of
blood, did not struggle. He knew that there
were more bullets in his assailant’s gun.
Stifling involuntary moans, he
“played dead.”
The car roared away from
the Shaker Heights station J
and dashed madly on two AAA LALNNTL N TLTT RRR RRARE
wheels into Ashwood Road.
Between Hampton and South-
ington Roads the men found
themselves alone with the
wounded patrolman.
“Stop here,’’ commanded the sallow-faced gunman. ‘‘Give
me a lift,’’ he demanded, opening the side doot of the car as
it came to a stop.
The driver sprang out, looked in either direction and
grabbed the policeman’s feet. The two men deposited him
roughly at the edge of the road. Then théy jumped into the
car.
Patrolman Hahnel rolled painfully over onto his right side.
Carefully he studied the license number of the auto as it
pulled away and speeded from sight.
The front of Patrolman Hahnel’s uniform blouse was wet.
He had been shot squarely through the abdomen. But the
grit, the ability to fight against overwhelming odds, that had
John Schmidt, filling station attendant, who identified the two slayers of Patrolman Hahnel.
Schmidt was stuck up by the duo on the night of October 17th, and it was while fleeing
from that job that the pair was halted and questioned by Hahnel and another officer
stood him in good stead a few years before when he had been
a member of an amateur Cleveland baseball nine, The Kofrun
Klub, was with him now.
He realized that soon he would be unconscious from loss
of blood. Vaguely he discarded the thought that he might
be dying.
With a steady forefinger he scrawled in the thick dust of
the roadbed the best clue that he had to give those who
later were to avenge him.
Every gesture was an agony of pain as he wrote, slowly,
the numbers: ‘‘5—1—6—7—1I—2,”’ the license number of
the mist-gray Peerless automobile.
His strength was ebbing fast now. Yet he fought valiantly,
49
a cas
50 True Detective Mysteries
Mrs. Margaret Horton, for whom the- Red-Haired Phantom
left his wife. It was through shadowing Mrs. Horton in
Wheeling, West Vjrginia, that sleuths nailed the Phantom
rolled over, and managed to reach his police whistle. Weakly,
he blew into it. The pain-racked cough that followed this
effort was, perhaps, louder than the mild noise of the whistle,
and his throat was choked with a flow of blood.
It was torture, now, to think. Yet, unless his delirious
eyes were tricking him, an auto was approaching.
Patrolman Hahnel twisted his flashlight from his pocket.
He pressed the switch, lifted the light and waved it above him
in a slow arc.
The driver of the car had, himself, difficulty in seeing
through the fog. Patrolman Hahnel groaned as the car
rumbled by him and disappeared.
Minutes passed. The headlights of a second car cut through
the night. Hahnel waved the flashlight frantically. Once
more he was disappointed. The driver of the second car
failed to see his light.
Hahnel thought intensely despite the fact that he slowly
was slipping from consciousness. Far down the road he saw
Patrolman Hahnel, the
a twin blur of lights. He pointed his flashlight into the air.
His fingers, now weak and clumsy, pushed the switch of his
light . . . on and off .
. on and off. . .
Alex Armstrong, of 3710 East 140th Street, manager of the
Vesta Battery Company, driver of the third car, spoke to his
wife and son, who were riding in the rear seat.
“Wonder what that could be,”’ he mused aloud, indicating
the intermittent flashes of dim light. It might be, he pondered
to himself, some sort of holdup trap.
Just as his car pulled up beside the weird, flickering light,
he heard the shrill blast of a whistle. Jumping from his car
he looked down at the prone figure huddled in the dust.
“Automobile hit you?’’ Armstrong inquired.
Patrolman Hahnel squeezed seven words into his last few
seconds of consciousness that night.
“Take me to a hospital—I’m shot, "he mumbled weakly.
Detective Emmett Potts and Leota Horton, crippled
daughter of the Phantom’s lady friend. It was Potts
who conceived the idea of a decoy telegraphic message—
the master stroke that enmeshed the Phantom in the
toils of the law
Early the next morning, Saturday, October 18th, 1924,
upon reporting to work at Cleveland Central Police Station,
I learned of the shooting the preceding night of Patrolman
Hahnel.
Although Shaker Heights is a suburb of Cleveland, Chief
of Police Jacob Graul of the Cleveland Police Department had
ordered every available man into the search for the gunmen
who had shot Hahnel.
To many readers the extraordinary and tireless energy
that is exhibited when a uniformed peace officer falls before
a gunman’s weapon may smack of dis-
crimination or pure vengeance. That
victim is not wholly true.
A police
its own me
from the |
volved. Fi
of a policen
career of b
Besides t
that Armst
hailed a pi
Ohio, had ;
to St. Alexi
There, D
lodged in H
shook his h:
remove the
cated, he
policeman
The Ph
grievous w:
men.
Patrolm:
Station fo
arrived.
At almo
Station wa
a wounded
The late
Lieutenant
mediately |
from wher
Shaker He
shooting.
Hahnel,
ee lim =
f
ke
to the air.
itch of his
iger of the
yoke to his
indicating
e pondered
ering light,
-om his car
e dust.
his last few
led weakly.
cton, crippled
It was Potts
hic message—
antom in the
ober 18th, 1924,
al Police Station,
sht of Patrolman
Cleveland, Chief
» Department had
for the gunmen
id tireless energy
officer falls before
aay smack of dis-
That
vengeance.
from where they notified the
The Riddle of the Red-Haired Phantom
A police department that cannot apprehend the slayers of
its own members certainly cannot hope to demand respect
from the lawless element with which it is continually in-
volved. Further, a man who “gets away with” the murder
of a policeman finds in his dubious success an incentive to a
career of bloodshed.
Besides the facts of the crime already narrated I learned
that Armstrong, after finding the wounded policeman, had
hailed a passing auto driven by W. T. Sharpe, of Akron,
Ohio, had placed Hahnel in the auto and had gone with him
to St. Alexis Hospital.
There, Doctor J. V. Gallagher, surgeon, located the bullet
lodged in Hahnel’s back against the spine. Doctor Gallagher
shook his head. Hahnel’s condition was such that a probe to
remove the bullet would be fatal. In fact, the doctor indi-
cated, he could scarcely understand how the 28-year-old
policeman could cling so tenaciously to life in the face of a
The Phantom in a domestic mood—kissing his daughter.
during his trial for murder
» grievous wound that would have meant rapid death to most
men.
Patrolman Dietrich, upon returning to the Shaker Heights
. Station found, to his amazement, that Hahnel -had not
arrived.
At almost the same minute, Cleveland Central Police
Station was notified by attaches of St. Alexis Hospital that
a wounded officer had been admitted there.
The late Inspector Charles N. Sterling and Detective
Lieutenant Emmett Potts im-
mediately left for the hospital Inspector of Detectives
Cornelius W. Cody, brilliant
veteran of the Cleveland Police
Department, who gives TRUE
DETECTIVE MYSTERIES the
inside facts on this great case
Shaker Heights police of the
shooting.
Hahnel, in occasional mo-
Mrs. Stella Snyder. What part did she play in this
grim riddle of death?
ments of consciousness, gave a sketchy account of what
had happened.
“J didn’t stir,” he told Inspector Sterling. ‘I was afraid
he would plug me again if he found out I wasn’t <iead.”
Hahnel supplied Sterling and Potts with a description of
iis assailants. Then he lapsed into delirium.
Three Shaker Heights motorcycle men drove to he out-
skirts of Akron, but failed to overtake the gray mu: der car.
Captain Phillip Grotenrath of the Cleveland Heigh s Police
established a drag-net of men at Bedford, but the quarry so
anxiously sought succeeded in evading capture.
At dawn Saturday, Fireman Fred Ryser, broth r-in-law
of the wounded patrolman, gave a quart of his blo d in an
effort to save Hahnel through blood transfusion.
Though he had been on the Shaker Heights Po ce force
only five months, the young, unmarried patrol::an was
extremely popular. _
Members of the force and Andrew Gedeon, 3319 West
Forty-sixth Street, life-long chum (Continued on page 68)
Se
If I was man enough to kill Mick
I was man enough to kill myself.
By “Mick,” he referred to Patrolman
Michael Hahnel.
Jod reached for a bottle. It was marked,
“Carbolic Acid.” He placed it to his lips.
But, as the searing liquid burned into his
palate, something happened.
Joe lost his nerve!
Spitting it out and placing the bottle
on the table, he called out and fell, groan-
ing, to the floor.
RS. JEANETTE CARBAUGH,
landlady, heard his groans and came
to him. Mrs. Carbaugh called Mrs. G. R.
Bartells, a boarder. Together, they sum-
moned police who sent Doctor Bryant of
1438 East 105th Street.
“Tm sick. I’ve taken poison,” Prymas
told the doctor.
“You don’t look it to me,” Bryant re-
plied, examing the bottle and the acid stains
upon the floor. “Your tongue is not burned
and you couldn’t have taken more than a
teaspoonful to your mouth.”
“T'm sick,’ Prymas bellowed, “Get me
to a hospital!”
Joe was eventually removed to a hos-
pital. First, however, he made his
statement. It had several points of in-
terest, but one was especially significant.
He. admitted shooting Patrolman Hahnel
upon a “signal nudge” from “Red” Holt.
The newspapers showered praise upon
the Cleveland Police Department for its
cleanup of a stubborn murder case within
twelve days of the crime.
Wagon-man Clarence May was called
to the office of Safety Director Edwin
Barry who said: “We need men like you
The
do something for you. What can I do?’
“I said, ‘You nor nobody else can do any-
thing for me, because it’s all in the day’s
work with me and it’s my pleasure.’ ”’
Question: Was that the last conversa-
tion you had with Rothstein?
“Yes, sir,’ answered Cordes.
In the report of Commissioner Whalen
the chief burden of censure was placed upon
Inspectors Coughlin and Carey, both of
whom had been retired when the findings
were announced, March 24th, 1930.
The report said:
“There is abundant evidence that the
persons directly responsible for the official
conduct of the detectives assigned to the
case were grossly neglectful of duty and
that the responsibility for any failure in
police work on the case must rest on them.
“The attitude of carelessness of the forces
of the Police Department working on the
case found its repercussion throughout the
entire work of those engaged in the solution
of this crime. Undoubtedly the fact that
Arnold Rothstein was a despised common
gambler and that George McManus, to
whom the evidence pointed as the person
responsible for the shooting of Rothstein,
was regarded in a better light resulted in
no extraordinary effort being put forth in
this case.
“This is confirmed by the testimony
of Detective Flood that the name of
True Detective Mysteries
(Continued from page 76)
in the Detective Bureau. Effective Sat-
urday you will work there.” That pro-
motion, incidentally, carried with it a lieu-
tenant’s pay.
Mrs. Stella Snyder, Joe’s sweetheart,
visited him at the hospital. Soon, she
told him, she would have a baby. She
remained. faithful to Prymas to the end.
“Red? Holt at first ignored the wife
who had been loyal to him and turned, in-
stead, to Margaret. Whereupon “Red’s”
wife visited him at County Jail and said:
“J don’t care what happens to you. The
worst that can happen will be all right with
me.”
But when, on November 17th, exactly
one calendar month after the shooting,
Joe Prymas and “Red” Holt simultane-
ously went on trial, it was Mrs. Marie
Holt who sat at the side of the red-haired
gunman, offering him words of encourage-
ment. Margaret, a newspaper reporter
learned, apparently had deserted her erst-
while lover and only the little crippled
Leota still considered him a “Prince
Charming” and prayed for him each night.
County Prosecutor Edward Stanton, as-
sisted by Assistant County Prosecutor
Henry Williams, sought the electric chair
for Prymas in Judge George P. Baer’s
courtroom. The Defense attempted to
shift all blame onto Holt, arguing an
alleged statement by Hahnel that, “the red-
head got me.”
On November 24th Prymas was con-
demned to die in the electric chair at Ohio
Penitentiary for his part in the crime. He
accepted the verdict with no show of
emotion. ;
In fact, so indifferent was the killer to
the certain death that now faced him, that
upon being returned to his cell in county
jail, he immediately requested a picce of
mince pie which he consumed with i-
feigned relish.
Holt’s defense attempted to discredit the
“nudge” which “Red” gave Prymas as a
signal to murder the patrolman, but First
Assistant County Prosecutor James Con-
nell fought equally hard to establish it be-
fore the jury in Judge Samuel Kramer's
court as a death sign.
On November 27th, after seventeen
hours of wrangling, Holt’s jury announced
a deadlock. “Red” smiled for newspaper
photographers and lovingly stroked a rab-
bit’s foot, the gift of a blue-eved flapper
attending his trial.
“Red” again went to trial on January
12th, 1925. Prymas was returned to Cleve-
land from death row in Ohio Penitentiary
ostensibly to testify, but actually, by his
presence in the courtroom, to aid in re-
futing a defense contention that one im-
portant State’s witness was confusing Holt
with Prymas. Prymas cleared up that
point for the State by his presence, but
refused to testify for or against his com-
panion in crime.
On January 18th a jury that had de-
liberated for twenty-seven hours returned
a verdict of guilty with a recommendation
of mercy and Holt was sent to Ohio Peni-
tentiary for life imprisonment.
“Little Joe,” Prymas’ baby was born
to Stella before the death of Prymas in
the electric chair April 24th, 1925.
A few hours after the current was ap-
plied the last act of the principals in the
case was consummated when Marie Holt.
wife of “Red” gave birth to her third
child.
Real Truth About Rothstein
(Continued on page 66)
George McManus was not placed upon
the list of ‘description of persons wanted’
at the direction of Inspector Coughlin, in
spite of the fact that the investigation
indicated that George McManus was in
some way connected with the crime.
Neither was there any general alarm sent
out for George McManus, although such
action was recommended by Detective
Louis Ramirez, who reported that ‘from
our investigation we believe that George
McManus was in the room where Rothstein
was shot and is either a party to the crime
or a witness to its commission.’
“Tt was most unfortunate that there was
no superior officer directing the activities
of the members of the Detective Division
immediately following the shooting of
Arnold Rothstein. There was an evident
lack of coordination and supervision on the
part of the commanding officer of the
Detective Division that had its effect
throughout the entire case.
“The whole spirit of the investigation
which took place after Rothstein’s death
reflected the attitude of total indifference
on the part of the commanding officer of
the detective division to the ordinary
routine which should have followed in a
case of this kind.”
Detective John Green, one of the group
who first went to the room in which Roth-
stein is alleged to have been shot, died a
a
few days before the trials began. Detective
Joe Daly, one of the best known men in the
Department, resigned when reduced in
rank. Detective Flood was fined a month's
pay and reduced to the ranks, and Detec-
tive John Cordes, Captain Duane and three
lieutenants were among tne reprimanded.
It was obvious that Inspector John D.
Coughlin, retired before the trials began.
consented to accept considerable of the
onus attached to the case so that active
officers might escape dismissal, But he
was bitter at the circumstances in which
he terminated his long career in the De-
partment.
“ HAT has Whalen done in the fourteen
months he has been in office?” he de-
manded. ' “What has he done with the
Rothstein case? He has spent nine thousand
dollars on his own account, by his own report.
in looking for Hyman Biller and Rothstein’s
chauffeur and a few others. What has he
produced?
“The day following the Rothstein murder
I started a procession of witnesses through
the District Attorney’s office and in three
days I had sent ten witnesses there. They
told of the poker game in Meehan’s flat—
the crooked poker game—and of McManus
demanding his money back. We established
a motive.
(Continued on page 80)
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NUREME HEME So ke
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Shot down by vicious killers Patrolman Michael
Hahnel, in circle at right, was left to die in the ditch
on Ashwood road, Cleveland, pictured above. It
was here the dying officer scrawled a number in
the sand that convicted his murderers.
TA pe ae, iy
4
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INKING in the darkness, beyond the glaring range of
the headlights of the onrushing car, was the intermittent
flash of a light. To the puzzled driver, it scemed to be
down on the road, near the curb.
Alex S. Armstrong, driving home with his wife after an
evening at the movies, slowed down.
“Be careful,” she warned. She had no desire to stop and
investigate mysterious lights at midnight along the lonely see-
tion of Ashwood road of Cleveland's suburban Shaker Heights.
“It may be a trap for a holdup. They've been working all kinds
of queer tricks lately to get motorists to stop.”
Armstrong swerved to the other side of the road and stepped
on the accelerator. As he sped past the spot from which the
light seemed to come, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy
figure huddled near the curb.
“Keep your eye on it while I turn around,” he said to his wife.
“It may be a gag, but someone may have been hit by a car and
left lying in the road,”
Traveling past the spot once more at a cautious speed, Arm-
SA oh eh
Toe GIN,
ree an vy \e
ae
pr
{%
ae J
and keep the engine running, just in case of funny busi-
ness.”
Warily he walked back to the man lying in the street.
“What's the matter? Tit by a car?”
“Shot,” came a weak voice. “I’ve been shot. Remember
this number—5-1-6," he gasped in pain, then went on: "7-1-2."
Still mumbling the number, the wounded man was carefully
lifted into the car,
While Armstrong was taking the man to St, Alexis hospital,
Patrolman Frank Dietrich, appearing very unlike a policeman
in a pair of overalls, stepped back to survey his job of painting
safety zones and stop signals on the asphalt.
Satisfied that he had done a good job, he picked up his paint
brush and lime bucket and went to the Shaker Heights police
7.
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station to pick up his partner, Patrolman
Michael Hahiicel, to start out on a new job.
“Where's Mike?” he asked Licutenant
Ernest Pugh, in charge of the desk that
night of October 17, 1924. “We have
more paintings to do on South Moreland
boulevard.”
“Isn’t he with you?”
Dietrich’s face became ashen, his jaw
dropped.
“What's the matter?" asked Pugh.
“Mike’s beenkidnaped—maybe killed !""
Dietrich replied hoarsely.
“What do you mean ?”
Quickly, Dietrich explained that he
and Hahnel were painting traffic signs at
the intersection of South Moreland
boulevard and Lee road. It was close to
11:00 pom. but traffic was heavy despite
the late hour. Red lanterns blocked off
the area in which Dietrich and Hahnel
were working when a southbound car
roared through the stop sign. Phe two
policemen hailed it and flashed their
hadges. Hahnel opened the tonneau
door and climbed into the back seat, or-
dering the driver and his companion to
turn around and head back to the police
station,
16
“Could you identify the driver again?”
asked Pugh.
“Tomight. When we stopped him he
hung his head—sheepishly, | thought. The
peak of his cap almost touched the wheel.
His companion was in the shadow.”
“You didn’t get the number, IT sup-
pose ?”
“Didn't think to...
them and—”
The jangling phone interrupted. Pugh
grabbed the receiver. Dietrich saw him
stiffen and bite his lower lip.
. Hahnel was with
It was in the basement love
nest, above, that one of the
slayers of Hahnel attempted
suicide after reading of his
pal’s arrest. The guns, pic-
tured below, were recovered
together with Hahnel’s
badge after the shooting.
STARTLING DETECTIVE
Patrolman |}
Hahnel’s co
ing job wh:
for question
murderers,
was taken tc
“Come on
turning the ins
seryeant to co
been shot ' VK
As Lieut. I
trich WET Spx
where the wou
found, the desk
the shooting to
suburban prec
Emmett Ports
tive bureau ree:
to the scene wi
and John Buett
Potts and hi
Dietrich met
Where he had pi
cer and listened
of Hahnel and
hospital, where
had been shot +
there was no ¢!
through.
Lieut. Potts
sandy patch bes
Hahnel had bee:
“Took - exe]
crude figures se:
ADVENTURES
La
Pe
RCO OPER
der the steering wheel. The short
thug bent over the body and swift-
ly frisked the pockets.
“Come on; you fool,” Red growl-
ed, “want to be found with him?”
- “OK,” ‘Shorty’ retorted turning
from the victim. He paused, one
foot on the running board, “Wait
a minute,” he said.
Turning, he stooped and wrench-
ed something that gleamed in the
faint light from the body’s shirt,
then leaped into the gray car.
S SOON as the car had slid off
into the mist, the “body” stirred
and groaned. Rolling over, the
wounded man fought to get up on
hands and knees. Hot blood gush-
ed from the wound in his abdo-
‘men. His breath came in tearing,
choking gasps. He collapsed with
a cry of agony and lay twitching
in a paroxysm of intolerable pain.
“God help me,” he moaned.
He was pretty far gone, but the
training of a life time of police
service gave him strength to fight
on. His clenched right hand
twitched, straightened where it lay
in the cool roadside dust. With a
heave that tore his gaping wound
wider, he got half up and support-
ed his body on his elbow. Bright,
arterial blood spurted down
mingling with the cold sweat drip-
ping from his face.
His finger. traced three a
numerals in the dust,5...1...
ning-board as they drag-
ged him from the car.
6... His half-raised body was
sinking now, but grimly, heroically
he wrenched himself back from the
death coma that was engulfing
him. Gathering his ebbing strength
he scrawled three more numerals,
hes 5 es 2. Then satisfied that
by leaving ‘the number of the death
car he had pointed the finger of
doom at his killers, he sank down
in the mud his own blood had
made of the dust.
Blocks away in the Shaker
Heights Police Station, Lieutenant
Ernest Pugh, on duty at the desk,
yawned, stretched and settled back
comfortably in his chair. It had
been a quiet night. The blotter
sheet before him was dated Octo-
ber 17, It was now nearly mid-
night and the only entries were a
notation of the fact that Officers
Michael Hahnel and Frank Die-
trich had been assigned to paint
boulevard signs during the quiet
hours of the night, that and a
record of the hourly calls of the
patrolmen.
Pugh yawned again and shook
his head to throw off his drowsi-
ness. Quick steps sounded outside.
A big man in overalls came hur-
riedly in and set down his bucket
of paint. He-looked anxiously
around the room.
“Where’s Hahnel,
he asked.
“Hahnel?”
Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Pugh’s
forehead wrinkled in a frown. “You
ought to know, Dietrich, you were
working with him.”
“Didn’t he bring in two young
fellows?”
Pugh was wide awake now.
“No men been in here for an
hour,” he snapped.
Officer Dietrich’s big hands
clenched and unclenched. nervous-
ly.
“T should have gone with Mike,”
he muttered bitterly.
“Stop mumbling, man. Tell me:
what’s wrong,” Pugh’s voice crack-
ed like a whip. ‘
Dietrich’s big form stiffened to
attention. He sketched the story
in crisp sentences. But his mind
was full of misgivings. He couldn’t
forget the fate of the Cleveland
policeman who was bringing in a
prisoner. The man had lulled the
officer by his meekness. Then, swift
as a striking cobra he had whipped
out a gun and shot the policeman
to death.
“Hahnel and me was painting
like you ordered, Lieutenant,” Die-
trich said, “we was near the corner
of S. Marland and Lee Road. A
car came along fast, too fast. It
just missed knocking Mike down,
shot out of the mist like a flash.
Both of us blew our whistles. The
driver slammed on his brakes so
hard he slid his tires. Stopped the
car about fifty feet past us.
“We bc
I took ;
walked 2
was a gre
fellows i;
argument
driver’s fa
like he w:
red hair.
“Tl take
told me. «
any troubl
Painting. H
forty minu
come with
bitterly, “n
ther kidna;
gotta do sx
The ph
Shrilled. He
receiver ke
Dietrich in
he jerked
“What's
the instrun
Is he able
Banging
jumped to
“That wa
ing calling
tal, ” he Ss:
been shot
down the a.
to see him.
quick as you
jammed on
from the st;
fh a
UES
Das
‘purr, the gray touring car
rolled to a stop. For a sec-
ond the tail light illuminated
the license plate, number 5167-
12 Ohio, then the driver flicked
off the lights.
It was very dark at eleven
o'clock that night on the side
street off Ashwood Road. The
short, stocky man beside the
ee throttled to a soft
driver peered furtively from the
window, then turned and poked
at the inert heap slumped in the
back seat.
“He's croaked all right," he
mumbled to the driver.
“Well, what you waiting
for?" the driver growled,
By WILL MURRAY
“dump him quick before some-
one comes along.”
“OK, OK, Red. | was just cas-
ing the street," the short man
snarled back. "No sense getting
-caught with the stiff half out
of the jalopy."
Climbing from the car he
jerked open the rear door. The
legs of the silent figure had
been jammed against it. With
the cs! at removed, the body
slumped with a muffied thud to
the floor. ‘Shorty’ tugged at the
legs futilely.
“Gosh, he's heavy," he cried,
“Give me a hand, can't you,
Red?"
Jumping out, the driver grabbed
the hair of the lolling head.
“Heave on his legs,” he ordered.
Tugging and shoving, the two
dragged the body from the car,
letting the head fall with sickening
thud against the curb. ‘Red’ ran
around the car and climbed in un-
"JOE PRYMAS in court with his
mother and lawyers.
_ frown. “You
ch, you were
4 two young
ake now.
here for an
pig hands
shed nervous-
1e with Mike,”
J.
man. Tell me:
’s yoice crack-
m stiffened to
shed the story
But his mind
igs. He couldn't
the Cleveland’
5 bringing in @
had lulled the
iess. Then, swift
ne had whipped
t the policeman
e was painting -
jeutenant,” Die-
near the corner
4 Lee Road. A
ast, too fast. It
ing Mike down,
list like a flash.
ur whistles. The
n his brakes SO
ires. Stopped the
et past us.
PORE LOR ate ae ay
“We both went towards the car.
I took the curb side and Mike
walked around to the driver. It
was a gray touring car. Two young
fellows in it didn’t give us any
argument at all. I couldn’t see the
driver’s face good. He held it down
like he was ashamed, but he had
red hair.
“Tl take them in, Frank,” Mike
told me. “These lads won’t make
any trouble. You go on with the
painting. He ought to have got here
forty minutes ago. I oughta have
come with him,” Dietrich repeated
bitterly, “now those punks have ei-
ther kidnapped or killed Mike. We
gotta do something, quick... .”
The phone at Pugh’s elbow
shrilled. He absently picked up the
receiver keeping his eyes fixed on
Dietrich in speculation. Suddenly
he jerked to attention.
“What’s that?” he barked into
the instrument, “yes ... yes...
Is he able to talk?”
Banging up the receiver he
jumped to his feet.
“That was Inspector Chas Stérl-
ing calling from St. Alexis Hospi-
tal,” he said tensely, ‘Hahnel’s
been shot’. . he’s dying. Hold
down the desk, Dietrich. I’m going
to see him. Get the Captain here
quick as you can,” Lieutenant Pugh
jammed on his cap and rushed
from the station. ...
bir an
i ks WAS dim in the hospital room.
The features of the man on the
pillowless white bed were pinched
and sharp-looking. Detective Lieu-
tenant Emmett Potts and Inspector
C. N. Sterling turned from their
whispered conference with staff
doctor J. V. Gallagher as Lieuten-
ant Pugh’s quick footsteps in the
quiet corridor announced his ar-
rival. Pugh’s eyes met Dr. Galla-
gher’s first in anxious query.
“Is Hahnel dead?” he asked.
Dr. Gallagher glanced at his pa-
tient and shook his head. The
wounded man’s rapid, shallow
breathing was suddenly audible.
“He’s still alive, Lieutenant,” he
replied, “but I can’t give him more
than a few hours. The bullet
pierced his stomach in a dozen
places. It’s lodged back against his
spine. He’s far too weak for us to
attempt to operate. Shock would
kill him instantly. He can’t live
anyway so we thought it would
be best to try and stimulate him
so he could make a statement. I’ve
just given him a hypo... There,
he’s trying -to speak now.”
They tiptoed to Hahnel’s side.
The pdle lips moved and _ the
wounded officer’s eyes opened daz-
edly and rolled blankly till they
came to rest on Pugh’s familiar
face. The mumbling voice
strengthened.
(Continued on page 44)
THE DETECTIVES questioned the ban-
dit's wife closely.
(Below) THE RED-HEADED bandit in
court after his arrest.
Without exception, each of them
identified Burmah Adams White as
the glassy-eyed gun-man’s blonde
moll.
“It’s all a frame-up,” sneered the
relict of Thomas. “You’re trying
to send me to prison on false iden-
tifications.”
I produced a report from Spen-
cer Moxley, our ballistics expert.
Moxley had been given White’s
gun, and both fired and unfired
bullets from it. Included were the
recovered bullet that blinded Miss
Withington and wounded Crombie
Allen; the two abortive shots fired
at Contractor Lewis; those fired
at Anderson and me; and the bul-
lets still remaining in the gun af-
ter that first shot of mine had
blasted it from his hand.
“All the fired bullets came from
the same gun,” Moxley said in his
report. “That was the gun used
by him when he was shot down
by officers, while resisting arrest.”
“Several witnesses identified
White’s body as it lay in the
morgue,” I told Mrs. White. “Most
of them also have identified you
as having been White’s companion
on these hold-ups. The report of
‘the ballistics expert puts the final
clincher on it all. He’s dead, and
that leaves you standing the gaff
alone.”
She thought it over for a mo-
ment. Then she raised her head
and looked at me. Not much of
the famed Burmah White smile
left, now.
“All right,” she said. “I guess I
might as well talk now, and get
it over with. You'll pin it all on
me anyway.”
CONFIDENTIAL
DEMEGHIME
(Continued from page 21)
“Never ... gave me... any
warning ...” Hahnel whispered,
“driving towards station : . . like
I told ’em ... fellow .. . beside
driver turned .. . thought he want-
ed ...ask me something. He shot
... me. . never saw gun...I
marked license .. . number in dust
.. where ... they threw me out
; . . . His voice trailed into silence.
The three officers’ glances met
grimly.
““Dirty cop-killing rats,” Dr. Gal-
lagher exclaimed.
The policemen didn’t speak but
their cold, determined eyes ex-
changed silent pledges that boded
ill for the killers of their comrade.
Bit by bit, as Hahnel fought his
way back from the gates of death
by sheer, dogged courage, they got
44
“That’s already done by compe-
tent witnesses and through the evi-
dence of the bullets,” I pointed
out. “It’s our job to present these
witnesses and-this evidence, that’s
all. The court will decide whether
or not you are guilty.”
So at last she talked.
She admitted participation with
her late husband in eleven hold-
ups and assaults. Her confession
was callous, cold-blooded; no sign
of regret; no suggestion of re-
pentance. Burmah Adams White
was as flinty-hearted and tough
as her partner in crime.
“Tommy and I met a little while
after he got out of Folsom,” she
said. “We fell for each other. He
had to have money somehow. So
did I. Well, he took it the only
way he knew how—with a gun.
Sure, I helped him. I wasn’t going
to let him do anything for me
that I couldn’t take my share in.
“About a week after that first
hold-up, I decided I loved him
enough to marry him, so we got
married. We kept right on with
the stick-ups, because we needed
money all the time. We had to
live somehow, didn’t we?”
The youthful bravado with
which she gave this confession
went out of her as the days passed
until her trial. Life in a jail cell,
apparently, gave her some fore-
taste of what life behind: prison
bars: might be like—and Burmah
White didn’t think it looked so
good.
S°: WHEN she was brought to
trial, with eleven separate
felony counts against her, the
blonde babe had changed her tac-
tics. She didn’t attempt to deny
the evidence of witnesses who, one
after another, identified her again
from the witness box as they had
done in line-ups at the jail, and
in her cell.
No. Some other line had to be
used.
She found it.
Weeping bitterly, she took the
stand in her own defense.
“I didn’t know my husband was
an ex-convict,” she insisted. “I
never realized how he was getting
his money, until ‘finally he told
me. I begged and pleaded with
him to give up the sort of life he
had started. I told him it would
lead only to his being sent back
to prison, and I’d never see him
again except through prison bars.
“He wouldn’t listen to me. He
said he was going right on getting
money the easy way, and now that
I knew how he did it, I’d have to
help—go with him on all his jobs,
stay at the wheel of the car, help
any way he needed me.
“He swore he’d beat me to death
if I didn’t do as he told me, or
if I ever snitched on him. I hadn’t
any choice. I just had to go his
way, no matter where it led.”
The jury was not convinced.
Four hours later they filed back
into the box, and I doubt if even
Burmah White was surprised when
the foreman said: “Guilty as
charged, on all counts.”
Two days iater, on November 5,
the blonde baby heard herself sen-
tenced to serve a prison term of
thirty years to life.
THE LIVING CORPSE
the whole story. It coincided with
what Officer Dietrich had already
reported.
Taken utterly by surprise Hahn-
el had slumped half off the seat
when the treacherous shot crashed
into him. He feared and expected
a finishing shot immediately and
knew his only chance was to feign
death. So, in spite of the grinding
agony of his belly-wound he had
-lain motionless, silent, even sup-
pressing his breathing. It had been
hardest to bear when the bandits
dragged him from the car, banging
his head on the running board and
twisting him so his wound was a
screaming hell of pain.
“One of them ... took... my
shield and gun, Lieutenant,” Hahn-
el gasped apologetically, “I could-
n’t. 3’. ., Stop Rims. 0").
“Don’t worry, Mike,” Pugh re-
plied chokingly, “you hurry and
get well and help us catch the
rats.”
Michael Hahnel made a gallant
fight for his life. To the surprise
of the doctors he held death at
bay for seventy-two hours. But at
no time did he rally sufficiently to
permit an operation. On October
20th, his brave spirit left his torn
body. .
EVERY policeman in Metropoli-
tan Cleveland had followed
the case with burning interest.
The detective bureau had worked
night and day searching for clews.
Now that Hahnel was dead and the
charge against the thugs was mur-
CONFIDENTIAL DETECTIVE CASES
8aberdin
-his head
to be eas
hopeless
Seventy |
Ohio be
ming m;
througho)
engrossed
teletypes
cast warn
“Watch
dark gab
driving a
Plate may
for murde;
—may have
ion with bj
face—Be ¢
these men.
Will shoot
DJ4¥Ys Pas:
headed
Police inves
belie ie
“te
Ref
vie,
POPE,
eam
m At headquarters, Ralph, who said he
was but eighteen years old, was questioned
by Story, Chief Matowitz and County
Prosecutor Ray T. Miller. He answered
all their questions with apparent wide-
eyed frankness. He swore he’d never owned
a revolver in his life. Certainly he had
never attacked a woman, he kept insisting
to the officers.
His manner was so open, so ingenuous,
that the officers were more than half con-
vinced that they were in error.
“But,” said Miller, “you'd better hold
him until morning anyway. Have some
of the victims take a look at him, just to
make sure.”
On the following day Margerie Dun-
nison and Bella Penderhag were sent for.
They were ushered into Ralph’s presence.
Before they could speak, however, Ralph
shook his head, smiled at them and said,
“I’m terrible sorry that I hurt you ladies.
I meant no harm. But you shouldn’t have
yelled and struggled with me.”
The officers, remembering the flat de-
nials of the previous evening, stood by
in amazement at this confession. The two
women positively identified Ralph as the
man who had attacked them.
“It must have been the liquor,” he told
the officers. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly when
{'m sober. After I take a few drinks I
don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Where,” asked Story, “is the gun?”
“I hid it in a friend’s house, under a
pile of boards in the basement.” Ralph
willingly gave the name and address of
his friend. Detective Clark was dispatched
to look for the weapon.
He found it, rather to the surprise of
Ralph’s friend who had not known it was
there.
“I recall distinctly,” Ralph told Story,
“that I hid it the day before Christmas.”
Story exchanged a glance with Mato-
witz. If this last statement were true,
it absolved Ralph as the killer of Janet
Blood, a crime which the officers were
now certain he had committed. It was a
most unfortunate circumstance that the
ballistics experts had reported that the
bullet extracted from Janet Blood’s body
was too misshapen and battered for identi-
fication.
Ralph was subjected to skillful, relent-
less and continuous interrogation. He ad-
mitted all the recent attacks, save that on
Janet Blood. He admitted stealing tubes,
twenty-seven dollars and the revolver from
the tire shop. But the murder of Janet
Blood he flatly would not concede.
“I couldn’t have done it,” he said. “I
was so sorry about having to shoot Mrs.
Penderhag that I got rid of the gun right
after it happened. Janet Blood was shot
in January. I didn’t have a gun then.”
Prosecutor Miller held a conference with
Story and Chief Matowitz.
“We know very well that Ralph killed
the Blood girl. But we don’t have an
eye witness and he won't talk. We don’t
have a case to take to court. Now, each
of the other charges would have to be
tried separately. We'll take the two strong-
est and try him on those.”
It was decided to proceed in the cases
of Margerie Dunnison and Mrs. Penderhag.
These cases were so air tight that on
February 21st, Ralph, on the advice of his
attorneys, pleaded guilty to two charges of
shooting with attempt to kill during an
assault.
Common Pleas Judge Frank Phillips let
fly with the book. On each count Ralph
drew a maximum sentence, one to twenty
years. That would enable the Ohio Pardon
and Parole Board to keep him in prison
POLICE FILES
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for forty years.
As Ralph was led away to the peni-
tentiary, Lieutenant Story shook his head
and spoke to the prosecutor.
“If I ever saw a killer, it’s Ralph. It’s
a shame we couldn’t get him on the Blood
case.”
Miller shrugged. “That’s true,” he said.
“But even though he'll never be electro-
cuted he’ll never commit another murder, .
either. At least not for forty years.”
The only thing as dead wrong as the
prosecutor’s first statement was his second.
Some two years later, word was flashed
from the penitentiary that Edward Ralph
had escaped. Story, now a captain, was
in charge of the squad which searched the
Cleveland area for the fugitive. They didn’t
find him. He was apprehended by Los
Angeles officers, two and a half months
after his escape. He was promptly returned
to Ohio.
Captain Story was positive that this was
the last he would ever hear. of Edward
Ralph. This notion, like those of Prosecu-
tor Miller, was a mistaken one.
m It was a warm June night—specifically
that of Thursday, the 3rd—some eleven
years after Edward Ralph’s recapture.
Three children played in the back yard
of a house at 757 East 52nd Street. The
building was owned by Mrs. Mabel Mart-
off. Two of the children, Mary Jane and
Barbara Brady, were nieces of Mrs. Mart-
off. The third child was a 10-year-old boy,
Lennie Brenden, the son of the family who
rented the apartment directly opposite that
of the landlady.
Mrs. Martoff, her daughter Josephine
Martoff, and Mrs. Dorothy Brady, mother
of the two girls in the yard, were at-
tending a moving picture. Mrs. Martoff’s
boarder was playing pinochle with a friend
in the Martoff apartment.
At ten minutes to eleven, the three
women returned home to find Barbara
Brady fast asleep in an arm chair. The
boarder and his friend remained occupied in
their card game.
Mrs. Brady said sharply, “Where’s Mary
Jane?”
The boarder looked up from his cards
61
and shrugged. “I guess she’s in the back-
yard with Lennie. They were there a little
-while ago.”
Mrs. Brady and Mrs. Martoff went to
the back porch. There was no sign either
of Lennie or Mary Jane.
“Perhaps, she’s in Lennie’s apartment,”
suggested Mrs. Martoff.
“There are no lights in the windows.
But let’s ring the bell anyway.”
They did so. They also hammered at
the door. They received no reply.
“Let’s call the police,” said Mrs. Brady,
deeply worried. “Then we can walk around
the neighborhood looking for her.”
The desk sergeant to whom Mrs. Brady
spoke reassured her. Kids were invariably
coming home late in the summer, he said.
In any event he promised to have the
cruising cars keep an eye out for the child.
Immediately after the call, a car drove
up to the Martoff house, and a little wom-
an with blonde hair stepped to the. curb.
Mrs. Martoff nudged her sister. “That’s
‘hie Brenden now. We'd better talk to
er.
Mrs. Brenden listened to the two other
women with an odd expression on her
face. “I’m sure my Lennie’s asleep at this
hour,” she said. “I’ll go in and check.”
“If he’s in bed,” said Mrs. Brady,
“please wake him up and ask him if he
knows anything about Mary Jane.”
Mrs. Brenden turned her key in the
lock and entered the darkened apartment.
She spoke over her shoulder in a slurred
voice. “Do you have a match? The com-
pany’s turned off our lights. We got be-
hind in the bill.”
Mrs. Brady struck a match and at that
moment the dark figure of a man lumbered
into the room. He shouted in a loud,
hoarse voice, “What's going on here?”
“It’s nothing, honey,” said Mrs. Brenden.
“Mary Jane’s missing. Is Lennie in bed?”
“Of course, he’s in bed. Will you people
get out of here and let me go to bed, too.”
“In just a minute,” said Mrs. Brenden.
“I want to see Lennie.”
She left the room, returned a minute
later to report that Lennie had been asleep.
She had awakened him and asked about
the missing child. Lennie said he had
left Mary Jane on the porch when he
had come into his own house.
Mrs. Brady and her sister left the
apartment. As the door closed behind them
they heard the hoarse voice of Mr. Bren-
den upbraiding his wife. It was then that
Mrs. Brady called the police a second time.
It was Cruiser Patrolman Thomas Os-
born who found the body. He had arrived
on the scene in response to the phone call
a few minutes before in company with
Patrolman Thomas Ellis. Using flashlights
the pair had climbed the back yard fence
and worked their way through tangled
shrubbery which stood between the Martoff
house and Gordon Park.
Osborn’s flashlight suddenly revealed the
tiny corpse of the 5-year-old girl. Her dress
was ripped to ribbons. Her arms and legs
were black with bruises, red with scratches
and cuts. And she was indubitably dead.
A call was sent back to police head-
quarters. At 2 o'clock in the morning,
Lieutenants George Smyth and Frank
Mernaugh arrived along with Sergeant
Thomas White and several other detectives.
mM After hearing Mrs. Brady’s.: tearful
story of the evening’s events, Smyth,
Mernaugh and White decided to talk to
young Lennie Brenden. They knocked
loudly on the door of the Brenden apart-
ment and received no answer. They tried
62
the knob and found the door was securely
locked.
Sergeant White reconnoitered and re-
ported, “The front window, the one facing
the porch, is open. Maybe, we could get
in there.”
Smyth went to the front porch. He
lifted the partly opened window and flung
one leg across the sill. He put his head
inside and was painfully aware of a tre-
mendous blow on his ear. An instant later,
he was struck again, this time on the arm.
Smyth lost his balance and tumbled into
the dark room. As he did so, he threw
out his arms and grappled with his unscen
assailant. The pair of them fell to the
floor together.
They were struggling bitterly when
White and Mernaugh came through the
window, holding flashlights, and separated
them. An angry, unshaven man stood up
and glared at the officers.
“What are you doing here?” he roared.
“Get out of my apartment.”
“We're officers,” said Smyth. “We want
to talk to your son.”
Mrs. Brenden walked into the room.
There were two bruises on her face and
a cut on her cheek.
“Lennie’s not his son,” she said. “He’s
mine. But if you’re cops take him away.
He’s no good. He just beat me up. He’s
an all around bum.”
Brenden glared at her, then rushed
across the room with his arm upraised.
Sergeant White intervened, seizing him.
“Take him out,” said Smyth. “Take him
to the station.” ‘
As White took the angry man outside,
a car drove up and Frank W. Story, now
a full inspector, climbed out. As White
began to explain the events of the evening,
Story stared in utter and complete amaze-
ment at the prisoner.
“My God,” he said, “where did you find
him?” ;
“Inside. In the apartment. Do you know
him ?”
“Like the back of my own hand,” said
Story. “That’s Edward Ralph.”
So the man who couldn’t possibly com-
mit another crime for forty years was
taken into custody, charged with suspicion
of murder less than fourteen years after
his original sentence.
Mary Jane Brady had been beaten and
ravished to such an extent that the de-
tails of her injuries were unprintable. A
thorough search of the apartment brought
to light blood stains on the rug, a pair
of trousers and shirt, thoroughly saturated
with blood as well.
Ralph, contrary to the intention of the
court which sentenced him, had been
paroled on January 7th, 1941 without the
knowledge of any Cleveland official. Since
that time Ralph had married and sired a
nine-months-old son.
However, he had tired of his wife some
five months before, left her and moved
to the apartment of Mrs. Brenden.
On the following morning, Story and
Lieutenant Smyth questioned Lennie Bren-
den. At first he wouldn’t talk. He said,
“If I tell you the truth, that man will
hurt mommy. He told me he would.”
The officers finally convinced the child
that his mother was quite safe from any
violence of Ralph’s.
“All right,” said the boy. “He brought
Mary Jane into my room just before I
went to sleep. Then he took her into the
living room. I heard her yell out a few
times and I got frightened. Later he came
back and woke me up. He told me not to
say that Mary Jane had been there. He
said he’d beat up my mother if I did.”
Confronted with this testimony, Edward,
Ralph shook his head ruefully and burst’
into tears. “If I did it, I’m sorry,” he
said. “I didn’t really mean it.”
A little later he conceded that he had’
killed the girl to prevent her screams from
raising an alarm. But no sooner had he
signed the confession than he repudiated «
it.
Story carried the confession and all the ©
bulky papers on the Ralph affair to the
office of Prosecutor Frank Cullitan.
“This,” said Story, “is his second mur- .
der. He killed Janet Blood fourteen years °/
ago and we couldn't pin it on him. He’s
shot several women and assaulted scores.
This time you’ve got to send him to the
chair.”
Cullitan scrutinized the damning docu-
ments and nodded his head gravely.
“If ever a man deserved the chair, it’s
Ralph,” he said. “I promise you we'll do
our best.”
He did. He put the prosecution in the
hands of a brilliant assistant, John J.
Mahon. Ralph’s attorneys waived a jury
trial and the case proceeded before a panel
of three judges.
On June 22nd, a verdict of guilty of
first degree murder was returned, with no
recommendation for mercy. Ralph was
sentenced to die in the electric chair.
Judge Samuel Silbert, one of the bench,
said that this was the first time in his
thirty-one years of experience that he had
ever concurred in a death sentence. Judge
Frank Day stated that the crime was “one
of the worst ever committed.” Judge
Stanley Orr gave it as his opinion that
Ralph’s life was a menace to the lives of
others.
On October 4th, 1943, Edward Ralph
was executed in the electric chair at the
State Penitentiary at Columbus, Ohio.
Frank Story, at that time administrative
head of Cleveland’s Police Department,
said, “Now, Edward Ralph is beyond
parole. He has not only paid for the
murder of Mary Jane Brady but also
for the killing of Janet Blood. »
Note: The names of all the culprit’s vic-
tims, except that of Janet Blood and Mary
Jane Brady, have been changed to prevent
embarrassment to innocent persons.
TOP DRAWER IN
THE MORGUE
(Continued from page 19)
insurmountable obstacles. One was the lack
of tangible evidence common to most gang-
land killings. And secondly the people in
the section had good cause to fear re-
prisals should they talk.
All Corsini and the other homicide men
working with him could do was to keep
plugging tirelessly away, meanwhile pray-
ing for some unforeseen break.
Now there was the chance that this pres-
ent killing might provide just that.
The hope was in Corsini’s mind as he
dressed with practised speed and hurried
outside just as the squad car pulled up.
As they headed for the North Side, acting
Captain Condaffer suggested, “Right now
this looks like the work of the Palombo
mob. Apparently we weren’t the only ones
who had a strong hunch that Binetti
knocked off Augie Palombo.”
“Could be,” Corsini admitted reflectively.
POLICE FILES
Care
Ne
+
nena
on
RATPW. Bawa hi + y e
RAIPH, Edward, white, elec. OH& (Cuyahoga) October
HE attacks of the moon-faced,
lop-jawed rapist began on the
bleak, gray night of October 18
in Cleveland, Ohio.
It was a few minutes before mid-—
night when petite Helen Reese, an
attractive 25-year-old brunette, waved
a laughing farewell to her friends at
the well-lighted intersection of Euclid
Avenue and East 71st Street. She
turned down the darkened sidestreet
where she lived.
Halfway down the block a husky
man crossed the street toward her. His
gentle voice reassured her as he ap-
proached.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
She stared at him, saw that he was
a round-faced, thick-lipped man in his
early twenties.
“You are very pretty,” he whispered.
Suddenly, without any warning, he
leaped forward, clamped his right hand
over her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” he warned. “T’ll
kill you if you do!”
She felt the clammy wetness of
his left hand as it closed on her wrist
and pulled her off the sidewalk. The
feel of lawn under her spike-heeled
shoes was the last she remembered.
She fainted.
She came to ten minutes later and
felt the damp earth beneath her body.
Her print dress was badly torn. Her
neck, arms, legs and shoulders ached,
and her head throbbed dully.
A sudden feeling of shame swept
over her as she felt about in the dark-
ness for her coat. It was only a few
feet away. She slipped it on, then
staggered across what seemed to be
someone’s back yard.
When she talked to police ten min-
utes later, she insisted she didn’t know
how she had reached the house.
Propped up against ‘her pillows in
an East Side hospital bed, Helen Reese
wept fitfully as she talked to Detective
Lieutenant Frank W. Story.
The veteran investigator made notes
of the information, gently assured the
girl she was safe, then headed for the
neighborhood in which the attack had
occurred.
A group of men from Cleveland’s
crack bureau of criminal identification
were already concluding their prelimi-
nary investigation when the detective
arrived,
The assailant had left no clue to
his identity either in the yard or in
the blood-smeared. plot of grass where
the vicious attack had occurred. There
were a few vague footprints in the
lawn, but none were clear enough to
be of any value.
Story made a systematic house-to-
house canvass of the entire area with-
out finding anyone who had caught a
JEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE, October, X@XM 12950.
hee
jes
Attacked young women on dark sidestreets.
49
apo
SR AR EE A a
—
TRUS De cn
a sen mr
almost stilled by terror. ‘Please let
me go.” ; :
As she twisted away trying to get
her arm loose, a fist smashed into her
mouth. She fell to-the ground. When
her attacker bent toward. her, she let
out a high, piercing scream. He kicked
at ‘her savagely,. catching her on the
side of the head and disappeared.
These three, Mrs. Alvins, Miss Kilmer
and Miss Atkinson, were the plucky ones,
the lucky ones—the ones who success-
fully eluded the attacker. There were
others, who, startled near a vacant lot
or an alley, were silenced by threats or
subdued by force and became victims of
‘horrible experiences they could never
forget. Within seven weeks the list of
victims reached fifteen and. the fiend’s
violence toward those who resisted his
amorous advances kept increasing.
On December 19th, Miss Rose David,
nineteen years old, on her way to visit
a friend, was approaching East 105th
Street and Ashbury Avenue. A dark
figure suddenly rose from behind a bill-
- board. As she struggled, she was struck
in the ribs by a short length of iron pipe.
She screamed in agony and the pipe de-
scended on her head. A passing motor-
ist took her to St. Alexis Hospital.
Most of the victims explained that in
their fright and shock they had failed
to obtain a good look at their attacker.
Police continued to arrest scores of sus-
pects, including. most known sex offend-
ers, but even those victims who were
not too timid or too fearful of publicity,
appeared uncertain of their ability to
recognize the terrorist. The attacks had
been perpetrated invariably under cover
of darkness. ;
The attacker’s description, pains-
takingly pieced together, was that of a
man between twenty and - twenty-five
years old, no more than five feet six
inches tall, shabbily attired, weighing
anywhere from 135 to 150 pounds.
Then, the week before Christmas, two
women got an unforgettable look at his
face.
Close to midnight, Friday, December
20th, Miss Beatrice Gallagher, twenty-
three, returning from a dance, reached
the home of Mr. and Mrs. R. H. Perdue,
1856 East 87th Street, where she worked
“His life is a menace to the lives of others,’
as ‘a maid. She turned into the walk.
Out of the bushes alongside rose a man
with gleaming eyes and a glistening,
nickel-plated gun." .
“Don’t scream,” he warned softly,
grasping her arm and pulling her to-
ward the shrubbery.
Miss Gallagher instantly strove to
wrest herself away and as the grip on
her arm tightened, she called for help
at the top of her voice. With a final tug
she pulled free and before she could get
away saw the pistol being leveled at her.
She heard the ominous words, “I warned
you.” Instantly following this the man
fired five bullets into her.
Aroused by the shots, the Perdues
rushed outside. They found the badly
wounded girl on the lawn... They drove
her to Huron Road Hospital where one
bullet was found to have pierced her
lung. The others struck her arms and
shoulders.
To Detective Lieuteriant Frank W.
Story the. girl later found strength
enough to describe her assailant as: five
feet five, 150 pounds, about twenty years
old, with a round face.
+)
was judge’s verdict on killer (center).
When Beatrice Gallagher (left) bravely defied his command, “Don’t scream!” he fired
five bullets into her.) For resisting’ him, plucky» Mary Pschock (right). was: gravely
wounded; but to Dorothy Brady (second ‘from. left) befell greatest tragedy. of all
aoe fhat
East 55th S
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band, bus:
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Utica Aven:
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hadn’t
arned
you. I ordered you not to scream and yet ~
you insisted on doing so. I had no other
choice but to pull the trigger in an attempt
to quiet you.”
The women gasped and Lieutenant
Story’s eyebrows went up. “Are you ready
to sign a confession, Ralph?”
The prisoner declared that he was—but
only in connection with the wounding of
Miss Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock. He de-
nied the other attacks, some of which had
resulted in rape, and he disclaimed
vehemently the fatal shooting of Janet
Blood. ~
For the time being, Lieutenant Story
took what he could get. Ralph dictated and
signed a statement admitting to the Gal-
lagher and Pschock crimes. “On both
nights I was drunk,” he said. “Whenever
I’ve had a few drinks I begin to think of
women.”
“Now what about the gun?” Story
pressed, once the confession had been
obtained. “Where is it?”
“T threw it in the lake.”
“Where in the lake.”
“Off the Ninth Street pier.”
“When did you throw it there?”
“The day before Christmas.”
“Did it make a splash?”
“Yes, quite a splash. I was afraid some-
body might hear.”
Story moved a step nearer the prisoner
and said coldly, “Ralph, you’re lying. The
lake has been frozen solid since early
December. Where is that gun?”
The prisoner flushed and replied lamely,
“I hid it in a friend’s house and I didn’t’
want to get him in trouble.” Then he
named the friend, and the address and
added: “It’s under a board in the cellar.”
Lieutenant Story dispatched detectives
to search the house in question. Turning
back to Ralph, he inquired: “When did
you hide the gun there?”
“The day before Christmas.”
“You're going to stick to that date, are
you?”
“Why not? I remember it very well. It
was a couple of days after I shot Mrs.
Pschock and I decided to put the gun away
so I wouldn’t shoot anybody else. Why
shouldn’t I stick to that date?”
Story sighed deeply. “Ralph, you're
lying again. You say you disposed of the
gun the day before Christmas because that
is well ahead of the night of January 3,
when Janet Blood was shot, and you know
the girl is dead. Where were you the night
of January 3?”
Ralph listed the names of a number of
bars to account for his time between dark-
ness and midnight (the Blood shooting had
occurred at 7:30) and recited in detail the
number of drinks he had had in each, It
was too pat a story.
“Where were you the night of January
6?” the lieutenant asked him suddenly.
The prisoner looked puzzled. “Why, I—I
don’t know. What happened that night?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you ask me about it?”
Story smiled thinly. “I merely wonder
why you recall so clearly the one night and
have no recollection of the other.”
“But the Blood girl was killed and I was
afraid I might be suspected. I made it a
point to think over my movements on the
3rd so I’d be able to give an account of
myself.”
Story was disbelieving. “She wasn’t
killed—not right off. She didn’t die until
more than two weeks later. Ralph, you're
trying to dodge a murder rap, but I’m go-
ing to charge you with murder regardless,
You appear willing enough to go to prison,
but you’re scared stiff of the chair—and
I'm going to send you there.”
In a vigorous attempt to make good on
this avowal, Lieutenant Story .ran into
difficulty, even though Ralph’s gun was
found in the cellar of his friend’s home.
Ralph, the friend declared, had visited
there both on December 24, and January
10 and might have left.the weapon with-
out his (the friend’s) knowledge on either
occasion.
The county prosecutor took a dim view
of putting Ralph on trial for murdey; there
was by no means enough evidence, he
contended, to expect a jury to convict.
Moreover, while Ralph was unable
thoroughly to substantiate his alibi, the
state could not disprove it; Ralph might
have visited the bars he named without
anyone remembering.
And lastly, because of the battered
condition of the bullet removed from Janet
Blood’s body and its lack of value ballis-
tically, the state would be unable to prove,
as they were in the Gallagher and Pschock
cases, that the bullet had been fired from
Ralph’s revolver.
This decision sickened Lieutenant Story
—in his opinion, a vicious killer was escap-
ing his just deserts—and yet the detective
had to accept it. In a sense, a compromise
was effected. On February 21, 1930, before
Common Pleas Judge Frank Phillips,
Ralph was permitted to plead guilty to two -
charges of assault with intent to kill (the
Gallagher and Pschock cases) and Judge
Phillips sentenced him to serve two in-
determinate terms of from one to twenty
pest in the Ohio Penitentiary, at Colum-
us.
The state Pardon and Parole Commis-
sion was supplied with Ralph’s complete
history, and all in Cleveland felt assured
the commissioners would never act ex-
cept in accordance with the recommenda-
tions made. Ralph’s sentence would run
consecutively—not concurrently—and he
would be required to serve the maximum.
Thus Cleveland could rest easy, so far as
the Terror was concerned, for the next
forty years.
But the city, as it happened, enjoyed
only a brief period of rest, for Ralph es-
caped from the Ohio Penitentiary on No-
vember 19, 1931, something short of two
years after he had been sent there. In the
interim, Frank Story had been promoted
from lieutenant to captain of detectives,
and-in the latter capacity he ordered a
day-and-night watch kept for the fugitive.
If Edward Ralph returned to Cleveland,
his presence was not noted. He remained
at large not quite three months and on
February 5, 1932, was picked up in Los
Angeles following a complaint lodged by
a woman there that he had molested her
in a movie house. Held, he gave a false
name, but his fingerprints revealed his
true identity and he was returned to the
Ohio Penitentiary, with the escape stripe
still another mark against him.
In less than ten years, however—on
January 27, 1941—Edward Ralph was on
the loose again. He had been paroled!
Ralph returned to Cleveland, obtained
desultory employment and professed a
desire to rehabilitate himself.
Frank Story was by now inspector in
charge of the Detective Bureau and he in-
structed his men to keep the one-time
Terror under constant surveillance. But
more time passed and Ralph did nothing to
warrant this extraordinary expenditure of
police manpower. On the contrary, he
married in 1942 and his wife presented him
with a baby. To all appearances he had ac-
complished the metamorphosis from fiend
to worthwhile citizen,
Then, in -January, 1943, Ralph disap-
peared and his wife filed an action for -
divorce against him charging gross neglect
and extreme cruelty. He did not show up
to answer the action. None of his former
acquaintances in Cleveland knew what
had happened to him.
Came the night of Thursday, June 3,
1943, and related events transpired in a
small apartment house on East 82nd Street,
Cleveland, the land to the rear of which
dropped off sharply into densely planted
Gordon Park.
Mrs.’ Mabel Martoff owned the building
and with her daughter, Josephine, oc-
cupied the front one of the two apart-
ments on the ground floor. At 7 o’clock
that evening, Mrs. Martoff’s widowed
sister, Mrs. Dorothy Brady, the latter’s
pretty daughter, Mary Jane, and three men
friends came for supper.
After supper, the men decided to play
pinochle, and Mrs. Brady, Mrs. Martoff and
Josephine Martoff stepped around the
corner to the Yale Theater on St. Clair
Avenue to take in the movies. A double
bill was playing, and in the light of what
happened the titles of the two pictures—
“Quiet Please, Murder,” and “Meanest
Man in the World”—were bitterly ironic.
Mary Jane Brady neither played cards
nor attended the movies. She went out on
the back porch ‘of the apartment house
and sat; the evening was warm, moonlit
and pleasant.
Not long after 10 o’clock, the movie
party returned, to find the men still
absorbed in their pinochle. Mrs. Brady
asked about Mary Jane and was informed
that the girl had not come in from the
back porch. “About a half hour ago I
was out there for a minute to get a breath
of air,” one of the card players said, “and
Mary Jane was talking with a small boy—
a lad about 8 years old.”
“Oh, that would be young Frankie
Logan,” Mrs. Martoff explained. “His
mother rented my rear apartment on this
floor a couple of months ago.”
“Just the two of them?” somebody
asked. “What is Mrs. Logan—Widowed?
Divorced?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Mrs. Brady went to the back porch, but
found neither her daughter nor little
Frankie Logan. She returned through the
hallway of the apartment building and
stepped into the street. Mary Jane was
nowhere to be seen. Worried, Mrs. Brady
walked down to the corner drug store;
perhaps Mary Jane had gone for a soda.
But the girl was not at the drug store.’
Mrs. Brady returned to the Martoff
apartment and communicated her distress
to the others. “Perhaps Mary Jane is in
visiting the Logans,” Mrs. Martoff sug-
gested. “Wait. I’ll go knock on their door.”
Mrs. Martoff did this and came back with
a puzzled frown.
“I don’t understand; there’s no answer,
although I pounded. It surprises me that
Mrs. Logan would go off and leave little
Frankie alone. Perhaps he is asleep in
there. At any rate, the lights are off. The
rear windows are completely dark.”
The men in the group volunteered to go
out and search the streets for Mary Jane,
but the search availed them nothing. Coin-
cident with their return—shortly before
midnight—Mrs. Logan entered the build-
ing, and it was apparent that she had been
drinking. She had been out all evening,
she declared when questioned by Mrs.
Martoff, and added that certainly little
Frankie ought to be home.
“In the dark?” somebody asked.
“D’ve had trouble with the electric com-
pany,” Mrs. Logan replied, “T failed to
pay the bill on time. They shut off my cur-
rent.”
“Well, I'd like to talk with Frankie, even
if it is necessary to wake him up,” said
Mrs. Brady. “I can’t find my daughter.”
Mrs. Logan walked to the door of her
@ ..$)
ow fitr*
- d :
the lot. Mustering all her strength, she
succeeded in getting to her feet and
“He shot two women. He has assaulted scores of others. This record will tell you how
he even got away with a murder,” the inspector told the prosecutor. “If he doesn’t
get the chair this time for his latest murder, he’ll be free to kill again some day”
S NDER, ATTRACTIVE Mrs. Florence -Alvins,
thirty-four, walked briskly along the quiet, dark
street toward her home nearby at 8320 Vineyard Ave-
nue in Cleveland, Ohio.
It was a few minutes after ten on a Tuesday eve-
ning, October 22nd. She was passing a vacant lot
when the indistinct figure of a man suddenly appeared
out of the shadows. She heard a soft voice at the
same time that she felt her arm gripped tightly.
“What’s your hurry, honey? Gee,
you’re pretty. Come on with me.”
As she felt herself being pulled toward
the lot, Mrs. Alvins screamed, and strug-
gled to free herself. The man knocked
her down and started to drag her toward
squirmed free of his hold. She screamed
in.terror. She heard his muttered curses
as he fled.
To the police squad car officers twenty
minutes later, Mrs. Alvins was unable to
give a good description of her attacker.
“T hardly saw him,” she explained. “Tt
was dark and I was terrified.”
The vicious murder of
11th, Miss Hilda Kilmer, twenty-two, was just passing a
house at 9905 Pratt Avenue when out of the shadows
a dark shape appeared and came toward her.
“You’re-a pretty baby,” a soft, insinuating voice
said. “Come on with me.”
Miss Kilmer tried to swerve away and was knocked
to the ground. She felt herself being dragged, and
screamed.for help as she kicked and fought.
“What’s going on there?” came an answering shout
from a home near by. Miss Kilmer felt
herself released. The attacker fled.
“He seemed young and short but outside
of that I just didn’t get to notice anything
about him,” she told police.
_ Three days later, Miss Esther Atkinson,
twenty-six, returning to her home at
4140 East 11th Street, was similarly ac-
costed. °
“Gee, you’re a nice looking honey,” she
heard the man say softly as her arm was
seized. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt
you if you come with me.”
“Please go away,” she pleaded, trying to
free her arm.
“Better come along quietly,” the man
The area was examined but no clues Janet Blood (above) ordered in an ominous tone, his fingers
found. hit Cleveland residents digging into her arm.
About three weeks Sa on November’ with a terrific impact
“Go away,” she entreated, her voice
The, killer’s®
. To: the more than twenty-five women who were
his: victims he had’ said, “Gee, ‘you’re’ pretty.
I -won’t. hurt you if; you will come with: me’?
~~
a
.
My eK
a Pe ane oes
ltr gst eRe
Witness (left) points to spot in Gordon Park where victim was found. Pistol shot attracted passing
motorist to this spot where girl lay bleeding.
He was young, perhaps less than 20,
and of medium height, about 5’6”. He
was heavy-set, with the estimates of his
weight centering around 160. His face
was round and full, his eyes narrow.
He wore a cap and a tweed suit, but
no topcoat or overcoat, although the
weather had been cold.
Until December 19—and his sixteenth
victims—the Cleveland Terror had used
no weapon, But that night, in his at-
tack on Miss Rose David, 19, as she
was en route to visit an Ashbury Av-
enue friend, he wielded a short length
of lead iron pipe.
He struck Miss David first across the
ribs and then against the head, and a
much worse fate might have been in
store for her but for the timely glare of
the lights of an approaching car which
frightened her attacker off. The motorist
stopped, lifted up Miss David from the
sidewalk, rushed her to a hospital, where
eventually she recovered.
The next night, however, the Terror
changed his weapon from pipe to pis-
tol. Miss Beatrice Gallagher, 23, was
returning at midnight from a dance to
the home of Mr. and Mrs. R. H. Per-
due, where she worked as a maid.
As Miss Gallagher entered the Per-
due yard, the Terror, brandishing a nick-
el-plated revolver, reared up from be-
hind a hedge and ordered the girl:
“Come here, sweetie-gosh, you’ re pret-
ty. Quiet now, or Pll shoot.”
Frightened, but not into obedience,
Miss Gallagher yelled at the top of
her lungs, and her assailant fired at
her five times, then fled. All five shots
took effect. Miss Gallagher was hit in
the shoulder, arm and lung. Happily, her
employers heard the gunfire and rushed
the seriously wounded girl ts Huron
56
Road Hospital, where she received
immediate treatment that saved her life.
The Terror waited two nights, then
used his gun again. Mrs. Mary Pschock,
20 and a bride of three months, finished
addressing the last of her Christmas
cards and decided to take in a movie.
She left her home on East 55th Street
and strolled in the direction of the
nearby Lexington Theater.
As she approached Utica Avenue, a
man darted out from behind a billboard,
to threaten her with a nickel-plated re-
volver and the words: “You won’t be
hurt if you don’t scream.”
Mrs. Pschock, with very good sense,
stalled for time by handing the gun-
man her pocketbook. He took it, ex-
tracted the few dollars it contained
and then seized the young bride, drag-
ging her toward the screening billboard.
When she screamed for help, the Ter-
ror shot her twice, once in the back
and once in the abdomen, then disap-
peared.
Miraculously, Mrs. Pschock was
able to keep her feet— and her head-
and to stagger onward to the theater.
She was rushed to a hospital and, as
in the case of Miss Gallagher, Mrs.
Pschock’s life was saved by the prompt-
ness with which she received medical
attention.
The tales of these two—as well as the
stories of the Terror’s sixteen preced-
ing victims—-were, of course, told to
the police, and for two months now
the department had been the subject
of harsh criticism. For their part, the
police were too busy to take time to
answer the complaints of the general
public.
Among the busiest were Inspector
George Matowitz, in charge of the in-
vestigation, and Detective Lieut. Frank
Story, who had interrogated each of
the eighteen victims and had personal-
ly searched for clues at the scenes of
all eighteen crimes.
But aside from the scant description
he had obtained of the Terror, the lieu-
tenant’s efforts, with but one exception,
had availed him nothing. The except-
ed item or rather items, were the .38
caliber bullets recovered from the per-
sons of Miss Gallagher and Mrs.
Pschock. They all had been fired from
the same revolver! The lieutenant de-
tailed a squad of men to check on re-
cent sales of .38s.
The Terror tooh
holidays, but was
ing in work on th
1930. At 7:30 that
Blood, 16, walke
West 108th Street
had borrowed t
Boulevard.
Soon after Ja:
Boulevard, a ma!
darkness, threater
plated revolver.
tiful. Quiet now
shoot. I want e\
“T have nothi
“Then I'll tak
and caught the ¢
her coat.
Janet scream
The Terror fired
the back, then f]
neighborhood 1
along Clifton By
shot. A moment
lying unconsci
He loaded her 1:
her to St. John
The bullet was
a kidney and to |
aphragm. Doctor
it. Janet’s condit
announced, and
consciousness
and was able
what had happ:
feared that she \
For a variety
teenth crime shi
than had any of
the youngest of 1!
the most seriou
lovely blonde
of William Bloo
student at Wes!
scheduled to :
the month.
Following a:
needed blood fi
tire high scho
marched in a be
offered themsel:
The police mat
raged feelings w1
departmental lea
nearly 900 offic:
day-a-week, twe
hundred uniforn
into plainclothes
patrol in the cit
In addition. <
and slenderer
women’s clothes
dark streets as |
‘ed passing
y the prompt-
ived medical
as well as the
xteen preced-
urse, told to
months now
on the subject
their part, the
take time to
f the general
ere Inspector
arge of the in-
ve Lieut. Frank
gated each of
d had personal-
. the scenes of
int description
rerror, the lieu-
iLone exception,
ng. The except-
5. were the .38
- from the per-
eher and Mrs.
been fired from
e lieutenant de-
to check on re-
The Terror took a breather over the
holidays, but was back at his horrify-
ing in work on the night of January 3,
1930. At 7:30 that evening, Janet Frater
Blood, 16, walked from her home on
West 108th Street to return a book she
had borrowed to friends on Clifton
Boulevard.
Soon after Janet reached Clifton
Boulevard, a man stepped out of the
darkness, threatened her with a nickel-
plated revolver, and said: “Hello, beau-
tiful. Quiet now, and I won’t have to
shoot. I want everything you’ve got.”
“J have nothing,” gasped Janet.
“Then I'll take this,” said the man,
and caught the girl by the fur collar of
her coat.
Janet screamed and jerked away.
The Terror fired once, hitting .her in
the back, then fled. Morris Nathan, a
neighborhood resident, was driving
along Clifton Boulevard and heard the
shot. A moment later he spotted Janet
lying unconscious on the sidewalk.
He loaded her into his car and drove
her to St. John’s Hospital.
The bullet was found to have pierced
a kidney and to have lodged in the di-
aphragm. Doctors hesitated to probe for
it. Janet’s condition was critical, they
announced, and although she regained
consciousness in a matter of hours
and was able to tell Lieutenant Story
what had happened, the doctors still
feared that she would not live.
For a variety of reasons, this nine-
teenth crime shocked Cleveland more
than had any of the others. Janet was
the youngest of the Terror’s victims and
the most seriously injured. She was a
lovely blonde and the only daughter
of William Blood, a widower. An honor
student at West Side High, she was
scheduled to graduate at the end of
the month.
Following announcement that Janet
needed blood for transfusions, the en-
tire high school basketball squad
marched in a body to the hospital and
offered themselves as donors.
The police matched the public’s out-
raged feelings with vigorous action. All
departmental leaves were canceled and
nearly 900 officers were put on seven-
day-a-week, twelve-hour-a-day duty. A
hundred uniformed men were ordered
into plainclothes and assigned to night
patrol in the city’s residential areas.
In addition, a dozen of the younger
and slenderer officers, dressed in
women’s clothes, loitered at night along
dark streets as lures for the Terror. But
this and all other moves failed. The Ter-
ror struck again and again.
On the night of January 4, only
twenty-four hours after shooting Janet
Blood, he accosted another teen-aged
girl on a well-lighted East Side street
between two heavily traveled boule-
vards and forced her into a garage,
where he kept her for a half hour and
then let her go. The girl emerged sob-
bing and desolate.
And then the following night, the Ter-
ror’s victim was Miss Betty Kmetz,
18. At 9:30, she stepped off a streetcar
at East 105th Street and Ashbury Av-
enue (the same neighborhood in which
Rose David had been set upon two
weeks before) and proceeded toward
the East Boulevard home where she
worked as a maid.
A man with a nickel-plated revolver
halted her and tried to pull her into a
dark driveway. Miss Kmetz kicked
and fought and strove to knock the
gun from her assailant’s hand. Then sud-
denly, she turned and ran toward a
filling station, where she fell in a
faint. An attendant called the police,
who immediately blocked off the whole
area. But somehow the Terror slipped
through.
With these new atrocities bringing the
roving sex monster’s attacks up to twen-
ty-one, a Cleveland American Legion
executive called upon every ex-ser-
viceman to assist in the search for the
Terror “so that Cleveland will be safe
for our womenfolk.”
So far as Janet Blood was concerned
the appeal was in vain. On January
17, Janet underwent a last resort oper-
ation for the removal of the Terror’s
bullet from her diaphragm. Before she
went on the table, Janet had a period
of clarity. She appeared resigned to
death and lamented only that “now poor
Daddy will be alone.”
The bullet removed from Janet turned
out to be of .38 caliber, but so bat-
tered that it was valueless ballistical-
ly; experts could not swear that it had
been fired from the same gun that had
wounded Miss Gallagher and Mrs.
Pschock. On January 19, two days after
the operation, Janet Blood died.
Coincident with Janet’s death, Acting
City Manager Harold H. Burton took
personal charge of the Police Depart-
ment. Lieutenant Story was given a
squad of twelve picked men and in-
structed to devote himself exclusively
to the hunt for the Terror.
The lieutenant and his aides studied
the records of every man under 25 ar-
rested in Cleveland during the past
few years and interrogated all who were
not in prison. In addition, the lieutenant
pinpointed a map of the city, marking
the areas in which the twenty-one at-
tacks had occurred. The bulk of them,
he found, had occurred in a rough rec-
tangle bounded by East 105th and
79th Streets and by Hough and Park
Avenues. Then the lieutenant ordered
Detectives George Clark and Orley May
to re-appraise every other crime,
whether solved or not, committed with-
in that area in the past few months.
For a starter, May and Clark went to
work on four burglaries, and in their in-
quiries concerning one dug up some-
thing interesting. On December 4, just
sixteen days before the Terror first used
a gun, an East 82nd Street tire shop
had been entered and a few tubes stolen.
The loot was small and little attention
had been given the case at the time.
Since then, however, the proprietor of
the tire shop had discovered his .38
nickel-plated revolver missing from the
drawer in which he kept it.
“Do you suspect anybody?” one of
the detectives now asked him.
“Well, yes,” the tire shop man replied
reluctantly. “Last summer, I had a helper
and he is the only person I can think
of who knew where I hid that gun.
Again, he wasn’t the most honest fel-
low in the world; I missed a few dol-
lars from the cash register a couple of
times and I had to let him go. He was
surly, and when I fired him he mut-
tered something about getting even with
me. Now if it was Eddie who broke in
and took those tubes on December 4,
maybe he swiped the gun at the same
time.”
“Eddie?”
“Edward Ralph was his name.”
“How old was he?”
“Nineteen, maybe twenty.”
“What did he look like?”
“Medium size, but heavily built. He
had a round face and sort of narrow
eyes.”
“Where did he live?” pressed Offi-
cer Clark, who realized the descrip-
tion and age matched the sketchy out-
line of the Terror.
The tire shop proprietor checked his
records and supplied the address of a
rooming house a couple of blocks away.
“But I would be surprised if he was still
there,” he said.
“You haven’t seen him recently?”
“Not since I fired him.”
57
“Maybe you know the names of a
couple of his friends?”
This question was met by a shake of
the head. “He didn’t make friends eas-
ily and he was always complaining he
didn’t have a girl. But that didn’t stop
him from talking about them, girls, I
mean. He was a great boaster about
what he would do if he got himself a
girl.” Then the tire dealer remembered
something. “When Eddie wasn’t work-
ing, he used to hang out now and then
at night in that gas station on 79th
Street.”
The detectives thanked their infor-
mant and took their departure. They
checked at the rooming house, to en-
counter the expected. Edward Ralph had
ducked out of the place in October,
owing rent, and his present whereabouts
were unknown.
But at the 79th Street filling station,
open all night, Clark and May had
better luck. A night attendant knew
Ralph and had seen him pass the place
recently at 2 or 3 a.m. Moreover, the
attendant was of the opinion that Ralph
was living in a rooming house in the
neighborhood.
Clark and May consulted with Lieu-
tenant Story, who began to see a ray
of encouragement. So far, close to 200
men had been questioned in connection
with the Terror crimes, but the Ed-
ward Ralph angle looked like the best
bet yet. The lieutenant instructed Clark
and May to frequent the filling station
until Ralph was again sighted.
This the officers did and their vigil
met with success at 1 o’clock the morn-
ing of January 28 more than three
months after the first of the Terror’s
twenty-one crimes. The detectives were
concealed in the filling station office
when the attendant, who had been co-
operating with them fully, hurried in
to inform them that Ralph had just
passed.
Clark and May followed at a dis-
creet distance. A few blocks away
they observed their quarry enter a room-
ing house on Wade Park Avenue, and
then, a few moments later, a light
went on in a ground floor window at
the rear of the building.
One officer boosted the other up,
and Ralph was seen reading in bed.
Clark remained on the scene, while May
telephoned Lieutenant Story. The lat-
ter appeared in short order, accompa-
nied by two other detectives. At 1:45,
the police entered the rooming house
and took Ralph into custody. “Where’s
58
the gun?” Story demanded, after a
search had failed to disclose it.
“What gun?” asked Ralph. His star-
tled, then pugnacious expression chang-
ing to one of pained innocence. “And
what’s this all about anyway breaking
into a guy’s room in the middle of the
night?”
“You'll find out,” said Story. “All
right, boys, take him down to head-
quarters, and we'll have a few of those
women look him over.”
Between 9 a.m. and noon, Edward
Ralph was paraded before a succes-
sion of the Terror victims. All saw some-
thing familiar about him, although
several felt they could not positively
identify him. A number of the women
who had been actually raped asked to
be excused from further participation
in the proceedings; should they be re-
quired to testify in open court the ex-
perience would embarrass them terri-
bly.
On the other hand, Miss Gallagher
and Mrs. Pschock, who had been
wounded by the Terror’s gun but
not further molested, were certain that
it had been Ralph who shot them
and declared themselves willing to
mount the witness stand and swear to
it.
For a minute or so, the prisoner lis-
tened stolidly to these two latter ac-
cusers and said nothing. Then with the
utmost coolness, he began apologiz-
ing. “I’m very sorry, ladies. I really
had no desire to hurt you and would-
n’t have if you hadn’t resisted me.
You’ll recall that I warned you. I or-
dered you not to scream and yet you
insisted on doing so. I had no other
choice but to pull the trigger in an at-
tempt to quiet you.”
The women gasped and Lieutenant
Story’s eyebrows went up. “Are you
ready to sign a confession, Ralph?”
The prisoner declared that he was
but only in connection with the wound-
ing of Miss Gallagher and Mrs.
Pschock. He denied the other attacks,
some of which had resulted in rape, and
he disclaimed vehemently the fatal
shooting of Janet Blood.
For the time being, Lieutenant Story
took what he could get. Ralph dictat-
ed and signed a statement admitting to
the Gallagher and Pschock crimes. “On
both nights I was drunk,” he said.
“Whenever I’ve had a few drinks I
begin to think of women.”
“Now what about the gun?” Story
pressed, once the confession had been
obtained. “Where is it?”
“] threw it in the lake.”
“Where in the lake.”
“Off the Ninth Street pier.”
“When did you throw it there?”
“The day before Christmas.”
“Did it make a splash?”
“Yes, quite a splash. I was afraid
somebody might hear.”
Story moved a step nearer the pris-
oner and said coldly, “Ralph, you’re
lying. The lake has been frozen solid
since early December. Where is that
gun?”
The prisoner flushed and replied
lamely, “I hid it in a friend’s house
and I didn’t want to get him in trou-
ble.” Then he named the friend, and
the address and added: “It’s under a
board in the cellar.”
Lieutenant Story dispatched detec-
tives to search the house in question.
Turning back to Ralph, he inquired:
“When did you hide the gun there?”
“The day before Christmas.
“You're going to stick to that date,
are you?”
“Why not? I remember it very well.
It was a couple of days after I shot
Mrs. Pschock and I decided to put the
gun away so I wouldn't shoot any-
body else. Why shouldn’t I stick to
that date?”
Story sighed deeply. “Ralph, you're
lying again. You say you disposed of
the gun the day before Christmas be-
cause that is well ahead of the night
of January 3, when Janet Blood was
shot, and you know the girl is dead.
Where were you the night of January
3
Ralph listed the names of a number
of bars to account for his time be-
tween darkness and midnight (the Blood
shooting haé occurred at 7:30) and re-
cited in detail the number of drinks he
had had in each. It was too pat a story.
“Where were you the night of Janu-
ary 6?” the lieutenant asked him sud-
denly.
The prisoner looked puzzled. “Why,
J—I don’t know. What happened that
night?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you ask me about
it?”
Story smiled thinly. “I merely won-
der why you recall so clearly the one
night and have no recollection of the
other.”
“But the Blood girl was killed and I
was afraid I might be suspected. I made
it a point to think over my movements
No |
Magnifie
enough |
Now you
recipes,
faction G
C.0.D.'s
Rouses
weeks fc
on the 3rd so I’d be able to give an
account of myself.”
Story was disbelieving. “She wasn’t
killed—not right off. She didn’t die until
more than two weeks later. Ralph,
you're trying to dodge a murder rap,
but I’m going to charge you with mur-
der regardless. You appear willing
enough to go to prison, but you’re
scared stiff of the chair—and I’m going
to send you there.”
In a vigorous attempt to make good
on this avowal, Lieutenant Story ran
into difficulty, even though Ralph’s gun
was found in the cellar of his friend’s
home. Ralph, the friend declared, had
visited there both on December 24,
and January 10 and might have left
the weapon without his (the friend’s)
knowledge on either occasion.
The county prosecutor took a dim
view of putting Ralph on trial for mur-
der; there was by no means enough
evidence, he contended, to expect a jury
to convict. Moreover, while Ralph was
unable thoroughly to substantiate his
alibi, the state could not disprove it;
Ralph might have visited the bars he
named without anyone remembering.
And lastly, because of the battered
condition of the bullet removed from
Janet Blood’s body and its lack of value
ballistically, the state would be unable
to prove, as they were in the Gal-
lagher and Pschock cases, that the
bullet had been fired from Ralph’s re-
volver.
This decision sickened Lieutenant
Story—in his opinion, a vicious killer
was escaping his just desserts—and
yet the detective had to accept it. In a
sense, a compromise was effected. On
February 21, 1930, before Common
Pleas Judge Frank Phillips, Ralph was
permitted to plead guilty to two charges
of assault with intent to kill (the Gal-
lagher and Pschock cases) and Judge
Phillips sentenced him to serve two
indeterminate terms of from one to
twenty years in the Ohio Penitentiary,
at Columbus.
The state Pardon and Parole Com-
mission was supplied with Ralphs’ com-
plete history, and all in Cleveland felt
assured the commissioners would never
act except in accordance with the rec-
ommendations made. Ralph’s sen-
tence would run consecutively—not
concurrently—and he would be re-
quired to serve the maximum. Thus
Cleveland could rest easy, so far as
the Terror was concerned, for the next
forty years. ,
60
But the city, as it happened, enjoyed
only a brief period of rest, for Ralph es-
caped from the Ohio Penitentiary on
November 19, 1931, something short
of two years after he had been sent
there. In the interim, Frank Story had
been promoted from lieutenant to cap-
tain of detectives, and in the latter ca-
pacity he ordered a day-and-night watch
kept for the fugitive.
If Edward Ralph returned to Cleve-
land, his presence was not noted. He
remained at large not quite three months
and on February 5, 1932, was picked
up in Los Angeles following a com-
plaint lodged by a woman there that
he had molested her in a movie house.
Held, he gave a false name, but his
fingerprints revealed his true identity
and he was returned to the Ohio Pen-
itentiary, with the escape stripe still
another mark against him.
In less than ten years, however—on
January 27, 1941—Edward Ralph was
on the loose again. He had been paroled!
Ralph returned to Cleveland, obtained
desultory employment and professed a
desire to rehabilitate himself.
Frank Story was by now inspector
in charge of the Detective Bureau and
he instructed his men to keep the one-
time Terror under constant surveillance.
But more time passed and Ralph did
nothing to warrant this extraordinary
expenditure of police manpower. On the
contrary, he married in 1942 and his
wife presented him with a baby. To all
appearances he had accomplished the
metamorphosis from fiend to worth-
while citizen.
Then, in January, 1943, Ralph dis-
appeared and his wife filed an action
for divorce against him charging gross
neglect and extreme cruelty. He did
not show up to answer the action.
None of his former acquaintances in
Cleveland knew what had happened
to him.
Came the night of Thursday, June 3,
1943, and related events transpired in
a small apartment house on East 82nd
Street, Cleveland, the land to the rear
of which dropped off sharply into dense-
ly planted Gordon Park.
Mrs. Mabel Martoff owned the build-
ing and with her daughter, Josephine,
occupied the front one of the two
apartments on the ground floor. At 7 0’-
clock that evening, Mrs. Martoff’s wid-
owed sister, Mrs. Dorothy Brady, the
latter’s pretty daughter, Mary Jane,
and three men friends came for sup-
per.
After supper, the men decided to
play pinochle, and Mrs. Brady, Mrs.
Martoff and Josephine Martoff stepped
around the corner to the Yale Theater
on St. Clair Avenue to take in the
movies. A double bill was playing,
and in the light of what happened the
titles of the two pictures—” Quiet
Please, Murder,” and “Meanest Man
in the World”—were bitterly ironic.
Mary Jane Brady neither played cards
nor attended the movies. She went out
on the back porch of the apartment
house and sat; the evening was warm,
moonlit and pleasant.
Not long after 10 o’clock, the movie
party returned, to find the men still
absorbed in their pinochle. Mrs. Brady
asked about Mary Jane and was in-
formed that the girl had not come in
from the back porch. “About a half hour
ago I was out there for a minute to get
a breath of air,” one of the card play-
ers said, “and Mary Jane was talking
with a small boy, a lad about 8 years
old.”
“Oh, that would be young Frankie
Logan,” Mrs. Martoff explained. “His
mother rented my rear apartment on this
floor a couple of months ago.”
“Just the two of them?” somebody
asked. “What, is Mrs. Logan widowed?
Divorced?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Mrs. Brady went to the back porch,
but found neither her daughter nor lit-
tle Frankie Logan. She returned through
the hallway of the apartment building
and stepped into the street. Mary Jane
was nowhere to be seen. Worried,
Mrs. Brady walked down to the cor-
ner drug store; perhaps Mary Jane had
gone for a soda. But the girl was not
at the drugstore.
Mrs. Brady returned to the Martoff
apartment and communicated her dis-
tress to the others. “Perhaps Mary
Jane is in visiting the Logans,” Mrs.
Martoff suggested. “Wait. I'll go knock
on their door.” Mrs. Martoff did this
and came back with a puzzled frown.
“J don’t understand; there’s no an-
swer, although I pounded. It surprises
me that Mrs. Logan would go off and
leave little Frankie alone. Perhaps he
is asleep in there. At any rate, the
lights are off. The rear windows are
completely dark.”
The men in the group volunteered to
go out and search the streets for Mary
Jane, but the search availed them noth-
ing. Coincident with their return, short-
ly before midnight, Mrs. Logan entered
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to pay the bill on
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When informed
Could She Sleep in Desert Sun? (Continued trom Page
ex-Mrs. Sands had married Corcoran
in February of that year after working
as a waitress in Phoenix following her
divorce from Sands. After the marriage
she and Corcoran had traveled quite a
bit and recently had been living in Al-
buquerque.
*“Ww/4s there any reason, any partic-
ular reason, for them to have
stopped here on their way to Oregon?”
Sheriff Boies asked.
“No, not that I know of,” Sands re-
plied. “Reatha did pick up a-suitcase
that I had been keeping for her, but I
don't think she was particularly con-
cerned over it.”
“I guess they just stopped in for a
visit."" Mrs. Cowan added.
“What about the money?” her hus-
band suggested.
“What money?”
“Oh, just some money Reatha owed
me,” Mrs. Cowan replied. “She wrote
me about a week ago and said she would
leave it with me when they stopped on
their way to Oregon. She didn’t say
anything about it, though, when they
were here, and I didn’t want to mention
it. It wasn’t much.”
“Did they say where they were going
in Oregon?”
“Why, yes, Reatha did tell me. It was
Shevlin. She said she was going to visit
her brother. Robert, she called him,
Robert Mott. She said she was going to
visit a niece, too, but I don’t remember
her name.”
By now it was growing late, so Sheriff
Boies ordered a car for the trio and sent
them home. Before he left, he went
through the records and learned that
Sands had been telling the truth about
his former wife’s suicide attempt. She
had shot herself in the side while seated
in Sands’ car in front of their home.
Although critically injured, she had re-
covered with no lasting ill effects.
Next morning, while going over the
autopsy report, Sheriff Boies got confir-
mation of the possibility that Corcoran,
too, might be lying out on the desert.
A telephone report from the Ehrenberg
checking station at the California bor-
der revealed that a car bearing the
Corcoran vehicle’s license number had
entered California the afternoon of
July 5, carrying three persons. And
none of the three could be Corcoran.
Sheriff Boies left immediately for
Ehrenberg. Officials there probably
wouldn't be able to remember very
much about the occupants of the car,
but he wanted to learn all he could.
He was somewhat surprised, however,
on his arrival. .
se SURE. I remember the car,” one of
the agriculture inspectors said.
“We get all kinds of people here, and
one thing about them makes them all
alike—they all seem to be about ready
to blow a gasket at being held up while
we go through their baggage. But these
three were different.”
“How?”
“Well, it’s pretty hard to put your
finger on it. These three young fellows
were in a hurry, just like everybody else.
But they didn’t grumble about having
Tapping-In
Meanwhile, other uniformed officers
and plainclothesmen renewed their
canvass along every street in the im-
mediate vicinity of the Reliable Steel
Company. But it did no good.
KERR conferred with the Chief. The
four men were hiding somewhere on
the East Side, they decided. They
compared the robbery slaying with
Similar cases and came up with sev-
eral prospective leads.
“Our best bet so far is that Beatty’s
car was used,” Matowitz said. “But it
may have been loaned to or stolen by
44
SS
to open their bags. They had them
opened up and dumped out on the table
before the car hardly stopped.”
Sheriff Boies learned that the bag-
gage had contained the usual miscel-
laneous stuff, and that the inspector
couldn't remember whether any -wom-
en’s clothing had been there.
Boies did determine to his satisfac-
tion that none of the passengers of the
car could have been Corcoran. All three
occupants were described as “young
fellows, hardly out of their teens” and
by no stretch of the imagination could
any of them have been the pint-sized
Corcoran.
Only one conclusion could be drawn:
Ed Corcoran hadn’t crossed the Cali-
fornia border, in his own car, at least.
And the record showed that a car bear-
ing Corcoran’s number had passed the
checking station. ,
So Corcoran, possibly, was dead.
It was like adding two and two. Add-
ing up and down, that is. But in his -
work Sheriff Boies didn’t add up and
down. He interpolated, he cross-
checked, he tried all the combinations
possible.
There was a matter of time, for in-
stance. His autopsy report showed that
the killing took place near midnight on
July 4. The Corcoran car bearing the
three youths didn’t cross the border
into California until some sixteen hours
later, much longer than would have
been required to drive from Wicken-
burg to Ehrenberg. What had the kill-
ers done in the meantime? Just young
fellows, the inspector had said. May-
be, scared, they had driven around
aimlessly, desperately trying to figure
out what to do after striking down the
Corcorans and disposing of their bodies
hurriedly on the desert.
Sheriff Boies discounted the possibil-
ity that the bodies could have been dis-
posed of separately. Mrs. Corcoran’s
body had been left as if in great haste,
with little effort at real concealment.
It was logical that the other victim, if
Corcoran, too, had been slain, would
have been dumped in the same way.
HEADING back toward Phoenix, the
Sheriff left orders with Deputy Fu-
gatt in Wickenburg to search the area
where Mrs, Corcoran’s body was found.
“Don’t miss a bet,” he said. “If
Corcoran’s dead, he’s bound to be some-
place around there.”
He already had given California of-
ficials a second alert to be on the look-
out for the Corcoran car. A telephone
call to Mrs, Corcoran’'s brother, Robert
‘ Mott, in Shevlin, Oregon, confirmed
what he already knew, that Corcoran
had not arrived there on the expected
visit.
A call from the Albuquerque, New
Mexico, police the next morning added
a@ new complication. The Albuquerque
police had discovered the missing Cor-
coran automobile in their city.
Again it didn’t add up. Sheriff Boies
wanted to know why the Ehrenberg
checking station had a record of Cor-
coran’s car having entered California,
but no record of its having been driven
back across the border headed in the
on Murder (Continued from Page 36) OFFICI
the men we’re looking for. If so, it’s
likely those men lived somewhere
around East Sixty-Fifth. It’s just a
guess, but since we have so few leads ¢o
go on, we ought to try it.” ‘
Kerr pulled more men from other
areas to the 65th Street section. For-
merly known as Little Hollywood, this
area is notorious for its police char-
acters. However, it likewise is popu-
lated by respectable rooming-house
owners.
About four o'clock, the telephone rang
in Kerr’s office. It was Detective
Sullivan.
direction of Albuquerque. He placed a
call to border officials, requesting an
immediate check of the records. It was
an embarrassed inspector who had to
admit that the records were all wrong.
The Corcoran car hadn’t passed into
California, The license number of the
car carrying the three youths had been
read incorrectly during the initial
check made at the Sheriff's request.
The Sheriff didn’t waste time be-
moaning the bad break that had given
the killer even more time to make his
getaway. Sheriff Boies returned to his
earlier theory that since Ed Corcoran’s
body hadn’t been found near that of his
wife, hastily disposed of by a jittery
er or killers, then Corcoran was
alive.
The Sheriff called Albuquerque to get
more information to add to the sketchy
bulletin he had received. He learned
that the car had been found on a used-
car lot, to which it had been sold by a
slight man with blond hair, Albuquer-
que police were able to give the addi-
tional information that the seller had
checked into an Albuquerque auto
court on July 5, at an unspecified time,
and had checked out on July 7, leaving
some woman’s clothing and cooking
utensils.
Could the slight blond man who had
disposed of the Corcoran car in Albu-
querque be the missing Corcoran?
Sheriff Boies thought he not only could
be but was. Corcoran had been de-
scribed as having black hair. Close in-
spection of a photograph of the man
showed otherwise. On a glossy print,
his curly hair looked dark, but defi-
nitely not black.
GHERIFF BOIES theorized that a
jumpy killer fleeing from apprehen-
sion wouldn’t pay too much attention
to his appearance, not even the dapper
Corcoran. Suppose Corcoran habitual-
ly plastered his hair with oil, then neg-
lected to use it. Wouldn’t his hair ap-
pear light, light enough to be called
blond even as it had appeared dark
enough to be called black when oiled?
The Sheriff called in a deputy. “What
color is this paper?” he asked, holding
up a scratch pad.
“Why, it’s white.”
“Now what color is it?” the Sheriff
asked, holding the pad up in the light
with a dead-white piece of chalk beside
it.
“Well, I don’t know, Sheriff, but it
sure isn’t white, is it?”
“Just proving a theory of mine, that’s
all. Things don’t always appear as they
really are.”
Sheriff Boies sent a photograph of
Corcoran to the Albuquerque Police De-
partment, then dug deeper into the
missing man's past. He found, among
other things, that Corcoran once had
been an inmate of the Washington
State Reformatory and was known vari-
ously as Harold Hale, Cecil Wysong and
Pattie. He also learned that title to the
car in which the Corcorans had left
Phoenix had been transferred from Mrs.
Corcoran to her husband in April, two
months after the marriage of the
couple.
“We've got Beatty in his apartment,”
he announced. ‘‘He’s home. He came
in a few minutes ago, and said he was
out drinking with his friends. He
wasn’t driving a car.”
“Bring him in for questioning,” Kerr
ordered.
About a half hour later, Carlson and
Sullivan escorted the 35-year-old steel-
worker into Detective Headquarters at
East 22nd Street and Payne Avenue.
Beatty’s eyes were bloodshot, his clothes
wrinkled and his felt hat crumpled.
“Where were you this afternoon?”
Kerr asked him.
Read I¢ First In
27) OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
Sheriff Boies next day requested
Deputy County Attorney Fred J. Hyder
to prepare a murder charge against
‘Corcoran. Then Boies received the con-
firmation he needed. A telegram from
Police Chief P. J. Dugan of Albuquer-
que read:
“Photo Corcoran identified as subject
Staying in auto court and selling car.”
From then on it was a matter of find-
ing Corcoran, whose trail led into no-
where from Albuquerque. A tip that
the wanted man had been seen in De-
troit, where he once worked, proved
false. The FBI joined the search on a
warrant charging unlawful flight to
avoid prosecution. Months wore on,
then a year.
Finally, exactly thirteen months after
the discovery cf his wife's body on the
Arizona desert, Corcoran was appre-
hended by FBI men in Omaha, Ne-
braska, pursuing his printing trade.
When arraigned in Omaha, he denied
the charge.
Ate the elusive fugitive knew all the
dodges of the habitual criminal. He
refused to waive extradition with char-
acteristic cockiness. He did admit, how-
ever, that he had quarreled with his
wife shortly after they left Phoenix, but
he claimed that she had left the car
voluntarily near Wickenburg. And he
callously admitted having sold his wife’s
ring later in Albuquerque.
Returned to Phoenix, and then taken
to Wickenburg for arraignment before
Justice of the Peace Westall, Corcoran
refused to waive preliminary hearing.
“If this is a murder rap,” he said, “I’m
going to take all the rights I’ve got
coming to me.”
Date of his trial on a first-degree
murder charge was fixed for November
15, 1949, in Maricopa County Superior
Court.
But the taxpayers were saved the ex-
pense. Less than a month before the
trial, on October 22, Corcoran was shot
and killed in an attempt to break jail.
A plucky courthouse watchman, Tom
Stowe, shot Corcoran and Edward Mc-
Ewen, another accused slayer, killing
both as they attempted to overpower
him after breaking out of their jail
tank and locking up the jailer.
(For the complete story of this at-
tempted jailbreak and the three-hour
gun battle inside the Maricopa County
Courthouse, see Page 28.)
After the shooting was all over, Sher-
iff Boies said the case of the body on
the desert was a closed book. He re-
ported that Corcoran had been over-
heard by a trusty to boast of having
killed his wife. They'd never pin it on
him, he said, and what if they did?
There wasn't a jail that could hold him.
Sheriff Boies looked at the still fig-
ure on the floor. “For once he didn’t
get the breaks,” he said.
Inasmuch as they were completely
innocent tourists falsely identified in
this investigation, Ed, Cynthia and
Beatrice Goodall have been given fic-
titious names in this story. The name
Benjamin Goodall also is fictitious.
Read It First In
AL DETECTIVE STORIES
“In a couple of taverns. Why?”
‘“We're trying to find some men who
stuck up a steel company and murdered
one of the owners. They got away ina
blue Chevrolet we traced to you. So
let’s have the truth in this thing.”
Beatty’s eyes widened. He looked
fearfully into the faces of the officers
gathered about him.
“I don’t know anything about it! °
There must be some mistake, fellows. If
you let me out of here I can straighten
up the whole thing.”
“You have a fine chance,” Kerr said.
“Where’s your car?”
“T don’t know.”
“That's a likely story. You want us
to believe that you own a new Chevrolet
and don’t know where it is?”
“A friend has it,” Beatty said finally.
“He needed it for an emergency so I let
him take it.”
“Why didn’t you report the accident
involving your car last week?”
HIS took Beatty by surprise. He de-
nied that he had been in a traffic
mishap. When the detectives chal-
lenged his response, Beatty changed his
manner from surprise to defiance.
“What you fellows trying to do?’ he
demanded. “You say a holdup and
murder were committed and out of the
blue sky you pick me up onit. Just be-
cause I'm not working now you think
I’m turning to crime. Well, that isn’t
so, see? I had nothing to do with any-
thing like that.”
“Then who has your car?”
“Edsel Muncy,” was the crisp reply.
“And where do we find him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, now!” Kerr exclaimed.
“Quit shielding him! He’s wanted for
robbery and murder. Do you want to
face the same charges?”
Beatty sprang angrily to his feet, his
face livid and his fists clenched.
“You can’t trick me into anything like
that!” he shouted. “I tell you this is
the truth! . I haven’t seen my car for
nine days. Edsel took the keys from my
bureau drawer and said he wanted to do
a few errands. That's the last I saw of
him or the car since then.”
“Where does he live?” Kerr persisted.
“In a rooming-house between Wade
Park Avenue and Euclid,” Beatty re-
plied.
Kerr snapped on his radio and re-
layed the information to the cruisers on
the street. Then he ordered Beatty fin-
ger-printed and a thorough check made
of his background.
“Who were the men you were drink-
ing with this afternoon?” Carlson asked.
“Two guys I used to work with, Sam
Perini and Jack Nagy,” Beatty replied.
“But they don’t know Muncy.”
“We'll decide that. Whose car did you
use today?”
“Perini’s. Look, we just had a few
beers and took care of some union busi-
ness. We had nothing to do with that
crime,” Beatty pleaded.
UST then an officer walked in with a
bandanna handkerchief and Beat-
ty’s overcoat.
“We found this in his coat, Boss,”
the detective reported.
“The same kind the gunmen used in
the holdup,” Kerr remarked.
Beatty shook his head sadly and
shrugged his shoulders.
“Lock him up,” Kerr ordered.
After Beatty had been taken away,
Kerr said, “We've got to find that car.
I suggest we concentrate between East
Fifty-Fifth Street on the west, East
Seventy-Ninth on the east, Superior on
the north and Euclid on the south.
Beatty lived on Sixty-Fifth and he says
Muncy roamed around there, too.”
Cruisers were ordered to converge on
the area, which covered approximately
three square miles. As evening ap-
proached, the intense cold frosted
windshields and chilled the officers
thoroughly.
Sergeant Cavanaugh and Patrolman
Dunch wished they were home in their
heated living-rooms, not out on a stub-
born manhunt for the four bandits.
‘¢) HOPE it’s worth all this,” Dunch
remarked as they wheeled into
East 82nd Street from Wade Park.
Shadows were falling-across the snow-
and ice-covered street and men were
scurrying home. Cavanaugh turned
his head from one. side to the other.
Dozens of cars were parked against the
ice-crusted curbs. It was difficult to
determine if any of them was the get-
away car, because many of the license
plates were obscured by snow.
They turned into Linwood Avenue.
About halfway into the next block,
Cavanaugh placed his hand on Dunch’s
arm. He pointed to a Chevrolet sedan
parked near by.
“That looks like it could be the one,”
he muttered.
Dunch pressed the brake carefully to
avoid skidding. Cavanaugh left the
cruiser and approached the vehicle. It
was a blue Chevrolet, all right. It had
a dent on the right side and several
scratches along the body.
He opened the door near the wheel
and glanced about. Inside were sev-
eral burned-out matches, a pair of
pliers and some rope. }
Returning to the cruiser, Cavanaugh
suggested they notify Headquarters of
their discovery. Then the Sergeant
told Dunch to pull alongside the curb.
He planned to ask at each house on the
street for signs of a suspect.
“Keep your eyes open,” he warned
his partner.
Cavanaugh tried a few houses but
learned nothing.
He was leaving the last apartment-
house on that street when he noticed
a man in his twenties walking slowly up
the street, peering furtively over his
shoulder, then quickening his pace.
Suddenly the young man slackened his
walking speed, stooped over and picked
up some snow. Walking slowly, he
pressed it into a ball. The man wore
a wrinkled felt hat and his coat was
unbuttoned.
“That guy is pretty big to be playing
with snowballs,” Cavanaugh muttered.
“Rither he’s drunk or nuts. Anybody
knows the snow isn’t packing when it’s
this cold.”
Cavanaugh followed the man, who
tossed away the snowball and broke
into a sort of half run, half walk. The
officer sprinted abreast of him. Flash-
ing his badge, Cavanaugh halted the
stranger.
“pe YOU know anything about that
blue Chevy?” Cavanaugh asked.
The youth shook his head.
“What were you doing with that
snowball?”
“I always. make ‘snowballs in the
Winter.”
“Sounds screwy to me,” the Sergeant
declared. ‘“Weather’s too cold. Snow
doesn’t pack too good. Where do you
live?”
“Who wants to know?” the youth in-
quired brashly. He backed away, hand
reaching for his rear trousers pocket.
Cavanaugh thrust out his. right foot
and the youth went sprawling on the
icy walk.
_ “Another move like that, Buddy, and
T’ll use my gun. You'd better get up
and come with me.”
“Okay, okay, I'll go,” the young man
muttered. ““What’s the idea? What did
I do?”
The youth was taken to the Fifth
District Police Station at East 105th
Street and Euclid Avenue and turned
over to the officers there for question-
ing. The license number of the blue
Chevrolet tallied with the Beatty car
and it was towed to Police Headquar-
ters downtown, where finger-print men
went to work on it immediately.
At the Fifth District station, the sus-
pect was identified as Sam LaDuca. Of-
ficers found a .38 Colt automatic pistol
in a trousers pocket. Further investi-
gation disclosed he had served time in
the Ohio State Reformatory at Mans-
field. However, he vehemently denied
any knowledge of the holdup and mur-
der that afternoon. LaDuca’s gun was
not the murder weapon, rapid tests
soon established.
After LaDuca’s arrest, more police
cars were dispatched to the Linwood
and 82nd Street area.
About a half hour later a radio car
called in to Headquarters.
“There’s a man prowling around
Corey Avenue and East Eighty-First
Street,” the radio officer reported. “A
woman just stopped my car on the
street and said she saw him in her
back yard.”
Additional cars were sent to the
scene and in a matter of minutes the
area was surrounded, Spellacy and
Gilmore, covered by other officers, en-
In this yard, the back yard
of the Komorek home, police
got their first hint of the
truth in the kidnaping of the
Komorek baby. See Pg. 20
tered the building the radio officer re-
ferred them to. It was a four-suite
apartment building. They searched
the place from cellar to roof as well as
the yard but found no sign of anyone.
pmo od left by a back door. As he
was about to turn for the street, he
spotted the head of a man peering from
behind the garage.
Hugging the side of the garage, he
crept to the rear.
Suddenly there was a scream.
Rushing forward, he almost collided
with a slender man who was pointing a
gun at a terrified housewife.
“Throw ’em up!” the officer ordered
The gunman wheeled to face the
muzzle of the officer’s service gun. His
pistol dropped from his gloved hand.
He was taken into custody and
whisked to the 105th Street Station.
After brief questioning, he was identi-
fied as James Esson, a former Mans-
field Reformatory inmate.
“What do you know about the Relia-
ble Steel Company job?” Carlson asked
him.
“Nothing.”
“Why did you hold up that woman?”
Esson refused to answer that ques-
tion, He refused to say anything fur-
ther.
Two men were under arrest now.
Were they part of the gang?
Carlson paced the floor in the district
police station.
“We can't quit now,” he muttered.
“We've got to do something fast.” He
picked up the telephone.
“Give me the record room at Central.”
he asked.
His call put through, Carlson asked
the dates served by LaDuca, Esson and
Muncy in the reformatory. After about
ten minutes, the clerk reported that the
three men had been inmates during the
same period.
With this pertinent information,
Carlson again questioned James Esson.
“Where’s Muncy?” he demanded.
“Who?” Esson asked.
“You heard me. Your pal, Edsel
Muncy, the guy who stole Frank Beat-
ty’s car.”
“J don’t know what you're talkinz
about.”
“Look, smart guy,” the Sergeant said
confidently, ‘come off it. We're on to
you and your pals. We found the car
and it’s loaded with prints. LaDuca
is locked up and don’t think he isn’t
talking. And don’t tell me you don't
know him. All of you did time together
in Mansfield.”
ge te passed a bony hand over his
dark features, inhaled on his cigar-
ette and then slumped back in his chair.
“You win, you win,” he declared. “We
pulled the job all right. But I didn’t kill
that guy.”
“All right, who did?”
“J_J don’t know,” Esson stammered.
“What was that gun doing in your
hand then?”
“T had a toy pistol when I went into
the Reliable Steel plant.”
“Look, Esson,” the Sergeant said,
“you're in this up to your neck. A man's
been murdered during a robbery. You
were in on it and that’s pretty serious.
Why don’t you help us finish this thing
right now? Eventually we'll catch your
other partners—just like we nabbed
you and LaDuca.”’
Esson sighed and lighted another
cigarette. “Muncy was at the wheel
and LaDuca, myself and Ralph Reed
went inside the plant,” he said. “La-
Duca frisked the old man and Reed
was going to take the younger guy's
dough when his gun went off. He did
the shooting. But we didn’t mean to
kill anybody. Honest, we didn’t.”
“Where’s Muncy?”
“T left him a couple of hours ago
near Corey and Eighty-First Street.”
“And how about Reed?”
45
“The last I heard he was running
down Eighty-Second Street toward Eu-
clid.”
With this information, the police
moved into a virtual house-to-house
canvass of the Corey, Linwood and
82nd Street section. Again Gilmore
and Spellacy led the hunt. With night
already settled on the city, the job was
becoming more and more difficult.
Gilmore and Spellacy went first to
the garage where Esson had been
caught. Entering the garage, they
spotted a small object in a corner. It
was the toy pistol, shaped almost ex-
actly like an actual weapon.
As Gilmore was about to re-fasten the
door, he heard a sound of someone mov-
ing inside.
“Come on out!” he shouted.
There was no reply.
“Who's in there?”
Still no answer.
The detectives crept to a window, but
could not see a thing. Gilmore whipped
his revolver from its holster and fired
two shots in the air. Pulling open the
door, he ordered whoever was inside to
come out.
SHUFFLING sound broke the still-
ness and, hands in air, a slender
man, grime-covered and _ trembling,
emerged into the pale light. Gilmore
shoved the man under a lamppost in the
alley. A few questions disclosed that he
was Edsel Muncy.
Taken at once to the East 105th
Street Station, Muncy substantiated
Esson's story about the holdup. He had
borrowed Beatty's car, he said, for the
express purpose of staging a holdup.
Muncy had waited outside while the
steel-company office was robbed and he
had been behind the wheel during the
get-away. He also identified Reed as
the trigger-man in the slaying of George
Margulis.
“Where can we find Reed?’ Carlson
demanded.
“At the Netley Hotel. And he’s tough.
I don’t know what he'll do if he finds
out we told you. And you coppers bet-
ter be careful.”
The entire force of men working on
the Margulis case was sent to the Netley
Hotel on busy Euclid Avenue, Cleve-
land’s main street. Headed by Cavan-
augh, a squad of men including Carlson,
Sullivan and Detective George Pollick
entered the hotel.
On the top floor a stocky man in an
overcoat was walking toward the stair-
case. When he saw Cavanaugh, he
backed into his room.
The officers sprang into action, taking
positions on either side of the door.
“Open up or we'll kill you,” Cavan-
augh warned. ’
The door opened slowly and Reed
walked out, hands reaching for the ceil-
ing.
A search of his room disclosed four-
teen bullets on the floor of his clothes
closet. Reed admitted they were his.
Also found were a .38-caliber automatic
pistol and two masks like those used in
the holdup.
Reed was taken to Central Station
where his accomplices joined him. The
three women employes of the steel com-
pany, Miss Lillian Lobe, Mrs. Elaine
Klein and Mrs. Ruth Lief, identified
Reed, LaDuca and Esson as the three
gunmen who had forced them into the
washroom of the steel-company office.
Esson was pointed out as the man who
guarded them while the holdup and
slaying took place.
MMANUEL MARGULIS, father of
the slain man, pointed to Reed as
the man who had fired the pistol into
his son’s back.
- Confronted with this evidence, Reed,
too, gave a full confession to Sergeant
Carlson.
Beatty, the men said, was not in-
volved in the holdup in any way. Muncy
had borrowed his car and only by coin-
cidence did Beatty have a bandanna
handkerchief in his overcoat pocket
when he was arrested. Beatty, of
course, was released.
Muncy revealed that they had been
afraid to leave the East Side after the
robbery. They had driven around in a
small circle for several hours, turning
off whenever they saw a police car.
Finally they had parked the Chevrolet
where it was found, and got out to at-
tempt to walk away.
Almost as soon as they reached the
curbing, the police car containing Ser-
geant Cavanaugh and Dunch had
rounded a corner. The men had scat-
tered, Reed around a corner to his
hotel, Muncy and Esson into the back
yard where they were captured, and La-
Duca into a dark doorway where he hid.
Later, LaDuca saw Sergeant Cavan-
augh enter a building. Hoping that
the Chevrolet had not been spotted, he
had strolled out and past the car. He
stooped over, scooping up some snow as
a pretense but actually trying to see if
anyone was watching the Chevy. That
was when Cavanaugh spotted him.
After the confession was recorded,
detectives found the death gun in a
window well on Linwood Avenue. It
had been thrown there by Reed. All four
men were charged with first-degree
murder in connection with armed rob-
bery. On February 24, 1948, they were
indicted on two counts, first-degree
murder and murder while in perpetra-
tion of a robbery.
Brought to trial, all were found guilty.
Esson, LaDuca and Muncy were given
a recommendation of mercy, but Reed
was sentenced to die in the electric
chair. His case was. appealed to the
Ohio Supreme Court, but it concurred
with the lower courts and Reed was
executed in the electric chair April 1,
1949. His colleagues are serving life in
the Ohio Penitentiary.
For his appreciation of the speedy
solution of the crime, Emmanuel Mar-
gulis presented each of the telephone
linemen with $500 for quick thinking.
He gave Police Chief George Matowitz
$2,500 toward the police pension fund
as recognition of the work done in one
of the fastest-moving chapters in
Cleveland crime history.
The men who participated in the cap-
ture of the four killers were given
special citations by Chief Matowitz and
shortly thereafter Sergeant Cavanaugh
was promoted to lieutenant.
In this story the names Frank Beatty.
Sam Perini and Jack Nagy are fictitious
to avoid embarrassing men who were in
no way criminally involved.
"Go Hunt a Pair of Big Brown Eyes" (Continued from Page 33)
comes from burglaries and the small
stuff like toasters and waffle irons have
been shop-lifted. For the moment, we’ll
concentrate on that angle because there
is a greater possibility someone may
have seen him when he was shop-
lifting.” .
ANDS said, “Bob and I have talked
to store owners who swear the stuff
disappeared from their counters almost
in front of their eyes.”
Callahan went on: “I want you fel-
lows to talk to those shopkeepers again.
Take your latest reports so that the
details will be more vivid in their minds.
Go over it with them and see if they
recall seeing anyone who answers the
description we've got.”
Lawe frowned. “I don’t see the value
of that, Sheriff. We know what the fel-
low looks like, and that’s about all
they'll be able to give us, even if they
should recall him.”
Tolerantly, Callahan looked at his
young detective. “I'll tell you some-
thing, Bob. I’ve been in law-enforce-
ment work now for about forty years.
My father spent his life in it as a sheriff.
I was reading ‘wanted’ bulletins on his
wall along with Black Beauty and Lit-
tle Lord Fauntleroy when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lawe mumbled, his
face flushing.
Callahan went on. “There's only one
thing I've learned about this business in
all those years. You get.a break only
when you make it for yourself. You plug
along doing the same things, asking the
same questions and you think you
aren't getting anyplace and common
sense would tell you that you are wast-
ing your time and you should quit.
Then somebody says something or you
notice something you've overlooked be-
fore—and bingo! You've got your
break.”
Pausing a moment to let his words
sink in, Callahan continued: “Here’s
another thing to keep in mind. A law-
enforcement officer can make all kinds
of mistakes and it doesn't matter much,
but a crook can make only one mistake.
If you keep on his trail long enough,
you'll find that mistake. When you do,
you've got him.”
“You're right,” Lawe said. “We'll get
going on it right away.”
46
Callahan stood up and clapped his
two detectives roughly on the shoulders.
He was a little embarrassed for having
“made a speech.”
“Tell you what I'll do,” he said.
“You get this fellow and I'll stand the
— of a fishing-trip up to Mutiny
ay.”
ETECTIVES SANDS and Lawe went
back to their office and made a list
of the stores that reported recent thefts
during business hours. The articles
taken varied from small electrical ap-
pliances, power tools and clothing to a
wheelbarrow. All had been whisked
away under the eyes of the clerks on
duty.
For several days Sands and Lawe
spent their time talking to owners and
clerks. They went over the circum-
stances of each theft. They described
the man they believed was responsible
and asked if he had been seen. It was
disappointing. The owners and clerks
were able to give them no help.
On the afternoon of the fourth day
Lawe said, “Callahan may be right
about this plugging stuff, but we sure
aren't getting anyplace.”
“What else can we do?”
Lawe shook his head wearily. “I don’t
know, but if I could think of something
I'd do it. We get the same answers
everyplace. They don’t know. They
didn't see the guy. They just know the
stuff disappeared.” '
Sands looked at his list. ‘We still
have time to make the Byron Street
Hardware before they close. Let's go
there and at least get it off our list.”
They talked to a girl clerk, Ellen
Wrightson. She had been on duty when
a steam iron, an expensive electric
alarm clock and a power drill had dis-
appeared from the store. She hadn’t
seen them taken. She didn’t know how
they disappeared.
Sands gave the girl the description of
Big Brown Eyes.
“Why,” the girl said, “He sounds like
the man with the baby buggy.”
“What?”
“The man with the baby buggy,” the
girl repeated. ‘I forgot to tell you about
that. Of course, it wasn’t at the time
the other things disappeared.”
Lawe said, ‘Take it a little slower.
What do you mean, he sounds like the
man with the baby buggy?”
“Well,” Miss Wrightson said, “This
happened only a couple of days ago. A
woman was in the store with a baby
buggy. I just happened to be watching
her and I saw her slip a waffle iron into
the buggy. I knew she planned to steal
it and I started over toward her and
then this man came up.”
“What man?”
“The man you just described with the
big brown eyes. He got there before I
did and he took the waffle iron out of
the buggy and he gave the woman the
very dickens. I really felt sorry for her
the way he talked. She went out of
the store crying.”
“What about the man?” .
“He stayed for a few minutes. He
told me that his wife had been wanting
a waffle iron for a long time and he
couldn't afford to buy her one. He said
he was sorry she had yielded to the
temptation of stealing it. He said he
would even buy it but it would take all
their grocery money. He finally left
and I really felt sorry for them.”
Sands asked, “And the man looked
like the one I described to you?”
“I’m almost positive, especially from
the way you described his eyes. I felt
sort of funny the way he looked at me.”
As the detectives left the store Lawe
said, “Maybe this is the break we've
been after. We've been looking for a
man as the thief, but it could be the
woman with the baby buggy. He spots
for her and if he sees she’s in trouble,
he comes over and gets her out of it.”
“We'll try the stores again in the
morning and see if anybody else remem-
bers this baby-buggy pair,” Sands said.
A check of a dozen stores the next
day gave ample evidence that the baby
buggy was the method used by the
shop-lifter. A number of clerks recalled
that a woman had been in the store
with a baby buggy around the time that
the articles disappeared. and the clerks
hadn't even suspected her in connec-
tion with the thefts.
.ANDS and Lawe returned to the of-
fice to report to Sheriff Callahan.
“You suppose he's hypnotized the
woman with the baby buggy like those
others?” Sands asked.
Callahan shrugged. “Who knows?
We're dealing with a clever crook. Big
Brown Eyes will give us a run for our
money before we get him.”
“What do we do next?" Lawe asked.
“First, I'm going to call the Stores
Protective Association. They'll spread
the word on the baby-buggy pitch to all
their accounts and all the clerks will be
on the watch for that pair. If they
show up, we'll get a call.”
“I hope this boy doesn't blow before
we get him." Lawe declared.
“I don’t think we have to worry about
that. From the reports you fellows
have, he must still be loaded with stuff
he has stolen. He’ll want to get rid of
it. Just keep plugging. We'll catch up
with him.”
Sands and Lawe walked back to their
office. A new burglary report was on
their desk. It came from a contractor
building new homes in a section south
of the city. An electric stove had been
stolen.
“I wonder if Big Brown Eyes got this
one,” Sands declared.
Lawe scanned the report. “If he did,
I'm surprised he didn't steal the whole
house, basement and all. I'd sure like
to get that guy.”
“You and me both—and don't forget,
Callahan is setting up a fishing-trip
when we land him.” Sands looked at
his watch. “It’s half-past five. Want
to go out and look it over now or after
dinner?”
Lawe laughed. “I'd hate to show up
at dinner-time and surprise my wife.
She'd think I was sick.”
“Let's go,” Sands said. “At least we
know Big Brown Eyes didn’t get this in
the baby buggy.”
At the burglarized house the contrac-
tor showed them where the stove had
been placed and then removed by the
burglar.
"| JUST had it put in yesterday,” the
contractor said. ‘The house is sold
and when the new owners called up this
afternoon and complained because the
stove wasn't in I thought they were
crazy. I came dashing out here because
I'd watched the men put it in. But it
was gone.”
“The house was locked?” Lawe asked.
“Sure, but the back door just has a
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32
TO SGT. MANN, A DAY OFF WAS TIME
ENOUGH TO NAIL A MURDER SUSPECT
pus At tl
Two mistakes too many: hiding
COLUMBUS, OHIO ae
@ A brisk March wind blew sez. the
prison yard, swirling through the oel-
framed doorways and barred ~“indows
and on into death row at the heels of
two guards approaching a cell there.
One unlocked the door and one said:
- right, exercise time.
ae pd man in the cell turned to
face the guards. In another setting he
could have passed for a college student.
His thin face had a tender look and his
eyes mirrored a sadness that seemed
natural in the grim surroundings.
Those who knew. him well, however,
also knew that the sad look was almost
perpetual with him. His mouth was a
thin line, turned down slightly at the
corners. He was medium size. His hair
was close-cropped, dark, and he wore
thick-rimmed glasses which gave him
the appearance of a bookworm.
As the prisoner started toward the
cell door, one of the guards said, Bet-
ter take your jacket. Ii’s cold outside.
The young convict put on his prison
jacket and walked slowly to a special
part of the exercise yard, flanked by
the pair of guards. The section of the
yard was reserved for men condemned
to death. There, they walked and took
ir air. : F
eres of men had exercised. in
2
Telehban ha ice RE A ,
sda lb enone
INSIDE DETECTIVE,
that part of the yard of the Ohio State
Penitentiary at Columbus in the past.
And 314 of them had taken their last .
steps to the electric chair, never to
walk outside the walls again. :
Others, of course, had had their
sentences commuted. And there were
some who had gotten the big break—
their convictions had been‘set aside or
new trials had been granted them and
they had gone free. Like that fellow
a couple of years back who had been
sentenced to death out of Canton. It
was just 48 hours before his execution
time when he got word he’d been
granted a new trial. And at the second
trial there was some new evidence.
The jury was out only five minutes be-
fore returning a not guilty verdict.
Perhaps such cases as that were in
the mind of the young prisoner tramp-
ing the exercise yard that blustery
March morning. And he wasn’t the
only one thinking about the possibility
that something might save his life.
“What about Donald Reinbolt?” was
a question making the rounds of the
big prison as his time drew near. “What
are his chances of getting out of it?”
Speculation about Donald Reinbolt’s
future was high all around Columbus. _
That’s where the entire drama that so
by EDDIE KRELL
August, 1963.
, vitally affected his life was played.
The Columbus area was where his
crime took place, where his trial was
held and where his execution was
scheduled to occur.
And that was where the last big de-
cision was to be made—in the office
of Governor James Rhodes in the capi-
tol across town from the prison.
There, a fat file lay on the governor’s
massive desk. It was marked: “Don-
ald L. Reinbolt. Murder, first-degree.
Sentenced to be executed from Frank-
lin County.” The story was all there,
wrapped up in a neat bundle of words,
just waiting for the governor to begin
reading. Meanwhile, everything was
ready, including the electric chair
across town. Only Governor Rhodes
could keep the switch from being
pulled. ...
"THE story began on August 28, 1961.
It was a Monday afternoon and hot
in Columbus. Hot and dry. And Edgar
L. Weaver was working hard.
Maybe Weaver shouldn’t have been
working so hard. After all, he was 69
years old. But it was a deep-rooted
habit with him. He had worked hard
all his life. And his labor had borne
fruit, good fruit, the kind that makes
up the bone and sinew of decent so-
ciety. He had made a good home for
his wife and family, the result of hard
work in his grocery store. Even during
numerous depressions and recessions
and just plain hard times, Weaver’s
hard work had kept his family going.
And Edgar was noted for not hesitating
to offer credit to customers who weren’t
making it so well in dark days.
Weaver’s grocery was a one-man
operation, carried on in a small, con-
crete-block building on North Hague
Avenue, a few miles from the Colum-
bus city limits. It was in a north-west
section of the county known as Frank-
lin Township. The store wasn’t one of
the modern flashy types. There was
no fancy electric eye device to spring
open the door for customers, just a
small screen door with a painted sign
over it stating WEAVER’S MARKET. The
sign succinctly told passers-by that Ed-
gar Weaver sold groceries, meats, fruits,
vegetables, milk and ice cream and
that he provided a free delivery ser-
vice. Another small sign at the side of
the entrance said that the store gave
a certain type of trading stamps as a
bonus to customers. The store’s whole
appearance said welcome, come on in.
Weaver was entitled to peace and
ease and contentment in his latter
years. At 69, he would have been justi-
fied in living a life of comfortable re-
tirement. He might have been fishing
or playing shuffleboard on such a sum-
mer afternoon. But, as many of his
numerous friends speculated, perhaps
Mr. Weaver just liked to work. Somey
people are like that.
There are others who do not like totJ
work. They seek other ways to get ©
‘what they want. That's why there are
laws. That’s why the State of AG
has capital punishment. .. . -
It was 3:30 in the afternoon when an Qs
18-year-old Franklin Township. boy =]
decided he wanted some ice cream. He ¢
headed for the Weaver grocery. As hey
walked down Hague Avenue, the nor-
“mally quiet street was noisy with the
sound of pounding from a construction
project at a nearby building site. P.
The youth opened the screen door of ¢F
Weaver’s Market and went in. Nobody @
seemed to be in the store, so he re-®
laxed against a counter. A few mo-
ments later, a group of small boys
banged their way through the screen
door, too.
“Where’s Mr. Weaver?” one asked <4
the teenager. y
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just came ¢
in. I'm waiting for him. I want some
ice cream. He might be out on a de- &%
livery. I’ve been here before when cf
he’s out. He doesn’t usually go far.” ©
“We want ice cream, too,” another
lad said. “But we don’t want to wait
around here.” oO
“He shouldn’t be long,” the older boy
said. “He’s usually only gone a few
oe8Te
‘minutes. Look, he left the meat slicer
running. Probably figured he’d be ~~
right back.”
The small boys talked among them-
selves, then wandered out of the store.
The 18-year-old settled himself in A
chair by the front counter. A woman
came in next and she, too, asked him
where Mr. Weaver had gone. He told
her he didn’t know, but was waiting +
for him.
“He should be back shortly,” he said. 2
‘Tl drop in later,” the woman said, °
leaving. =
The group of small boys came in oe
again. Sq
“Isn’t he back yet?” one complained.~.#
The teenager said Mr. Weaver still
had not returned and the boys filed @
out again. The more patient teenager [3
sat quietly, thinking that it was un-
usual for the grocer to be gone so long.
Perhaps something had happened to
Mr. Weaver, he suddenly thought.
Maybe there had been an accident in
the basement, maybe the grocer got =
sick. He listened to the hum of the
meat slicer for a few more minutes, UL
then decided to investigate. te
The stairway to the basement was
behind the meat counter. As the teen- pus
continued on next page \O
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Report of latest legal developments
senurcseene | I a — oO
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————e} on cases published by TD
CLUE OF THE Jean, 38, their son Brian, 14, and their
TRUTHFUL GUNMAN
(TD March, 1962)
On February 16, 1962, in Franklin
County Criminal Court in Columbus,
Ohio, a jury of nine men and three
women, after deliberating for more than
nine hours, found Donald L. Reinbolt,
28, guilty on'two counts of first-degree
murder. The jury did not recommend
mercy.
The man for whose death Donald
Reinbolt had been on trial since Febru-
ary 8th was Edgar L. Weaver, 69, pro-
prietor of a _ grocery’ store near
Columbus, who was shot to death on
August 28, 1961, in his store during a
holdup attempt.
On September 7, 1961, ten days after
the slaying, detectives picked up a clue
that led to Donald Reinbolt, a parolee
from a 1-to-20-year sentence for for-
gery, who also had served time for car
theft. Reinbolt offered an alibi, but it
was presently punctured. He then con-
fessed the crime. On September 25th a
Franklin County grand jury indicted
him on two counts of first-degree mur-
der. One count charged premeditation;
the other charged Reinbolt with murder
while committing a felony, namely rob-
bery.
Since the jury did not recommend
mercy, the death penalty was manda-
tory, On February 23, 1962, Criminal
Court Judge Kenneth L. Slater sen-
tenced Donald L. Reinbolt to die in the
electric chair at the Ohio penitentiary
on June 15, 1962.
Reinbolt’s court-appointed attorneys,
Milton Farber and Owen Sherwood,
have filed an appeal in the Court of Ap-
peals,
THE “BLUEBELLE” MASSACRE
(TD March, 1962)
On November 8, 1961, the ketch, Blue-
belle, moved out to sea from Fort Lau-
derdale, Florida. Its crew consisted of
Captain Julian Harvey, 44, former Air
Force lHeutenant-colonel and well-
known yachtsman, and his wife Mary
Dene, 34, a former airlines stewardess.
Aboard were Arthur W. Duperrault, 41,
a Green Bay, Wisconsin, optometrist,
who had chartered Bluebelle for a vaca-
tion cruise in Southern waters, his wife
two daughters, Terry Jo, 11, and Renee,
7 years old.
On the night of November 12th, some-
where in the Northwest Providence
Channel, where the sea is more than a
mile deep, Bluebelle vanished. On No-
vember 13th an oil tanker bound for
Puerto Rico picked up Captain Harvey.
With him in the dinghy was the body of
little Renee, who had drowned.
Returned to Miami and questioned by
the Coast Guard, Captain Harvey said
the main mast of the ketch had snapped
in a storm and plunged through the
hull. Bluebelle caught fire and sank in a
‘few minutes. He was unable to rescue
his wife or any of his passengers.
Boats and planes searched the area
but found no survivors. But on Novem-
ber 16th, some 85 miles from Miami, a
Greek freighter bound for Houston, Tex-
as, picked up Terry Jo Duperrault. For
three and one-half days she had been
adrift on a 5-by-4-foot balsa raft with-
out shelter, food or water. A helicopter
lifted her from the freighter and brought
her to a Miami hospital. On hearing that
Terry Jo had been rescued, Julian
Harvey committed suicide in a Florida
motel.
When she was able to be questioned,
Terry Jo said there was no storm, no
fire and the mast did not break. Awak-
ened by hearing her brother scream, she
ran to the cabin and saw Brian and her
mother lying in a pool of bloqd. She
asked Captain Harvey what happened
and he struck her and ordered her be-
low. She went back to her bunk, but
when she saw water rising about her,
she went back on deck. Captain Harvey
jumped into a dinghy and left the ketch.
There was no one else anywhere about.
Terry Jo managed to untie a raft on the
deck and got aboard it as Bluebelle sank.
On April 25, 1962, the Coast Guard
released a 300-page report on the trage-
dy, finding that Arthur W. Duperrault,
his wife Jean, their son Brian, and the
captain's wife, Mary Dene Harvey, had
died at the hands of Julian Harvey. Lit-
tle Renee, it had been established, had
died of drowning.
Terry Jo, sole survivor of the fatal
holiday cruise, now lives with an aunt
and uncle and their three sons in De
Pere, Wisconsin. The aunt, who is a sis-
ter of Terry Jo’s father, has been ap-
pointed her guardian.
¢
L91G&%
UTAH'S PEEPING TOM MURDER
(TD January, 1962)
In American Fork, Utah, on Septem-
ber 16, 1961, ll-year-old Karen Ann
Mechling was baby-sitting for a neigh-
bor who had gone to the hospital to
have a baby. At midnight, her little
charges asleep in their beds, Karen
curled up in a chair in the living room
and fell asleep. Perhaps she never knew
when she was struck a savage blow on
the head with a caulking iron, dragged
outside the house and raped. She died of
a fractured skull.
Police, looking for Darrell Devere
Poulsen, 22, laborer in an animal by-
products plant in Provo, Utah, who was
wanted on a charge of attempted rape
on September llth, arrested Poulsen in
Las Vegas, Nevada, on September 19th.
He confessed the attack on Karen Mech-
ling.
“I window-peeked and saw the girl
asleep in the chair . . I found the
caulking gun on a window sill... T went
in and hit the girl on the head... Then
I took her outside ... I raped her.” He
asserted he did not know the child was
dead when he left her.
On December 14, 1961, in Fourth Dis-
trict Court of Utah, in Provo, Darrell
Devere Poulsen was convicted of first-
degree murder in the slaying of Karen
Mechling. The jury deliberated one hour
and 55 minutes, then returned the guilty
verdict with no recommendation for
mercy, thus making the death sentence
mandatory. On December 26th Judge L.
R. Tuckett sentenced Poulsen to die be-
fore a firing squad at Utah State Prison
on February 24, 1962.
A motion for a new trial was denied,
but a stay of execution was granted
when Poulsen’s court-appointed attor-
neys appealed to the Utah Supreme
Court. The case is still pending before
the court.
“GET THOSE COP-KILLERS—
DEAD OR ALIVE!"
(TD December, 1961)
Wisconsin's greatest manhunt began
Monday night, August 21, 1961, for three
Chicago men who, stopped for question-
ing in their car on a Lake Delton street,
shot and killed Deputy James Jantz, 25,
of the Sauk County sheriff's office, and
seriously wounded Lake Delton Police
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His customers waited for his return.
age boy walked around the meat
counter toward the steps, he saw some-
thing that froze him in his tracks.
A body lay face up on the floor in
back of the meat counter. It was Edgar
Weaver, clad in a white shirt and apron
over dark trousers. The white shirt
and apron were splattered with bright
red blood.
For several moments, the teenager
stood still in shock and horror, holding
his breath. The only sound in the small
grocery was the steady hum of the
meat slicer. Outside, the distant sounds
of children at play filled the heavy
summer air. Then the boy forced down
a swallow, then ran from the store.
He kept running all the way home,
where his excited words brought a
phone call to the Franklin County
sheriff’s office in. Columbus. Soon, sev-
eral official cars were pulling up in
front of Weaver’s Market. They car-
ried Sheriff Stacy Hall, Lieutenant
Elsworth Beck, Sergeant Clyde Mann
and several county deputies.
While the deputies were posted
around the concrete block building, the
others went inside.
“STe’s been shot,” one officer noted
after a brief examination of the grocer’s
corpse. “And a number of times.”
Quickly, they observed that the
store’s cash register drawer was open
and its bill slots were empty.
Sergeant Mann shook his head sadly.
“This is awful,” he said softly. “A nice
guy like Mr. Weaver.”
“Did you know him, Clyde?” one of
his fellow officers asked.
Mann nodded. “I’ve known him for
years. Stopped in here a lot while
‘checking this district.”
“Any ideas?”
The sergeant shrugged. “As far as
I know, he’s never been stuck up be-
fore. The store has been burglarized
a few times, but only food was taken.”
On the floor behind the meat counter,
the investigators found four empty
shell casings. They were from a .25-
caliber automatic. They searched the
victim’s pockets, but found no money
or wallet. A block of pressed ham was
in the still whirring meat slicer. One
of the officers flicked the switch and
the whirring stopped. Several bags of
groceries were stacked on a counter
‘and a number of written order forms
lay nearby. The grocer apparently had
been putting up orders for delivery.
W HEN the preliminary investigation
was completed behind the counter,
ambulance attendants came in with a
stretcher. As they picked up the body,
an object fell from it to the floor. It
was a bullet slug.
_ “Went clear through him and out
the back,” an officer said. “Looks as
if he were shot four times.”
The slug, along with the empty shell
casings, was put in an envelope. Fin-
gerprint men started going over the
store as the detectives went outside to
talk to the crowd that had gathered.
Sgt. Mann gave up holiday weekend to find these casings.
Weaver’s neighbors and customers
talked in hushed tones as they an-
swered the officers’ questions. Some of
them were crying for their dead friend.
They stood in the late afternoon sun-
light and looked numbly at the officers
and the small grocery store.
The teenage boy who had found the
body was there, standing nervously
with his mother and two young friends.
' The sheriff called him over and had
him tell in detail the circumstances
that led up to his discovery of the
murdered grocer.
“How long would you say you were
in the store before you found the
body?” he asked the youth.
“About 20 minutes. It must have
been close to 3:30 when I went in. I
wanted some ice creain. Mr. Weaver
wasn’t around, but, like I said, that
didn’t seem unusual at the time. He
often left the place to deliver an order .
or run an errand.”
“Did you notice anyone around the
store when you came up?”
“No, sir.”
“Hear anything . .
maybe a scream?”
“No, sir,” the youth said.
. like shots or
ae
ed
Suspect (
THE HOLIDAY MARKED
. DEATH CHAMBER
continued
The youth named the boys who had
come in while he was in the store and
the woman customer. They were in
the crowd, too, but questioning of them
produced no leads.
“That's right, it was not unusual for
Mr. Weaver to leave the store in the
afternoon,” the woman said. “I went
in and, when that boy there told me
he was not there, I figured I’d come
back later. I live right over there.”
‘Did you hear anything like shots
ag fired today?” an officer asked
er.
She shook her head. “There was a
lot of noise in the neighborhood from
that building going on down the street,”
she said.
Deputies who had been checking
others in the crowd and asking ques-
tions at houses on the block got the
same response. “Nobody said anythi
about hearing shots,” one saeco pos
= arg" Saree! might have heard
em and just red
of the building wales.” ~~
“A lot of traffic goes b: i
street,” Sergeant Mann si et mao
be difficult to find anyone who may
have noticed a suspicious person. There
might have been a lot of traffic in and
out of that (Continued on page 66)
Man who walked a lot points to spot where he parked near a grocery
L) shows where he got the gun.
Never a statement so free
ly given as Reinbolt's (L)
And he added, “I know that money gained
in a dirty business such as this never did any-
body any good, but it has been awfully hard
for me to break away from the con racket...
“IT have always seemed to be able to talk
people into turning over money to me on
almost any type of representation I might
make. This has been my downfall. I hope
when this is over to try to make something
of the few remaining years of my life and I
know that I can do so.”
Brave words. But, as might be expected,
Packy’s promise to himself was as meaningless
as it was to any one else to whom he might
have made it.
Lennon piled up good behavior time at
Milan and was released in February, 1960. He
first contacted the woman professor in Wash-
ington, D.C_—as Harry Hicks Hornblower—in
June, 1961. What he did between the two
dates is not clear, but there’s evidence that he
lived well for a man with no visible income.
Packy was picked up in Washington by the
postal inspectors in June, 1962, and released
on $10,000 bond.
(Inspector Miller later learned that Packy,
while out on bond, had bilked a Midwest
Dutchman out of a few hundred dollars by
posing as a beer-loving burger named Phillip
Schweppenhauser who had a thick Hans-and-
Fritz accent. Incredibly, Packy at this time
also had approached Dr. Smith, whom he had
swindled twice before, with a new twist on
the oil lease scheme. But Dr. Smith had
learned his lesson, and turned Packy down).
Packy Lennon pleaded guilty in Washing-
ton’s District Court on January 28, 1963. Last
March, he was sentenced to 20 months-to-five
years. And in early April, he settled down for
a comfortable stay in the penitentiary at
Lorton Va.
Packy’s friends haven’t heard whether he
has talked himself into a chaplain’s assistant ~
job yet. But they don’t worry about his
prison future.
A man who can raise three quarters of a
million dollars merely by moving his lips will
make out. Even without a telephone. |
THE HOLIDAY MARKED DEATH continued from page 35
store. If we can pin the time down, it would
help. But it doesn’t look as if the neighbors
are going to be much help.”
A man who was a close friend of Edgar
Weaver arrived at the scene. His voice broke
with emotion as he talked about what a fine
man the grocer was.
“You knew him well,” Sgt. Mann ‘said. “I
knew him, too. He didn’t seem the type to
battle a holdup attempt and we didn’t find
any indications of a struggle. The only signs
of violence were the gunshots. Nothing upset
or turned over, everything in the store in its
proper place.”
“T don’t think he’d resist a holdup,” the
man said. “After all, his money was insured
. Maybe, the robber was someone he knew,
someone he recognized, and that could have
brought on the shooting.”
The man’s suggestion was a logical one that
also had occurred to the officers.
As more neighbors joined the crowd at the
store, deputies asked them questions. None
reported going into the store that afternoon,
hearing any shots, or seeing anyone else go
into the market in the afternoon.
Persons who knew Edgar Weaver well told
officers he generally carried between $50 and
$60 on him. “It wasn’t any secret,” a man
said. “He often could be seen adding cash to
his roll and putting it in his wallet or in his
pocket.”
Back into the store, the technicians from
the crime lab reported finding nothing in the
way of a clue. There were no good finger-
prints on the cash register.
Sergeant Mann looked around the store
again. His attention centered on the orders the
grocer had been filling. Officers were sent out to
talk to the customers who had phoned in the
orders. They found the woman who had or-
dered pressed ham, which accounted for it
being in the slicer. She said the order, which
she had called in that morning, was to have
been delivered at 4 P.M.
In questioning the customers, deputies found
a woman who seemed to have been the last
person to talk to Edgar Weaver before the
gunman entered the store. She said she had
telephoned her grocery order in about 2:30 p.m.
and her conversation with Weaver was inter-
rupted when he asked her to “Wait a minute.”
“I held the phone for about five minutes,”
she said. “Then a voice came back on the
phone. It answered me quickly, ‘Yep, yep,
yep.’”
“The voice...
deputy asked.
was it Mr. Weaver’s?” the
The woman said it appeared to be Mr.
Weaver's voice, but that he did not sound like
his usual self.
That night, the investigators gathered at
the sheriff’s office and went over their findings.
“Tt looks to me as if he were killed by some-
one he knew,” a deputy said. “Someone who
knew he could identify him as a robber.”
“Maybe so,” another agreed. “But it sure
was cruel . . . no resistance and shot four
times. We just got the report on the examina-
tion. One of the bullets hit Weaver’s right
cheek and ranged upward into his head. An-
other hit him in the middle of the back,
another in the stomach and one pierced his
right wrist. From the angle of the shots, it
appears he might have been shot while lying
on the floor.”
“At least we know what kind of a gun
we’re looking for,’ Lieutenant Beck said. ‘
.25-caliber. I sent the shell casings and slugs
to the state crime lab at London. We’ve got
some good markings to work with, and, if we
find the murder weapon, we'll certainly know
a
Beck discussed plans for the investigation.
He assigned officers to question and requestion
residents of the neighborhood and regular cus-
tomers of the grocery.
“Ask again if anyone heard anything or saw
anyone loitering around the place or coming
or going in the afternoon before the body was
found,” Beck said. “Maybe somebody might
know of an argument Weaver may have had
over a bill. Or maybe know somebody in the
neighborhood who has a .25-caliber pistol.”
Tuesday morning, officers again were all over
the North Hague Avenue area asking ques-
tions. People talked freely of their sorrow over
the slaying of the well-liked Edgar Weaver,
but no one had any solid information for the
investigators.
While the officers were out in the field, a
deputy rushed into the sheriff’s private office.
He said he had a lead on the Weaver killing.
“What are you talking about? You haven’t
been out of headquarters in the past two
days!” one of his superiors said in surprise.
“Did somebody phone you something?”
“No. Nothing like that,” he said. “But it’s
those guys who were brought in here yesterday
afternoon after their car ran into a utility
pole. I got to thinking about that. That acci-
dent was about a block from the scene of the
murder. And it happened between 2:30 and 3
P.M. We got the call at three. None of them
was hurt enough for a hospital.
“They must have been going plenty fast to
lose control of their car in daylight like yes-
terday afternoon. Maybe they were hurrying
from the scene of the crime!”
The proximity of time and location of the
- accident with the slaying caused a stir of in-
terest in the sheriff's office. One of the trio in
the accident, a 24-year-old man, was in jail.
He had been booked as the driver of the car
involved. His two companions, .also in their
mid-20s, had been released on bond. They all
had given home addresses in Louisville, Ky.
The 24-year-old was questioned.-He denied
any connection with the shooting of Weaver.
“What were you boys doing around here?”
he was asked.
“We were just traveling through, looking for
work,” was the answer.
Further questioning produced nothing. Of-
ficers made a call to Louisville and, later that
day, the Kentucky police reported back that
there was no police record for any of the trio.
But, investigation had revealed that they had
given the Franklin County, Ohio, officers ficti-
tious addresses.
The 24-year-old was brought cut of jail
again for further questioning. He admitted he
and his friends had given addresses, because
they did not want their families to know
about the accident. He said he did not know
where his two friends might be by that time.
Further calls were made to Louisville as offi-
cers started to look for the other two young
men.
Meanwhile, in Franklin Township, investi-
gators were finding it a long, hot, fruitless day.
“Maybe somebody knows something but is
afraid to talk,” a deputy suggested. “I still
think that grocer was shot by someone he
knew. It figures that way. Somebody knew he
operated a one-man store, that he carried $50
to $60 in his pocket and that the register
might hold more. That was the kind of a store
that did not have too much traffic. The killer
might even be somebody recognized by a neigh-
bor as having gone in and out, but the neighbor
possibly figures the one he saw didn’t have
anything to do with it and, even on the
chance that he did, the neighbor might not
want to get involved.”
Early that night, the first solid break in the
case sent officers rushing to El Paso Drive,
west of Hague Avenue, in a neighborhood near
the scene of the crime.
Three young boys had been walking on El
Paso Drive when they noticed an ‘unusual
piece of paper lying beside a ditch. They
examined it and found the name of Edga: L.
Weaver on it. One boy showed the paper to
his parents, who called the sheriff.
Officers talked to the boys at the point -
1 RRR ET eae
where they found the piece of paper. “You’re’
sure this is the spot?” they were asked. They
all agreed.
The surrounding area was searched by flash-
light. Nearby, officers found a wallet with more
papers issued to Edgar L. Weaver. There was
no money in it. The wallet and papers were
dispatched to the state crime lab at London.
Lieutenant Beck gathered a group of officers
on El Paso Drive, near a section called Money-
back Addition. They discussed the significance
of the discovery of the wallet. The opinion was
expressed that the killer lived in the area.
Lieutenant Beck, however, said he did not
think the killer, after apparently getting away
clear from the scene of the crime, would drop
evidence near his doorstep.
“Chances are he knows this area, but doesn’t
live near here,” Beck said. “But we’re going
to check the houses around here. Ask if any-
body saw the wallet being dropped or saw any
suspicious persons in the neighborhood. Also
check on anybody known to own a .25-caliber
pistol.”
Officers canvassed this area, but nothing in
the way of helpful information was a up
that night.
Next day, Wednesday, officers were asking
questions again in two sections of the county:
where the killing took place and where the
wallet was found. At headquarters, meanwhile,
information came in on the whereabouts of
the other two men who had been in the car
that struck the utility pole. They were picked
up in Columbus at the home of a relative.
Brought to the sheriff’s office, the pair ad-
mitted giving false information after the acci-
dent, but said it was because they did not
want their parents to know about it. They
gave detailed statements as to their move-
ments for Monday afternoon and officers were
satisfied they had no connection with the slay-
ing of the grocer.
Tips were now coming into the sheriff’s of-
fice from people who had heard about the
crime. Several were in connection with men
who had suspicious reputations and who lived
in the northwest part of the county. One of
these men reportedly owned a small caliber
gun. When deputies went to his home, they
learned the gun was a .32-caliber and that the
man had been working at a construction job
in downtown Columbus all day Monday.
NOTHER tip came from a garage operator
in the county. He said that as he read
about the murder in the paper and saw that a
25-caliber pistol was involved, he got to think-
ing about such a gun he owned. He had gone
to the place where he had left it and found the
weapon was missing.
Sergeant Mann went to talk to the garage
operator, who also operated a trailer park
holding more than 100 house trailers. There was
a lot of activity at the garage, which also was
a center of meetings for a volunteer fire de-
partment and a racing car club. Sergeant Mann
talked with the owner about the gun. He said
he had no idea when his gun might have been
taken, or who might have taken it.
“I kept it in a drawer of a mechanic’s tool
chest,” he said. “I haven’t seen it in quite a
while. When I read about the grocer being
killed, I noticed a .25-caliber had been used.
IT looked for my gun and it was gone.”
“Could you identify your gun?” Mann asked
him.
He nodded. A piece had been nicked from
its handle, he recalled.
“When was the last time you used the gun?”
It had been some time ago, he said. He had
done some target shooting near the garage.
Mann asked him to phone the sheriff’s office
if he found the gun or came up with any fur-
ther information on it, then concluded his
questioning.
Another tip to come in that day concerned
a man who worked in a county barber shop.
Officers were told the barber appeared sus-
Picious and a quick check showed he had
served a prison term for armed robbery. The
investigators recalled Weaver apparently had
received a haircut not long before he was
killed. However, an investigation of the barber
determined he had been leading a respectable
life since he had been released from prison and
was in no way connected with the crime.
On Thursday, more calls came in from the
public and a number of officers were kept busy
checking out potential suspects and confirming
their alibis for Monday afternoon. Sergeant
Mann was occupied investigating six men who
had been arrested for burglarizing Weaver’s
Market six months earlier. The six established
their whereabouts for Monday and were
cleared as murder suspects.
By Thursday night, a large number of leads
and tips had been eliminated. “Where do we
go from here?” a weary deputy asked, as he
plopped into a chair in the sheriff’s depart-
ment. “‘Doesn’t seem to be any point in re-
questioning the people living out in that neigh-
borhood. We’ve talked and re-talked to them.
Nobody saw anything and nobody has any
ideas that can help.”
“All we’ve got are the shells and slugs from
the murder weapon,” another said.
“That might be enough, if we can just get
one break,” Sgt. Mann said. “I’ve been think-
ing a lot about that gun missing from that
garage. It’s in the same area of the county.
And, if a man would steal a gun, he might
use it in a robbery.”
“But you can’t go into a large-scale investi-
gation on everybody who goes into that ga-
rage,” a deputy said. “You don’t even know if
that’s the gun used in the killing.”
“The thing to do is to clear up that point
first,” Mann said. “And I think I might be
able to do that.”
The next day, with all other leads having
run out, Sergeant Mann was back at the
garage. He asked the owner to show him where
he had fired the gun.
“It’s been a long time,” the man said. “But
I recall doing some target shooting over there
by those trees . . . Anything else I can do
for you?”
“No, thanks,” Mann said. “I just want to
look around.”
The sergeant took off his hat, coat and tie,
loosened his collar and got down on the
ground. He searched through grass, weeds and
brush and examined trees, looking for slugs.
He found nothing of interest in the trees nor
any empty casing on the ground.
That night, Mann reviewed his hunt with
Lieutenant Beck and the sheriff. “We have to
first establish that that missing gun has a
connection with this case before we can ques-
tion people out there as possible suspects,”
Mann said.
“You really think you might find a casing
or a slug out there?” Lieutenant Beck asked.
“The garage operator said he did some tar-
get shooting,” Mann said. “It’s been months, I
know, but there should be something out there
I can find. Since nothing else has come in to
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67
ERS
ER ra Ge 3
True Detective Mysteries
NEW LIFE FOR OLD!
This touching photograph shows Mrs. Marie Holt, wife of the Red-Haired Phantom,
and her new-born—Betty Jane. The baby came into the world on the eve of the
execution of Joe Prymas, partner in crime of the father of the child!
(Continued from page 68)
red hair and his sallow-faced companion
in crime.
The first of these clues was turned in
to the detective bureau when, while ques-
tioning residents two blocks away from
where the Peerless touring car had been
abandoned, we talked to John Kalbac of
3414 East Sixty-sixth Street.
ALBAC told us that on Friday, the
day of the murder, he had rented a
garage in the rear of his home to two
men who answered the description of the
slayers. They had rented it in the after-
noon and removed the car late that night.
They had paid him in advance, he said,
had demanded a receipt, had purchased a
lock for the door, but had never returtied.
“What names did they give?” I asked.
I was not quite prepared for the logical
but disappeinting answer that followed.
“Never saw either of ’em before,” Kal-
bac answered, “but since they paid in ad-
vance I didn’t ask them who they were.
But,” he added, sensing my disappoint-
ment, “I saw ’em in the day-time and I’d
know either the red-head or the other
fellow anytime.”
The next bit of pay dirt was uncovered
by Detectives Martin Zalewski and John
Lynch, In the same general neighbor-
hood, at a small confectionery, the detec-
tives came across Mrs. George Peters.
Mrs. Peters had seen a man answering
the description of “Red.” She had seen
him often.
“His name,” she told Zalewski, “is
Albert Holt. They call him ‘Red’ Holt.
He works for ‘a transfer company at
Twelfth Street and Prospect Avenue.”
Zalewski and Lynch hastened to turn
the information into Headquarters. Hur-
riedly we called Kalbac and Patrolman
Dietrich, urging them to come to Central
Station at once. For, in the Bureau of
Criminal Identification we had a_ nice
rogues gallery picture of Holt.
I recalled Holt vaguely. He had served
time in the Mansfield Reformatory for
auto stealing. We showed his picture to
Kalbac and Dietrich.
“That’s the red-head,” they exclaimed
in unison. ,
With the identity of one suspect firmly
established we plunged into the routine of
uncovering his recent movements and seek-
ing some light as to his present where-
abouts.
Peter B. Mitchell of 10308 Euclid Ave-
nue, we learned, was the operator of the
transfer company at which Holt worked
as a driver,
He made a formal statement at police
headquarters on Saturday, October 25th, a
week and one day after the brutal murder.
If we previously had doubted the au-
dacity of the red-haired man upon whom
our search now concentrated, that doubt
was dispelled by his information.
Two days before, almost one full week
after the murder of Patrolman Hahnel,
our quarry still was hiding out in Cleve-
land.
“It was about eight-thirty P. M., Oc-
tober twenty-third,” Mitchell told us, “that
a man came into my place and asked for
me. |
“He said that Holt had sent him to
borrow fifty dollars so that he could get
out of town. I didn’t know this man,
who said his name was Henkel, and I[
told him I couldn’t do anything about it.
“He wanted me to go with him to see
‘Red.’ I told him to send ‘Red’ to me. ‘Red’
and another chap came in a few minutes
later and ‘Red’ said he was in trouble over
the shooting, but that he hadn't killed the
policeman.
“T let him have five dollars and_ told
him to come over the next day for the
rest.
“He seemed very excited. ‘There's six
thousand dollars hanging over my _ head,’
he said, ‘but if I don’t get away tonight
I'll come over tomorrow.’ That was the
last I saw of him.”
E had been playing up a dozen false
suspects in the newspapers to. trick
the murderers of Patrolman Hahnel if they
still were hiding out in town.
Now, however, it seemed that “Red”
either was scared to the point of flight or
already had decamped. I rather felt that
he still might be lurking in Cleveland. It
was our move, now, and a bold stroke was
necessary.
Immediately I instructed that a murder
Warrant be drawn. The newspapers seized
the news eagerly and spread across their
front pages the name of Albert “Red” Holt
as one of the murder suspects,
We had hurled the gauntlet. It was
up to “Red” to flee if he had not already
done so. And, while it was taking a
chance, a man in flight is often an easier
mark than one buried in a single secure
spot.
Holt, we learned, had a wife and two
daughters living at 6808 Carnegie Avenue.
We questioned Mrs. Holt at length.
Reluctantly she admitted to us that she
had seen her husband after the murder of
Patrolman Hahnel. He had come to her
home and had stayed all night on Monday,
October 20th.
He was nervous and worried and, under
her barrage of intuitive questions, had
broken down, cried and admitted that he
was involved in the murder of the police
man.
He pulled his cap well down over his
red hair and asked her advice. She sug-
gested that he leave town. She told him
that he should dye his hair and offered to
purchase dye for him at once. But it was
near midnight, no drug stores were open
and they had abandoned that plan,
Frantically she offered him advice, de-
spite the fact that his erratic habits re-
cently had made her married life a night-
mare. For “Red” Holt, time after time.
had deserted his young wife, who soon
expected to become the mother of a third
(Continued on page 72)
:
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where we were grilling Holt. She rushed
to him.
“Albert,” she pleaded, “you didn’t do it.
Tell them.”
Holt did not reply for a moment. Then
he turned to Inspector of Police George
Matowitz.
“Pll make a statement,” he said.
\Vhen the statement was finished, blame
for the shooting was fastened squarely on
the shoulders of Joe Prymas.
3ut where was Prymas?
Our best efforts had been, so far, not
enough to dislodge a single clue to his
whereabouts. True, most of our energy
had been thrown into the search for Holt.
But we had not neglected to throw out a
net of inquiry in an effort to land the
sallow-faced murder who had served time
‘for robbery with Holt within the walls of
Mansfield Reformatory.
Was he by this time out of the state? Or
had he elected to hide away in the city?
Whichever alternative he had chosen, he
True Detective Mysteries
(Continued from page 74)
perior Avenue—East Eighty-first Street
Precinct Police Station.
‘Doctor D. J. Bryant,” he told the desk
sergeant over the telephone, “tells me that
a man has attempted suicide in a basement
room at eighteen ninety-two East Fifty-
ninth Street. He thinks you should send
a wagon and remove him to a hospital.”
The desk sergeant promised to send a
wagon out at once. He relayed the or-
ders to Patrolmen Clarence May and
Mathew Harlan, on duty as wagon-men.
Harlan crawled-behind- the wheek and
May rode the rear step. May yawned en
route. Suicides were all in the day’s grind.
RRIVED at the address, May and
Harlan found their man still groan-
ing upon the floor.
“What's the matter, buddy?” they in-
quired as they lifted him.
“Poison. Get me to a hospital.”
The gasping man seemed to recover
somewhat as he was placed’ in the wagon.
READING ABOUT THEIR INFAMOUS EXPLOITS!
Red Holt and Joe Prymas glance over the headlines—under guard. Holt stands
at the extreme left of the picture while Prymas (wearing cap) is sitting in front of him
had done a remarkably good job of evad-
ing us.
I decided that the same tactics which we
had used in “Red’s” case might apply once
more.
Consequently, when the newspaper ¢€x-
tras bearing the two-inch headlines of
Holt’s confession appeared on the street ,
later that day, I saw to it that they like-
wise devoted much space to the task of
impressing upon Mr. Prymas the precar-
iousness of his present situation.
Perhaps, I reasoned, we could scare him
from his hiding place, although I doubted
that we would enjoy such rapid success as
we had in the case of Holt. But I was to
be amazingly surprised. I was utterly u-
prepared for the happenings of the next
few hours.
That night, Monday, October 27th, Doc-
tor William T. Russell, medical superin-
tendent of City Hospital called the Su-
May, stared at him curiously as the wagon
rumbled toward the hospital.
“Well, old timer,” said May. “I’ve seen
you somewhere, I think. Did you ever
play baseball?”
“Yeh,” the sick man responded. “With
the Panaceks. Six or seven years ago.”
“Well,” said May, “that’s where I saw
you. I used to play with the Nemeceks.
You played second base, I remember.
What’s your name?”
“Joe King,” replied the man. “I’m sick.
Don’t bother me.”
“King?” persisted May. “That’s a funny
name for a guy living where you do.”
“Yes, but that’s my name,” the man in-
sisted jerkily.
At East Ninth Street and Euclid Ave-
nue May requested Harlan to stop the
wagon. He rushed to a news stand and
obtained a copy of an afternoon newspaper.
It contained a large picture of Prymas.
May soon returned with the picture.
“This looks like you,” he said to the man
in the wagon.
“Yeh,” admitted the stranger. “It’s a
dead ringer for me, but my name's
King. That ain’t me. Now, is it? You
remember me. I used to play with Priccl’s
Ponies.”
UT May did not reply. Instead he
leaned out of the patrol toward Harlan
in the driver’s seat.
“Matty,” he instructed, “drive like hell
to Headquarters.”
May felt for his gun and seated himseli
beside the now groaning man.
The man, at police headquarters, in-
sisted that his name was King until he
had been led to the identification bureau for
a Bertillon picture. Then he said: “Il ell.
yowre right. I’m Prymas. But I’m sick.
I’ve taken poison. I’m dying. Take me
to a hospital.”
But Joe Prymas was not dying. And
despite his hedging entreaties he was not
taken to a hospital until he had been thor-
oughly grilled.
For the reader to understand just what
had happened it is necessary to go back to
an earlier hour and to the little basement
room in East Fifty-ninth Street.
Joe planned a dramatic denouement to
his own life and was trapped by the col-
lapse. of his own little melodrama.
During the night, like a tired animal at
bay, he had paced the small basement room
where he had been living with Mrs. Stella
Snyder, wife of another man,
Beside him was a newspaper. Its head-
lines shrieked of the confession given
police by Joe’s companion—a confession in
which Prymas was left to face possible
death in the electric chair, The story in
the paper said that the police dragnet was
closing in on Joe Prymas.
Stella was gone for the night, and Joe,
alone in their dingy quarters, suffered all
the terrors of the hunted man. There were
ominous noises and menacing, moving
shadows outside his window.
Joe’s nerve failed. He would end the
suspense, would cheat the chair.
He walked over to the dresser ujxm
which stood a picture of Stella. He
wrote her a note. It read:
Good-bye all, sweetheart. I am
the man that was out with Red the
night of the murder. I didn’t want
to say anything to you because you
always believed in me. Good-bye and
good luck.
(Signed) Joe.
P, S. I gave overcoat to Frank
Price.
Dow’t mention anything to mother
Please don’t say anything to this land-
lady. She doesn’t know anything of
me but being straight. Of course shi
has never had anything on mie.
Red was not a man. If he was, lie
would not have said the things he did
about the car. At just 12 P. M—
(Signed) Joe.
Prymas decided upon one more flourish.
He turned the note over and scribbled a
second postscript upon the back.
(Continued on page 78)
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child, for still another woman.
For months he had stayed away from
her, returning to his home late at night.
Once, with the “other woman,” he had
taken a trip to Washington, D. C. When
Marie Holt found hair and powder upon
his coat she questioned him about his
amours only to be rebuked.
Always, however, he returned to his
wife, and with characteristié loyalty, she
had permitted him to remain with her
and their five-year-old and seven-months-
old daughters.
On the morning after his last visit he
had given her thirteen dollars and had
instructed her to call the transfer com-
pany and tell them that he would be un-
able to report for work. He had prom-
ised to leave the city at once. He said
he would send for her and the children
“when everything cooled over” and, upon
her suggestion, had promised to write her
under the name of Alice Baker.
Apparently, since losing the Peerless
murder car, Holt had been able to obtain
another auto, this time a Ford coupé,
Mrs. Holt’s information cheered me. If
I knew anything about men of “Red”
Holt’s ilk, he would attempt to take his
mysterious woman companion with him
when he fled.
She would prove an encumbrance and
sooner or later “Red” would. need money.
Funds would he needed, too, for opera-
tion of the car which, we learned, had been
rented from a local agency.
We had forced “Red” Holt to flight and
his lack of funds handicapped a smooth
retreat.
Obviously, our move now was to shut
off his possible sources of money.
Accordingly, I posted a detail at the
transfer company. George Henkel, pro-
Prietor of a restaurant at 6517 Bessemer
Avenue, the man who had been sent by
Holt in an attempt to borrow fifty dol-
lars from Mitchell, seemed a friend to
whom Holt might turn. Detectives were
staked at the restaurant.
With all our clues pointing to the red-
headed slayer, we had, naturally enough,
concentrated upon the task of ferreting
him out. Eight of my men who knew
“Red” Holt by sight had been haunting
the neighborhoods in which he last had
been seen,
UT, faced by a waiting game in his
case, we still were busy. We had not
forgotten the sallow-faced man, “Red”
Holt’s companion on the night of the mur-
der and—if our information was correct—
the man who actually discharged the bullet
that had sent Patrolman Hahnel to his
death.
Conferring with authorities at Mansfield
Reformatory where Holt had served more
than three years we learned that our red-
haired suspect had a cell-mate there with
whom he had become quite friendly. That
man was Bruno Joseph Prymas.
And Joe Prymas answered, to the last
detail, the description of Holt’s accom-
plice en the murder night.
As I left the detective bureau for my
home on the evening of Saturday, October
25th, I pondered over the Hahnel case.
In many ways it Was, so far, a striking
parallel to the Whitfield case in which one -
of our own department members, Patrol-
True Detective Mysteries
(Continued from page 70)
man Dennis Griffin, had been shot and
killed by a prisoner with whom he had
been riding in an automobile ‘to Central
Police Station.
Whitfield had proved an elusive prey.
But we finally had captured him. In this
present case we had two men to seek out.
That would give us the advantage of play-
ing them, one against the other, when we
caught them.
But would we catch them?
Morally certain of their identities we had
failed so far. A week and a day had
passed. Yet, despite our best efforts—
and every moment made me feel more cer-
NO WONDER HE’S HAPPY!
Close-up of the Red-Haired Phantom,
taken just after he had received the
news that he would not be executed.
He drew life—but his pal went to the
chair
tain of the apprehension of at least one of
them—I was forced to admit that both
murderers still enjoyed their freedom,
x *k *
DETECTIVE LIEUTENANT. EM-
METT POTTS, in charge of the cie-
tective bureau on the night shift, answered
the telephone on his desk. It was Sunday
morning, at approximately 3 o'clock, when
the call came.
Joe Prymas at City Hospital, Cleve-
land, after his unsuccessful attempt
to cheat the chair by taking his own life
A detective on detail at the transfer
company of Mitchell, “Red” Holt’s former
employer, had learned that a telegram had
sjust been received there addressed to
Mitchell.
The telegram read:
WIRE IMMEDIATELY SOME
(Signed) A. F, Kratrnc.
“Think it’s hot?” asked the detective.
“It may be,” said Potts. “Who is
Keating ?”
“Don’t know,” replied the detective on
the wire, “Mitchell isn’t here right now.”
Was this wire, which came from Wheel-
ing, West Virginia, a bona fide request
from some friend of Mitchell? Or was
MONEY.
it a wire from Holt under an assumed
name? Mitchell, called out of bed, said
he knew no one by the name of Keating.
Suddenly Lieutenant Pott’s telephone
rang again. Detectives Hartman and Lapp,
stationed at the restaurant of George
Henkel, reported receipt there of a wire
from Wheeling.
It was identical, word for word, with
that received by Mitchell.
Lieutenant Potts lost no time now. Has-
tily, he constructed a decoy message which
he sent at once to the Wesern Union
office at Wheeling,
It read:
MONEY WILL BE SENT YOU BEFORE Mon-
DAY NOON. (Signed) P. B. MitcHett.
Then, by long distance, he reached police
at Wheeling and explained the situation
and a possible trap to be sprung.
“Don’t spare expense,” he instructed.
“Have plenty of men there and several
automobiles. We're leaving immediately.”
I was awakened at my home and told
of the new development. We got in touch
at once with Chief John K. Irvin of the
Shaker Heights Police Department.
A few minutes later Chief Irvin, Lieu-
tenant Potts, myself, the late detective
Gustave Reese and Detective August
Hruska, the latter two of whom knew
“Red” Holt well, started out. Detective
John Ward, one of the department's best
drivers, was at the wheel as we sped out of
Cleveland.
Desk Sergeant Albert Custer of the
Wheeling police had talked to Lieuten-
ant Potts over long distance. Rapidly he
absorbed details and instructions of the
scheme whereby we hoped to entrap the
wily “Red”. Holt.
When Potts finished talking, Custer im-
mediately rang Chief of Wheeling Police
Kred Frazier, relayed to him the message
and awaited his instructions.
Chief Frazier rapidly issued orders.
“Get Detectives Wallace Buccy, James
Stanley, William West and United States
Deputy Marshal Welsh down to Headquar-
ters at once,” he commanded, “Have Pa-
trolman William Brunhaus report also.”
Frazier had picked his men With pur-
pose. Buccy was a veteran Bertillon ex-
pert, Stanley a crack shot in the Wheeling
Department, West an excellent shadower,
and Welsh and Brunhaus, seasoned auto
drivers,
Sometime later, crowded into the back
room of the Western Union office in
Twelfth Street, the Wheeling Police Chief
and his corps waited. They waited for
hours.
It was around noon when the clerk in
the outer office gave them a pre-arranged
signal.
But, as they peered into the outer office,
it was not the cautious “Red” Holt that
they saw. A young attractive woman was
reading the decoy wire.
At her side stood a little girl. The girl’s
right leg was pitifully shrunken and en-
cased in a steel brace. As the woman
nervously folded the message and placed
it in a pocket of her coat, Detective Wil-
liam West carefully let himself out a rear
door of the telegraph office and, hugging
building entrances, followed the woman
and child down the street.
(Continued on page 74)
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3ecause of the child’s crippled leg the
woman walked slowly as Detective West
shadowed her and the remainder of the
detail followed at a discreet distance in
Chief Frazier’s automobile.
Soon Chief Frazier discovered that
trailing the pair in an automobile would
have to be abandoned, for the woman,
passing up one street and down another,
had traversed almost the entire downtown
section of Wheeling. Her suspicions, evi-
dently, had been aroused at the telegraph
office.
It was an arduous trail that she blazed.
Several times she bought a newspaper.
And, in each case, the procedure was the
same. She repaired to a hotel lobby and
read while the detectives, eager to be led
to the hide-out of their quarry, fidgeted
outside.
Chief Frazier suddenly realized that
her walks had taken her for the second
time down one certain street. Somewhere,
he felt, “Red” Holt was hiding in one of
the numerous cheap boarding houses of the
street, chuckling, perhaps, as he witnessed
the fruitless tramping of his pursuers.
THIRD time she led the way down
the same street, but gave no indica-
tion as to which house might conceal
“Red.” Chief Frazier suspected that
something was about to happen. The alert
gunman undoubtedly would act soon.
Something did happen—with startling
speed and audacity.
A taxicab plunged into the street. Its
brakes squealed as it came to a jerky halt
beside the woman. The driver motioned
to them and the woman, pulling with her
the little girl who now was crying from
sheer exhaustion, leaped into the cab.
The accelerator of the cab pressed out
a roaring defi as the auto pulled away,
leaving the detectives, momentarily beaten,
standing in the street.
Motorcycle Policeman William Brun-
haus hailed a passing auto driven by Al-
bert Spenser.
“We've got to catch that cab,” he ex-
plained tersely. ‘Let me drive.”
Brunhaus and the rest of the officers
jumped into the car. For nearly half a
mile they pursued the fleeing taxicab.
Suddenly Chief Frazier observed that the
cab was being paced by a Ford coupé.
“That’s ‘Red’ Holt in the lead,” he
shouted. .“Step on it!”
Mile after mile out the National High-
way toward the Pennsylvania state line
the Ford and cab led their pursuers at a
forty-mile-per-hour clip. The chase was
on and the pursuers slowly were cutting
down the lead.
s
UDDENLY Holt's car stopped short,
wheeled about and pulled to the side
of the road. At his signal the cab, quiv-
ering from the strain, pulled off the road
alongside.
The heavier car of the Wheeling Police
thundered by for a hundred yards, unable
to stop because of its own momentum and
shipping brakes.
Hastily, “Red” Holt transferred the
woman and child into the Ford coupé and
pulled away. Brunhaus swung the police
car about and the chase again was on.
Over the same fifteen miles of highway
the automobiles sped. Detective James
True Detective Mysteries
(Continued from page 72)
Stanley, clinging to the running board of
the police auto, now was within firing dis-
tance. Occasionally he took aim—then
dropped his arm. He could not risk a
shot without endangering the lives of the
woman and the little crippled child.
On toward Wheeling, through the busi-
ness quarter and over the toll bridge to
Wheeling Island in the Ohio River, the
pursuit led.
At the bridge the chase seemed ended.
The detectives, but a few yards Mehind
their quarry, were gaining upon him.
But “Red” Holt was equal to yet an-
other surprise.
Turning so sharply that his car rode on
two wheels he plunged into a side street,
nearly colliding with his pursuers. Once
again the police car was carried by on its
own momentum,
When Brunhaus succeeded in reaching
the side street the Ford was out of sight.
Soon, however, the detectives saw the
fugitive car coming toward them. It ca-
reened wildly from one side of the street
to the other then crashed, with a sickening
impact, into a large car and came to a
halt.
With guns drawn the Wheeling detec-
tives piled out of their automobile and
rushed to the scene of the collision where
they found the woman and child uninjured.
But “Red” Holt had vanished from the
car.
Chief Frazier ordered two of his men
to take the woman and child to police head-
quarters. Then he set out to find Holt.
The Red-Haired Phantom’s wife in a
domestic pose
At that moment, several blocks away,
“Red” was walking calmly through the
yard of Madison School, a short distance
from his destination, the toll bridge lead-
ing to the Ohio side of the Ohio River.
But “Red” had figured his chances with-
out taking into consideration a southern
Deputy United States Marshal of Wheel-
ing who had witnessed part of the chase.
The southern gentleman was Bert O.
Phillips. He poked his revolver against
“Red’s” ribs and observed politely, “Young
man, I shall have to detain you a few
minutes.”
And the harder “Red” tried to explain,
the harder became the pressure of a gun
muzzle against his ribs. “Red” finally
gave up his attempts at explanations.
The Wheeling police had sprung the trap
with extraordinary effectiveness and when
we arrived there our suspect and his woman
companion were in custody of Chief
Frazier.
The woman told me that her name was
Mrs. Margaret Horton and that she had
been living with her brother at 9905 Park-
view Avenue, Cleveland, since she and
her eight-year-old daughter, Leota, had
been deserted by Mrs. Horton’s husband
three years before.
Her brother’s name, she said, was Ber-
nard Keating; the last name, I observed,
being the same as that contained on the
two telegrams which had spelled Holt’s
defeat.
But, if I expected “Red” Holt to vouch-
safe an equal amount of information 1
was to be disappointed.
“We've got you, ‘Red’,” I told him, “and
you might as well talk and make it easier
for yourself.”
“Red” sneered.
“T don’t know anything about any mur-
der, see?” he snapped.
“Who said anything about a murder?”
I asked him.
“Come to my trial,’ he retorted, una-
bashed, “You'll learn all the answers.”
And that was “Red’s” attitude as, hand-
cuffed to Detective Hruska, he was loaded
into our auto and returned to Cleveland.
Lieutenant Potts returned Mrs. Horton
and the little crippled Leota by train.
I had ordered Holt and Mrs. Horton
kept separated. Upon our return we hurled
questions at “Red” for hours in the detec-
tive bureau before, baffled by his stubborn-
ness, we decided to grant him a brief res-
pite.
In the meanwhile, Chief of Cleveland
Police Jacob Graul closely questioned
Mrs. Horton. And she insisted that “Red”
could’ not have been involved in the crime
Because he had been with her on the night
of the shooting.
NCE more we grilled Holt. I men-
tioned Margaret.
“You let her go,’ he snarled with a
worried, haggard expression. ‘She had
nothing to do with this.”
So that was the weak spot in “Red's”
armor—this comely, twenty-five-year-old
girl for whom he had toyed with the de-
sertion law, the Mann Act and the Dyer
Auto Transportation Act.
“Do you want to see her, ‘Red':” |
asked.
“Red” rewarded me with a glare. |
sent for the girl. She had admitted that
she was not with him the night of the mur-
der. And the new admission by Margaret
Horton shattered “Red’s” attempted alibi
that he had taken her to the Metropolitan
Theater on the night when Hahnel vras
shot.
“Red” railed at witnesses we had pro-
duced to identify him. One of the most
reliable of them, George Kunze, of 3414
East Sixty-sixth Street, he called a liar and
attempted to strike. Kunze, who had a
garage adjoining that rented by “Red” and
his companion, Joe Prymas, on the day
of the shooting, talked with both men for
fifteen minutes on the day of the shoot-
ing. He positively identified Holt.
Mrs. Horton now was led into the room
(Continued on page 76)
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JOE PRYMAS
mother and lawy:
nad now
inals but
3 which
ie latest
now on
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re of at-
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transfer
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heard of
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Vest Vir-
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Chief of
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iE DETECTIVE
.
graph office to see if any “plant” was
arranged.
The Cleveland officers who had
driven down during the night, and
who were posted on the outside for
the purpose of following the recipient
of the telegram in the event he should
not be the wanted man, were even
more disappointed.
But then the men sitting huddled
back of the partition were brought
to eager alertness when they heard
a voice from the front inquiring, -
“Have you a message for A.
Keating?” .
_ Their elation was followed by a
let-down. For the voice was that of
a woman! Peering out from their
hiding place, Chief Frazier saw that
the speaker was exceptionally pretty.
By her side was a little girl. Through
>the grating Frazier.saw that the latter
was hopelessly crippled, with one leg
encased in a heavy metal support.
The clerk handed the woman the
message. As she read it, a shadow
of disappointment crossed her face.
She folded it, put it in her bag, and
walked out. From her attitude, once
she reached the street, the chief felt
certain that her suspicions’ had been
aroused. He communicated his opin-
ion to the Cleveland officers, feeling
that it would be impossible to follow
her by automobile without being
observed. He therefore suggested
that he and his subordinates trail her
on foot.
- The woman’s actions confirmed the
chief’s hunch that she was fearful
of being followed. She looked around
repeatedly and was evidently in no
hurry to reach her destination. She
stopped three or four times to buy
a newspaper, some candy for the child,
a small toy and something from a
house furnishing store. Then she
retraced her steps, went back to a
hotel near the telegraph office and
sat in the lobby for a full hour read-
ing a newspaper, while the impatient
detectives fidgeted outside.
Once more she started out, covering
practically the same ground as be-
fore, up one street and down another,
going back again and repeating. the
performance, and continually looking
over her shoulder and across the
street.
Frazier awakened suddenly ‘to
something peculiar. The woman had
gone down a certain block in one
street five separate times. ' It was a
street lined on each side with second-
class boarding houses and shops.
“I bet ten to one that Holt is in
one of these places watching us and
probably having a good laugh,” the
chief observed to Marshal Welch. “It
might not be a bad idea to close
off this block and search every ‘housé
in it. Wecould....”
H= BROKE off his words abruptly.
A taxicab roared at high speed
into the block and passed them. It
stopped suddenly beside the woman
and the little girl. The woman leaned
down, grabbed the child in her arms,
and tumbled headlong into the cab,
the door of which the driver had
opened for her. Before the officers
FEBRUARY, 1942
were able to make one move, the
car leaped forward, turned to the right. '
at the end of the block and vanished
from view.
The Wheeling men, who had been
nearest, ran to the corner. Lady
Luck smiled on them. Another taxi-
cab was just turning into the street.
Patrolman Brunhaus showed the
driver his badge, pushed him to one
side, and jumped into his seat. Chief
Frazier and the rest of his men piled
inside as the car lurched forward
in pursuit of their quarry, now more:
than two blocks away. As _ they
whirled past the city limits, the taxi-
cab .took a sharp turn north and
started toward the Pennsylvania line.
‘Back of the pursuing car came Chief
Frazier’s fast automobile, driven by
the chief’s chauffeur, with a Cleve-
land detective on the runningboard,
gun in hand, waiting for an oppor-
tunity to shoot.
Frazier, in the pursuing taxi, sud-
denly shouted to Brunhaus, “There’s
a Ford sedan ahead of that car! It’s
been there all the time. They’re
gradually closing in. Watch out for
a trick! He may try to put some-
thing over on us!”
Even as he spoke, the Ford lurched
to the right into a crossroad. The
cab containing the woman and child
swerved in after it. The officers’
taxi followed, just in time for its
occupants to see a man pull the two
into the Ford and then resume his
headlong flight. The momentum of
the heavier police car bringing up
the rear carried it. down the main
road for twenty-five or thirty feet
past the intersection before it could
be brought to a stop. Cursing at the’
delay, its driver turned around and
twisted into the crossroad after the
rapidly disappearing Ford. ‘
In the few moments of events which
had followed one another in such
lightning-like sequence, one thing had
stood out in Chief Frazier’s mind.
That was the fleeting glimpse which
he had caught of the figure at the
wheel of the sedan as it lurched into
the side road—a glimpse which show-
ed that the person had a mop of
unruly red hair!
A_ half-mile up the sideroad the
Ford turned left into the main high-
way, once more heading north toward
the: state line. Their quarry’s car
was fast, but not as fast as Chief
Frazier’s. Slowly the latter began
to gain. The sedan was but a mile
from the bridge over the Ohio River.
% would have to ‘stop there. The
barrier at the toll station would
wreck the light vehicle if it attempted
to crash it.
The jubilant officers in the police
car, now well ahead of the pursuing
taxi, were but a few hundred yards
behind: the sedan, and were closing
the gap. Two of them stood on the
running board, anxious for a shot
at the tires of the fleeing Ford, but
afraid to shoot lest they hit the wo-
man or the child. In hope of scaring
the driver to a stop, they fired sev-
eral times into the air. But the
Ford sped on.
“We've got him!” Frazier exulted.
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96
“When he drives on that bridge he’s
finished. He can’t try any tricks
now.”
But again Frazier was wrong. With
a convulsive jerk, the red-head swung
his car to the left into a side street
fronting on the river. Once more
the heavier police car failed to stop
in time. It thundered on to the
bridge. Then it turned, came back
to the side street and turned once
more. -
The Ford was no longer in sight!
The driver raced to the first inter-
section and stopped. The officers
peered in -both directions. The Ford
was a block away. The pursuing
car started after it. The sleuths saw
another vehicle approaching the fugi-
tive car. The latter made a frantic
effort to get out of the way. But
it was too late. With a shuddering
impact the two machines collided.
Above the noise of clashing metal
and breaking glass came the: screams
of the woman and the little girl. The
police car drew up alongside the
wreckage. Fingers on the triggers
of their guns, the officers leaped
out.
They found the woman and child
in the back seat, crying hysterically
but uninjured. They ripped open
the shattered doors in front.
Red Holt had disappeared!
Chief Frazier gave orders that the
woman and child be taken to head-
quarters. He and his men, as well
as the Cleveland officers, then scat-
tered over the city to locate the elu-
sive fugitive. :
A few blocks away, the red-head,
who was unhurt, was nonchalantly
strolling toward the very toll bridge
from which he had recently shied.
He had circled around several blocks,
but had in no way faltered in his
determination to get into Pennsyl-
vania. As he approached the span,
he stopped for a moment behind a
building to see if the road was clear.
There was no one at the bridge
entrance who looked like a cop. Bold-
ly he stepped from his hiding place,
just as a cold, hard object dug into
his back and a business-like voice
commanded:
“Stick your hands up, Red, and
keep ’em there!”
“What's this, a stickup?” Holt de-
manded, ;
“Yes,” his captor, Deputy United
States Marshal Burt Phillips, re-
torted, “you’re being stuck up by me
for the murder of Mike Hahnel.”
Holt denied his identity. But his
star of good luck had set. Phillips
slipped the handcuffs on him and
took him down to police headquarters.
He was insolent and snarling when
questioned.
“You ain’t got.a thing on me,” he
| sneered, “and I ain’t telling you any-
thing. If you want to know what
I’m going to say, you can come to
my trial.”
The woman who had been with
him gave her name as Mabel Ogden.
She said the crippled child was her
daughter. She contended that Red
could not possibly have murdered
Hahnel, as he had been with her
Ags AERA PRES: é te SR ah
on the night the crime was com-
mitted.
But when Chief Cody brought the
two of them together, the woman
admitted that this statement was not
true. She begged Holt to deny the
charge. The latter thought this over
for a,few moments and then, much
to Cody’s surprise, promptly changed
his attitude.
“Bring in a stenographer,” he said,
“T’ll make a statement.”
In the statement he alleged that
Joe Primas had actually fired the
shot, doing it entirely on his own
Mitiative. He also said that they
had separated immediately after the
crime. and that he had no-idea where
_Primas was.
FEW NIGHTS later a routine call
came to the Cleveland police head-
quarters. Dr. William T. Russell,
superintendent of the City Hospital,
reported receiving a message that a
man ‘had attempted suicide at 1892
East Fifty-ninth Street, and he asked
that the police send:a wagon to pick
him up.
Patrolmen Matthew Harlan and
Clarence May were sent out on the
call. They found a young man in
apparent agony, lying on the floor.
He gasped out that he had taken
carbolic acid. Harlan, who had a
working knowledge of medicine, look-
ed into the man’s mouth and was
surprised to see very few blisters
of the kind which carbolic acid causes.
“I think you'll be O. K.,” he said
encouragingly. . “What’s your name?”
“My name’s Joe King, and for God’s
sake get me to the hospital!”
The patrolman put him in the wag-
on and started off. They had gone
but a few blocks when something
which had been stirring in May’s
mind suddenly crystalized. It con-
cerned a photograph he had seen
recently. Now, all at once, his brain
clicked. He knew who this “suicide”
was!
He turned the police machine
around.
“Where the hell are you going?”
Harlan demanded. —
“To headquarters,” May replied
tensely. “That bird in there is Joe
Primas!”
The suspect-was not too sick to
- realize where he was as they led
him into headquarters. ‘“What’s the
idea?” he demanded.
“The idea is,” May replied, “that
you’re Joe Primas and you’re wanted
for killing Mike Hahnel.”
The prisoner’s face went a shade
whiter. “I’m dying,” he moaned.
“Get me to the hospital. Give me
a chance.”
“Sure, just like you gave Mike a
chance. You'll get to the hospital
after you’ve seen the chief and made
a statement, and not before.”
. “Okay,” the captive whined, “I’m
Joe Primas. I killed him. Now get
me to the hospital.”
At City Hospital a short time later
it was found that, as Harlan had
suspected, Primas was not seriously
ill, He had intended to end his life,
but had lost his nerve at the last
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
santos: thn hn iii in ot fa
f
moment. a
after takir
C r
roa e
the .._ «
found a r
for his pa
“Goodby
“ man that °
of the mu
anything 1
believed iu
If he had
said the t!
On Nov
Primas w:
week late:
sentenced
The tales
agreement
and confid
trial, on J
after delil
six hours,
with a re
which aut
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On Apr
the dram:
Primas we
chair at t
ironic side
woman wi
ing—she ;
before he
life into 1
snuffed ou
Editor’s
embarrass
the name
Ogden, us
real but f
\
ant
(Cor
would go.
see him fo
Flemmir
self to bel
was on an:
he made |
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The boc
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around mi
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“The fa
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theory of
tenant Fle
Flemmir
Mrs. Nelli
both -told
stories of :
Bergmar
by Roe to
FEBRUARY,
s com-
wht the
woman
was not
eny the
his over
1, much
changed
he said,
ed that
red the
1is own
at they
fter the
a where
tine call
xe head-
Russell,
Hospital,
2 that a
at 1892
1e asked
. to pick
lan and
t on the
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d taken
» had a
look-
was
isters
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he said
c name?”
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the wag-
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ymething
n May’s
It con-
iad seen
his brain
“suicide”
machine
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replied
re is Joe
» sick to
they led
That’s the
ied, “that
‘e wanted
a shade
moaned.
Give me
e Mike a
» hospital
and made
ned, “Tm
Now get
time later
n had
riously
__ iis life,
t the last
#& DETECTIVE
moment. and had spat out the acid
after taking a small quantity.
On a trunk in the little basement
room where he had been living with
the wife of another man, the police
found a message which he had left
for his paramour:
“Goodbye, sweetheart. I am the
* man that was out with Red the night
of the murder. I didn’t want to say
anything to you because you always
believed in me. Red was not a man.
If he had been, he would not have
said the things he did.”
On November 17; 1924, Holt and
Primas went on trial. Exactly one
week later Primas was convicted and
sentenced to death in the electric chair.
The talesmen could not reach an
agreement concerning the smiling
and confident Red. But at his second
trial, on January 12, 1925, the jury,
after deliberating for nearly thirty-
six hours, rendered a verdict of guilty
with a recommendation for mercy,
which automatically condemned him
to life imprisonment.
On April 24, 1925, the last act in
the drama was carried out when
Primas went to his end in the electric
chair at the Ohio Penitentiary. An
ironic sidelight was furnished by the
woman with whom he had been liv-
ing—she gave birth to a child just
before he was executed, bringing one
life into the world gs another was
snuffed out.
Editor’s Note: To spare possible
embarrassment to innocent persons,
the names Tom Dolan and Mabel
Ogden, used in this story, are not
real but fictitious.
Wine, Women
and—Homicide !
(Continued from page 35)
would go. Sometimes we wouldn't
see him for weeks.”
Flemming could not reconcile him-
self to believe, however, that DuBois
was on any nature-loving jaunt when
he made the trip to Turk Hill on a
cold winter night. ane
The body of Andrew DuBois had
been found by Gale shortly before
seven o'clock the morning of Novem-
ber 16, 1940. The medical examiner’s
surmise that death had occurred
around midnight proved correct, the
autopsy revealing that the old man
had died within twenty minutes of
being struck a tremendous blow over
the right eye. His frontal skull. bone
was fractured.
“The facts deduced by the post-
mortem: are consistent with your
theory of murder,” Gaul told Lieu-
tenant Flemming.
Flemming questioned Bergman and
Mrs. Nellié Rée, mother of Billy, and
both -told apparently straightforward
stories of events on the night before.
Bergman admitted being summoned
by Roe to assist in tugging DuBois’
FEBRUARY, 1942
an ee RSE Ne fee en
sina
car away from the post, but he said
that after releasing the machine he
got into his own car and drove back
home. He did hear Andy DuBois say
something about going to Gilboa,
however.
Mrs. Roe declared she stood by
while the three men labored with the
DuBois car; then, when DuBois,
finally succeeded jn freeing his ma-
chine, she had walked’ up the road
with her son.
“He went into the house with you?”
Flemming asked.
* “Of course,’ the woman replied.
“Billy doesn’t hang around all night.
He has to get up early in the morning
to work for Mr. Tompkins.”
Bergman’s story of returning di-
rectly home from the DuBois place
was corroborated by members of his
family.
Flemming and the other state offi-
cers believed the answer to the riddle
lay somewhere in Gilboa.
“The old man must have had a
definite purpose in going there,”
Flemming said. “Either he was going
to meet someone—someone who, in
all likelihood, was his slayer—or else
he picked up someone along the road
—some stranger. If that was the case,
this killer’s going to be hard to find.
“Also, we’ve: got to go back and
look into some of those trailer trips
DuBois made. Gan’t tell what kind of
a mess this old fellow might. have
gotten into.” ;
Since murder was the assumption
“on which they were working, Flem-
ming notified the office of District
Attorney Gleason B. Speenburgh of
Delaware County that he believed a
crime had been committed. Speen-
burgh, who was on a hunting trip on
Bellayre Mountain,- said he would
come to Grand Gorge at once.
While awaiting his arrival, Flem-
ming, Judge and the other officers
questioned Andrew DuBois’ family
again, endeavoring to sift out of the
aged man’s mysterious trailer ram-
blings some clue of value.
They found that DuBois kept a
diary of his jaunts, but this, on in-
spection, yielded nothing of a definite
nature. ,
There were, however, the names
of various towns and locations at
which the veteran camper had spent
some time, and Flemming dispatched
Troopers Coons and Nagle to make
inquiries into the old man’s habits and
possible friendships while on the road.
Meanwhile, Brick Chase confirmed
Billy Roe’s story of the wine pur-
chases. He had sold the youth three
two-quart bottles of port on the night
before, these purchases totaling $3.75.
The youth had made two trips to his
place, first for one bottle and then
for two.
But one bottle was still unaccounted
for in the DuBois trailer, and Flem-
ming wondered whether Roe could
have taken this home with him, to-
gether with an unconsumed -portion
of the wine.
The arrival of Speenburgh inter-
rupted his thoughts regarding the
missing bottle. The prosecutor, listen-
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scala cit MM Sh bal i ca as yl Bane
MAe Mand Mia f
A ES,
Nha, Keach =
ee
ow x cial ;
able pasty §
eel Gy ots nandica ntti
m badty. e
angrirmanquertiona bly is true thawte
smn J and Al Smith are genera) ee
r to have been friendly
or Roosevelt of New York {
ext years Democratic Nom ibater
{th Owen D. Young (some say)
n siternative favorite—and With
sumaelf, mayhap. 8s & contingency
The best it 1s possible to conclu
‘hen, js that the Kent-Raskobd cor a
respondence nas not done Ai. Gove
ernot Roosevelt OF Mr. Young anyg
yood, and the worst is that it bagg i.
ss wyemy “considerably. “y
4 - orief,
“a
Le
|
we Ond the non-Martlap
}
a4 contingent of Democratic prec
dential possibilities in “a state of ¢
cided djsorganization a ot Jan
14, the identical date eet tor Gover
nor Ritchie to make & bun.-ding:a
apeech over & nation-wide hook-up iq
announcing his o¢8 pree ident. ee
candidacy.
1x couldn't have been better tim
}f Prank: Kent hed done tq with
Net cten bthnh-to- alienate eal PE we
prop-watcen. a
Frank and the governor are bDrothe:
Marylanders and fellow tornsmer x
A too. i * * of
Brill. it may nave peen a mere ec. 2
cident that Frank chanced ‘o wr: on
° his Raskob “story” for the Baltimore
Sun just when he did.
iia’ “v
~ § Corner &
9 ee a
1 & Eb AND “SMOG - e
ed an
epee
a the flames. fire-fighters hace bees fe
ch | able to put out more than he mM. ee grits:
ted , O% fre of that type. Se ym eT 6
eae Hold a piece of metal above & cas. ee yt
ae die fame, and in & few moments rake
we notice that the metal bas abe
eBt =. coating of soot. Even ® tiny cas Ba
ng gives forth smoke. pete ae pe
In these days of huge factores ag" a 148
Sees ulls..with thousands of tons of a % od iis ara 8 tee tT = haa
ong burned in & city every mon-h, tbe me te Ore n effort ee
ovis i aaelgy with amoke. De ange Baile: UECES arrest 08 € i
e : moke does a great dea! to bring Bes een steeliDe :
fon -oD rain, for it mizes vin ni ts aS b= AnnAILaAdt ‘
caus! “yapor in the air. Smoke isc dow ct yaps.ne into upconacious-
peg much to bring on fogs In Pia ee POT ee named piter Ralls
any * burgh the people talk about “smog "ie pa eee
’ fa This 8 & thick f06€. fAljed with woo. 5 oo ps tase) artaly 7 fee
meni “Smog also visits other jarge Cibe. 7 ass a to tne ast and suc-
ries, § Wt ip so heavy that one coulé almor Bs spootlne nis assailant iD
tor ‘cut it with ® knife. ener wound, hows:
ay It coal Durning increases :n Amous Ha ye weft SOLE a
tebe Laue the coming years ‘a7pe Gus ‘ tle gassed #5 ail-6ay
ay become eveD worse In tDw te Ee gus-
aed spect. Efforts are beine mace, bot
ever, to cut down the smoke ev ee
r--| using “smoke consumers
m- Another way Wwe may prevent }
wet air from containing too much sont b
Vs we by the use of cleaner fuels oO aie
ceases val * fairly clean fuel, and still dee me
ae as ? will be the use of electric power le
dond as neating wel! as ligntine Vig
air. power can be used to ® much gree
ight ht: extent for making #lectric:'y
ar marcy .a5
tow one |
any
N)
Slain
Tee °
aw to ¥ ater
we Prec
of pasiDs
> A :
‘RALLS, Blanton and Walter, black
h10-
yyapun & eae
While
o Arrest.
Rallis who wes
stolen
elec, Ohio
1g chickens |
‘oge| farm. one mile.
cnsuccesst! no
ie Of Columbus
one Taney ere
Him Red Cros
d of Franklin County Chapter
Yyhportapt pautarsrabet
ter al 50
.
S
Sith Thermome
iN ong
«1931,
Tris
Coo
be his brother's
-tyus, Saturday mc
- Potts, who’ file
Stish he -Endiang~cit:
th excar. ©
ak - ie
= "The ban on
> 4 eS
a ot 3 ! er Sy ie -tenton
F * big isis fe ~ gi, sy wee
it aes te ch OFS “e Sige es
wee igs ake Se j - wr. . Alice
} ‘ my Durse
Brig. Gen. C. C. Walcut tuperinte:
much perter the
No ONE knows
iN pea! relies afforded py the = pointed She
American Red Crosa than dots go years ones ae |
Bre. Gen. C Cc Walcutt. IF. res ly, “ ous 8
tired. .wno wes recenuy named } ON ‘ridsy
cnairman of the Franksn Count¥ | Fighth Cav dorm:
Chapter of the America Red | tne Rio or perk ,
A gt : | tie 44 ye :
Porty-four yesrs of active army H Meter b
over the world nave
yntimate touch #3'3
this great agency. which is BOF
ling for funds © relieve the
stricken aress
service all
ut him into
appee
arougnt
2
Waicutt, *e
cc Wal utt. ar.
”
a
eae
a
)
-
o
.
—pirth was June
His gather nad
in nis os
Pt.
muty- |
tion eel Nie |
affa: i
atte! Appes
» Other passeny |
E > 5 tag anscontinents
ed
‘ ee Ne rsa Aeneas emer a rom 2 BS FeLLO: that we have 13,000, \ ceed :
gue. 370 South Finh street. |. to Columbus, bia: chucth, suc- | Pennsylvaris ¢ lands -emd 16,000,000 ' encient Mayan
eerie. 37 ae pther me i- Bt. Paul Episcopal + tecree of flores é ae malts ts :
a yeury Fineat.* TVG Uns, Cora | Of Bt. v. Gidney E. Sweet. - tm farms where eulicient GRE OO ce
cin me trie ema ay a | EDS GL Luin ag enn of |more 28 dard where saciens
(Coe » gome we et = Heit be Christ Chureh Outhedral. > - ‘time to mi of the national ex- |
St) rte WE Lbe : it Ce Third | e sgeannETaNe : er, : i :
“ J pels st tue Meth sia coo Oe at 2) : ties te ee phos jase of the Imat Wat et
ioe ana eG oe Gee Lawa ceme e h oi rif J ——— rite spoke. Pret. Raymond oA
t % bat Sg wHE be & ss - sf =i ; “eS -———_ + alss . iG
“gel : oe erine Seermiae Ds Brees oe aad 4 hie: Ss € a Genare: Chio State_untrerslty, oe
t Re Wise Me. Fee ; tains 5 y : : aster. 5 ;
ee Pasa ean ne ee eek She is rarrive : Si ain b r Sus} ect M water conserratic ae Sig aay
foticwisc & ben o, Wilhem B - y axntvoca ;
tof: her hveband, & Bon, 3. bc) <\trrigation wes dele-'
ai Ot St Paci Minn: Sve Miner ef, Betietoo- Or naa = ___.° <\epeakers appearing before bea we
the Kerr, Meu. Lents Fine i kemewot:) a ¢ One.) ‘lL eates at the afternoon session of ROUTE to
: tates; Mr. Frank B. B 4, end Mrs (Continued from Pag -- tga tee =>
| Mthe ins. “Bert Sener ef Sprimriskt.” 6 Burial lice-force, the sherif's | onvention,. biother, Wh
Ew | ca ates L. Smith of Columbus. ‘perviers; the Crestline Ralls home, buti ee e Lateyette.
wgitn. [wit be in Beliefontsing folowing ae | party went to the tttance."—Under [5 | Potts, atr mal fF
+ wae Seco eee aged 68. died = threats to bresk down the door Dev- Bouble tes FOr - Transpor Peet
mbus fence, S123 Wert Fire, events: | threats many wamiittedt after he | £7 7 ee ay bus. Saturday m
/ rere Agree feturday ecoichinere eared export ee ee to surround = . ~~ KB oS di Potts, who filc
He leated Bre wits. thres Sher Services had ordered the othe ere fat —Peib e anne 1 hmond, Va. ®
ogee ters, two sisters and & — we. at the] on, eee TF im Bich: my POT fo:
| wif -be_held Mopdsr at 3 Bom Mt) that the Grothe Wer | ec a ee ee
redidence. Burial will be ta Wateut Bullj “yey room, the shert® started | ener of his brother's
rs a Cae Ege Services | 8D eerste y, but was met of = ___ (Continued from Page wheat —}.the -Indians~e!t
| aie onan Se cee ee grate with the fetal shot. a L, Southwick, underwarer(2 7° ody | Pitcairn Meat ed
wy se Troretay nish.” ° : = Leeeaeed + the shot rushed re & = Seay t® more 4 In regu *
‘TEe | i Reepatal ill be held at 8 . a nies I am shot," High street, not mother. Then | ure Cam. 19-2
ied En paris teet ocean | tt Sema, eel | witnent coment of te ped coeds a
ete ee oo peonreparareen Sb, Stuckert-| 15 snrestened—te fie 8 petition $8 ja
McNALS—Frazk ee “who shot you.” queried Brucker [eres “WTS EERE" ee -Charters, at
ne.) far. Mr. sauna el ast 2D. Ma Mon + ts acter Faun arhere Art. taxe! a es et : a ; State university
gin Com cied Fridar. will be beld at SS ues redding. Si ge ea him ae eee penal’ of ‘my ~olient."— Kingt ckieere=
————Thuria! in Green Lawn cemetery Phim to ze : EP. : ce pe~ | we¢tbound plac
mise all | ; ve ONERS GO TO SLEEP. ___ le filed the dtvor At,
i CceSENWALD—Bies Plocewer, ared 28. rete the other officers] tact Mrs. Deib ton bad been! & Western
" | er ipaday_vieht-at_her—remdooce—88081—Brockert and men into; tition, the seperst fins} | Saturday morn
82 died Pridar—e leaves her father. Ed-| os onetatre and took the ene , granted, even though Charters i
Sik | Seibert street. She brothers, Carl. ere —} morally not been mace in the, Dr.
3 acc wald: three custody. os had ‘s to Indian
ward Ochser eexenld: and four ; . be emergency the wife's} gicnt
tin the | item sod Re comets Mra: Mart |< Removed - to ae ight Geath uD-| courts. This Oe aton Ire-| Other pansen.
Mrt. Anna . Clase t venport ; : . F :
that me" ~ ipo Mes, Rowe ap gens esata Ge oe e gitar midnight ~ he aa claim up st es cee not oS pea etn ate
con Burt “ — Bowing short! wert OtteEDPt-| quested anyone wi two; Tuiss,
che reck~ | Davis. 4 | Schoedinger Co. follow! three physicians e remains to . <
red light | tery, DF oe tay, 88 3 p. mq at the resi-| eas ove the lead pellets from Ne ans mother.” and -Albuquerd’
wield UD6 | dance. of 739 Bdomen | 2 NY REQUESTED. z e ban on
mace the APPAS—Mra. Goldie, aged 45. Cniver- cae thé trio was brought to county —— ony in the sie tinent
Ma arenve, died Fridar night im UEIVES | yrée- the ds were dressed PY; ane question of yas to be beard | TTANSCON itfte
TESe. | Re ee a ia. ‘gs wound :
fea te : I mer ng ore being completed by ths | Jail, Balt Bbortly saacignae divorce meee uanatey in do- ae
: fear Ry Co ~Ponerst “err | the men, apparently unconcerned, = peiations court next Monday: —t Trans Setur
ch apeed PETRLE—Jemes Owen: er aeeeue pound sleep. : ~~~ --f mmortic 1 agreement reached line ast t
relices for Mr. Petrie, 690 Stanley vente: | into 9 XN MAN SUCCESSOE. ~~ | "a, reeuit of the spent Priday | installing ast t
Dole | ene Siet Tomestay sien, will be Bele | Ortath of Davenport eutomatt-| 94 7 evening, te van ot ner hius-+ pines
es ie’ with bartal tn Osk ["“fhe death of _3_-G-Mannhardt | t beside “the coffin. - at ORs
[a= - —-) Monday at 20-8 mw ty Spears 2) pany pisces Coroner. of snectt un Apannd:—-iv-wae-taxen- to her pome © | Sone
_, Grove . cameters. . Losec, “OF Di bof Galton tm -the office, rs appolit ®lms cm. with the understandit <1 New-Sup-
eSCue {Born Charles, ered 63,60. mad St “eounty commissioners appoint — oS: ; “al Services elation sian
a + Cat pacer morning. 2 es nie [ sReCeRear. the gon of sharases the remains woule oe Critten
Ry Me jet aca 9 stonroca rennin money Sherif gtd ane ies of Bucyrus | girectiy to Logen, yee. Se at | pers Alice L
BE = BE) F fis p.m. at the dercone 0. 6. Band Bers. J.B world war be attained | oo wilt be bela M ts Mr, apd Mre-’ pide Day pure
ot & DUI" | He wes & Member of the oO ms wite,| During the oa captain .of the home of the parents, Ag ewe ‘
ab. drivers the Rebecca Loder. father Wilbor Pin | stete-wide to | Nattonal Danie? Deibie.. : pe held | new superinte
“ants form | MMs. Cora Pinner: his father iid, ok; Bignth —Ob bus ve =
Hous form pe, w son, Wiliam Pinney. & ait | Company As far Oe ea ee | Tae COMM Oe ree vies cuulehs Conteenton
from thé | aun Pinney: three — Mrs guard and eerved He entered | poder Sites of the to be COO- | preet,..she w
saught Oré ; Parker,—érv. Gerakios brothers, Beverty. in overse here 17 years 88°-|ane Logen services othe “Catholic sition Sundar
fety Bont | eee eT pret Power survive, - military sagen og has - “his! ducted under rites of the bal ~The board :
ROBIXSON — pat here. : “ comprised poin
2 ae t services “for “Xr: ——— —— Praca | & sisin sheriff was the only ne Aas apngwrnan will permit the. > -—-5— etek
ment. | ied, Friday morning. tertum—are beins| The oa - @lected which, to proceed porary super!
= ice | County Tuberesiosis tlaker & Set-| publican sherti ever Movember bei yas: rites of the work t abe re months
ries, po ee ae wiord county. Last : out further disagreement. eg tert
«= for quéeé- He eves bie parents, Mr. and Gres: Cra fom s second term. - witho USES. ~The bette:
Bobineon: two elsters. Mrs. agpldguean tee’ wes re-elected he is survived; cana XOCR CLA ee _lof the home
_ lory and Mrs. Rcib Jones sod two brother |" vides his mother follow: fone te RebScCa
18 C ligolarecpcasem cane 4 Raper enlis ETE oP png wife abel -wocammpeny the intendent for
:~“Curotter~Viela, tg ; COM se <
ded By san ee Seca ter fowsrony ti] neve pot been eompletad. = mothe: to micher, a to vettie all fu-| | Charges of
| foliowing 9 Jong —Liness. . a other, e
or fot ten oe eros oreca eee Emery to Hold Service) 2 Pee eitn ot cum ae eee
anaes ae: Services wil}. a a Enea: | da
—(IXS).—A | SP Pas. at tbe J. D. Ferguson mortusry | KuTT ef rove Church | 6150 stowed by the state COM Pr 4 eoup, satur
4 condition Pisin City. Burial will be : a At Maple 1 sen ee eile will be arobemeaiapens . 1 M
See De | Greve cometary ee TT.” CRE | em former press remains at ber home {Stee t
wont age ny a pa Marthe, poe Rev. & W. Emery. also! keep the odio
Tb and re- | ponter for the Peanaylvania ralirged sbope | an nine vert. Mob. and ale
Oe ee a Ee
TWO PUT TO DEATH
| FOR MURDER IN OHIO
}UMBUM, Ohio, Mov, 18. We
Waltey Maile, 34, and Blanton Ralls,
19, his nephew, both negroes, were put
t death in the electric chair of the
Ohi penitentiary tonight for killing
Bheriff George Davenport Crawtord
sounsy, ® year ago,
ked and slain.
mathematician
»f a cold prob-
counted for his
of January 3 to
ung too well,”
are the names
ie, just in case
then proceeded
haracters Story
of Cleveland’s
n the girl was
»bviously satis-
himself of the
yuld try to pin
1 made sure
ig. He realized
ing hope. The
body could be
ito Miss Galla-
If they were
fired from the
ave Ralph dead
signalled the
be connected
ication bureau.
could offer no
aid,” he said,
m Janet Blood
ve examined it
ry possible
beaten up
s wits. Pschock
s their assailant.
5 stared at him
was the man,”
e identification.
id further un-
to look at the
with a mixture
nicism, “Golly,
ss Blood had to
i at me she’d
guy who shot
‘Yes, she sure
thing.”
ind their asso-
istration in the
sugh each was
e murderer of
been captured,
ling except the
itements. There
iady characters
» refused to be
story perfect in
Matowitz de-
harges carrying
twenty years
lr. Miller sorted
e said, “we can
n both counts.
g him serve the
keep him be-
a brief trial
a plea of guilty
s Gallagher and
c was delivered
Py
had been im-
served on each
consecutively.
““--e satisfied.
less than
_. ng his sen-
caped!
proved to be
5, 1931, he was
vhen a feminine
IF YOU WANT TO BE “IN THE KNOW”
OCTOBER seine. o
tumn leaves, pumpkins, and a
glorious issue of
or ries
MOVIELAND
on newsstands everywhere
September 6th
%& CLARK GABLE is “The King” to
the rest of the movie industry—
but to Z. Wayne Griffin, co-pro-
ducer of his new independent
film corporation, he’s just plain
“Sonny.” Find out why, in Oc-
tober MOVIELAND!
% LANA TURNER is the talk of Hol-
lywood! For, when Lana gets a
bee in her bonnet to find out
something—she stops at nothing
to do it. And some of the things
she finds out will amaze you—as
they did us!
% JUNE ALLYSON AND DICK
POWELL tell fans all in an “On
the Level” interview. You'll really
get to know this famous duo when
you read it; for MOVIELAND
always gets all the facts—with a
few to spare!
% RICARDO MONTALBAN and his
wife, Georgianna, have one of
Hollywood’s most beautifully dec-
orated homes. See it, and hear all
the details about it in October
MOVIELAND!
% JOAN EVANS initiates MOVIE-
LAND’s teen-age forum, with her
views on steady dating. And, to
get a complete roundtable, we’ve
asked the opinions of other stars
and recognized authorities on this
puzzling problem which faces
youth,
%& STARS AND MORE STARS VIC
DAMONE, BETTY HUTTON,
ROY ROGERS, JUNE HAVER,
DON TAYLOR, MERCEDES Mc-
CAMBRIDGE, DONALD O’CON.-
NOR, TERRY MOORE AND
MORE!
DON'T MISS OCTOBER
Movieland
On Newsstands September 6th!
‘no report by
plained that a male customer had begun
whispering suggestive remarks to her.
The stranger, Edward Ralph, was booked
on a nuisance charge and held by Los
Angeles police until his identity was
brought to light. ;
He was returned to the penitentiary in
Columbus. The prisoner, obviously con-
trite, said, “I’m going to be a model
prisoner. From now on, I’m going to be
good. I’ve only been hurting myself.”
It was apparent to all who saw him when
he spoke that he really meant it.
Janet Blood and the outbreak of at-
tacks by a sex fiend.in 1929 and 1930
became lost in the big events of depression
and war.
On the morning of June 4, 1943 Frank
W. Story, now holding the title of: Inspec-
tor of Detectives, received a call from an
East Side woman, reporting that her
daughter, five-year-old Mary Jane Brady,
had disappeared.
The mother, Mrs. Dorothy Brady, a
young widow who was visiting her sister
at East 82nd Street near St. Clair Ave-
nue, said she had been looking all night
for Mary Jane.
“I thought,” the distraught woman said,
“that she might be somewhere in Gordon
Park, a block or so from here.”
Two squad cars of patrolmen were de-
tailed to search the park area. Story, ac-
companied by Lieutenant George Smyth
and Sergeant Thomas White, drove out to
the East Side and soon became involved in
the search.
Less than an hour later, Smyth, his at-
tention fixed on a spot behind a clump of
Gordon Park shrubbery, called Story.
“There she is .. .”
The inspector glanced at the small body
on the ground. He winced, then turned
his head. There was no question that the
girl was dead.
Story quizzed Mrs. Brady, hoping of
learning more about what the child had
been doing before she disappeared.
The weeping mother declared she had
last .seen her daughter playing with a
neighbor the night before. The boy,
Larry Marsh, 8, lived with his mother in
the same apartment building as Mrs.
Brady’s sister. -
Story promptly visited the Marsh apart-
ment. He knocked on the door several
times but received no response.
“When did you last see Larry?” Story
asked Mrs. Brady.
“With Mary Jane,” the woman replied.
“They were playing together on the side-
walk the last time I saw either of them.”
“And have you seen Larry’s mother?”
“No,” Mrs. Brady said. “I knocked on
her door several times last night, hoping
she might know where Mary Jane was.”
The inspector grimaced. Was another
child lying dead somewhere? If Larry,
too, had disappeared, why had there- been
Mrs. Marsh? And where was
Piianct years went by. The murder of
Mrs. Marsh?
Story turned to a small group of uni-
formed men. “Break it down,” he said
grimly, indicating the Marsh door.
Before the officers could carry out the
order, however, the door opened slightly.
A man’s voice called out sleepily, “What's
going on there? What do you want?”
Story paused. He hadn’t expected to
find a man inside the apartment.
“Where is Larry Marsh? Where is his
mother?” the officer shouted.
“They’re not here,” the man replied.
The door started to close again. .
Story and a patrolman leaned their
weight against the door and forced it
was dressed in blue-striped pajamas. His
patron in a motion picture house com- |
open. The.man inside stepped back. He
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opened right from scratch,” Story Com-
manded. “Go over the whole thing again.
Start hauling in suspects. Talk to the
people you quizzed before .. .”
Led by the robbery detail, 15, ace sleuths
plunged into some recent history. The
station was surveyed again. Photographs
of the interior were re-examined. — Pic-
tures of the broken: lock were exposed in
conferences of top level Cleveland police
officers and civic officials.
Then, on the afternoon of January 28,
May and Jacobs struck paydirt.
The break was totally unexpected. It
came during a routine call on one of the
individuals who had been interrogated
previously. His name was Edward Ralph
and ‘he was listed simply as “one of the
customers of the station.”
The file card indicated that Ralph had
tried to help the previous robbery investi-
gation by describing people he had séen
on the premises during the week preced-
ing the robbery. §
Ralph lived in a modest dwelling near
the corner of East 80th Street and Wade
Park Avenue.
Jacobs rang the bell, then waited. Sec-
onds later the door opened and a young
man with a quiet voice said, “Hello. You
looking for someone here?”
A glance of amazement passed between
the investigators as they studied the youth
at the. door.
He was stocky; his lips were very full;
there was a light furrow in his brow just
above the right eye; the left side of his
face was lop-jawed.
“Are you Edward Ralph?” Jacobs asked.
The youth nodded. “I’m Ralph,” he
said. He gestured towards the inside of
the house. “Won’t you come in?”
The detectives hesitated. “No,” May
said. “We just want you to come along
with us.”
“Come along?” Ralph asked. “Why?
Where?”
May identified himself and Jacobs. “It
has to do with the murder of Janet Blood,”
he said, studying Ralph’s emotionless fea-
tures.
T headquarters Ralph appeared com-
pletely self-possessed as he denied all
knowledge of the attacks on Cleveland
women which had been climaxed by the
senseless, cold-blooded slaying of inno-
cent Janet Blood. Story, conducting the
quiz session, shrugged, turned to Detec-
tive Wolf.
“We'll have to get Miss Gallagher and
Mrs. Pschock down here,” he said. “They
got a pretty good look at the killer. If
they can recognize this fellow, I’m afraid
we'll have to hold him a little longer.”
Ralph looked down at his hands. He
allowed the tip of his tongue to dart out
between his thick lips just long enough to
moisten them.
Story turned to Koryta. “Ed,” he said,
“I want you to go back to Mr. Ralph’s
home and search the place.”
Ralph got to his feet. “Excuse me,” he
said. He faced Koryta. “You'll find it
in the top drawer of,my dresser.” ,
There was a moment of silence. Story
finally broke it.
“You mean the gun, don't you, Ralph?”
“The gun,” Ralph repeated. “The
thirty-two caliber I used when I attacked
Miss Gallagher and Mrs, Pschock.”
* “And the rest?” Story prompted.
“That's all.” Ralph mopped the pers-
piration from his brow and felt his way
back into the chair.
“What about Janet Blood?”
“I was nowhere near where she was
killed. I spent that evening around Wade
Park.” Then, with amazing glibness, he
named five homes and hangouts he claimed
to have visited on the night Miss Blood
had been ruthlessly attacked and slain.
With the even tone of a mathematician
fitting together the pieces of a cold prob-
lem: in geometry, Ralph accounted for his
whereabouts on the night of January 3 to
the exact minute.
“You remember everything too well,”
Story said suspiciously.
Ralph shrugged. “Here are the names
of the fellows who saw me, just in case
you want to check.” He then proceeded
to rattle off the names of characters Story
recognized as members of Cleveland’s
underworld gentry.
“I kind of figured when the girl was
murdered,” Ralph said, obviously satis-
fied that he had cleared himself of the
worst charge, “that you would try to pin
that one on me eventually. I made sure
right there and then. . .”
But Story wasn’t listening. He realized
that there was one remaining hope. The
bullet taken from Janet’s body could be
checked with those fired into Miss Galla-
gher and Mrs. Pschock. If they were
identicial and had been fired from the
same weapon they would have Ralph dead
to rights. .
The deputy inspector signalled the
switchboard and asked to be connected
with Cowles in the identification bureau.
But the Bertillon expert could offer no
encouragement. “I’m afraid,” he said,
“that the bullet taken from Janet Blood
won’t do us much good. I’ve examined it
dozens of times and from every possible
angle, but the slug is so badly beaten up
that it’s worthless.”
Only Miss Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock
definitely identified Ralph as their assailant.
Other victims of his attacks stared at him
and said that he “probably was the man.”
and refused to make positive identification.
Still others, anxious to avoid further un-
pleasant publicity, refused to look at the
suspect.
N his jail cell Ralph said with a mixture
of feigned concern and cynicism, “Golly,
it’s a shame that little Miss Blood had to
die. If she’d have looked at me _ she’d
have told you I wasn’t the guy who shot
her.” He sighed, added, “Yes, she sure
would have cleared everything.”
Story, Matowitz, Barry and their asso-
ciates felt the agony of frustration in the
weeks that followed. Although each was
absolutely certain that the murderer of
Janet Blood had finally been captured.
none could produce anything except the
.unfortunate girl's dying statements. There
was no bullet, and the shady characters
who supported Ralph’s alibi refused to be
budged from their story—a story perfect in
detail.
“We're trying a killer,’ Matowitz de-
clared bitterly, “on two charges carrying
maximum sentences of twenty years
apiece.”
County Prosecutor Ray T. Miller sorted
the evidence. “At least,” he said, “we can
see that he’s convicted on both counts.
We may be able, by making him serve the
sentences consecutively, to keep him be-
hind bars for forty years.”
Late in February, after a brief trial
during which Ralph entered a plea of guilty
to charges of shooting Miss Gallagher and
Mrs. Pschock, the prisoner was delivered
to the Ohio Penitentiary.
The maximum sentence had been im-
posed—twenty years to be served on each
charge, the terms to run consecutively.
Cleveland police officials were satisfied.
Forty years is a long time.
Then, on November 19, 1931—less than
two years after he began serving his sen-
tences—Edward Ralph escaped!
His freedom, however, proved to be
short-lived. On February 5, 1931, he was
recaptured in Los Angeles when a feminine
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estioned
by Crown Attorney Avila Labelle and
Crown Attorney Jacques Boucher. Hooper
was represented in Court by Joseph Ste.
Marie.
In summing up, Coroner Brisson told
the jurymen: “It has been proven that this
is a violent death and that it is impossible
that the girl could have inflicted death
upon herself under such circumstances.
“Witnesses have clearly stated that they
saw Hooper enter the Maison Alfred with
the girl, and you must hold him respon-
sible for her death.”
The jury required only 23 minutes to
bring in their verdict, holding young Hoop-
er criminally responsible for the death of
Gertrude Davis. They found that she had
died of asphyxiation induced by strangu-
lation caused by pressure of a towel wound
about her throat. The hand that held the
towel had belonged to Hooper, the jury
decided.
The following morning Hooper was ar-
raigned before Hull Judge Roland Millar.
The proceedings took only 12 short min-
utes, but:during that brief period Hooper’s
counsel, Joseph Ste. Marie, made an urg-
ent plea that his client be given a mental
examination at once.
Replying to counsel Judge Millar de-
clared, “I have nothing before me to show
that this man is mentally ill. On what do
you base your plea, Mr. Ste Marie?”
“The very circumstances of this case
prove my contention, I believe,” answered
Ste. Marie.. “My client had no reason to
kill the girl—no motive of fear, hate or
passion. The crime is without rhyme or
reason.”
“I repeat,” said Judge Millar, “there is
no proof before me.” id
He thereupon ordered the clerk of th
court to read the formal murder charge
and Hooper was remanded to jail to await
trial.
At this writing the innocence or guilt
of the defendant has not been decided, and
nothing in this true representation of the
facts in the case is intended to imply pre-
judgment of Hooper’s status.
Epitor’s Note: The name Albert Plaut
is fictitious in order to protect the identity
of a person innocently involved in this
case.
PASSION TRAIL OF THE LOP-JAWED SLAYER
(Continued from page 53)
An honor student and one of the most
popular girls in her class, Janet was ready-
ing herself for graduation. Only that eve-
ing she had made plans for her graduation
and a brief vacation. .
There were footsteps behind her as she
walked towards Clifton, but they meant
nothing to the blonde, vivacious girl lost
in dreams of the future. |
She caught her breath when the foot-
steps caught up to her. A_heavy-set
stranger grinned at her and said in a
gentle, friendly voice, “I beg your par-
On 4.64" ’
Janet continued to walk.
The stranger strode forward, advanced
a step beyond her, wheeled and planted
himself as a barrier before her. In his
right hand was. a nickel-plated revolver
which he fingered nervously. His other
hand reached out and came to rest on the
collar of her coat.
“You’re a real beauty!” he said.
Janet sucked in her breath, then
screamed as she dashed into the gutter,
leaving her coat in the stranger’s hand.
She continued screaming as she reached
the other side of the street. The book
dropped from her hand as she ran towards
the boulevard. é
The bullet struck her high in the back
just as she reached the opposite curb. A
moment later she collapsed, unconscious,
on the sidewalk.
People poured out of their homes and
crowded about the pathetic figure. A pass-
ing motorist was hailed, and he imme-
diately drove Janet to St. John’s Hospital.
Her condition was described as “criti-
cal.” Doctors in attendance insisted it
would be a miracle if she survived the
night.
A full week later Janet was still alive.
She rallied briefly—long enough to give a
description of her attacker—before sink-
ing again into the merciful darkness of a _
coma. She lingered for another week and
a half. She died in her sleep.
The death of Janet Blood—climax of
the lurid viciousness of the past four
months—had to be avenged!
T LAST, on January 25, the tireless
trudging of streets, sorting of papers,
examination of public records and
rounding up and. quizzing of suspicious -
characters began to pay off.
Checking on .32 caliber guns, Detective
Bernard Wolf visited a registered owner of
such a weapon who operated a filling sta-
tion on Wade Park Avenue.
The man acknowledged that he owned
a gun and went to the rear of his office,
where he pulled open a drawer. Then, his
face pale, he turned and faced the detec-
tive.
“Why,” he said incredulously, “it’s |
gone!”
“How long age did you last see it?”
The man shrugged. “I just keep it
around,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve even
looked at it since last summer. I just kept
it handy in case someone tried to rob me.”
“Did anyone ever try to rob you?”
“Yes, someone stole twenty-seven dol-
lars from me last October,” .the operator
replied. “It’s reported at your head-
quarters.” '
Wolf nodded. “Why,” he asked, “didn’t
you use the gun then?”
“I wasn’t here. The thief broke in after
closing.”
“It’s just possible,” Wolf said slowly,
“that the same thief stole your gun, Was it
a nickel-plated weapon?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Wolf said, his pencil poised
over his notebook. “When were you
robbed?”
“I remember thé date exactly,” the op-
erator replied. “October twentieth.”
Wolf laid down his notebook and
whistled softly. The date he realized, was
the: first night the killer had been seen
with a gun. On October twentjeth he had
shot Beatrice Gallagher only a few blocks
from the scene of the robbery.
Fre detective returned to headquarters
and reported to Deputy Inspector Story.
Liaison was immediately established be-
tween homicide and the city’s robbery de-
tail through Koryta, Jacobs and May. The
file on the filling station robbery was
brought out.
It appeared that at least ten persons, ac-
quaintances of the proprietor who knew
the station well, had been quizzed in an
effort to arrive at a clue to the robber’s
identity, but the investigation had struck a
blank wall. The intruder had cleverly re-
moved all sign of fingerprints. He had
even dragged his feet along the greasy.
stone floor in order not fo leave: footprints.
“I want this robbery investigation
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bare feet werc pudgy. His waistline was
generously paunched. A man in his early
thirties, his distinguishing features were a
pair of thick lips and a lopsided jaw.
The inspector stared at him.
“Ralph!” he exclaimed. “My God! It’s
Edward Ralph!”
brief examination of the apartment re-
vealed several bloodstains. Larry
Marsh and his mother huddled in a far
corner of the bedroom.
Assured that Ralph had been taken
away, Mrs. Marsh finally admitted she
had been dating the man. “But,” she
added, “I didn’t find out.anything about
him until Larry told me what he had done
to that poor little girl. Then he threatened
to kill both of us if we answered the”
door.”
Larry said he had been in his room
when he heard Ralph enter the apartment.
“I heard Mary Jane crying,” he said, “and
I decided to go out and see. Ed yelled at\
me and told me to go back to my room if
I didn’t want to get hurt. I ‘heard Mary
Jane cry.”
Ralph admitted he had killed the girl.
“I hit her several times, I guess,” he
said. “But I don’t remember everything
that happened.” He began to cry, repeat-
ing over and over, “I’m crazy. I’m not re-
sponsible. I’m crazy!” ,
Story ignored Ralph's protestations.
“How did you get out of the penitentiary?”
the inspector asked.
“Why,” he said, “I was paroled.”
Afterward, Ralph’s plea of insanity was
officially dismissed as.four alienists de-
clared he was sane “but a menace to the
world about him.”
An indictment of first-degree murder
was returned within two weeks.
This time no lenient or soft-hearted
parole commission would ever let the de-
praved killer roam the streets again. A
jury made sure of it when they found him
guilty of murder in the first degree and
omitted any recommendation for clem-
ency.
On October 4, 1943, Edward Ralph sat
in the electric chair in the Ohio State
Penitentiary in Columbus, and paid with
his life for the murder of little Mary Jane
Brady.
Eprror’s Note: The names Helen Reese,
Roberta Kelly, Mrs. Marsh and Larry
Marsh are fictitious in order to protect the
identities of persons innocently involved in
the ‘true account of Edward Ralph’s
career in crime.
CORPSE IN THE MIRROR
(Continued from page 43)
something and weren’t exactly friends
when you parted.”
“It looks that way, Cal, but it wasn’t.
She was a good kid, lots of fun, and I en-
joyed her company. But I’d only seen her
two or three times. There wasn’t any
romance between us, if that’s what you’re
driving’ at.” ‘
Thorne promised to keep himself avail-
able for further questioning.
OIES called in Investigators M. L.
Baskin, Jr., and Vernon La More. The
sheriff repeated what Thorne had told
him. “Check with the police depart-
ment,” he said. “Locate the attorney
who handled this last divorce for the girl
and dig up anything else which promises
to be useful.”
Captain Kimball returned from the
Mission Inn with corroboration of
| Thorne’s story. Three employees had seen
‘the wealthy business man and Mary Alice
Johnson in the popular restaurant about
one o'clock that morning.
“The boss at thé Mission Inn says Mary
Alice was scared of her ex-husband, Lane.
Claims Lane threatened to kill her.”
“We'll find out about that soon enough,”
Boies said. “There’s a car on the way to
Lane’s home now. The boys found out
he’s been staying south of the river with
his father and mother.”
At 8:35 the radio operator: brought in
an important message. Charles Lane had
eaten dinner at the home of his parents
Monday night. He had gorie out after-
wards. His bed hadn’t been slept in, and
neither his father nor his mother had any
idea of his present whereabouts.
Boies showed the message to Kimball,
then instructed the radio operator to detail
the deputies on the scene to set up a stake-
out and watch the home. “Tell them we'll
be down there in a few minutes,” he added.
Baskin and La More returned from
police headquarters with a report which
substantiated Lee Tohrne’s statement. On
the four of February, at nine p.M., Thorne
had appeared at the police station, informed
the desk sergeant that he was being fol-
lowed and annoyed by a young man. Two
officers had talked to the boy, who proved
to be Charles Lane. Lane had told them
he was just keeping tabs on his wife.
Patrolman Roger Perry had_ heard
Charles Lane threaten to kill his wife if she
divorced him. The incident had taken
place at the Mission Inn while Perry was
‘on his beat. The police officer had ques-
tioned Lane about the threat and ordered
him to stay away from the Mission and
to leave the girl alone.
All the circumstantial evidence which
had first pointed to Thorne now swung
over to indicate Charles Lane as the killer.
“We've got every right to suspect Lane,”
Boies summarized the situation, “but not a
bit of evidence so far.”
“Why would he run out if he isn’t the
killer?” Kimball wanted to know.
“Lots of things can keep a young fellow
out all night. Come on.”
The sheriff led the way to his car.
“We're going south of the river and talk
to Lane’s father.”
“He came in for dinner about six-thirty
last night,” the father began. “He has
been driving a rental car from Tanners,
chauffering some winter visitor around.
He had it last night. They’ve been staying
up at Castle Hot Springs. Charlie said his
boss was going to stay in Phoenix for a
few days, and he didn’t know whether he
would be working during that time or not.”
Lane didn’t know the name of the man
for whom his son was driving. “If you call
Tanners they can tell you who it is,” he
suggested.
“Did Charlie take a gun with him when
he left last night?” Kimball asked.
“Not from this house. I checked this
morning. My revolver is here, my deer
rifle is here, my shot gun is here and
Charlie’s .22 is here.”
“Mind if we take a look at them?” Boies
demanded.
Lane led them to a gun rack in the den.
None of the guns had been fired recently.
The sheriff paid particular attention to the
.22. It showed no signs of recent cleaning
and there was no odor of powder.
A quick check at the Tanner Motor
Company discfésed that the car Lane was
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(Continued from page 17)
relentless and continuous interrogation.
He admitted all the recent attacks, save
that on Janet Blood. He admitted steal-
ing tubes, twenty-seven dollars and the
revolver from the tire shop. But the
murder of Janet Blood he flatly would
not concede.
“I couldn’t have done it,” he said. “I
was so sorry about having to shoot Mrs.
Penderhag that I got rid of the. gun right
after it happened. Janet Blood was shot
in January. I didn’t have a gun then.”
Prosecutor Miller held a conference
with Story and Chief Matowitz.
“We know very well that Ralph killed
the Blood kirl. But we don’t have an
eye witness and he won't talk. We don’t
have a case to take to court. Now, each
of the other charges would have to be
tried separately. We'll take the two
strongest and try him on those.”
It was decided to proceed in the cases
of Margerie Dunnison and Mrs. Pender-
hag. These cases were so air tight that
on February 21st, Ralph, on the advice
of his attorneys, pleaded guilty to two
charges of shooting with attempt to kill
during an assault.
Common Pleas Judge Frank Phillips
let fly with the book. On each count
Ralph drew a maximum sentence, one to
twenty years. That would enable the
Ohio Pardon and Parole Board to keep
him in prison for forty years.
As Ralph was led away to the peni-
tentiary, Lieutenant Story shook his
head and spoke to the prosecutor.
“T¢ I ever saw a killer, it’s Ralph. It’s
a shame we couldn’t get him on the
blood case.”
Miller shrugged. ‘“That’s true,” he
said. “But even though he’ll never be
electrocuted he’ll never commit another
murder, either. At least not for forty
years.”
The only thing as dead wrong as the
prosecutor’s first statement was his
second. .
Some two years later, word was flash-
ed from the penitentiary that Edward
Ralph had escaped. Story, now a Cap-
tain, was in charge of the squad which
searched the Cleveland area for the
fugitive. They didn’t find him. He was
apprehended by Los Angeles officers,
two and a half months after his escape.
He was promptly returned to Ohio.
Captain Story was positive that this
was the last he would ever hear of
Edward Ralph. This notion, like those
of Prosecutor Miller, was a mistaken
one.
T was a warm June night—specifically
that of Thursday, the 3rd—some
eleven years after Edward Ralph’s re-
capture. Three children played in the
back yard of a house at East 52nd
Street. Two of the children were nieces
of the building owner. The third child
was the son of the family who rented
the apartment directly opposite that of
the landlady.
At ten minutes to eleven, three wom-
en returned home from a movie to find
one girl fast asleep in an arm chair.
The boarder and a friend remained oc-
cupied in their card game.
“Where’s Mary Jane?” her mother
asked. “Have you seen her?”
The boarder looked up from his cards
and shrugged. “I guess she’s in the back-
yard. They were there a little while ago.”
The woman went to the back porch.
There was no sign of Mary Jane.
“Perhaps, she’s in the boy’s apart-
ment,” suggested the owner.
“There are no lights in the windows.
But let’s ring the bell anyway.”
They did so. They also hammered at
the door. They received no reply.
“Let’s call the police,” said the
mother, deeply worried. “Then we can
walk around the neighborhood looking
for her.”
The desk sergeant to whom Mrs.
Brady spoke reassured her. Kids were
invariably late coming home in the
summer, he said. In any event he prom-
ised to have the cruising cars keep an
eye out for the child.
Immediately after the call, a car drove
up to the house, and a little woman
with blonde hair stepped to the curb.
“That’s the boy’s mother now. We'd
better talk to her.”
She listened to the two other women
with an odd expression on her face.
“I’m sure my son’s asleep at this hour,”
she said. “I'll go in and check.”
“If he’s in bed,” said Mrs. Brady,
“please wake him up and ask him if he
knows anything about Mary Jane.”
She turned her key in the lock and
entered the darkened apartment. She
spoke over her shoulder in a slurred
voice. “Do you have a match? The
company’s turned off our lights. We got
behind in the bill.”
Mrs. Brady struck a match and at that
moment the dark figure of a man lum-
bered into the room. He shouted in a
loud, hoarse voice, ‘“What’s going on
here?”
“It’s nothing, honey. Mary Jane’s
missing. Is Sonny in bed?”
“Of course, he’s in bed. Will you
people get out of here and let me go
to bed, too.”
“In just a minute. I want to see
Sonny!”
She left the room, returned a minute
later to report that Sonny had been
asleep. She had awakened him and
asked about the missing child. He said
he had left Mary Jane on the porch
when he had come into his own house.
Mrs. Brady and her sister left the
apartment. As the door closed behind
them they heard the hoarse voice of the
man upbraiding his wife. It was then
that Mrs. Brady called the police a
second time,
It was Cruiser Patrolman Thomas
Osborn who found the body. He had
arrived on the scene in response to the
phone call a few minutes before in
company with Patrolman Thomas Ellis.
Using fiashlights the pair had climbed
the back yard fence and worked their
way through tangled shrubbery which
rate between the house and Gordon
ark.
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Osborn’s flashlight suddenly revealed
the tiny corpse of the 5-year-old girl.
Her dress was ripped to ribbons. Her
arms and legs were black with bruises,
red with scratches and cuts. And she was
dead.
A call was sent back to police head-
quarters, At two o'clock in the morning,
Lieutenants George Smyth and Frank
Mernaugh arrived along with Sergeant
Thomas White and several other detec-
tives.
FTER hearing Mrs. Brady’s tearful
story of the evening’s events,
Smyth, Mernaugh and White decided to
talk to young Sonny. They knocked
loudly on the door of the apartment and
received no answer. They tried the knob
and found the door was securely locked.
Sergeant White reconnoitered and re-
ported, “The front window, the one
facing the porch, is open. Maybe, we
could get in there.”
Smyth went to the front porch. He
lifted the partly opened window and
flung one leg across the sill. He put his
head inside and was painfully aware of
a tremendous blow on his ear. An in-
stant later, he was struck again, this
time on the arm.
Smythe lost his balance and tumbled
into the dark room. As he did so, he
threw out his arms and grappled with
his unseen assailant. The pair of them
fell to the floor together.
They were struggling bitterly when
White and Mernaugh came through the
window, holding flashlights, and sepa-
rated them. An angry unshaven man
stood up and glared at the officers.
“What are you doing here?” he roared.
“Get out of my apartment.”
“We're officers,” said Smyth. “We
want to talk to your son.”
A woman walked into the room.
There were two bruises on her face and
a cut on her cheek.
“Sonny’s not his:son,” she said. “He’s
mine. But if you’re cops take him away.
He’s no good. He just beat me up. He’s
an all around bum.” :
The man glared at her, then rushed
across the room with his arm upraised.
Sergeant White intervened, seizing him.
“Take him out,” said Smyth. “Take
him to the station.”
As White took the angry man outside,
a car drove up and Frank W. Story, now
a full inspector, climbed out. As White
began to explain the events of the eve-
ning, Story stared in utter and complete
amazement at the prisoner.
“My God,” he said, “where did you
find him?”
“Inside. In the apartment. Do you
know him?”
“Like the back of my own hand,”
said Story. “That’s Edward Ralph.”
So the man who couldn’t possibly
commit another crime for forty years
was tiken into custody, charged with
suspicion of murder less than fourteen
years after his original sentence.
Mary Jane Brady had been beaten and
ravished to such an extent that the de-
tails Of her injuries were unprintable. A
thorough search of the apartment
brought to light blood stains on the
‘rug, a pair of trousers and shirt, thor-
oughly saturated with blood as well.
Ralph, -contrary to the intention of the
court which sentenced him, had been
paroled on January 7th, 1941, without
the knowledge of any Cleveland official.
Since that time Ralph had married and
sired a nine-months-old son.
However, he_ had tired of his wife
some five months before, left her and
moved to the apartment.
On the following morning, Story and
Lieutenant Smyth questioned Sonny. At
first he wouldn’t talk. He said, “If I
tell you the truth, that man will hurt
mommy. He told me he would.”
The officers finally convinced the
child that his mother was quite safe
from any violence of Ralph’s.
“All right,” said the boy. “He brought
Mary Jane into my room just before I
went to sleep. Then he took her into the
living room. I heard her yell out a few
times and I got frightened. Later he
came back and woke me up. He told me
not to say that Mary Jane had been
there. He said he’d beat up my mother
if I did.”
Confronted with this testimony, Ralph
41
ction. With a
‘r elbow. She
p speed along
ream shrilled
te picked up
. John’s Hos-
ished through
lical men also
ie chances of
regained con-
itenant Frank
ryta. Her de-
other women.
weed suit and
z selected ten
:n and patrol
lures for the
ght the losing
yach the dis-
yther women.
it of Januarv
| Miss Sylvia
with the gun
g the struggle
fled without
service station
iood died. By
han two hun-
ned their most
ted indignant
one, however,
ssociate justice
‘r in which he,
police depart-
Matowitz until
tory, aided by
i of a special
ler.
slood girl, had
apparently of
iry’s first move
iquiries at all
nd pawnshops
ased.
Clark brought
of a tire shop
rad stated that
ubes had been
been unable to
ilibre revolver.
ted anyone the
tly worked for
fired him. He
h. His address
sction of town.
ph had moved
address.
n we're looking
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gation resulted
attendant who
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Brush in stand of trees provided hiding place for second corpse.
passed the gas station which was at 79th Street and Wade
Park Avenue in the early hours of the morning.
“I’m pretty sure he lives around here somewhere,” he
added. “I figure he’s on the way home when I see him about
two or three o’clock in the morning.”
On Lieutenant Story’s orders, Clark and May waited at the
station. Shortly after three a.M. their vigilance was rewarded.
A shabbily dressed young man with a round face strode by.
The attendant nodded to Clark.
“That’s him,” he said. ‘“That’s Ed Ralph.”
Clark and May left the station, followed the shabbily
dressed young man. He turned into a house at Wade Park
Avenue. A moment later a light flashed on in a rear second
story window.
May stood by while Clark, obeying orders, telephoned
Story. A squad was dispatched under the command of
Sergeant Emil Ziegler. At three-thirty the raiders burst into
Ralph’s room.
The youth lay on his bed reading. He looked up in-
quiringly as. the officers entered. Clark said, “Get up.
You're under arrest. We’re going to headquarters.”
Ralph looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged
his shoulders. He got off the bed and reached for his coat.
In the meantime, Sergeant Ziegler and his men thoroughly
searched the room. They found neither the nickel plated
gun nor anything else which pointed to Edward Ralph as
the man they wanted.
At headquarters, Ralph, who said he was but 18 years
old, was questioned by Story, Chief Matowitz and County
Prosecutor Ray T. Miller. He answered all their questions
with apparent wide-eyed frankness. He swore he’d ‘never
owned a revolver in his life. Certainly he had never attacked
a woman, he kept insisting to the officers.
His manner was so open, so ingenuous, that the officers
were more than half convinced that they were in error.
“But,” said Miller, “you’d better hold him until morning
anyway. Have some of the victims take a look at him, just
to make sure.”
On the following day Margerie Dunnison and Bella
Penderhag were sent for. They were ushered into Ralph’s
presence. Before they could speak, however, Ralph shook his
head, smiled at them and said, “I’m terribly sorry that I hurt
you ladies. I meant no harm. But you shouldn’t have yelled
and struggled with me.”
The officers, remembering the flat denials of the previous
evening, stood by in amazement at this confession. The two
women positively identified Ralph as the man who had
attacked them.
“It must have been the liquor,” he told the officers. “I
wouldn’t hurt a fly when I’m sober. After I take a few
drinks I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Where,” asked Story, “is the gun?”
“I hid it in a friend’s house, under a pile of boards in the -
basement.” Ralph willingly gave the name and address of
his friend. Detective Clark was dispatched to look for the
weapon. :
He found it, rather to the surprise of Ralph’s friend who .
had not known it was there.
“I recall distinctly,” Ralph told Story, “that I hid it the
day before Christmas.”
Story exchanged a glance with Matowitz. If this last
statement were true, it absolved Ralph as the killer of Janet
Blood, a crime which the officers were now certain he had
committed. It was a most unfortunate circumstance that the
ballistics experts had reported that the bullet extracted from
Janet Blood’s body was too misshapen and battered for
identification.
Ralph was subjected to skillful, (Continued on page 40)
17
shook his head ruefully and burst into
tears. “If I did it, I’m sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t really mean it.”
A little later he conceded that he
had killed the girl to prevent her
screams from raising an alarm. But no
sooner had he signed the confession
than he repudiated it.
Story carried the confession and all
the bulky papers on the Ralph affair to
the office of Prosecutor Frank Cullitan.
“This,” said Story, “is his second
murder. He killed Janet Blood fourteen
years ago and we couldn’t pin it on
him. He’s shot several women and as-
saulted scores. This time you’ve got t 0
send him to the chair.”
Cullitan scrutinized the damning doc-
uments and nodded his head gravely.
“If ever a man deserved the chair, it’s
Ralph,” he said. “I promise you we’ll do
our best.” ,
He did. He put the prosecution in the
hands of a brilliant assistant, John J.
Mahon. Ralph’s attorneys waived a jury
trial and the case proceeded before a
panel of three judges.
On June 22nd, a verdict of guilty of
first-degree murder was returned, with
no recommendation for mercy. Ralph
was sentenced to die in the electric chair.
Judge Samuel Silbert, one of the
judges, said that this was the first time
in his thirty-one years of experience
that he had even concurred in a death
sentence. Judge Frank Day stated that
the crime was “one of the worst ever
committed.” Judge Stanley Orr gave it
as his opinion that Ralph’s life was a
menace to the lives of others.
On October 4th, 1943, Edward Ralph
was executed in the electric chair at the
State Penitentiary at Columbus, Ohio.
Frank Story, at that time administrative
head of Cleveland’s Police Department,
said, “Now, Edward Ralph is beyond
parole. He has not only paid for the
murder of Mary Jane Brady but also
for the killing of Janet Blood. 4
Editor’s Note: The names of all of
Edward Ralph’s victims except those of
Janet Blood and Mary Jane Brady have
been changed.
STRIPPED FOR MURDER
(Continued from page 25)
four mysterious and brutal slayings.
The coroner assured Zander that an
autopsy would be made of the corpses
to determine the exact cause of death,
and also to find out if the female vic-
tim had been raped.
Zander took his sleuths verbally back
over the facts in the puzzling case. The
woman had been tied and was helpless
and nude when her son walked into the
living room. The boy might have made
some attempt to save his mother from
the rapist, in which case the smashing
blow to his head obviously had rendered
him helpless and would have been
enough for the purpose of a sex fiend
who had simply walked into the rear
open door and decided upon the shape-
ly brunette as a victim. Such a roving
fiend—a man who might also have slain
the other raped girls—would probably
have been a total stranger to both his
victim and her son. There would have
been no necessity to have strangled the
- unconscious boy with the television wire.
“The only reason he was killed was
because he could identify the murderer,”
Zander said emphatically. “So we know
the slayer was someone the boy knew
and apparently the mother, too. Which
brings us back to the little party that
went on here and the.mysterious guest.”
’ One sleuth reported a strange finding.
In the living room near the woman’s
half-clad corpse, he had noticed a phon-
ograph machine. A record ready to be
played on the machine was entitled:
“Endless Sleep.” The song hadn’t play-
ed, but the endless sleep had filled the
room, for Irene and Craig Morey.
.Zander went through the other re-
ports, from fingerprint experts, chemists
who’d analyzed blood types, detectives
who had covered the entire neighbor-
hood to round up information on the
victims, other sleuths who had checked
with fellow employees of the woman
and with her known relatives. It was
disclosed among these reports that the
other son, the missing youth, was spend-
ing a brief visit with relatives of the
42
murdered woman and had therefore
escaped the same fate as his brother and
mother. The coroner’s report on the
post-mortem examination arrived, and
the lieutenant brushed aside all other
papers.
Both victims had died due to strang-
ulation; the blow to the back of the
boy’s, head had. been heavy enough to
have rendered him unconscious while
he was strangled. The partially stripped
woman, however, had not suffered crim-
inal assault, despite the appearances of
the situation. Moreover, both victims
had been ‘dead for several days. The
nearest the coroner could place the
time of death was late Friday or early
Saturday.
Zander at once recalled that\a neigh-
bor had remarked that the woman’s
car had been out of commission, and
another statement that she had last been
seen around the apartment on Friday
night. He wondered if the goodlooking
brunette had gone out Friday night to
have her car repaired, and had been
followed home by a sex fiend.
As the lieutenant considered this pos-
sibility, he was handed a report by one
of his late-returning detectives. A resi-
dent of the vicinity of the building had
seen a mechanic working on _ Irene
Morey’s automobile on Friday night. He
thought he had seen this same man in
Irene’s company on earlier occasions in
the preceding week. The mechanic
worked at the nearby service station,
and his name was Charles Brubaker.
“Run a check in the files for Bru-
baker,” Zander instructed. “Let’s go
pick him up for questioning.”
Charles Brubaker turned-out to be a
39-year-old man with a bald spot glis-
tening on his otherwise dark head, a
thin snap of a mustache, dark eyes, and
a lean, hungry face. He lived.on South
Westlake Street and conceded that he
was employed at a service station near
the Edgewood Place apartment house
of Irene. Morey. He admitted, too, that
‘he was a friend of the divorcee.
“You fixed her car last Friday?”
Brubaker shrugged thin shoulders.
“Nothing much. Little ignition trouble.
Got it going for her and everything
was all right.”
“She was a pretty fine figure of a
woman,” Zander said.
“Okay,” Brubaker grinned, ‘so we
chatted a bit. I took her to the movies
Friday night. I finally got an invitation
to dinner from her up at her place.
That was last Sunday.”
Brubaker said he’d taken both Irene
and Craig to the show. When he called
on her Sunday night, he took some vod-
ka, a mix, and they had dinner.
“Craig went to bed at ten P. M.,”
Brubaker said. ‘“‘About eleven, the door-
bell rang and Irene went to the door.
She talked to some man at the door for
about five minutes. Called him ‘John.’
When she came back she said he was
an ex-boy friend and he was a ‘bit
jealous.’ I left around twelve-thirty,
had a sandwich at a drive-in, and went
home. I haven’t seen Irene since.”
“Very few people have,” Zander
commented dryly. “We figure you might
be the last person who saw her alive.
Maybe even the very last—the killer.”
HARLES BRUBAKER was held on
suspicion of murdering the divor-
cee and her youthful son. Sleuths at
headquarters had dug up information
which disclosed that this was no first
for Brubaker. He had a record of ar-
rests which dated back to 1941. He was
registered as an ex-convict and his file
included convictions on forgery, bur-
glary, and resorting.
“You claim you didn’t kill Irene and
her boy?” Zander asked the suspect
after he was lodged behind bars.
“I was there, yes,” the man _ said
wearily. ‘But I left at twelve-thirty and
both of them were alive. I didn’t kill
anybody.”
Zander consulted Dr. Frederick D.
Newbarr, noted autopsy surgeon. It was
the autopsy surgeon’s professional opin-
' ion that the victims had been dead from
thirty-six to forty-eight hours prior to
delivery to the morgue late in the after-
noon of Tuesday, July 22nd. Forty-
eight hours, the earliest possible time
of death under this estimate, would
have meant death took place late Sun-
day afternoon. Thirty-six hours would
place the ti
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HATE, LO’
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The weay
Murder
By M. D. Portman
Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
move and you'll never live to tell about
it
He shouted for one of the girls in the
washroom to come out and answer the
telephone.
Miss Lobe came out.
“No funny business,” the gunman de-
clared. “Just tell the fellow that who-
ever he wants isn't in, and then hang
Terrified, Miss Lobe complied and re-
turned quickly to the washroom.
“All right, Mister, let’s have your
money,” the thug said to George Mar-
gulis.
Once again the young businessman
moved his right hand to a side pocket.
The gunman fired.
George Margulis crumpled to the
floor, moaned, then lay still...
T the Central Police Station, the
desk captain hung up the telephone
receiver and sprang into action.
First he notified the radio room.
Without wasting a second, the radio
men relayed the information to all
police cruisers on the East Side and
ordered them to proceed to the Reliable
plant. Next; the captain notified the
Detective Bureau and then he sent the
information over the teletype to all
police agencies in the vicinity.
Back at his desk, he took another
telephone call. It was the phone
company lineman.
“This is Paul Vanta, the lineman,
again. Anything else you want in the
way of information?”
“Yes,” the captain replied. ‘‘Where
are you that you can see so well?”
“On a pole right beside the Reliable
plant. It’s mighty cold out here and I
can't hang on much longer.”
“I'm sorry for you, fellow. But if you
could only give us a little more descrip-
tion of the automobile those men got
away in—” E
“Sure thing. It has a dent in the
right front fender and some paint
chipped off the right door. It’s a two-
door job. Out of sight by now ... Guess
I've gotta get down...” The voice
dropped and there was a click of the
receiver.
Some five miles from Central Police
Station, a dozen. police cruisers
swarmed into the neighborhood in
which the steel plant was located.
Sergeant Theodore Carlson and Pa-
trolman Carl Dunch were the first po-
licemen to reach the scene. In the
office they found the women employes
grouped around Emmanuel Margulis,
who was kneeling beside the prostrate
form of his son. A pool of blood was
near him.
“What’s wrong here?” Carlson
inquired.
The older man, tears streaming down
his cheeks, sobbed out the story.
A QUICK glance at the body told
Carlson that George Margulis was
dead. The police officers urged the
father to pull himself together for the
time being.
“You must, so we can find these men
who killed your son,”: Carlson ex-
plained. ‘We need as much informa-
tion about them as you can remember.”
Chief Matowitz: He
needed all his men
Detective J. Sullivan,
at right: "He's home"
Emmanuel Margulis dried his eyes
and related what had occurred from the
time he and his son had surprised the
gunmen in the office until they had
fled after shooting the younger man.
“Did you fire anyone recently? Do
you know of any employe who might do
such a thing?” Carlson asked.
“I can’t think of anyone offhand,”
Margulis replied. ‘And I didn’t recog-
nize any of them. I think I.would have
known an employe, even with the
handkerchief on.”
“They may have had a fingerman,”
Carlson said, “but we'll get to that
later.”
Carlson put in a call to Coroner
Samuel Gerber and another to the De-
tective Bureau. Lieutenant David Kerr,
the Homicide chief, was informed of
the developments. He ordered a drag-
net thrown around that section of the
city. Next, Carlson and Dunch ques-
tioned the three women clerks to obtain
Officer Gilmore: He
locked a killer in
Three men who tried 2)
to out-race a phone,
Reed, Esson, LaDuca’
REED, Ralph, wh, elec. OH (Cuyahoga) May 4, 1949
ee ELLO! HELLO!” the police
captain shouted into the
phone.
For the second time he heard only a
click at the other end of the line.
The Weather Bureau had reported
this day, February 6, 1948, as one of the
coldest on record in Cleveland, Ohio.
The captain on desk duty felt the radia-
tor and filled his pipe. It gave him a
warm sensation. Before he finished
lighting up, the telephone jangled
again.
This time a voice answered him.
“Hurry!” that voice said. ‘They’re
getting away! On East Seventy-Ninth
Street! They just came out of the Re-
liable Steel plant with guns in their
hands!" ‘
The captain jolted upright in his
chair. “Look, Mister, you pulling some
kind of a stunt on me? What are you
talking about?”
“No, no! I’m on the level. Send the
police right away!”
“Who are you?”
34
“Just a telephone lineman ...They’re
going like the devil in a blue car. Looks
like a new Chevy ... They just swung
around a corner ...I can hear the tires
screech...”
The voice faded momentarily, then
returned. This time it was quavering.
“They—they shot a man inside the
plant! ...I can hear the people yell-
ing! Hurry, will you? I’m on a pole
and it’s slippery. and cold...”
T= mercury was hovering near zero
outside the Reliable Steel Plate
Company office, which was housed in a
converted dwelling near the plant. It
was Friday afternoon, and inside, the
three women clerks were busy prepar-
ing the payroll, which was to be dis-
tributed that afternoon. At any
moment the office manager would be
back from lunch with the money.
The front door opened slowly and
three men entered.
They wore colored kerchiefs over
their features, except the eyes.
Tapping-In on
By Telephone, Cleveland, Ohio, Police
Linemen- Vanta and Potapas
show how they dialed murder
Edsel Muncy, at right: To
him murder was an emergency
Each man carried a gun.
Rapidly they forced the three clerks,
Miss Lillian Lobe, Mrs. Elaine Klein
and Mrs. Ruth Lief, into a washroom.
One of the trio followed them inside to
stand guard.
“This is a stickup,” he announced.
“Now just be quiet and stay here until
the payroll arrives. If you keep still
you won’t get hurt.”
The thugs apparently knew the lay-
out of the plant and the payroll routine.
They had timed it to arrive just before
the return of John Nedrost, Junior, the
Listened-In on This Robbery-Murder—
And Still the Only Clue They Had Was
A Dented Fender. Would It Be Enough?
office manager, and Elwin Splitstone,
the bookkeeper, with the payroll of
$2500.
But something went wrong that day.
Minutes passed and Nedrost and Split-
stone did not come in.
After 20 minutes had elapsed, Em-
manuel Margulis, president of the com-
pany, and George Margulis, his son,
Secretary-treasurer of the firm, walked
into the business office.
They were confronted by a man
wearing a kerchief over his face and a
gun in his hand.
“Take that rag off your face!” the
elder Margulis shouted. “What is this
all about?”
“This is a holdup!” the man replied.
“This gun might go off any second. Put
po + al hands and turn over the pay-
roll!”
Father and son raised their arms.
Pressing the pistol against the older
man, the bandit backed him up against
adoor. The other gunman, meanwhile,
covered George Margulis.
“We're the bosses, the Margulises,”’
the father said. “We're just back from
lunch. We have no payroll. The of-
fice manager will have that. He’s not
here just now.”
“Give us your wallets then.” The
leader of the robbers was a slender, de-
termined man and the steel company
head realized that he meant business.
He turned over his billfold.
George Margulis, however, had no
wallet. He carried his money in a clip
in his right-hand trousers pocket.
As he was about to lower his hand
to remove the money, the telephone
rang.
“Don’t answer that, either of you
guys!” the leader ordered. “One false
OFFICIAL
DETECTIVE, February, 1950
additional descriptions of the bandits,
their height, the sound of their voices
and any other mannerisms that might
lead to their identity.
All had been in their twenties or
early thirties, the women judged. Two
were slender and of medium height
while the other was short and stocky.
Sergeant Leo Cavanaugh and Patrol-
men William Spellacy and Jerry Gil-
more had arrived by that time to aid
in the search for the getaway car. In
front of the plant they found the two
telephone men kicking their feet to
overcome the chill.
“Thanks for cooperating with us,”
Cavanaugh told them. “That was
quick thinking. I’d like to have your
names for the record. Also anything
additional you may have that’ll help us
find those birds. They shot one of the
owners of the plant—killed him.”
One of the men introduced himself
as Paul Vanta. The other was Larry W.
Potapas. Vanta, equipped with a test
telephone set, said he had been about to
climb the telephone pole near the fac-
tory when the three gunmen dashed
out.
Vanta climbed partway up the pole
while Potapas watched the three men
sprint to a car that was waiting around
the corner with its engine idling.
“| SAW a pistol in the hands of one
of the men,’ Potapas reported.
“They were wearing red bandanna
handkerchiefs about their faces. You
know, it’s a funny thing but if those
guys had worn the handkerchiefs
around their necks instead of covering
the chin and nose, we might not have
looked twice. But when they came out
with their faces covered, we couldn’t
help knowing they were holdup men.”
“Then what happened?” Cavanaugh
inquired.
“I got up that pole fast,” Vanta said.
“It was tough because of the cold. I
shoved the spring clips onto an insu-
lated wire and I dialed this test set
around my neck and rang the police de-
partment. I tried it a couple times and
it didn’t work. The third time, I tapped
in okay.”
“And the way I get it, Potapas here
described the car and men to you and
you relayed it to Headquarters.”
Vanta nodded. “The car went out
East Seventy-Ninth. And now, if it’s
all right with you, we've got to report
in. What’s more, we’re about froze.”
36
The detective again thanked the tel-
ephone men. Just then a sedan came to
a halt in front of the office building.
Two men emerged and started up the
walk leading to the door.
“Who are you and what do you want
here?”’ Cavanaugh asked.
“I’m John Nedrost, the office man-
ager,” the first man said. He was car-
rying a small black bag. “Anything
wrong?”
‘*MHLENTY. How long have you been
gone?”
“We left about noon. We had lunch
first.” .
“Do you know of any former employe
or anyone familiar with your routine
who might try to hold this place up?”
“No, not offhand. Were we held up?”
“You sure were,” Cavanaugh replied.
“What’s more we think maybe some-
body fingered this job. That is, knew
the setup here and planned the whole
thing. Let’s see, it’s been about an hour
and a half since you left, hasn’t it?”
Nedrost nodded.
“Does it always take that long?”
“The bank was pretty crowded. I had
a long wait.”
“Okay, Nedrost,” the officer con-
cluded. “You better go inside before
you freeze to death.”
Next step in the investigation was
the arrival of Coroner Gerber. After
a brief examination, he announced that
George Margulis had died from the one
pistol shot through the back, fired at
close range.
When the bullet was removed, David
Cowles, the police ballistics expert, re-
ported that it was shot from a .38-cal-
iber Colt automatic.
By this time, practically the entire
machinery of the Cleveland police force
was thrown into the case upon orders of
Chief George J. Matowitz. He instruct-
ed every available man assigned to duty
on the East Side to help. He also made
certain that all highways leading from
the city were watched and that an eye
was kept on railroad, plane and bus
depots against possible escape attempts
by the four bandits.
Cleveland, which is divided at the
public square into East and West Sides,
is bounded on the north by Lake Erie.
Police were strung out in a jagged line
to prevent the fugitives from scurrying
to the West Side. Another cordon was
thrown around the southern rim of the
city. However, most of the details were
ordered to cruise the East Side between
Broadway on the south and the Lake
on the north.
“In the Detective Bureau, Lieutenant
Kerr coordinated the activities of the
men on the street.
“We've got to find the license num-
ber of that.car,” Kerr declared. ‘“‘That’s
the only way we can trace these birds.”
“My guess is you'll find the Chevy was
stolen,’’ Matowitz said.
A quick canvass of the neighborhood
of the steel plant failed to turn up the
license number. Few people had been
on the street at the time of the get-
away because of the intense cold. The
weather factor also slowed the police
investigation because of the ice- and
snow-covered streets.
Ta murder stirred the community
and the late afternoon newspapers
were blazoning the story on their front
pages. Margulis, married and father of
two small children, was a graduate of
Glenville High School and Dartmouth
College where he had been elected to
Phi Beta Kappa, honorary scholastic
fraternity. He was active in civic af-
fairs and highly respected.
Kerr decided to go-through Traffic
Bureau records to learn of any recent
accidents involving a 1948 Chevrolet.
The telephone linemen had mentioned
a dent on the right front fender and
paint scraped from the car door. It
was a long-shot, but in the absence of
any other leads, it was worth trying.
A methodical search produced sev-
eral such cars. Those from other parts
of the city were eliminated and Kerr
confined his examination to East Side
accidents. Only a few from that sec-
tion of the city involved Chevrolet se-
dans. One of these gave the license
number of a blue Chevrolet damaged
in a collision with a taxicab. The cab-
bie had sought to talk with the driver
but he fled. The cab was damaged
slightly and in reporting the accident
to the police, the driver mentioned that
the other automobile was hit on the
right front fender and door.
The Lieutenant jotted down the li-
cense number and telephoned the Bu-
reau of Motor Vehicles. After several
George Margulis: He reached
—but not at the right time
Six officers who handled this
case are given citations for
their work by Chief Matowitz
minutes, the clerk reported that the
car was registered in the name of Frank
Beatty at an East 65th Street address
between Euclid and Superior Avenues.
This was about two miles from the
crime at the Reliable Steel Plate Com-
pany on East 79th Street, which runs
north and south and intersects both
Euclid and Superior.
“It would be simple for the gunmen
to head down Seventy-Ninth, turn
west on Euclid and then north on Sixty-
Fifth,” Kerr mused.
ITH Sergeant Carlson and Detec-
tives George Ballard, John Sulli-
van and Robert Shottke, he sped to the
East Side address. In a few minutes
they pulled up in front of an apart-
ment-building on East 65th Street.
They found four mail-boxes in the
downstairs hall. Kerr pressed the buzz-
er under the box carrying Frank Beat-
ty’s name. It was still daylight, but a
dim yellow light bulb gave a dismal air
to the place.
After the second ring, a woman
poked her head over an upstairs rail-
ing to ask who was there.
“‘We want to see Mr. Beatty.”
“He ain't home.”
“When do you expect him?”
“That depends,” the woman drawled.
“What do you want him for?”
“Some private business.”
Sensing trouble, the woman declared
that she could not say when her hus-
band would be home. Kerr decided he
could not get anywhere with her. He
posted Carlson and Sullivan near the
building to watch for Beatty’s return,
and then he left. The afternoon wore
on and no sign of a suspect was re-
ported. At Headquarters a check was
made on Beatty. Kerr learned that he
had been periodically employed at a
steel mill. When he was out of work,
he reported to the city’s unemployment
office for compensation. He had no
criminal record.
“Canvass the taverns in the neigh-
borhood,” Kerr ordered Detectives
Ballard and Shottke.
About an hour later, Shottke called
in to the Detective Bureau. Beatty had
been seen leaving a bar several blocks
from his home in the company of two
other men, according to one bartender.
The three were traced to another
drinking spot, after which Shottke had
lost them.
(Continued on Page 44)
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golf shoes and some golf balls,” Lewis
said.
“Did you ever see a pistol in Angelo
Dallas’ garage?”
Lewis denied seeing the weapon.
“Dallas says you've been in his place,
near that tool box,” Mann said. The
youth admitted this but vehemently
denied having seen the pistol.
“Did you know Mr. Weaver?”
Lewis nodded.
“When were you last in the store?”
“T can’t remember.”
“Give me Vishniak’s address,” Mann
said, and when he had written it in
his notebook added: “You'd better come
down to the Sheriff’s Office.”
H« DROPPED Lewis downtown in
Sheriff Hall’s office and asked that
the young foundry worker be viewed by
the slain grocer’s widow to determine if
he had been a customer at the store.
Returning to the McKinley Avenue
plant, Mann found that Lewis had.
taken Monday afternoon off work. A
check at the golf course confirmed his
vk that he was there will Bill Vish-
niak.
Mann returned to the Dallas garage.
He found the proprietor still puzzled
by the disappearance of the pistol.
“when was the last time you saw it?”
“About a week ago when I was looking
for a wrench,” Dallas replied.
“and when did you use it last?”
“Tt was months ago, last winter as
a matter of fact,” the garageman
recalled.
“On what occasion?”
“Just to see if it worked,” Dallas said.
“I fired it outside in a pile of trash.” "
“Do you have any idea who might
have taken it?” Mann persisted.
Dallas frowned. “I wouldn't have the
least idea. This place is open all the
time. Anyone could walk in here and
sneak it out.”
“Yeah, but who would know you kept
it hidden among all those tools? Any-
body who works here?”
Dallas shrugged. He said that was
possible, but it also could have been
anybody who frequented the garage. He
pointed to the trailer court which
adjoined the business property.
“pots of the people who live in my
trailer court wander in and out,” was
the reply. “But I’ve no reason to suspect
anyone.”
“Who are some of your employees in
the garage?”
“There’s Al Meecham, Donald Rein-
bolt, Carl Werner. They just work part
time. A few high-school kids also hang
around,” Dallas reported.
Mann jotted down the names and
addresses of the three men and returned
to his car. He would spend the balance
of the afternoon looking up these men.
Phoning his office first, Mann learned
that the ballistics experts at the London
laboratory had confirmed that the
elderly grocer was slain with a .25-cali-
ber pistol. This had been fully expected
after finding cartridge cases of that
size at the death scene.
“That still doesn’t mean that Dallas’
weapon was the one used to kill
Weaver,” Sheriff Hall pointed out.
“No, but it’s the best lead we have,”
Mann said. He would continue his
investigation around the garage and
the entire McKinley Avenue area.
When located at his home several
miles from the death scene, Al Mee-
cham disclaimed any knowledge of the
missing pistol. He had seen it in the
tool kit, but knew nothing about the
theft or shooting, he said. He also knew
the slain grocer because he stopped in
the store frequently. Meecham claimed
he had been working on a car in his
own garage at the time of the shooting.
Questioning of neighbors verified this
and Mann checked off his name,
returned to his car and drove to Donald
Reinbolt’s home.
‘Asked to account for his actions on
the day of Weaver’s death, Reinbolt, a
well-built young man whose dark hair
had a tendency to curl, calmly studied
the Sergeant through horn-rimmed
glasses.
“Why should I?” he asked. ““‘Why do
you think Ihad anything to do with it?”
“J didn’t say you had anything to do
with it,” Mann said. “But the way it
stands now, there’s a good chance
‘Weaver was shot with a gun stolen from
Angelo Dallas’ garage. I’m questioning
everybody v’ho might have known about
the gun and had a chance to steal it.”
This seemed to satisfy Reinbolt. He
said he had been working in the garage
all Monday afternoon and it would
have been impossible for him to have
gotten away long enough to commit the
crime, especially since he had no car.
Mann pocketed his notebook and
went in search of Werner. He couldn’t
repress a feeling of disappointment. Of
his three best leads, two already
had come up with alibis. Although Rein-
bolt’s hadn’t been checked as yet, he
had little doubt it would hold up. It
was too simple to be fabricated, too
easy to break down if false.
‘Werner wasn’t at home but Mann
found him in a tavern. He also had an
alibi. He had gone after a disabled
truck several miles from the garage and
could have been nowhere near the
grocery store between 2:30 and 3:30
p. m, on Monday. He named the truck
owner and a phone call verified his
story.
Mann sighed. Was a killer to go free?
Had an innocent, good-hearted grocer
died for the few dollars in his pocket
and was the gunman who shot him
down to continue walking the streets,
laughing at justice, perhaps to kill
again?
Sergeant Mann’s training and expe-
rience wouldn't let him fully believe
this. But at the moment he was facing
a dead end. He returned to Head-
quarters to report his results to Lieu-
tenant Beck.
“Are you sure those fellows are
telling the truth?” Beck asked.
“Everything checks out, as of now,”
he replied. “I guess it’s just a question
of talking to enough people. Somebody
is bound to know something.”
MAS retraced his steps during the
next few days, then widened the
area of his canvass, talking to residents
in the neighborhood and in the trailer
court. On Labor Day he decided it would
be a good idea to work on the case in
the McKinley Avenue area when things
were quiet around the Dallas garage.
‘As the Sergeant wheeled his car into
the mobile-home area, he saw Donald
Reinbolt behind the wheel of a late-
model sedan.
“That’s funny,” Mann muttered. “He
said he didn’t own'a car. I'll have to
check at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles
to see if it’s his.” He jotted down the
license number and moved on around
the garage to a trash pile.
If only he could find an abandoned
bullet left. when Dallas fired his pistol
last winter, Mann thought. But that
seemed hopeless. It would be almost
impossible to find such a tiny bit of
metal in a trash pile that big. He sur-
veyed it ruefully, then said aloud:
“Well, I’ve got nothing else to do right
now. Might as well have a look.”
The Sergeant approached the pile
and began to poke around in the debris.
Nothing important appeared. Raking
through some ashes, he likewise found
nothing. Moving a few cans, he ob-
served several scraps of metal, but still
no sign of bullets or cartridge cases.
After almost an hour Mann began to
lose hope.
He was about to give up the search as
a lost cause, when his gaze settled on
some oil drums. Moving the empty con-
tainers, he peered over the ground. A
small piece of metal partially embedded
in the ground caught his eye. It looked
like——It was! Not a bullet, but
something just as good—a cartridge
case! The once-shiny brass had been
dulled by the weather, but there was no
mistaking it. He felt his heart lurch.
After all these months since it had been
fired, could this be the missing clue?
He stooped close, noting the tiny inden-
tation where the firing pin had hit the
primer. Gently, using a match to free
the bit of metal from the dirt, he lifted
it and dropped it into his handkerchief.
No time to lose. He sped to the near-
est telephone and called Joseph Mar-
tina of the state’s criminal-investiga-
tion bureau at London. Martina lived
in Upper Arlington, a nearby suburb.
Martina wasted no time. He took the
fired cartridge case to London immedi-
ately. By morning, the Sheriff’s Office
was notified that the case and the bul-
lets which had killed Edgar Weaver
were fired from the same pistol.
Mann felt a surge of excitement over
this confirmation of his theory. Then
his spirits sagged. He still had to locate
the weapon, and to do this he had to
find the man who had stolen it from the
garageman’s tool box. And his previous
investigation already had indicated the
men who had the most opportunity to
steal the gun had not done so.
Sergeant Mann delved into the per-
sonal background of the men he had
questioned. Only one had a criminal
record—Donald Reinbolt. Ohio prison
files showed he had served eighteen
months in a Federal prison for automo-
bile theft, and six years in the Ohio
Penitentiary for forgery.
Then Mann got another bit of news:
the Motor Vehicle Department reported
that Reinbolt was the registered owner
of the car he was seen driving!
Mann returned to Dallas’ garage and
asked the owner if he were sure that
Reinbolt had been at work the after-
noon of the shooting.
“J think he was,” Dallas replied, “but
actually it’s impossible to say if he was
here every minute of the time. There
was no reason to keep track of him.”
In a few minutes, Mann was at the
suspect’s home. Reinbolt was taken
into custody for questioning by the offi-
cers and Prosecutor Allison in the
Sheriff’s Office.
Reinbolt denied any implication in
the crime, but when confronted with
Mann’s statement of seeing him driv-
ing a car and the records of the Bureau
of Motor Vehicles which proved he
owned one, the suspect admitted he had
an automobile.
“Why did you lie about it?” Sheriff
Hall asked.
Reinbolt shrugged. “I didn’t want to
get involved at all,” he said.
The officers exchanged glances.
Despite their feelings that Reinbolt was
very much involved in the case, at the
moment they had nothing to connect
him with the shooting. The gun still
was missing.
Suddenly Mann sat erect. “There's
just a bare chance,” he said excitedly.
He rushed from the room, calling, ‘TH
be right back.”
T= Sergeant hurried to Reinbolt’s
car. The first place he looked was
the glove compartment. And there, he’
said, he found Dallas’ .25-caliber auto-
matic, the gun which ballistics stated
had fired the cartridge found in the
trash pile and the four bullets which
had killed Edgar Weaver!
Under further questioning, Reinbolt
allegedly admitted the shooting.
According to his statement to the
authorities, Reinbolt went to the store
for the purpose of robbing the mer-
chant. He said that as he pointed the
gun at Weaver, the grocer turned back
to his meat cutter, apparently to switch
it off. It was then that Reinbolt fired.
Weaver fell to the floor, screaming.
Reinbolt said he fired three more shots
to silence him. After the victim was
quiet, Reinbolt removed his wallet and
drove to El Paso Drive where he threw
it from the car after removing $60.
On September 9, 1961, Reinbolt
pleaded innocent to the charge of first-
degree murder and was bound over for
trial in the Franklin County Common
Pleas Court.
In order to protect the reputations of
persons innocently involved in this case,
the names Calvin Lewis, Bill Vishniak,
Al Meecham and Carl Werner are fic-
titious in this story.
of the late grocery merchant’s home.
After a few moments’ conversation
with the widow, he hung up the receiver
and turned to the other officials.
“Mrs. Weaver says her husband
always carried a wallet containing his
driver's license and some_ pocket
money,” the Lieutenant reported. “She
didn’t know how much he had on him
today, but figured it could be anything
from twenty to fifty dollars.”
Tee following morning, August 29,
Sheriff Hall, a veteran police officer,
instructed all his deputies on the case
to scour the neighborhood for a missing
wallet. Hall also sent Sergeant Mann
back to take charge of the search.
Reviewing the case, Allison, Hall and
Beck now agreed that robbery was the
motive for the crime. There were no
physical clues, except the empty shells
found at the scene of the shooting.
“Let’s hope we find the wallet,” Hall
said. ‘“‘There may be some fingerprints
on it. Or the place where we find it
might give us some help. Outside of
that, there’s not much we can do at
this time.”
Beck declared he and his colleagues
would continue their investigation in
the neighborhood. “We want this guy
and we want him bad,” he said. “It
takes a cold-blooded gunman to delib-
erately shoot a man four times. Nobody
is safe with someone like that around.”
“Mrs. Weaver said the place was
robbed of groceries a few times in recent
years, but no money was stolen. There
is always a chance the same party might
have tried for something bigger this
time,” Allison said.
“In that case,” the Sheriff said, ‘““we
should check the neighborhood for
suspicious persons who would be
involved in something like that. Also,
we should go through the Columbus
police-department files for men with
criminal records.”
The next morning Sergeant Mann
stopped at a prominent tavern near the
grocery where Weaver was killed. The
proprietor said that a number of
younger men frequented the drinking
spot, but none seemed the type who
would commit such a crime.
Mann’s next move was a visit to a
service station near the intersection of
North Hague Avenue and Trabue Road.
“I remember two young fellows in an
awful hurry that afternoon,’ the
manager of the station said. ‘After I
read about the shooting in the news-
paper, I thought of it. They stopped
here for some gasoline.”
“What time of day was it?” Mann
asked.
“I would say about three or four
o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Can you describe them and the car?”
the Sergeant continued.
“They were in their early twenties or
late teens,” the informant recalled.
“One wore a work shirt and the other
a sports shirt and slacks. He’s the one
that was driving. I think the car was a
’Fifty-eight Chevrolet. I remembered it
because it had a wrinkled left fender.
The car was two-toned green and had
a white top.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
Mann asked, and when the manager's
answer came his breath caught!
“I noticed a full bag of groceries on
the floor.”
Groceries! Was that the link that
would tie these men with the slaying?
Mann quickly thanked the man for
his help and hurried back to his car,
sure he at last was on the right trail:
In the hours that followed he con-
tacted every known source of informa-
tion in the neighborhood, trying des-
perately to come up with a lead to the
car and its owner. And everywher:
drew a blank. Nobody recognized
car’s description.
With a sigh, the grim-faced inve
gator shoved his hat back on his h:
and slowly drove back toward
Sheriff's Office. He was tired,
thirsty. But as he walked in
heard the news, his fatigue vanis!
Weaver’s wallet had been found!
The phone call had just
through. Three small boys, playing n:
El Paso Drive in the Moneyback Ad
tion, had found it.
Mann hastened to the spot, about }
a mile south of the crime scene. He
joined there within minutes by Li:
tenant Beck. There the boys poin
into a ditch overgrown with weeds. ‘i
Officers saw a leather billfold.
“We were playing here when
found that wallet,” one of the |:
declared. ‘“We looked inside and fo:
(Continued on page 61)
Prosecutor Allison at bloody
spot where the search for evi-
ence began; below, Sergeant
Clyde Mann and the reluctant
car owner the evidence led to
characters
give them
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ave them
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e of the
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be
ked
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the blood
ictim’s.
ime hur-
reported
hot lead.
p sheets
shows they got a call to pick up someone
at this address at two-thirty this morn-
ing. The driver took the fare to Ninth
Avenue and Pine Street, in the down-
town area. The driver’s off duty now,
but they’re going to locate him.”
Leaving Dunagan and Kelson at the
house to continue their check for phys-
ical evidence, the detectives hurried to
the downtown area. Several hotels were
in the immediate vicinity of the corner
where the passenger had left the taxi.
By the time the investigators had ar-
rived there, Kretchmar radioed that the
cab driver had been located. He said his
passenger had carried a suitcase and
had gone into one of the hotels. He
named it for the officers.
The detectives examined the hotel
register, but no one using the name Don
Morris had checked in. It required an-
other half hour to locate the clerk who
had been on duty in the early morning
hours. He recalled the man who had
come into the hotel.
“But I told him we were filled up,”
the clerk said. “He was pretty drunk
and looked kind of wild. I didn’t want
to take a chance on him making any
trouble, so I just told him we didn’t
have a room.”
Fineran directed that a check be
made on all the other hotels in the area.
Seth suggested it was only a five-block
walk from the hotel to the main bus
depot at Seventh and Olive. Seth and
Fineran hurried there. Again, the crew
that had been on duty during the early
Case of the Abandoned Bullet (from page 41)
a paper with Mr. Weaver’s name on it.
That’s why we called you right away.
We heard about him getting killed.”
Mann wrapped the wallet in a paper
and rushed it to the Bureau of Crim-
inal Identification or fingerprint tests.
Combining the two clues—location of
the wallet in the general vicinity of the
grocery store and the report of two
suspicious-appearing young men at the
filling station—Mann_ renewed his
efforts to find the gunman involved in
the fatal shooting.
Methodical questioning of residents
in the El Paso neighborhood however
gave no useful information. Likewise,
the London criminal-identification spe-
cialists could find no telltale finger-
prints. Those on the wallet already
were so badly smeared they were
useless.
REPORTING in that evening, Mann
told Sheriff Hall and Lieutenant
Beck his efforts so far had yielded no
real trace of the killer.
“Tomorrow, I plan to contact the
garages and other filling stations in
the area,” he said. “There may be
something to that damaged car with the
two young fellows in it. I’m convinced
that the killer is from that part of the
county. He had been in that grocery
before and the victim recognized him.”
Next morning Sergeant Mann was
back in Franklin Township, where the
crime had been committed. No garages
were near the grocery store, so the
Sergeant turned east on McKinley
Avenue, a thoroughfare which parallels
the Scioto River and winds toward
downtown Columbus. The street is
lined with trailer camps, scrap-metal
lots and light-industrial plants.
Cruising along, Mann stopped at the
Dallas Garage, about a mile from the
scene of Weaver’s shooting. It was the
Sergeant’s third stop. So far he had
learned nothing new. Angelo Dallas,
owner of the repair shop, greeted him.
“What can I do for you?” he
inquired.
“I’m looking for the man who shot
Ed Weaver, over. on Hague Avenue,
Monday afternoon. Maybe you can help
me.”
“Be glad to if I can,” the garageman
replied.
In describing the crime, Mann
morning hours had left.’ Several tele-
phone calls later, the officers located a
ticket seller who recalled a man answer-
ing the description of Don Morris. He
had purchased a ticket to Portland,
Oregon.
“I remember the guy because he
asked me which was the first bus leav-
ing,” the ticket agent recalled. “I asked
him, ‘Leaving for where?’ He said he
didn’t care where, just what bus would
be leaving right away. I told him the
bus for Portland would be loading in
rages ten minutes. He bought a ticket
or it.”
- Kretchmar notified the Portland po-
lice, giving them the description of
Morris, and asked for their help in try-
ing to locate him. “(He may have taken
another bus out of there, heading to-
ward Colorado,” Kretchmar told them.
“About all we know about the guy is
that he’s supposed to be from Denver.”
LATER in the day, with information
gained by Arnold and Bagley from
the company where Morris worked,
along with information from persons
who knew him and some evidence lo-
cated in the house where he had lived,
the investigators determined that Don-
ald Paul Morris had been paroled from
the Colorado State Penitentiary in
March, after serving a term for a bur-
glary conviction.
The Colorado authorities sent a pic-
ture of Morris to the Seattle police on
their wirephoto device. A search cover-
pointed out to Dallas that he had rea-
son to believe the killer lived or worked
in the neighborhood. The officer
explained that the wallet tossed into
the field on El Paso Drive was off the
main thoroughfare.
“We believe that if the man who shot
and robbed Weaver were a stranger in
this area he would have gotten as far
away as possible before disposing of
the wallet, and if he tossed it out of
his car, it would be on a main street
while making the getaway. The man we
want knows this neighborhood. He
must have known about the vacant lot
on El Paso.”
“How can I help you?” Dallas asked.
“A 'Fifty-eight Chevy was seen near
the grocery store about the time the
crime was committed,” Mann explained,
adding: “Two young men in the car
were acting strangely—nervous, and in
a big hurry. The car had a dent on the
left front fender. Color was two-toned
green with a white top. They had a bag
of groceries on the floor.”
“And you want to know if I’ve had
a car like that in here for repairs?”
Dallas asked.
Mann nodded. “And while you’re at
it, try to think if anyone else in the
vicinity might know something about
the crime.”
Dallas lit a cigarette and pondered
the question.
“We have quite a few customers in
their twenties,” he said. “But let’s have
a look at the files.” Turning to a cabi-
net, the garageman rummaged through
some papers and came up with a few
bills.
“Here's a minor repair job for a
fellow on McKinley Avenue. I remem-
ber he did have a dented fender, but
he didn’t want me to fix it.” Dallas
recalled. “Calvin Lewis. A fresh kid. He
works in a foundry up the street.
Usually stops in that tavern near Hague
Avenue after work. I’ve seen him there
often with a friend.” ;
Checking the make of car, Mann
learned it was a 1956 Chevrolet.
“When was he in here?” Mann
inquired.
“It was about a week ago.” Dallas
pointed .to the paper, which was
stamped with the date, August 22. Six
days before the grocer was found slain
in his store, Mann thought.
- against Donald Paul Morris. A warrant
ing the entire West Coast was started |
for the suspect.
Monday, Dunagan and Kelson re-
ported that blood samples found on the
trousers which had been located in the
house Morris occupied were of the same
type of blood as that of Mrs. Swanson.
Fineran turned over the evidence
gathered by the investigators to Prose-
cutor Carroll, who, on October 11, 1961
filed a charge of second-degree murder
for his arrest on the charge was ob-
tained from Justice Evan D. Manolides,
who set bond at $10,000. Carroll ex-
plained that the second-degree charge
had been filed because the evidence in-
dicated Mrs. Swanson had voluntarily
let the suspect into her home and it had
not yet been determined what had
caused the assault and killing.
After the murder charge was filed,
Chief of Police Frank Ramon requested
acquire _——
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the assistance of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation in locating the suspect, on
the grounds that he had fled across
state lines to avoid prosecution. At the
present time, Morris has not been lo-
cated. Fineran believes that Morris is
probably working as a laborer or as a
concrete mason or bricklayer, and
likely frequenting taverns wherever he
is, as this is the habit pattern the in-
vestigators have established for the sus-
pect.
The names Al Watts and Otis Stearn
are fictitious in this story.
Read th
OFF!
The Sergeant was about to leave,
when Dallas uttered a sharp cry.
“Wait a minute!”
Mann swung around to see the ga-
rageman emptying an old box.
“It's missing!”
“What’s missing?”
“I always kept an old pistol in this
tool box ... for protection... haven't
used it in years . . . I could swear it
was in here——”
“What kind of pistol was it?”
“A twenty-five caliber automatic,”
Dallas replied. “But who could have
taken it?” He looked at Mann blankly.
“I don’t know,” the Sergeant said.
“but we'll find out. I’ll be back soon.”
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He hurried out.
Mann sped to the foundry where he
inquired for Calvin Lewis, the young
motorist who had been in the Dallas
garage.
When Lewis appeared the officer
ushered the 23-year-old youth to his
car and began questioning him.
“Where’s your car?” Mann inquired
Lewis pointed to a 1956 Chevrolet sev-
eral yards away. It was two-toned
green and white.
“Were you near the Weaver grocery
on August twenty-eighth—last Mon-
day?”
Lewis said he could not recall if he
was near the store that day. “I drive
around this neighborhood every day.
So what?” was the reply.
“Let’s make sure,” Mann snapped. He
wheeled his car to the street and drove
to the filling station where the proprie-
tor identified Lewis as the man who had
purchased gasoline the day of the
shooting.
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Back in the car, Lewis acknowledged
he had been at the filling station
shortly after the shooting.
“Why weren't you at work?” Lewis
was asked.
“I had some time off and a friend
and I were going to play some golf. You
can check the clubhouse. We were in
a hurry because it was getting late and
we wanted to get in nine holes before
dark.”
“Who is your friend?”
“Bill Vishniak. You can ask——”
“What about the bag of groceries on
the car floor?’’ the Sergeant asked.
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© Detective Ex’s Undercover Search for a Killer (from page 25) revolver. “I'm a detective den wen
ee ’ : signed to DDA-One.”
3 “Listen to the man,” the officer wit!
7 Sam left. Ex stayed awhile and then you talking about, Man? Them studs The woman approached and one of the gun said.
S went home. don’t handle nothing heavy.” the youths stepped out. He grabbed her “Take a look, will you?” Ex said. “I
ie The next day he was in the poolroom “Yes, they do, Baby. Some of. them Purse, pushed her to the sidewalk, then my left-hand suit-coat pocket.”
2 when the police made a raid. They studs would stone gangsters. They quickly tossed the purse to his confed- The officer who was frisking hin
picked up two men—and Ex. The three ain’t scairt of nothing.” erate and made a point of running reached into the pocket and removeé\,
were taken to Area One Headquarters “Yeah, but have they got any heart?” south so that the woman could see him. his credentials. “He's telling the truth.’
and locked in cells. Then each was “The thoroughbreds have,” the other Screaming, she started running in The other policeman lowered his re.
questioned individually by Lieutenant replied. “Some of ‘em are pretty the same direction. volver and Ex breathed easily again
ee Smicklas, who gave no sign that he mellow.” Ex watched as the confederate, still He explained he was on an undercove)
ve recognized Ex. “Can they take the heat?” Ex asked. in the shadows, opened the purse and mission. They promised to keep th:
- The two suspects denied any connec- “That's what I hear.” rummaged through it for money. Then, secret, got into the squad car and drovc
a tion with recent robberies of candy “Where these young studs hang out?” Swearing softly, he tossed the purse away,
stores in the area and were held for a “Cottage Grove. You ought to find into an alley and moved away in the Ex went on to the Poolroom, but the
showup that evening. Ex appeared in some of ‘em down the street a couple direction of the poolroom. young man he had been tailing wasn't
the showup with six other men. of blocks.” As Ex started following him, a police there. The interruption had been Just
A merchant identified him as the S long enough for his man to get away.
robber. He was held and the others Ex walked over to Lake Park Avenue
were released. and took his stand at another intersec-
As soon as the others had gone, tion, again in a shadowed doorway. A
Smicklas took Ex to his office and : : young man was loafing nearby. He
closed the door. “How you doing, Kid?” : stood there until he heard the sound of
he asked. &@ woman's footfalls, then ducked into
Ex gave a detailed account of what e : the shadows and waited. But she ap-
had been done so far. “If Big Sam U to t he M | n ute parently had seen him; she turned and
comes up with two other guys we might
ran the other way. The youth came out,
have something. If not, it might be a undecided whether to go after her.
time wasted.” things con stepped eee Fos ve shadows.
“What do you 4 HE 26-year-old ex-convict found guilty of the rder of Alex Y, “Come on over e poolroom,” he
“If I stick with it long enough, I'm Maleolmsorr II in a San Francisco hotel’ room, has heen sey said. “I wanta talk to you.”
bound to come up with something.” tenced to die in the San Quentin gas chamber.. The accused, We, gouth eyed him suspiciously.
“All right, stick with it,” said Smick- Melvin T. Darling, a six-foot, four-inch imposter Ivy & at the hotel What areuey 1 tell S
« las. “And you might take a look at under false credentials, first came under suspicion when he slipped ae mind. I'll tell you when we
a these reports. in signing a hotel tab and used his own name. “And He Signed the se one ' he f ”
x Hotel Tab ‘Darling,’” in the February, 1962, issue of OFFIcIaL “Dent . I'ms - St money. bread
THERE had been other robberies in DETECTIVE Srorres Magazine, described the detective work which H ” hana th So pr es :
the area. In some cases, two men led to his arrest. ere.” He handed the youth a dollar, —
“ d been involved; in others three. All They went on to the poolroom, where .
re young Negroes. One carried a Also in the February issue was a story on the “Case of The : as boughs two poles - er: ony BES
ved-off shotgun, another a knife. f Abandoned Bullet,” which told of the investigation into bod: 1 2 corner out of earshot of any-
Ae third man apparently was un- i the slaying of a Columbus, Ohio, srocer, Edgar L. Weaver, in : ay EASE, that. ca d didn’t
armed. / an attempted holdup and the resultant arrest of one Donald ha dle it ‘i re ae Hee fy vou
—~" “Those are our boys, I think,” said \ Reinbolt for the crime. Reinbolt since has been brought to Wh, t dia I a pea 9”
Smicklas. “The guy with the knife trial, convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to die “D re ake t a at Maybe I
probably killed the cab driver.” \, in the electric chair, ah consti isk eee an ee
When Ex left, he strutted outside and ie De irda
hailed a cab. That was for the benefit WEAT was termed one of the longest. trials ever conducted in desis “What?”
of anyone who might be watching. Bronx County finally has been concluded with the sentencing “Py tell ou if I decide you're all
That evening, he phoned Big Sam. of Burton N. Pugach to a term of fifteen to 30 years in New York right. I ee to make sure you won't
“I thought you was in the clink.” State Prison for the acid maiming of Linda Riss in June, 1959, squeal to the cops.”
“Ain’t no jail can hold me,” Ex - Pugach, a disbarred lawyer, was accused of hiring a man to throw They finished” their beer and sat
boasted. “You get them two studs lined the acid in the face of the attractive young woman, an act which around a while, then Ex left
up?” virtually blinded a In heals er acer Joseph A, Neos ee
“Yeah, I think so. I'll be through tinis declared Pugach sane an escri im as a “man without
about eleven and see you at the Ppool- a conscience.” The story of the tragic incident and the Police work Eee ee Ps Tene
room.” leading to the charges against Fugach appeared in the February, money "He dropped hints that he was
Detective Ex was at the poolroom at 1960, issue under the title “An Acid Bath for Love.” a big-time hustler, but always held back
eleven, but Big Sam didn’t show up. He ; when it appeared ‘that he was about to
wasn’t there the next day and when TRE uncle and nephew accused of the fatal shooting of a disclose something big. This only
Ex telephoned, a special operator cut fifteen-year-old delivery boy in a St. Louis, Missouri, drug- whetted the youth’s appetite. To nur-
‘ in to inform him that the phone had store holdup have been convicted and sentenced. The uncle, ture it further, Ex stayed away from the
been disconnected. Charles M. Moore pleaded guilty to murder and robbery poolroom for two days
“Maybe it's just as well,” Ex told De- charges and was sentenced to two terms of life imprisonment, When he appeared on the third day,
tectives Washington and Jackson. “I to run consecutively. His nineteen-year-old nephew, Lloyd Lee the youth was waiting. \
think Big Sam's a fourflusher. I think Anderson, was found guilty by a jury which fixed his punish- “What's to it Youngster?” Ex asked ee 4
: he was just talking big.” ment at death. The degree of difference, according to the breezily. “You make up yet?” : ies
“So what now?” asked Washington. court, was that Anderson actually had fired the shots which “Naw. Times are hard, Man. I’m so sN
“T’'ll have to start over,” Ex replied. killed the boy, Thomas Grupe. A third member of the holdup broke I can’t even eat.” :
“I'm fairly well known’ around the team, Clewiston Jones, was killed by police at the time the trio “That's too bad. Come on, Baby, I'll
neighborhood now. It may take time, ( was arrested. “St. Louis Police Knew They Couldn’t Rob With- see about that.” :
but I think this eventually will pay out Gunfire,” in the October, 1961, recounted the detective Ex bought him food and watched as
' off.” : work behind this case. he wolfed it. Now was the time. the
Periodically, Ex had checked with his : detective decided.
informer, who claimed to have learned A SENTENCE of 100 to 150 years’ imprisonment has been de- “In all my travels,” he said, “I’ve
nothing. He tried again now and again creed for James R. Cook, 23, who pleaded guilty to the Tuscola, found very few youngsters with enough
he drew a blank. “I can't get a thing,” Illinois, slaying of Frederick G. Robbins, a California schoolteacher heart to make money. But you look like
the stoolie said. who was hitchhiking to Illinois to visit his family. Efforts to re- a thoroughbred to me. Are you afraid
i Detective Ex went back to the pool- trace Robbins’ cross-county route and so solve the mystery of his to take a chance?”
room where he had started and re- death were described in “Too Many Tattods” in the January, “No, Man, I ain't afraid,” the youth
sumed his pose of narcotics addict and 1962, issue. replied. “What you want me to do?”
raise man running from the law. He : “I'll tell you when the time comes.
was accepted now and several men at S . First, I need another man &@S good as
pool tables nodded greetings when he ‘ you. You know a stud like that?”
shuffled in. “I think so. Can you really make a
He took a Seat against the wall and big piece of money?’”
disconsolately cupped’ his chin in his “Thanks for the tip. Won’t hurt Squad car skidded to a stop at the curb “Say, Man, as big gis they come. Just
hands. He sat there, his eyelids droop- none to give ‘em the once over.” and two uniformed officers hopped out, wait. And get me this other stud. Don’t
ing, for almost an hour before another Ex got up and shambled out of the Both were young and Ex could see ‘at get me no fool, though. You're a fool,
man, a regular at the place, took a seat room. He maintained the same gait as a glance they were rookies. : but you got plenty of heart, so you have
beside him. he walked down Cottage Grove. Ahead, He stopped and raised his hands as Possibilities.”
“What ails you, Man?” he could see two young men hanging one pointed a revolver at him. “I ain’t no fool. All you got to do is
“I’m beat.” around the intersection. : The other began frisking him, “Hey, gimme a chance.”
“How come?” : Detective Ex found a doorway where he’s got a gun!” “I will, but I need another stud.” Ex
“I can’t get no good slave. I got me he could watch and run little risk of The officer with the revolver paused for a moment as if meditating.
is big job set up and I can't find no- being seen. cocked it. : “You hear about that cab driver, Willie
ly to help me out. What's the matter The youths were watching the side- “Watch out!" Ex cried. “That thing Odom, that got cut up?”
h everybody?” walk in both directions. Then, in the might go off.” 4 “Yeah, Man. What about it?”
| ,..“They been pushed out. The young distance, the tap-tap of a woman’s: “It sure will,” said the Officer, “if you. “I admired that job, He sure showed
“Studs done took over.” high heels could be heard. The two make one false move,” ‘ he was smart. I need that man. You
“Young studs?” Ex sneered, “What moved back into the shadows, “Hold everything,” Ex sald, anxious. think you can find him?”
vs of
into
what
for a
it he
ut of
child
clore
{ her
» had
tives,
no the
ilives
e had
th all
ream=
WAppt-
she
have
elf at
Potts
We
| eve-
have
to a
ers in
ughter °
Chief
lready
1.
many
mneved
tender
nd de-
cutter.
pat his
to the
ried to
a.
neateh
Ip Red
sis the .
mut the
ch. lie
peculiar
h. They
oe and
iothing.
sensa-
+, police
ie phan-
ct, there
ed.
blame,”
aul. “But
n prove
night as
but his
lligerent
my gas
ited my
ast 59th
avenue
» o'clock
en Clar-
, went to
the door
wing the
night,” she explained. “I think he must
have taken poison.”
May leaned over the pale face on the
pillow. Outside of his color there was
nothing to indicate that he was very ill.
“Get your clothes on,” ordered May.
The man meekly arose and dressed.
With an officer on either side he walked
out to the emergency car.
“Lie down if you want to,” May told
him. He studied the man’s face. Some-
thing about it seemed vaguely familiar.
“Ever play baseball?” May asked sud-
denly as his mind traveled back to his
sandlot days.
“Yeah,”
“Over around Fleet and Harvard?”
May continued. When the man nodded
he said, “I thought so. So did I. What's
your name?”
“Joe King.” .
“You're not this fellow Joe that they’re
searching for for killing that policeman,
are you?” It was a shot in the dark but
May caught the sudden reaction.
“Drive to headquarters!” he exclaimed
suddenly.
“You're Joe Prymas?” asked the
fingerprint expert shortly after he had
taken his prints and consulted the files.
The man licked his lips and nodded his
admission.
“You were in Mansfield—you were in
jail down there with Red Holt.”
“Red was no man to say what he did
about me,” Prymas said suddenly.
A hurried call was sent for Sterling
and Cody to inform them that the elusive
Joe was in custody.
“Red says you killed Tlahnel,” was
Cody’s first shot.
The man who had been identified as
Joe Prymas looked around helplessly. He
licked his lips and grimaced as if from
pain.
“You're headed right straight for the
chair, and Holt is putting you there,”
added Prosecutor Stanton who had ace -
et ft"
companied Capt. Cody from the grand
jury room where Holt was being in-
dicted.
“Red shouldn’t have said what he did
‘about me,” Prymas spoke up slowly. “He
stuck up the gas station. He gave me
the gun and told me to kill the cop. He
kicked me in the leg when I didn’t shoot
right away.” .
Cody nodded to Lieut. Weis. The lieu-
tenant left the room and a few moments
later he shoved the growling, snapping
redhead into the little room.
For a second the two men faced each
other. Holt sneered and Prymas cringed,
“He told me to kill him,” he whined,
pointing at his erstwhile pal. “He gave
me the gun. He was driving the car.”
Holt lunged at his accuser, but the
wary detectives were waiting for just
such a move. They seized him and led
him back to his cell.
Then, for the next half hour Prymas
told his story in answer to questions by
Cody and Stanton,
Starting with the theft of the car from
the parking lot, he described the renting
of the garage by Holt.
“I went back for the car later that
night and picked Red up at the corner of
6Sth and Bessemer,” Prymas declared.
“We drove around until 10 and then, as
we were going out Fairmont, we noticed
that gas station. Red said, ‘Let’s take it.’
Ile turned the car around and drove back.
Then he put the gun on the man.”
He told of the flight where they were
stopped by the two road-painting police-
men.
“We didn’t know they were cops. One
of them started to take us back to the
station and Red drove back. On the way
he kicked me in the leg. He had given
me the gun and told me to get the cop.
The second time he kicked me I turned
and shot once. Then Red drove to a
dark street where we dumped him out.”
Ie identified the 32 found by. the
“Happy birthday, Butch!”
“Wien Answerinc Apvirtisemnnts, Pugast Mention Arrin Startiine Dernctive Apvinturns 93
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New York’s Riddle
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workman as the death gun and admitted
throwing both the murder weapon and
the policeman’s gun away on East 88th
street during the flight.
Prymas was removed to the prison
ward at the City hospital for treatment
for slight acid burns before Detective
Clement returned from investigating
Prymas’ room and laid a single sheet of
paper before Cody. The scrawl was
almost illegible. It was signed, “Joe.”
“Read that,” urged Clement as he
pointed to the last paragraph.
Cody read:
“T was man anph to kill Mick. I man
anph to kill misalf.”
The balance of the note stamped Pry-
mas as a “ladies’ man” in his own right
though far from the suave lover that his
redheaded companion was,
T TOOK Cody and detectives some
little time to decipher Prymas’ last
billet-doux to his sweetheart who had
shared the dingy basement room with
him.
“Good Biy All Sweetheart,” the
note began.
“I’m the man that whas out whit
Red the night of the murder bough
I did not want to say any ting to
you becose you allwace bleve in me.
Goody biy and good luck. Dont
manthin any ting to mother, Gave
the over cout to Frank Price. X X X
Joe.
“Please dont trobol this gange
lady for she does nat now nothing
of me bought being straigh fo she
hass never seen nathing on me. Joe.
“Red not a man for it was he
wooden said things he did about
driving the car. Joe. At just 12. p.m.
“I was man anph to kill Mick. I
man anph to kill misalf.”
“Fere’s a confession in his own hand-
writing,” Cody declared. “Take it over
to the hospital and have him identify it.
Also get some samples of his hand-
writing.”
At the hospital, Joe explained the note.
He'd been living with a girl who had left
her home and husband to consort with
the ex-convict. She had left their squalid
love nest a few days before because of
their baby.
“LT read in the paper last night what
Holt said,” Joe told MeNecley, “and I
decided to kill myself. [ wrote the note
to her and then took the poison when I
heard the clock striking 12, I wanted to
die.”
The interrupted grand jury hearing
was resumed, and before the day was
out both Holt and Prymas were indicted
for murder in the first degree for the
slaying of Patrolman Michael Hahnel
during an escape from a robbery.
exactly one month from the day
Tahnel etched the license number in the
roadside sand with a bloody finger, the
two gunmen went on trial simultancous-
ly, but in different courtrooms and before
different juries.
The juries filed in with their verdicts
a few minutes of each other.
In the courtroom of Judge Frank C.
Phillips, the jury found Joe Prymas
guilty as charged.
It meant the electric chair.
Holt’s jury recommended mercy in its
verdict and the sentence was life im-
prisonment without hope of pardon.
It meant a living death.
far as that gx
Owen Victor \
reminiscent of
the Killer” of +
Gopher Gang w
in 1910 for the |
At the speciz
attorney's offic
New York fro:
Hot Springs, -
favorite rendez:
men and the’ biz
The request :
in connection \
Assistant Distr
Wahl and the «
of coal sales to
wanted to knov
tion with a coal
some $2,000,000
and carried Mad
at $50 a week.
And when Ma
motor leisurely
trip alone. Wi:
daughter of a fi
Springs. Madde
at thé health re
from Sings Sing
The smart bo
betting 2 to 1
married again hx
the girl who hac
the Arbor danc:
Owney collected
body—had estab’
at Lake Tahoe
where she was !
Like her husban:
wouldn't talk w!)
ting a divorce.
Madden was a!
tion with the co:
T WAS only :
crosity gettin
Tle had put up :
by marriage to
with which to ge:
Somehow the ri
cidence of bein:
name freely, wa
Ness without mn
week that Mad:
the pavroll was ;
original investme
Be that as it
shortly to Tot
cured the divorces
to Reno.
Madden, accor:
handsomely for |
ter. He always
Even to giving tl
Then Madden
attractive socict
intents and pur;
past—through
through with th
with the Broadw
_There were no
him, either from
ties. The next
Grand Jury was
bond and vice rac’
scom, one of the
testified that wh
returned to Sing $
a
PRY M \¢
AS san} he 4 in \ITC .
YMAS, Joseph, white, elec. OHSP (Cuyahoga) April 24,
HE BRIDGE AT LEE ROAD and More- ws
Tine Boulevard, enshrouded in the milky- i |
white mist of the lake, presented but a pert mes
vague outline to the few motorists who went fift 2
over the shore road at this late hour. All of A Take |
them approached cautiously. There had been th ie ac
many accidents at this intersection despite “You did
the numerous safeguards the police depart- Di on
ment had thrown around it. nig _
Nearing midnight, October 17, 1924, two ema down.
patrolmen, Frank Dietrich and Michael Haine! it
Hahnel, were engaged in ‘a safety under- eae =
taking. Clad in blue working jumpers, they Piet “h
were repainting the word “Stop” on a sign hei Se :
at the entrance to the bridge. Every few the t :
moments they would pause and listen for Hahn it re
the sound of an oncoming he said al
machine. It would have been break?” ns
quite easy in the thick murk “No.” Ha’
for one to be almost upon ehest, cas: i
them before they saw it. did ar rep!
Hahnel was bent down as he addve
over his work, bucket in one to his com
hand and brush in the other, The Aiea
when Dietrich suddenly his elbow .
yelled, “Jump, Mike! Here pocket. He
comes a car!” Hahnel Tg!
Hahnel didn’t even look motion. he
up. He flung the brush and ~ want a tact
bucket aside and gave a Stunned
convulsive leap just as an did not eve
automobile, swaying crazily from side to lost conscic
cee out of the fog and roared down heard excit:
Dietrich blew a blast on his whistle and ha ro be
sbouted, “Stop!” Very much to his surprise, twisting an:
the car came to a grinding -halt. He could now nist
not see its outline in the darkness, but the speed .
scraping of reluctantly-turning tires and the Bi ctosal r
squeaking of brakes told him that the driver he had bec
of the vehicle had obeyed his command. With five more |
the thoroughly angry Hahnel trailing at his nothing to
heels, he ran’ down the road to the side of They Soul
the vehicle and confronted two young men again if the
.in the front seat. had only or
The driver was about twenty-five. The After’ the
first thing about him which struck the officers four corne:
was his unkempt mop of flaming red hair. anion sa
But they weren't interested in his appearance Both the
at that moment. They glared at the mild- rear door.’
looking youth. Dietrich demanded, “What by the le; S
do you mean by driving at such a speed on to the ae
a night like this?” ing agon
“I’m sorry, officer,” the red-head replied. kept wile
“Don’t you know that there’s a stop sign The desp:
at the entrance to that bridge?” Hahnel k
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE FEBRUARY, 1‘
“NO'S| RED-HEADED.
JAD and More-
ed in the milky-
presented but a
torists who went
ate hour. All of
There had been
arsection despite
ie police depart-
t.
er 17, 1924, two
h and Michael
a safety under-
ng jumpers, they
‘Stop” on a sign
dge. Every few
e and listen for
of an oncoming
would have been
in the thick murk
be almost upon
re they saw it.
was bent down
ork, bucket in one
srush in the other,
etrich suddenly
ump, Mike! Here
ar!”
didn’t even look
ing the brush and
ide and gave a
leap just as an
ily from side to
and roared down
1 his whistle and
ch to his surprise,
ig -halt. He could
darkness, but the
ning tires and the
im that the driver
iis command. With
nel trailing at his
sad to the side of
d two young men
twenty-five. The
1 struck the officers
flaming red hair.
1 in his appearance
‘ared at the mild-
demanded, ‘What
at such a speed on
- red-head replied.
there’s a stop sign
dge?”
?ONT PAGE DETECTIVE
“No, sir, I didn’t know that. I’m terribly
sorry,” the offender repeated. .
“Well, that doesn’t excuse your doing
fifty. Take him in, Mike.”
“Aw, give us a break, officer, will you?”
the young man pleaded.
“You didn’t give us a break, did you?”
Dietrich snorted. “You could have run one
of us down. Go ahead, Mike.”
Hahnel jumped in the rear seat and in-
structed the driver to turn around. Dietrich
hopped on the running board, and got off
again as they approached the spot where he
had been working. The car continued on
over the bridge, the driver still pleading with
Hahnel to let them go. After several refusals,
he said resignedly, “So you won’t give us a
break?”
“No,” Hahnel replied with finality. “Now
shut up about it and keep on.” The driver
did not reply. He did not even turn his head
as he addressed a few words in a low tone
to his companion.
The latter muttered, “Okay.” He crooked
his elbow and reached for the gun in his hip
pocket. He twisted around as if to address
Hahnel. Then, with a sweeping overhand
motion, he whipped the gun into line and
sent a bullet tearing into his captor’s stomach.
Stunned at the missile’s impact, the officer
did not even cry out. For a few seconds he
lost consciousness. When he came to, he
heard excited ejaculations from the two men
in front, and was aware that a blinding pain °
in his body was being intensified by the
twisting and swaying of the car which was
now tearing through the mist at a reckless
speed.
Hahnel realized that the gun with which
he had been wounded probably contained
five more bullets. He knew ‘his life meant
nothing to these harmless-looking youths.
They would undoubtedly use the weapon
again if they thought he was still alfve.. He
had only one chance. He “played dead.”
After they had swerved around three or
four corners, he heard the driver’s com-
panion say, “Here.” The car came to a stop.
Both the youths leaped out and opened the
rear door. They grabbed the bleeding officer
by the legs, pulled him out and threw him
to the side of the road. It was an excruciat-
ing agony. But Hahnel gritted his teeth and
kept quiet.
The desperadoes jumped back into the car
Hahnel knew he couldn’t remain conscious
FEBRUARY, 1942
“PP ff 7
"The woman's actions confirmed the chief's
hunch that she was fearful of being followed.
She looked around repeatedly and was evi-
dently in no hurry to reach her destination."
(Photo specially posed By professional models)
™
BY JOSEPH FULLING FISHMAN
er undergo the agony of waiting
the last few seconds while being
strapped into the stout oaken
chair.
May’s examination of the would-
be suicide had convinced the ex-
‘perienced officer that the patient
was in no danger. His only injuries
were seared lips and a burned
tongue. Swiftly the officers search-
ed the room. ;
Leaning against a picture of a
beautiful girl they found this note.
GOODBYE, SWEETHEART:
I. AM THE MAN THAT WAS
WITH HOLT THE NIGHT OF THE
MURDER. I DIDN’T WANT TO
SAY ANYTHING TO YOU BE-
CAUSE YOU ALWAYS BELIEVED
IN ME. GOODBYE GOOD
LUCK.
(SIGNED) JOE.
Another sprawling postcript
written apparently just before the
man got ready to swallow the acid
read....
JF I WAS MAN ENOUGH TO
KILL THE COP, I WAS MAN
ENOUGH TO KILL MYSELF.
But he wasn’t. There was noth-
ing manly in his twisted make-up.
All night he’d paced the floor of
his dingy, cellar hide-out, peering
first at the newspapers that an-
nounced his impending capture
then at the bottle of acid with its
red, skull-and-cross-bones poison
label. Fear of the electric chair
finally. won. Prymas scribbled the
suicide note. He reached for the
bottle with shaking hands. He
twisted out the black rubber cork.
CONFIDENTIAL
DEREGRIVE
(Continued from page 13)
when he saw Ernest Joe Butler
sidle up, a rifle under his arm.
“Where do you think you’re go-
ing, boy?” the sheriff asked.
“Let me go, Sheriff,” he pleaded,
his face screwed up with grief.
“I’m going on sixteen. I’m as big
as a man.”
This last was true enough, the
sheriff thought as he surveyed the
six-foot, big-boned youth. The
peace officer glanced at the boy’s
father.
“It’s up to your pappy.”
“Can’t I go, Dad?” the youth
pleaded. “Can’t 1?”
“Tf you’ll stick close to Tom Pig-
ford there and do just as he says,
you have my permission.”
“Good.” The youth was already
moving as he spoke.
As the last of the possemen left,
Sheriff Carter turned to Butler.
48
CONFIDENTIAL DETECTIVE CASES
As the acrid carbolic fumes stung
his nostrils he made the gesture
of recorking the bottle. Then, into
his fear-crazed mind came the pic-
ture of electrocutions as they had
been described to him by men who
had been present.
The singing hum of the dynamo
rising in awful crescendo as 2000
volts surged through the black-
capped body strapped in the solid
oak chair, The swift arching of the
torso against the chest strap as
the stinging current galvanized the
muscles into their last motion. The
gurgling moan of the condemned
man as high voltage blasted out
his life. The little thread of smoke
that sometimes rose from under
the mask when the head electrode
wasn’t tight enough.
Prymas couldn’t stand it! He
raised the bottle to his lips and
tilted it... .
AFIER his burns were dressed,
Prymas was taken to police
headquarters. He tried to lay re-
sponsibility for the killing on Holt.
He told of Hahnel. stopping their
car... of the start for the Shak-
er Heights Police Station.
“Red gave me the signal to plug
Hahnel,” Prymas moaned, “I never
meant to kill him.”
One month after Hahnel died
the two youthful bandits went on
trial for their lives in separate
courtrooms. In Judge George P.
Baer’s Court, County Prosecutor
Edward Stanton demanded the
death penalty for ‘Joe’ Prymas for
the premeditated killing of the
policeman. The jury quickly re-
turned a verdict of guilty of mur-
der in the first degree. On Novem-
ber 24th, Judge Bear solemnly
sentenced Prymas to death by
electrocution.
‘Joe’ Prymas was led half-fainting
to the small room with the solid
oaken chair. The black leather
mask was drawn over his sallow
face. He felt the cold salt solution
of the fatal electrodes on his shav-
en head and leg... felt the strap
tightened around his quivering
chest.
A few minutes later the doctors
pronounced him dead. Prymas had
paid the supreme penalty for the
murder of Michael Hahnel.
In Judge Samuel Kramer’s court-
room the same day that Prymas
had been found guilty of murder,
‘Red’ Holt sat trembling while the
jury debated his fate. At last they
filed in and reported that they
were unable to agree. Back in jail
“Red” heard of the electrocution
of his confederate. ‘
Again, on January 12th, Holt
went on trial for his life for the
second time as accessory beforé
and after the fact of the murder
of Michael Hahnel. It was a long
trial. Six days later after deliber-
ating for twenty-seven hours, the
jury brought in a verdict of guilty,
but recommended mercy. Time had
worked in Red Holt’s favor. He
was sentenced to life imprisonment
at hard labor. He left the court-
room with a sickly smile on his
face, thankful he had escaped the
death chair.
THE AIRPLANE SPOTS A KILLER
The sheriff was puzzled as to what
the motive for the murder might
be. Robbery? The Becks couldn’t
have much money. Revenge? May-
be Butler could help him.
“They may have had a few dol-
lars in the house—Cliff can tell you
when he gets back—but they
couldn’t have had much,” Butler
said. He paused and cudgeled his
brains. “Cliff had some words with
a man over a horse a month or so
ago ... yes, and another one of
the boys heard the man threaten-
ing to get even with Cliff one night
after he had got himself liquored
up. But I can’t imagine anybody
wanting to kill Mildred over a
thing like that.”
“You never can tell, Is he red-
headed?” the sheriff asked, re-
membering Ernest Joe’s descrip-
tion.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember
ever seeing the fellow.”
“Know his name?”
“Dick Drake, I believe. He lives
over at Azle.”
The sheriff jotted down the name
and address.
"THE next logical move was to
talk to Mrs. Butler. She had
taken Bobby, the Becks’ baby, over
to the Butler’s house. The sheriff
and Butler meandered over.
“Mrs. Butler,” the sheriff began,
“I believe you were at home this
morning when this terrible thing
happened.”
“Yes, I must have been, although
I can’t understand how it could
have happened without my hearing
a thing,” the woman said, her eyes
red-rimmed with weeping. “Our
houses aren’t more than a hun-
dred feet apart.”
“Su
said t
“No!
“Sor
gun a
ler, “s}
Posts
coyote
don’t
“Tre
admitt:
Stand j
scream
ing any
thing th
me fron
radio w:
ed, shoo}
make se
“It su
. Sheriff ac
“Still a h
Resides, .
ing hard
“T was
was thin
Over an ,
Both m
Suddenly ;
happened
th
course, he
tramp at
check up ,
Azle you tc
to Butler.
In a few
four deputi.
ports mirror
had not bee:
trace of {he
come back f
Carter lost
deputies he
up on Dick
had once bee;
ing Cliff Beck
a horse. The
ed to coopera
men who wou
This done, (
turn to town
wanted to go
learn if there
be learned th
to talk to the
husband.
The revenge
Self en route
Promising so f;
entirely satis,
was angry eno:
der, it seemed
up
ake
dly
iim
all
ake
aim
out
day
had
for
poys
eets,
ciller
yith-
the
{olt’s
. this
“put
1,oney.
> we'll
oo the
game.’
watch
ner or
id rat-
been
there
ie kill-
:-faced,
pulled
ins and
ring in-.
was he
’s career
who his
search
id where
ger con-
yrmatory
on that
se friend -
cts, one
his cell-
d every
ascription
man. He
ring, big-
rominent.
Prymas!”
over po-
s, clatter-
types.
ry Prymas
Inspector
ae’d been
er station-
phoned in.
om Wheel-
actor,” the
read it to
Mitchell.”
3 IMMEDI-
‘EATING.
ast on the
cried, Then
\l-oiled ma-
Cee al
INSIDE FACTS FROM POLICE RECORDS
chinery of the law into motion.
At Cody’s direction Lieutenant
Emmett Potts dictated a wire to
Wheeling addressed to A. F. Keat-
ing reading:
“MONEY WILL BE SENT MON-
DAY NOON.”
(SIGNED) P. B. MITCHELL
A long distance call to the West
Virginia City set the scene for the
round up. Chief of Police Fred
Frazer in Wheeling detailed detec-
tives to cover the Western Union
Telegraph office. The operator was
instructed to ‘tip the wink’ the
minute anyone claimed the decoy
message from Cleveland....
Grimly, patiently, the Wheeling
officers waited, waited until they
began to fear Holt had somehow
got wind of the trap.
Then the operator gave the sig-
nal.
The detectives stared in amaze-
ment. The person who was receiv-
ing the yellow telegram from the
operator was not red-headed, not
even a man! It was an attractive
young woman! She was quietly and
neatly dressed. Holding her hand
was a tiny girl whose shrunken
leg was strapped in a steel brace.
It looked as though a mistake
had been made!
But Detective William West, a
past master of ‘shadowing’ had an-
other idea.
“It’s a plant, boys,” he whisper-
ed as the woman left the office,
“that’s Holt’s moll. I'll tail her.
You follow at a safe distance. Don’t
risk letting her know we’re after
her.”
West slipped from the door. The
woman and child were half a block
away walking slowly. West saunt-
ered after them until they turned
the corner. Then he flashed a
quick signal to his brother officers.
Quickly Chief Frazer, U. S. Dep-
uty Marshall Welsch and Detec-
tives Wallace Buccy, James Stan-
ley and Officer Bill Brunhaus took
up the trail.
West’s belief that the woman
was ‘crooked’ was soon confirmed.
She darted furtive glances behind
her. She led West by a circuitous
rout through many side streets.
But she kept coming back to the
same street. Obviously she feared
she was followed. Obviously this
street she returned to was the
rendezvous where she was to meet
her man. West didn’t dare follow
too closely. He was in constant
dread the other officers would give
him away....
HE woman and child were a
hundred yards ahead now. Sud-
denly a Ford coupe turned in to-
wards the curb with screeching
rubber beside the woman. She
snatched the door open, threw the
child in and leaped after her. Mo-
tor screaming the coupe swerved
away from the curb.
West’s reenforcements burst
round the corner just as West ran
out to halt a passing car driven
by Albert Spenser. The officers
piled into the car.
“You drive, Bill,” Chief Frazer
' yelled to Officer Brunhaus.
Horn screeching a warning, the
commandeered car whizzed away
after the Ford. In and out through
congested traffic the chase pro-
ceeded. Now the officers were al-
most on the coupe but they dared
not fire for fear of injuring by-
standers. They could clearly see
that the driver of the fleeing car
had red hair.
“That’s Holt all right,”
Frazer yelled.
They were out of the business
district now and in the suburbs.
“He’s heading for the Lincoln
Highway,” Brunhaus shouted over
the roar of his speeding motor.
Now that they were free of traf-
fic the police car began to close
the gap separating it from the
Ford. They closed in steadily and
two of the officers leaned from
the windows with guns ready to
open fire on the whirling tires of
the fugitive’s car.
“Wait, boys. Don’t shoot,” Frazer
cautioned, “we don’t want to hurt
that crippled kid.”
Suddenly the Ford careened on
two wheels and skidded into a side
road as the red-headed driver
wrenched the wheel around. Taken
by surprise, Brunhaus was unable
to stop his heavier car in time to
follow but shot past. Tires screech-
ing as he stood on the brake pedal,
Brunhaus slowed his car to a stop.
Already the red-head had the light
Ford spinning in reverse. Out on
the highway it backed and headed
off toward Wheeling again. It was
a masterly piece of driving worthy
of a better cause.
Cursing, Brunhaus turned the
bigger car. It took seconds, and
seconds were precious. At sixty-
Chief
miles-per-hour every second put ~
the Ford eighty-eight feet closer
to the chance of losing the police
in heavy traffic.
They were rushing through the
suburbs now, traffic was thicken-
ing. Brunhaus grimly pressed the
accelerator to the floor boards. A
scant hundred yards separated
them from the bandit. The white
face of the woman companion of
Holt peered fearfully back at them
through the rear window. She
turned and spoke to the driver.
He tried his dodging trick again.
Tires screeching he attempted
to whirl into a side street. This
‘time he didn’t make it. There was
a sickening crash of splintering
glass and rending metal as the
Ford sideswiped a telephone pole
and turned over.
The officers pulled the red-head,
his moll and the child from the
wrecked car. Miraculously none of
them was badly injured. At the
police station fingerprints identi-
fied the red-head as Holt. He was
turned over to waiting Cleveland
officers and started back to face
the charge of murder. Hard-eyed
and defiant he refused to talk dur-
ing the trip northward.
“You got nothin’ on me. I-didn’t
do nothin,” was all Holt would
say.
With Holt and his moll safe in
jail the hunt now centered on
catching ‘Joe’ Prymas the sallow-
faced triggerman. Not a trace of
him could be found in Cleveland
where Inspector Cody was sure he
still hid.
“We'll try psychology again,”
Cody told his men, “rats like Holt
and Prymas always crack when the
heat gets too strong.”
Again Cleveland’s newspapers
carried screaming headlines, again
newsboys cried their sheets
through every street in the city.
“EXTRA, EXTRA, Holt captured,
Arrest of his companion ‘Joe’ Pry-
mas expected hourly.”
It worked! ‘
Shortly there was a call into
Superior Precinct Police Station.
A man had attempted suicide at
1892 59th Street. Patrolmen Clar-
ence May and Matthew Harlan on
duty as “wagon-men” drove to the
address at top speed.
They found a man writhing and
groaning on the basement floor
surrounded by shocked neighbors.
“I drank-carbolic acid, I’m dy-
ing,” he gurgled through seared
lips, “for God’s sake get me to a
doctor.”
Calmly, methodically, the sea-
soned policemen spread their
stretcher and prepared to load the
moaning man upon it.
“Help me quick ... get me to
a hospital,” the man shrieked, “my
stomach’s on fire.”
Patrolman May had found the
poison bottle. To his surprise it
was nearly full. The man wasn’t
7 nearly as bad shape as he claim-
ed.
“Look, Mat,” he muttered to Pa-
trolman Harlan showing him the
bottle, “look at that bed, too.”
The untidy bed was half covered
with newspapers. Newspapers that
bore the rogues gallery picture of
‘Joe’ Prymas. Newspapers that car-
ried screaming headlines telling of
the police net closing in on the
sallow-faced thug.
“This guy’s Prymas or I’m a
chink,” May added.
Cody’s trap -had snapped again
and caught another rat. Unable to
bear up tinder the strain of pur-
suit Prymas had tried the coward’s
way out. He’d decided to cheat the
state electrician. He’d never feel
those deadly electrodes strapped on
his shaven head and to his leg
through his slit trousers. He’d nev-
47
sa
“J could-
Pugh re-
yurry an
catch the
a gallant
je surprise
_ death at
urs. But at
Miciently to
On October
eft his torn
_ Metropoli-
ia followed
ng interest.
had worked
ng for clews.
dead and the
ugs was mur-
INSIDE FACTS FROM POLICE RECORDS
der, they redoubled their efforts.
Hahnel had been able to give
them only a sketchy description of
the two. He’d caught fleeting
glimpses as they passed scattered
street lights. Both were young. The
driver had red hair. The one that
shot him was dark. Hahnel had
had his features indelibly stamped
on his brain by the same pistol
flash that was to bring him to
death. The killer was sallow com-
plected . . . foreign. looking, had
black hair ...a big nose... an
ugly, jutting jaw.
The license number Hahnel had
so heroically recorded was little
help. The gray car was ‘hot,’ stolen
two days before in Medina, Ohio.
Painstakingly, the detectives
sought trace of anyone who had
seen the gray car with the license
516712. They found John Schmidt,
service station attendant for the
Standard Oil station at Fairmount
and Taylor. He was on his way: to
report a holdup. Two men had
come in and poked a gun in his
belly and robbed him.
Inspector Cody listened carefully
to his story.
“Friday night you say, Schmidt.
What kind of car were they driv-
ing?”
“It was a gray touring car, In-
spector.”
“Did you get the license num-
ber?”
“No. I was too fussed and they
whirled away so quick. I didn’t get
it all, but the first two numbers
was 51,”,. Schmidt replied.
*What did the men look like?”
“Well, like I said, Inspector, I
was pretty scared but I did notice
that the guy that was driving had
red hair and wore a faberdine
coat.”
RED HAIR!
It linked up all right but where
did’ it get them? There were thou-
sands of red-headed men in Cleve-
land. Probably a lot of them owned
gaberdine coats, too. Cody. shook
his head grimly. This wasn’t going
to be easy, in fact it looked pretty
hopeless with the Killers off to a
seventy two hour start..
Ohio became the hub of a hum-
ming man-hunt. Police officers
throughout the middle west were
engrossed. Posters were sent out,
teletypes clattered, radios broad-
cast warnings.
“Watch for a red-headed man—
dark gaberdine coat—probably
driving a gray touring car—license
plate may be Ohio 516712—wanted
for murder of Patrolman Hahnel
—may have a short, dark compan-
ion with big nose and jaw—sallow
face—Be careful in apprehending
these men—they are armed and
will shoot to kill.
: pD4¥s passed with dozens of red-
headed men subjected to rigid
police investigation. Not one was
‘the right man, All gave perfect
alibis that checked for the fatal
night of October 17th. Then a real
clue was turned up by two citizens,
William and Thomas Steadman
who were on their way to work
in Cleveland’s South End.
“What's that?” William suddenly
asked his brother, pointing toward
an object half buried in a slag
pile they were passing.
“Looks like a package,” Tom
Steadman answered, “wait a min-
ute while I go get it.”
When Tom rejoined his brother,
his face had a worried look. Si-
lently he unwrapped the dirty
towel that covered two heavy ob-
jects. William stared at the con-
tents, two revolvers. One was a
heavy police model .38, the other
a .32 Hopkins and Allen. Both guns
were loaded.
“Let’s turn these over to the po-
lice, Tom,” William remarked, “if
we get caught with them in our
possession before we can report
finding them, we’ll be in trouble.”
They found a patrolman and
turned the package over to him.
Examined in the Police Ballistic
Laboratory the Police model was
quickly identified as having been
Officer Hahnel’s by its serial num-
ber. It was still fully loaded. The
Hopkins and Allen .32 had been
fired once. Ballistic experts had
the bullet that had been taken
from Hahnel’s body. Quickly they
fired a shot from the .32 into their
catch pad. Placed on the stage of
their comparison microscope with
the bullet from Hahnel’s body, the
two matched perfectly. Every tiny
scratch from the rifling lands of
the pistol barrel was identical.
They checked the percussion caps
of the two cartridges. The imprints
of the firing pin in the soft copper
were identical. They knew they had
the gun that had killed Hahnel.
Hardly had the _ excitement
aroused by the vital find quieted at
headquarters before another break
came. Officers discovered a gray
touring car parked on East 64th
Street. On the upholstery of the
back seat and spreading down on
the floor was an ominous, red stain,
a bloodstain. Patiently the officers
watched the car until it was cer-
tain that whoever had parked it
was not coming back. They hauled
it off to the police garage where
- Schmidt and Officer Dietrich iden-
tified it as the death car.
“The finding of the guns and
the car both point to the fact that
whoever left them is familiar with
the South End,” Inspector Cody
declared, “comb the neighborhood.
Call at every house. Find that red-
head.”
Slowly, relentlessly, the cordon
of investigators extended, working
in ever widening circles from the
focus where the guns and car had
been found. They finally found
John Kalbac who had rented his
garage to two young men several
weeks ago. Who were they? Kalbac
hadn’t bothered to ask since they’d
paid cash.
“Did either of them have red
hair?” Detective John Lynch ask-
ed Kalbac,
Kalbac’s eyes lighted with inter-
est.
“Sure. I remember one of the
guys had firey red hair,” Kalbac
said, “I didn’t notice the other one
so closely. I was in a hurry. Yep,
I’m sure I’d know both of them if
I saw them again. Say, are those
the guys that killed the cop?”
“We're not sure,” Detective Mar-
tin Zalewski told Kalbac, “either
one of them been around lately?”
“Nope, but I’ll sure let you know
if they do come back. Gosh, I might
have got shot myself,” Kalbac said
as the detectives left. :
Zalewski and Lynch discussed it -
as they walked along. They were
keen to press home the advantage
they’d gained. Now they had a wit-
ness who would positively connect
the two killers with the murder
car. Evidence was beginning to fall
into the sort of pattern that con-
vinces juries. No clever defense
lawyer would be able to shoot holes
in their case once they got their
men into court. But where to look
for them?
“They have to eat somewheres,”
Zalewski said.
“You've got something there,
Mart,” Lynch replied, “Let’s check
all the eating places in this dis-
trict. Don’t forget the delicates-
sens and confectionaries either. If
those birds are as wary as I be-
lieve they are, they avoid places
where lots of people eat.”
PAINSTAKINGLY the two detec-
‘tives canvassed one place after
another. The answer was always —
the same. “No. I don’t remember
...no redheads been eating here
that I haven’t known a long time.”
They checked even these suspects
but results were negative. The
veteran detectives knew the value
of patience, of never giving up.
They kept on and they got a new
lead.
Mrs. George Peters who ran an
eating house remembered that a
red-head had eaten with her for a
long time.
“But he hasn’t been around late-
ly,” she added, “not for a couple
of weeks.”
“Happen to remember his
name?” Detective Lynch asked.
Mrs. Peters thought a minute.
“Well,” she said hesitatingly,
“frost of the men he talked to
called him ‘Red’ but it seems’ to
me I heard someone call his name
once, let me think,” she wrinkled
her forehead in concentration, then
smiled triumphantly, “I remem-
ber it now. It was his boss, a man °
45
CONFIDENTIAL DETECTIVE CASES
who runs a transfer business that
was looking for him. He asked for
Holt ... Albert Holt.”
Albert Holt!
The name rang a bell in the
memories of the officers. They ex-
changed startled glances, thanked
Mrs. Peters and hurried to Police
Headquarters.
“J know I’ve heard that name
before,” Zalewski told Lynch while
they waited for the file clerk to
fetch the record.
In a few minutes they were star-
‘ing at the Rogues Gallery picture
and dossier of Albert Holt. His
record revealed that he had only
recently been released from the
Ohio Junior Penitentiary at Mans-
field. His offence had been auto
theft.
“That ties right in with our
case,” Lynch exulted, “they stole
the car Hahnel was killed in. Now
if Kalbac can identify Holt’s pic-
ture as the man who rented his
garage ....
Kalbac was shown a bunch of
Rogues Gallery pictures among
which was Holt’s.
“That’s him,” he stated posifive-
ly, picking up the right picture,
“~q@ know him anywhere.”
The jaws of the police trap were
beginning to close. The driver of
the death car was now positively
identified as Albert Holt and Holt
was ‘Red’ the callous criminal who
had dragged dying Michael Hahnel
by the hair of his head.
The officers hurried to the trans-
fer warehouse at Prospect Avenue
and 12th Street and questioned Pe-
ter B. Mitchell the proprietor.
“yes, that’s Holt,” he admitted
when shown the picture, “he work-
ed-for me once but he’s not been
around for several days.”
“Then you don’t know where he
is?” .
“Haven't the slightest idea,”
Mitchell replied, “as a matter of
fact he’s through here. I just found
out he’s in a jam. He sent a fel-
low around here a couple of days
back trying to borrow fifty dollars
from me for him. The fellow said
Holt was in some sort of trouble
and had to get out of town. I did-
n't give him the money, of course.”
The two detectives flashed each
other triumphant glances. ‘Red’
Holt was probably still in town,
broke, frantically trying to raise
a roll so he could take a powder
and get to a hide-away outside of
Cleveland. They hastened to report
their findings. .
Meanwhile, Policeman Dietrich
who had been Hahnel’s partner
was brought to Central Headquar-
ters and shown a picture of Holt.
“That’s him all right,” he said,
“he was driving the car.”
(COMPLIMENTING his men on
the progress they had made,
Inspector Cody: sent them out to
46
run down more leads on ex-convict
Holt. Persistent ques tioning
brought them the information that
Holt was married. They found his
wife living with her two small chil-
dren on 68th Street, near Carnegie
Avenue. The young wife was badly
frightened when she learned they
were policemen. Gentle and tactful
questioning soon calmed her and
she told a story that held the two
officers tense with interest.
-“Alpert’s not been a good hus-
band to me,” Mrs. Holt told them
sadly, “he. started staying away
nights right after we were married.
He’s never given me enough to
keep the babies decent or even
feed them,” her thin face flushed
in painful embarrassment as she
unfolded the story of her plight.
“yes, he flirted with other wom-
en,” she went on, breaking into
sobs, “oh, he made my life a regu-
lar hell. I got so I was glad he
stayed away. And then he came
back that night... ” Mrs. Holt
pressed her worn hand across her
mouth as if to hold back the words,
then she raised her tear stained
face to the sympathetic detectives.
“J don’t care. He isn’t a hus-
band to me,” she moaned, “I’m not.
going to lie for him... I’m going
to tell...’ sobs choked her again
and it’ was several minutes before
she was calm enough to go on.
“Albert helped kill a policeman
that night,” she finally blurted out.
The two detectives plainly show-
ed their astonishment at this
damning revelation.
“You’ve got to believe me,” Mrs.
Holt insisted, “Albert told Ma all
about it himself. He was in a car
with another man and they got
stopped for speeding. They shot
the policeman while he was taking
them to the station.”
She had no idea where her hus-
band was. She had not heard from
him since that night, but she did
give them the names of a number
of Holt’s friends.
Following down these leads, the
detectives discovered that the trail
was getting hot. The red-headed
killer had been to every friend
he had begging, imploring the loan
of enough money to get out of
town with. Officers were placed on
watch over every known friend and
acquaintance of Holt with the hope
that he might try again to borrow
money and walk into their arms.
Several days passed with no sign
of the desperado.
Inspector Cody is a man-hunter
of long and varied experience. Fail-
ure of his plans to trap Holt by
watching his friends only caused
him to try the harder. He called
a conference of all of his men who
were working on the case. Plan
after plan was discussed but none
of them suited the veteran inspec-
tor.
“We'll try psychology on the rat,
boys,” Cody decided, “he’s holed up
right here in the city. He’s broke
. . hungry .. . scared so badly
it won’t take much to panic him
into making a mistake: That’s all
we need. Just one little mistake
by Holt. I’m going to smoke him
out into the open.”
Cleveland’s newspapers came out
with scare headlines that same day
announcing that a warrant had
been issued for Albert Holt for
the murder of Hahnel. Newsboys
cried extras through the streets,
shouting ....
“Extry, extry. Hahnel’s_ killer
known. Police expect arrest with-
in hours.”
Alert detectives prowled the
South End. The watch on Holt’s
friends was redoubled.
“He’s probably on the run this
very minute,” Cody declared, “but
he’s broke. He has to have money.
When he tries for it next time we'll
be ready to nail him.”
The chase settled down to the
old ‘cat at the mouse hole game.’
The police were content to watch
and wait, certain that sooner or
later Holt would poke his head rat-
like from his hideout.
Meantime, Cody had not been
overlooking the fact that there
were two men involved in the kill-
ing. Who was the sallow-faced,
big-nosed youth .who had pulled
the trigger of the 32 Hopkins and
Allen and sent the slug tearing in-
to Hahnel’s body? Where was he
hiding?
Every known fact of Holt’s career
was checked to discover who his
intimates had been. The search
took the officers to Mansfield where
Ohio incarcerates her younger con-
victs. Officials at the reformatory
advanced. the information that
Holt had had only one close friend
among his fellow convicts, one
Bruno Joseph Prymas, his cell-
mate. Prymas answered every
point of the sketchy description
they had of the trigger man. He
was sallow, foreign-appearing, big-
nosed, and his chin was prominent.
“Pick up Bruno ‘Joe’ Prymas!”’
The word crackled out over po-
lice radios and telegraphs, clatter-
ed, out on the busy teletypes.
BEFORE the search for Prymas
was well under way Inspector
Cody got the break he’d been
watching for. The watcher station-
ed at the transfer office phoned in.
“Wire just came in from Wheel-
ing, W. Virginia, Inspector,” the
watcher reported, “I'll read it to
you. It’s addressed to Mitchell.”
“WIRE FIFTY BUCKS IMMEDI-
ATELY. NEED IT BAD.”
(SIGNED) A. T. KEATING.
Cody slammed his fist on the
desk.
“We've got him!” he cried. Then
he put the swift, well-oiled ma-
rout t)
But she
Same s
she wa
street
rendezyv
her ma
too clo
dread t
him aw
‘THE ’
hund
denly a
wards
rubber
snatche
child in
tor scre
away fr
Grint)
)
1
at &e
ype AS CE Le
:
,
24
+
9 we
a
‘as eee kee Se
. : am < ———— ” * 2
alls 34-year-old Segre,
~ neg, pianton Malls, -aged
= uted at Dbio—peal-
wridey ‘fight for the msurdet
va ‘aeoret Davenport of Craw
y nearly w year ego. BEL
pat out was placed in the ehair}- eS
| sms si ant-as pronounced} | £
i inuies later. The eurs
onl | ues vent through walters vody,
ya and aver seven minutes Be, |)
: ‘wet nced Bead.
» ap he walked tinasalsted |. ean L coayre ee ‘
= ao Bi avenet Gub-chalrman tp
seek eret “Sah inany prevent. W Charge of merchandise, is r-
wir go -y end after telling] wponsible for the booths from _
ae ! bye, aé-|:. Which articles of many sorte are.
GP , Pile did net being sold at the Bike’ Mardi
ese t that] (OTS. Which closes Baturday
Sot * WI the sho bight. ‘The large card room on
hale! Rilled the abériff) . the first Moor of the Elks’ Home
: . (when be came to] bs tert aan filled ‘with . bees
Fy: os, DHSRIED ww ryt OT Yipee 3-77 aN ae CU ON SEE te - a'g .*
i Ser rng era yet ON “Sate Nw EPS ay 3 on penne Rha ee
:
other uncie, Eit-
jan Rallies. for
-e@tealing chickens,
Two weeks ago
he and Walter
were aaved- from
the chatr by min-
ves when he
eis — signed & confee-
fing tod Ralls. nana
~ ebootng «Elijah wan killed
: aie totam -pexeral Aaya
Behmidt” worked iB “part of
io T, Ocstreichers general
‘ pommittée Gb which Leslie Perin-
beh and Paul Hicks ere in
tharge of entertainment, a::d
Gude Dane Réynolds end. Huch
Addison were in charge 6f recep:
tion. Dancing. games. tauderilie
pecs ioutly submit
yboard of elections
“AM elty“canaic -B
expepes mocoun ta
om file before th
at 620 p. m.
Last-minute rej
the Democratic os
tetal rs 04367.32.,
in party exc;
bill ef 63%, whi
Bemoeratic “organ
Cessful Gght to ela
Gidates incurred ‘
thas 67.
~ "8 OOP. ePEe
he Republican.
26.33 -in its wv-
palgn. A balan
organization ¢
Total expenditu!
| tot-Meyor groupe
pret "hk: Marke:”
the Ohio Pavin
turers’ associstio§
s3i8. Worley h:
hla campaizn fv
‘he James J
cbmmittee apent
“pbterthinment and other features
ire scheduled 8t & Anal eeasion.
Beturdsy. The Mard! Gras te hei4_
“YW raises money tor the fund from
which Riks during the Winter care
Current: , Police
ZN ews-in Bri
The pciagliiniae: Pasi pees otia
police department. was thauguratcd
with a boom, Priday aftefnoon, at «
meeting of ranking officers with the
antdouncement that the = athietic
doriate $3000,—beniday
gy: arrest
BLAN Its ACCURED.
pant sioniy thoorlng hie words |
"Welter aaid Blanton’ ‘con. |
frond " bi secently he fired heihfl
pa! abt. .
= 4 eas pot spe murderer of the:
eerste Paeritt-George Davenport.”
@olared— “1 tried to pre-
ree _penhew, who fired ‘toe! .
to tet} Che truth. He admitted
- me that he fired the shot,
Beak has sixays been my belief.
et aah pothing Againat any-
- Patter. >i voice giving pigns of
at times, repeated the a8rd
fis from memory
‘gsads @ith tany
t, omiling
FF pr aresard
y bane bome
“ghe bae he-
peased hint.
§. %. Thomas, |
patente ry eat- —
een, pation: ‘
‘enpensee ore |
ten pete allowed
mu the prison
put tor the walk Bet
-» me death
bage, tallied On Bay
ef ohe had gune
Ty TN walter * alte,
put
sts phsay ani: AL. GEN
rent did All who’ had animne>
fy tm thet: heatta toward the men
tad herp 11 to themmasives. he added,
individual ‘eontributions of police.
men, sk
Despite the fact that ibe mbers of
» j{the Gepariment are suffering from 6
depleted pay envelope, betause of A
I]five per cent wage cut to ai! eity
‘] em ployea,
ie whs an enthusiast:
group that gathered to Giscuss the
1931 eampaign for funds. *
>} His tommittes ©
“The Thomas -for-
* mittee spent... t
-through email c
ling to Mary C. y)
for the poor of the city. |
. GREEN:
é P. Gn
' money, while
| ceived and spen:
George 8. Ma
mayor, ae tT
$859,25,-—~--- -
Melville D. fi
ajmayoralty tcan¢
which 610 was
McKinley.
| MH. Beage Vi
maytralty ¢ant
mittee. 8407.
altogether 910!
The Chamber
total of 813929.
rcontri butions.
move the Bros
+OTHER !
Other acco.
thoeded:
BUBSCRIPTION® POUR IN.
A few hotirs atter the meeting. rec:
feathérs were prominentty—ta—eri- |
dence in cortidore of police hard-
* | quarters ae élibectiptions to the funa’
started to pour in. - Members af the!
'torce are eapected % have subacribed
100 pér cent within a few Gays.
There werd no. Cissenting yore
when @ motion was marie to
funda from the atbletic_fund
bury mh drder ta | oan existing omerg-
ency @onditions. °
Within past yeats members of the,
pollre department hare always dver-
subscribed their quota.
Reon Piaewd wanda
Councll —
b5y 40; John
from Leo Hae
jRobert T. Me
-OLIS. =
Board of &
jbervelt, 034.7:
“his committ
Paul, 027.50,
* bills W. A.
o- 7 Raldwiny
818) Prank -
:Chiftord C.
Potroa, $37.8
63). 2h
| BMuntetpal
pos > MINAENG-PRSONS,———-—] 100, BYES BO
Oh ee tt
a a aaa
Ae
TH:
; TEE +f
baal
=.
ae
ae et ha Py
Ohio (Crawford County) 11-13-1931, _
“a “asl Walter Ralls Pon
| teenie a)
id Ralls. B4- sehone gone;
a - by pephre, Bianton Malls, aged
he qqre wectrocuted at Dhic —peal-
ae > on fight for the murder
A ro ‘George Davenport of Craw
we sd
€73 ty pearly B year “ago.”
pais pot vous was placed in the ehairt-
eas : PS inutes later. The ours
cm, 2 i wos vent through Walter's teody}
. ‘ ygi and after eeven minutes he,
+ ia pronourtced Gead. =”
; "mm ab he walked tinesalstod .
gue PA . ; Sub-chalrman tp
“: ‘ bands eit sienp vevéiel thar of merchandise, is re
3 i. ps shoo oo) end after telling]
a at | mm. _" all goodbye, aé-
| ine _tlared he did not
milled the abeériff| .
. when he came t to
Po ne ne ee ee a el
other uncie, Kii-
jan Ralia. for
_etealing chickens)
Two weeks ago
he and Walter
eere haved from
the chatr by min-
v'es when he
signed & confee-
Ms dion niet Fijen |
TES ghootng Kiijeh waa killed
i Fale yees bactried vet a -pexeral Gaya
fire the shot that}
ar ee oe f3 ryt
£ a - 2 tet ie ae
sa ‘Saran Ne eee Ro ee SS A
; Bechmiat’ worked is Re of
Ere scheduled at
ib eh at at
: BLAnios ACCURED,
ping slowly ¢nooalng hie words |
wae ate qafully, Welter said Blanton’ ‘eon-|
saan ae pare. >
cate: 4 ens wot ‘Pe murderer of the!
weir Bee t-Gearge Devouport.s} 'g27
See’ Geclarett— J tried to pre-
' _pephes, who fired tbe! . rhc Comesunley Pundaaen
UF at to tet! Che truth. He admitted) police department. was inaugurated
Shot, with a boom, Priday aftefmoon, at a
we that he fired the
'
_Wponsible for the booths from
‘which articles of many porte ate |
belng sold” at the Bikes’ Mardi
Gres, which closes Baturday
hight. The large card reom on
, the first floor of the Elks’ Home
i] eemmptetely - Billed with booths
Cte. f
obert. T, OcstreichefS general
bommittée Ob which Leslie ®erim-
keP and Paul Hicks Were in
tharge of entertainment, a::4
Cudge Dans Réynoids end. Much
Addison were in charge of -recep:...;
Yon. Dancing. games, tauderilie
“bhtertblnment and other features
Arptey Oh ud hee ee seeeres Be trp
Fix:
ALD elty“ranaic
pallet submit
expense aocounta
rboard of elections
@m file before th
at 620 p. m.
Last-minute re;
the Demoerstic os
total of 0636732.
Democratic “organt
Cessful Bght to ela
Gidates incurred a
thay
Total expenditu .
tor-Meyor groups
Fumes are Marke,”
the Ohio Pavin™
turers’ associatio™
6378. Worley h:
hia campaizn ftv
fhe James J
committee apent
Anal geasion,
Beturdey, The Mardi Oras te hel4_
“te reies money for the fund from
which Riks during the Winter care
for the poor of the city.
OO NE EE BORON:
peed te bim tecently he fired habit
Current: Police
~News-in Bri
etidagpeessteg t
‘through emall c
lira to Mary C. 2
«° GREEN :
ad P. -Gn
‘money, while
ceived and spen:
George 8. Ma
{magor, ale wp
sti
His tommittee
989825 ro == = ;
Melville D PF
mayoralty can¢
RALPH, Edward, white, elec OHIO SP (Cuyakoga) 10-)-19)3,
“4 EP eR ee: |
POLICE FILES MAGAZINE, October, 195h. - |
“Stay off the streets at night—no woman is safe!" 4
was the grim warning from headquarters
@ If there is anything a police department hates more than any one crime
it is a series of them. Moreover, when the crime wave is apparently
perpetrated by a single individual the heat on the department swiftly
reaches the melting point of iron. 4
In the winter of 1930, the police department of Cleveland, Ohio, found
itself in a cramped and most uncomfortable position.
Between late Ottober and Christmas a terrorist, a sexual sadist and po-
tential killer stalked the streets of Cleveland. During that period he had
attacked five young and attractive women, some most seriously, some
less so.
His first three victims, Mrs. Hortense Malvek, Miss Joyce Linsay and
Miss Harriet Sanders had screamed at the instant the prowler had laid
hands on them. That manifestly had frightened him. He had fled pre-
cipitately into the night.
His fourth victim, 19-year-old Leona Horstan, was not as fortunate. As
she passed the intersection of East 105th Street and Ashbury Avenue, a
shadowy figure loomed before her, seized her in a pair of powerful arms.
As she cried out for help she was struck brutally in the ribs with a
me:
A lethal bullet felled Janet Blood Panic swept Cleveland as he
when she fled the stalking fiend. | prowled the night like a beast.
Microscope Manhunter
[Continued from page 31]
high school. But a boyish yen for science
persisted. He was an avid reader and he
turned the family cellar into a laboratory.
Ballistics interested him. It was some-
thing new.
He leaped at the chance to take a po-
sition in the Cleveland city chemist’s
office and he made the most of the labora-
tory and text books at his disposal. From
time to time the city chemist was being
called upon to make tests for the police
department, mostly for poisons or to com-
pare bits of fabric. Cowles made the most
of these opportunities. Voluntarily he
studied bullets in police cases and made
his test shots. In the middle twenties he
was shifted to the police department, full
time at a detective’s pay. Slowly he be-
gan to assemble necessary equipment for
a scientific crime laboratory. He worke
alone, and for the most part unheralde
But on March 6, 1929, came the big:
opportunity for which the scientific d
tective had been waiting.
Patrolman Carl. Sherman responded to}
a call to investigate a suspicious pair in
an auto in the flatseon Jennings road. A
he approached the stolen Cadillac sedan
the police car was met by a deadly blast.
Sherman was killed instantly, his com-
panion badly wounded. The _ killers
escaped. The earth seemed to have swal-
lowed them.
¢
te,
BY Cowles kept two slugs the coroner
had removed from the dead offi-
cer’s body. They really were the start of
Cowles’ bullet “morgue”—his collection
of bullets taken from bodies and dug out
of walls in shooting cases. Each is care-
fully identified, examined, studied and
charted, then filed away to await the day
when they will be brought out to con-
found a killer.
Two months later Justus Brown, a
grocer in Columbus, Ohio, was shot down
after he had thrown a can of salmon at
one of two bandits attempting the hold-
up of his super-market. Columbus police
baffied by the crime sent the bullets
taken from the victim’s body to Cowles
in Cleveland. :
He made a startling discovery. The
gun which killed Brown was the same as
the one which killed Patrolman Sher-
man. But again the wily killers had made
their escape. With this information
Cleveland detectives’ were able to tie up
the same pair with the St. Louis killing
of August Huebschner some time before.
Cowles compared the slugs with those of
Cleveland’s unsolved cases and found that
the same gun had killed Sarkis Kesh-
ishian, an Armenian grocer in Cleveland,
several years before. He had tagged four
slayings on the same pair of hoodlums.
Eight months later a punk was cap-
tured in an attempted drug store robbery
and to curry favor with the police he told
them that an old man and a kid, “Old
John” Lord and Charles “Sonny Boy”
Hanovich, had robbed the Roumanian
Savings & Loan Company on March 13,
1929. This information led to the arrest
of the pair in Chicago in early February,
1930, on the bank robbery charge.
Lord was surprised in a hotel room and
shackled before he could reach the re-
volver on his bedside table. Hanovich was*
also captured and the pair was returned to
Cleveland to face the robbery charge.
The gun found in Lord’s room was
66
RZ
’ chair in June, 1930. Hanovich got life.
turned over to Cowles as a matter of
routine.
He fired the usual test bullets from the
gun and examined them under his power-
ful lens. Then he brought out the bullets
from unsolved crimes and put them under
the comparison microscope. John Lord’s
gun had fired the bullets which had killed
Patrolman Sherman, Justus Brown an
Keshishian. The slugs were as alike as
peas in a pod, the maths on the leaden
pellets, left by the4jun barrel from whieh
they came, weré’ identical.
John Lorddenied the accusation, dis-
claimed allknowledge of the killings but
after Cowles had testified and shown his
enlarged photos of the death slugs and the
test bullets, old John was convicted and
_Sentenced to death. He died in the electric
While working on the Lord case Cowles
was at the same time deep in another
grim problem, For several months in 1929,
Cleveland women had been attacked and
terrorized by a shadowy phantom who
seized them when they ventured alone on
dark streets.
One girl had been shot by the man as
she resisted his attack and clouted him
with her handbag. She was rushed to
Emergency hospital where the bullet was
removed and turned over to Cowles.
Shortly after another girl was shot in a
like manner and a bullet was removed
from her body.
Cowles established that both had come
from the same gun. The slugs were filed
away—an unsuspected sword of Dam-
ocles hanging over the head of the
women’s assailant. Then in a routine
roundup of suspects, detectives found a
revolver on Edward Ralph, a tall sallow
youth, but beyond this the police had
nothing on him.
He was cocksure in his denial of guilt
even after he was indicted.and one of the
irl victims had hesitated in her identi-
S don when she faced him. The jury
was sworn in-on Feb. 21,.1930, and Cowles
took the witness stand. Ralph quickly
changed his plea to guilty and was given
an indefinite sentence in the Ohio State
Reformatory for shooting.to wound. The
testimony of the laboratory wizard soon
convinced him that he did not have a
chance to beat the rap.
Cowles has left no stone unturned t
erfect himself in his role of sci
of
- and the secrets of guns and explosives.
His reputation has become national
and his services are in great demand.
It was the day before Christmas in
Dayton, in 1932, and A. W. Dare was just
opening his shoe store on Main, near
Third, the city’s busiest corner, when a
lone man stuck a gun in his ribs and
shoved him into the store.
The manager put up a fight and the
gunman left him dying in the doorway
as he sauntered across. the street, turned
into.an alley beside the courthouse and
vanished before bystanders realized what
had happened. The getaway was clean,
Deputy Sheriff Bill Lang. arrested a
suspect the following day and found a
gun in his overcoat pocket. The gun and
the bullets taken from Dare’s body were
brought to Cleveland by Detective In--
spector Yendes and County Detective Joe
Wilcox and turned over to Cowles. -
]
It was the first of February, 1933, when
the suspect, Virgil Dackin, went on trial
in Dayton for the murder of Dare. Dackin
had a long record in Ohio with an escape
from the state reformatory but he stead-
fastly denied implication in the murder
and he was defended by one of Dayton’s
shrewdest criminal lawyers.
Witness after witness took the stand
for the state. Some testified that they had
seen the gunman walk across the street,
others that they had seen him in the alley
or even chased him but by the time the
defense counsel finished his cross exami-
nation the jurors could really be excused
for not knowing whether the witnesses
had seen Dackin or three other men
‘leaving the scene of the murder. Things
looked none too rosy for the state’s case
when court adjourned early Friday until
Monday so that David L. Cowles,
ballistics expert could testify for the
prosecution,
The courtroom was thronged the
following Monday.
County Prosecutor Calvin Crawford
began examining Cowles and the Cleve-
lander told the jury of his 15 years’ study
of ballistics, ten spent as a member of
the Cleveland police force,
HE DESCRIBED in detail the rifling
of a gun barrel and its purpose, to
keep the projectile on a direct line by giv-
ing the bullet.a revolving motion. He iden-
tified the bullet taken from Dare’s body as
a .38 Peters cartridge. The weight of pellets
of different manufacturers is a matter of
exact knowledge, Cowles told the jurors,
and no two makers use exactly the same
weight. Al box of Peters shells had been
found in Dackin’s room.
“Every]\gun barrel trademarks its
bullet,” Gowles testified.
Then with the aid of photographs, tre-
mendously enlarged, he pointed out the
peculiar Markings on the bullet taken
from Dare’s body, caused by the rifling
individuality of the gun barrel. He
showed photos of other bullets with
identical arkings. These were test
bullets he had fired from Dackin’s gun.
The defetse counsel lounged in his
chair e trial table, but Dackin’s eyes
itly popped as he strained forward. His
lips tightened. The pallor of his cheeks
gave the lie to his smile:
To the spectators the testimony of the
scientist was dull, They wanted fireworks
and they were waiting for the noted
criminal lawyer to provide it when the
colorful cross examiner went to work on
the soft spoken expert who was placing
the death gun right in the hand of the
accused, something which eye witnesses
had failed to do.
Finally Prosecutor Crawford finished
the direct examination. He bowed to the
defense. “You may take the witness.”
There was a moment of silence. The
defense attorney rose. For a moment he
looked straight at Cowles. The ballistics
man was leaning forward at ease. :
“Tsn’t it a fact, Mr. Cowles,” he began
easily, “that other experts might make
the same tests and come in here and
testify differently?”
“They might,” Cowles admitted |
frankly, “but they wouldn’t be honest
with .themselves and they wouldn’t be
telling the truth, Ballistics is an exact
science,”
Every
Then
There’s
examina
The s|
ears. E
famous <
Cowles
chair.
The |
dangero
Dacki
on Feb.
of one
Cowles’
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First to die at the hands of the Cleveland Terror was Janet
Blood, right. A passing motorist, attracted by a pistol shot,
found the unconscious girl on the street at spot marked at left.
He struck Miss David first across the ribs and then against
the head, and a much worse fate might have been in store
for her but for the timely glare of the lights of an approach-
ing car which frightened her attacker off. The motorist
stopped, lifted up Miss David from the sidewalk, rushed her
to a hospital, where eventually she recovered.
The next night, however, the Terror changed his weapon
from pipe to pistol. Miss Beatrice Gallagher, 23, was re-
turning at midnight from a dance to the home of Mr. and
- Mrs. R. H. Perdue, where she worked as a maid.
As Miss Gallagher entered the Perdue yard, the Terror,
brandishing a nickel-plated revolver, reared up from behind
a hedge and ordered the girl: “Come here, sweetie—gosh,
you’re pretty. Quiet now, or I'll shoot.”
Frightened, but not into obedience, Miss Gallagher yelled
at the top of her lungs, and her assailant fired at her five
times, then fled. All five shots took effect. Miss Gallagher
was hit in the shoulder, arm and lung. Happily, her em-
ployers heard the gunfire and rushed the seriously wounded
girl to Huron Road Hospital, where she received immediate
treatment that saved her life.
The Terror waited two nights, then used his gun again.
Mrs. Mary Pschock, 20 and a bride of three months, finished
addressing the last of her Christmas cards and decided to
take in a movie. She left her home on East 55th Street
and strolled in the direction “of the nearby Lexington
Theater.
As she approached Utica Avenue, a man darted out from
behind a billboard, to threaten her with a nickel-plated
revolver and the words: “You won’t be hurt if you don’t
scream.”
Mrs. Pschock, with very good sense, stalled for time by
handing the gunman her pocketbook. He took it, extracted
the few dollars it contained and then seized the young bride,
dragging her toward the screening billboard. When she
Angered by her screams for help, the phantom assailant
fatally wounded Janet Blood just moments after she had
left her home, below, where she lived with her father.
sof UH
-_
DT Lat 54 9
ere
a creaie en cn Seen
demons semsonhanaetets
mystery of the
12
DEX MONSTER tis
BEAUTIFUL VICTIMS
by: Lewis: Thompson
T he shadows of crime, lustful and sadistic, that had fallen over Cleve-
land, O., engulfed the city in fear. There was fear for any woman,
especially if she were young and pretty, to walk the streets alone lest
she be the next victim of the sex-hungry monster who emerged from
his lair to strike and strike, and strike again.
Beginning in October, 1929, these fears gripped Cleveland for four
solid months, and they were to have their ramifications first after a
couple of years, and then more than a decade later.
On the night of October 22, 1929, Mrs. Florence Alvins, 34, was on
her way home to Vineyard Avenue. Her route took her down a dimly
lit street and past a vacant lot, and the tempo of her heels clicking
along the sidewalk involuntarily quickened as she entered the dark-
ened area. A man sprang from nowhere, a heavy hand fell on Mrs.
Alvins’ arm, and a voice growled: “Gosh, you're a good-looking number. :
Come with me,-baby. Keep quiet and I won’t hurt you.”
The man’s grip tightened on Mrs. Alvins’ arm, he jerked her toward
the vacant lot, and there was no mistaking his intentions. Mrs. Alvins
screamed, but the scream only earned her a blow that knocked her
flat. The man dragged her. Mrs. Alvins kicked and somehow got free
and to her feet, and started running. The man ran, too, but in the
opposite direction.
Experiences similar to Mrs. Alvins’ befell Miss Hilda Kilmer, 22, while
she walked along Pratt Avenue on the night of November 11, and Miss
Esther Atkinson, 26, as she was on her way home to East Eleventh
Street on the night of November 14.
In both instances, the young women were knocked down, and yet
both succeeded in breaking away from their assailant and ran screaming
so loudly that the attacker did not pursue.
Mrs. Alvins, Miss Kilmer and Miss Atkinson were, relatively speak-
ing among the fortunate. There were others less lucky. In a few weeks,
fifteen women had suffered night-time attacks on the streets of Cleve-
land, and in a number of instances their assailant succeeded in sub-
duing them by blows or terrifying them into submission.
That this roving demon was in all cases the same man soon became
obvious. Because of the dark and their fright, none of his victims could
describe him in detail, but what information they could give matched
up. He was young, perhaps less than 20, and of medium height, about
5’6”. He was heavy-set, with the estimates of his weight centering
around 160, His face was round and full, his eyes narrow. He wore a
cap and a tweed suit, but no topcoat or overcoat, although the weather
had been cold. ;
Until December 19—and his sixteenth victim—the Cleveland Terror
had used no weapon. But that night, in his attack on Miss Rose David,
19, as she was en route to visit an Ashbury Avenue friend, he wielded
a short length of lead or iron pipe.
The slaying of one girl merely whetted
the lust of the savage prowler,
but the second murder brought the death penalty
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HE report that came into Cleve-
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When the uniformed law reached the
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“Anyone touched anything in this
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The man shook his head:slowly. “Not a
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“Where’s the gun?” asked the officer.
The man simply shrugged his shoulders
helplessly.
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see any gun. I just heard the shot. One
shot. We were downsfairs at the time.”
The sergeant turned a key in the door.
He shooed everyone back down the stair-
way. “We'll just wait for the coroner.”
Then he went to the phone. A few mo-
ments later the coroner was on his way
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3:30 a.m. when they arrived. They en-
tered the house, mounted to the second
floor and saw the line of light under one
door.
“What’s the idea?” the youth asked
irritably as they burst in. His magazine
dropped from his hands and he stared
at them.
“Get dressed,” Clark ordered abruptly.
“You’re going to headquarters.”
He leisurely got out of bed and, while
he dressed, the detectives searched the
room but found no revolver, no tweed
suit or any other links to the sex fiend’s
crimes.
At headquarters, under questioning by
Story and Koryta, and later by Inspectors
Matowitz and Cody, the suspect calmly
maintained his complete innocence. He
gave his name as Edward Ralph and his
age as eighteen. He said he had never
owned a gun and knew nothing about the
attacks on women.
As Story talked to him, the youth ap-
peared completely at ease and seemed
amused that he was suspected.
“Lock him up,” Story ordered wearily.
“We'll have the girls look at him in the
morning.”
It was close to noon, Tuesday, January
28th, when Miss Gallagher and Mrs.
Pschock, both of whom were well on the
way to recovery from their nerve-rack-
ing experiences, arrived at the police sta-
tion to view the new suspect. Inspectors
Matowitz and Cody and Lieutenant Story
were in the room with Ralph when the
two young women entered.
The ensuing scene caused the officials
to stare wide-eyed in astounded bewilder-
ment.
Ralph first inspected the victims coolly.
Then a plaintive expression came over
his face. He stood up suddenly and be-
fore anyone uttered a word, he turned to
Miss Gallagher and said in an. apologetic
voice:
“I’m terribly sorry I hurt you. I didn’t
mean to cause you any pain.” His gaze
then swung to Mrs. Pschock. “You
shouldn’t have screamed.” His tone was
one of gentle rebuke. “I didn’t want to
shoot but you made me do if.”
Miss Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock posi-
tively identified him as the man who had
shot them.
ae Cody and Story continued
to stare in amazement as Ralph main-
tained his cool air of detachment and a
pose of genuine regret.
“It must have been the liquor,” he told
them. “I don’t know why I’d do such things.
Every time I’d have a few drinks, some-
thing happened to me. I didn’t. intend to
use the gun.”
To Detectives May and Joseph Jacobs
who questioned him later: that day after
other victims had identified him, he com-
plained that some of them: were mis-
taken.
“There couldn’t have been that many,”
he objected in a mild, reproving tone.
“And you know yourselves, some of them
weren’t very sure when they identified
me.”
“Where’s the gun?” May inquired.
“I threw it into the lake.”
“Whereabouts in the lake?”
“At the Ninth Street pier.”
“When?”
“Right after I used it the last time.
The day before Christmas.”
The following day, after Story had made
several phone calls to the Coast Guard,
he ordered Ralph brought in.
“Ye Gods! We left out the bathrooms!”
war gan
“You're lying
him. “The lake
Where is it?” ~
“All right, I hi
Ralph repkied.
boards in the bi
Detective
volver at
friend, fou
was unable to
left there.
It was Thurso
the gun was fo.
statement confes:
Gallagher and M
bery of $27 and
shop. Late that
for the first tin
questions about -
8rd, the night .
shot.
Still wearing tt
expression, Ralp)
addresses of plac
along Hough Av
had spent that e
the names of pe1
he had talked or
Story’s eyes n
“What makes -
ning so clearly?”
Ralph smiled «
“I was afraid
when I read tha
over in my mir
night. I went
to make sure.
was with them t
Story and Kory
crafty youth. As
the alibi witnesse
tionable characte
“1f we had any
him, we would d
concluded with c
Ensuing efforts
Koryta and other
Ralph’s story at
hid the gun prc
friend at whose
called that Ralp
day before Chri
10th, when Jane
been reported in
low.
“I distir :
assured tl! 2
before Ch ;
shot Mrs. Pschoc
mind to get rid :
shoot anybody a
shook his head -
wish Janet Blooc
you it wasn’t m«
FTER discussir
against Ralph
Story sat wrappe
voice, Matowitz
case.
“There were no
Blood is dead. T
for evidence. I
else we can do.
murdered her but
cutor can do an}
evidence we've £
This opinion wz
County Prosecuto:
Lieutenant Story
vict Ralph of Ja
foredoomed to fa
“There’s no wa
or tie up all the a
“Each offense m
Let’s try him on ‘
can establish.”
Those of the k
reported sex assa
the ordeal of test
others, Miss Gall
up suddenly and be-
a word, he turned to
said in an. apologetic
> I hurt you. I didn’t
any pain.” His gaze
Mrs. Pschock. “You
ymed.” His tone was
ce. “I didn’t want to
> me do if.”
id Mrs. Pschock posi-
. as the man who had
and Story continued
ement as Ralph main-
of detachment and a
‘gret.
»n the liquor,” he told
why I’d do such things.
2 a few drinks, some-
me, I didn’t. intend to
yy and Joseph Jacobs
1 later. that day after
jentified. him, he com-
of them were mis-
ave been that many,”
mild,. reproving tone.
irselves, some of them
when they’ identified
2” May inquired.
sed it the last time.
hristmas.”
, after Story had made
to the Coast Guard,
rought in.
Ate
“You're lying about the gun,” he told
him. “The lake was frozen that day.
Where is it?”
“All right, I hid it in a friend’s house,”
Ralph replied. “I stuck it under some
boards in the basement.”
Detective George Zecarelli found the re-
volver at the designated place. The
friend, found to be completely innocent,
was unable to tell when it had been
left there.
It was Thursday, January 30th, when
the gun was found and Ralph signed a
statement confessing the shooting of Miss
Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock and the rob-
bery of $27 and the gun from the tire
shop. Late that day, Story and Koryta
for the first time confronted him with
questions about his activities on January
8rd, the night Janet Blood was fatally |
shot.
Still wearing that same placid, indulgent
expression, Ralph mildly offered various
addresses of places, mostly drinking spots
along Hough Avenue, where he said he
had spent that entire evening. He gave
the names of persons with whom he said
he had talked or been drinking.
Story’s eyes narrowed as he listened.
“What makes you remember that eve-
ning so clearly?” he asked.
Ralph smiled cunningly.
“I was afraid I might be suspected
when I read that the girl died. I went
over in my mind where Id been that
night. I went around and checked up
to make sure. They all remembered I
was with them that night.”
Story and Koryta glared in disgust at the
crafty youth. As they expected, most of
the alibi witnesses turned out to be ques-
tionable characters.
“If we had any decent evidence against
him, we would discredit that alibi,” Story
concluded with conviction.
Ensuing efforts by the lieutenant, by
Koryta and other squad members to shake
Ralph’s story about the date when he
hid the gun proved unsuccessful. The
friend at whose house it was found, re-
called that Ralph had visited him the
day before Christmas and on January
10th, when Janet Blood’s condition had
been reported in the newspapers as very
low.
“I distinctly remember,” Ralph blandly
assured the detectives, “it was the day
before Christmas. I was so sorry that I
shot Mrs. Pschock that I made up my
mind to get rid of the gun, so I'd never
shoot anybody again.” He paused and
shook his head with a sad air. “I sure
wish Janet Blood was alive. She’d tell
you it wasn’t me.”
AUS discussing how best to proceed
against Ralph, Matowitz, Cody and
Story sat wrapped in thought. Ina tired
voice, Matowitz finally summed up the
case.
“There were no eye witnesses and Janet
Blood is dead. The bullet is too battered
for evidence. I can’t think of anything
else we can do. We all know that he
murdered her but I don’t think the prose-
cutor can do anything with the kind of
evidence we've got.”
This opinion was strongly supported by
County Prosecutor Ray T. Miller who told
Lieutenant Story that any attempt to con-
vict Ralph of Janet Blood’s murder was
foredoomed to failure.
“There’s no way to lump the evidence
or tie up all the attacks,” Miller explained.
“Each offense must be tried separately.
Let’s try him on the strongest charges we
can establish.”
Those of the killer’s victims who had
reported sex assaults asked to be spared
the ordeal of testifying in court. Of the
others, Miss Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock
had the best cases against Ralph and
courageously announced themselves ready
to accuse him in open court, the gun and
bullets being available to back up their
testimony. In the case of the overwhelming
evidence, Ralph pleaded guilty on Feb-
ruary 21st to two charges of shooting
with intent to kill during attempted as-
sault.
Common Pleas Judge Frank Phillips im-
posed the maximum penalty for each
offense, an indeterminate 1-to-20-year sen-
tence in the Ohio Penitentiary, thus en-
abling the Ohio Pardon and Parole Com-
mission to keep him imprisoned for a
limit of forty years by making him serve
the full sentences consecutively.
The frightful series of assaults had ended
with the arrest of Ralph. The three-
months nightmare of horror into which
Cleveland had been plunged by the vicious
sex fiend was over and Lieutenant Story
and members of his special squad were
restored to former duties.
Nearly two years passed, then the shock
came. On November 19th, 1931, Cleve-
land was electrified by the news that Ralph
had escaped.
Story, promoted to captain, assigned de-
tectives to a day-and-night vigil of the
fugitive’s known haunts and worked in-
defatigably in alerting the nation’s police
forces to hunt for him.
“He’s a killer, cunning and vicious,”
he kept repeating by phone, wire and
circulars.
0X FEBRUARY 5th, 1932, Ralph was re-
captured by Los Angeles police after
about two and one-half. months of run-
ning loose, a menace to society. Cuyahoga
County Sheriff Joseph Sweeney brought
him back from the coast and delivered
him to the penitentiary.
Eleven years and four months went by.
In these ensuing years, Inspector Mato-
witz became police chief and Story moved
up to deputy inspector and finally to In-
spector of Detectives. It was in this
capacity that he received a phone call
at his home at 2:10 a.m. on Friday, June
4th, 1943. The peculiar pattern of shocking
circumstances that prompted the call had
begun to take shape the previous evening,
Thursday, June 3rd.
The central scene for the newest tragedy
was a brick apartment house in a work-
ingmen’s neighborhood, 757 East 82nd
Street, near St. Clair Avenue. In the rear,
the lot dropped off steeply into Gordon
Park.
Mrs. Mabel Martoff owned the building
and lived in Suite Two, downstairs, with
her daughter, Josephine, twenty-one. One
room was rented to a boarder, Joseph
Lenzo, forty-nine years old.
The evening was warm. A little after
eight o’clock, Mrs. Martoff’s recently
widowed sister, Mrs. Dorothy Brady, came
visiting with her two little girls and a
family friend, Martin Krause, who had
driven them over.
The visitors were invited to a late
supper in which they were joined by
Frank Walaitis, of 7302 Hough Avenue,
who had been doing repair work on the
building.
“And now,” Lenzo suggested to the other
two men as they finished eating, “how
about some pinochle?”
“Fine!” they agreed.
Mrs. Martoff turned to her sister.
“They can keep an eye on the young
folks,” she said. “Let you and me and
Josephine go to a movie.”
The dining room looked out on the back
porch where the two small girls, Barbara
and Mary Jane, already were absorbed
in play with Bob Nestor, the boy from
Suite One, next door.
The three women strolled to the Yale
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HENSYL PHARMACAL CO., INC., Dept. 4
P. 0. Box 1053 Poughkeepsie, N. Y.
Theatre, around the corner on St. Clair
Avenue. Curiously, one feature on the
twin bill that evening happened to be
titled, Quiet Please, Murder and the other,
starring George Sanders, was Meanest Man
in the World.
The three women returned at 10:50 P.M.
Mrs. Brady saw Barbara curled up in a
living-room chair asleep. After looking
for her older daughter on the back porch
and in the backyard, she asked the three
men. who were finishing their game,
“Where’s Mary Jane?”
“She was on the porch just a few min-
utes ago,” Lenzo replied.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Brady returned.
The men appeared ready to leave.
“I can’t find her,” she reported.
“Tt heard her and Bobbie on the porch
not fifteen minutes before you got back,”
Krause told her. “They must be around
here.”
“Let’s have a look around,” Lenzo sug-
gested, The three men left. They returned
in fifteen minutes looking puzzled.
“Maybe she’s next door with Bobbie,”
Mrs. Martoff said.
“I looked over there,” Mrs. Brady re-
marked, following her sister into the hall.
“It was dark.”
Mrs. Martoff rapped on the door across
the way. She rapped again, harder. She
began to pound with her fist, calling
“Bobbie, Bobbie.” There was no re-
sponse.
HEY went around to the rear porch and
Mrs. Martoff pounded on the back door
while Mrs. Brady called, “Mary Jane, are
you in there?”
There was no reply.
“They couldn’t have gone far away,”
Krause tried to reassure the mother. “Let’s
have another look around.”
Mrs. Martoff and Mrs. Brady, joined by
Josephine, walked toward St. Clair Ave-
nue, the men in the opposite direction.
They returned to meet in front of the
building.
“I can’t figure it out,” Mrs. Martoff re-
marked. “Usually at this time those peo-
ple next door are home and Bobbie is
asleep.”
Josephine noticed that the front window
next door was partly open from the bot-
tom. She bent down and called in through
the aperture. There was no response.
“Do you have any idea where these peo-
ple might be?” Mrs. Brady asked.
“J don’t know them too well,” her sister
answered. “They’ve only lived here a
short time.”
“We better call police,” Mrs, Brady said.
Krause made the call from the corner con-
fectionery. He returned in better spirits.
“The sergeant said it’s common for kids
to get lost this time of the. year,” he re-
ported. ‘‘He’s going to have the cruisers
looking for her.”
“Let’s try next door again,” Mrs. Martoff
suggested.
She pounded several times, then took
her shoe off, and hammered the heel on
the door.
“They must be away,” she remarked
gloomily. ‘“Let’s take another walk on St.
Clair.”
The three women were passing a florist
shop in the 8,000 block on St.. Clair Ave-
nue when they saw a car pull up a little
ahead. A man of about thirty got out
and headed for the drugstore.
“There’s Bobbie’s mother,” Josephine
cried out as she perceived the small, blonde
woman in the car.
Mrs. Nestor looked up in a dazed man-
ner,
“I feel sick,” she told Mrs. Martoff
thickly. “Bill went to get me something.
It feels like indigestion.”
“Where’s Bobbie?” Mrs. Martoff asked
sharply.
“Home.”
“He isn’t there. We've knocked and
pounded and nobody answers.”. She told
about Mary Jane’s disappearance. “She
and Bob were playing together. Now we
can’t find either one.”
“They must be in the house asleep,”
Mrs. Nestor said.
“Well, if they are we haven’t been able
to wake them and the doors are locked.”
“lll be there right away,” Mrs. Nestor
assured her.
“Was that her husband?” Mrs. Brady
asked as they were returning.
Mrs. Martoff shook her head.
“I never saw him before.”
They reached the building’ just as Mrs.
Nestor and the man were getting out of
the car. Mrs. Nestor knocked: on the door,
then pounded loudly, then. began shout-
ing, “Open up. It’s me, -Viola!”
J Prange a was the sound of steps inside and
the door opened. A man. stood. vaguely
silhouetted agianst the darkness.
“For crying out loud,” he started angrily.
“Why don’t you use your key? I was
sound asleep.”
“I left the key in the house. Is Bobbie
home?”
“Well, where do you think. he is? Sure
he’s home. What’s all the. commotion
about?
for?”
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Phe
What are all these people here.
“They can’t find Vv
she told him as the g
her vanish into the d.
was back quickly.
“Bobbie's in bed, as!
From back of her ¢
“Listen, you. ™’*
in a few hours
“Just wait
shouted back w---- —
“Tf it was your own ‘
your mouth shut.”
“Maybe,” Mrs. Brad
knows where she we!
“Pll wake him up a
Mrs. Nestor offered. “
a match. I didn’t get
the electric bill and «
shut off.”
Mrs. Martoff and 1
her through the dar
short narrow hall into
- flame showed a cot a
Nestor touched the s
shoulder.
“Bob, wake up, Bot
He opened his eyes
instantly as a new ma
“Bob,” Mrs. Martofi
did you leave Mary
The boy averted his
and the faces above |
“On the back porc
“Was anybody with
He shook his head «
“No.” Eyes already
tug on the thin blanke
the wall.
In the eerie glimm
match, Mrs. Martoff s
ing her teeth hard
Sounds of angry shout
them from the living
“Get out of here ar
catch you hanging aro
Stumbling in the da
who hurried toward t
saw the man who hac
ing out into the ha
raging voice.
“And stay away. I'll
your body if I ever ca
again.”
“What’s the matte)
Nestor cut in indig
brought me pec
“You just B i
him again | De
Where have you be
looked all over for yo
out of here. I’ve got
Muffiled sounds of ¢
to reach the group a:
sidewalk.
“How about the par!
gested. “She may have
body might have gra!
“11 cruise through
announced.
In twenty minutes |
his head.
“This is driving me
burst out. “Better cal
Lenzo and Mrs. M:
the call. It was 12:45
turned. The street wz
Mrs. Brady remove:
kerchief from her lips
“I just thought,” she
voice, “she might ha
the shrubbery in back.
went to sleep there.”
S THEY waited in
to get a flashlight
joining apartment oF
they heard the man’s
this time.
“Have you found he
They told him no ;
to the back yard. He
> call from the corner con-
returned in better spirits.
said it’s common for kids
time of the. year,” he re-
‘ing to have the cruisers
door again,” Mrs. Martoff
several times, then took
1 hammered the heel on
€ away,” she remarked
take another walk on St.
en were passing a florist
block on St.. Clair Ave-
\w a car pull up a little
£ about thirty got out
e drugstore,
e’s_ mother,” Josephine
Tceived the small, blonde
ced up in a dazed man-
she told Mrs:. Martoff
it to get me something.
gestion.”
2?” Mrs. Martoft asked
We've knocked and
dy answers.” She told
3 disappearance, “She
‘ing together. Now we
one.”
in the house asleep,”
2 we haven't. been able
*“- doors: are locked.”
way,”. Mrs. Nestor
---nd?””” Mrs. Brady
2 returning,
k her head.
1 before.”
building’ just as Mrs.
a were getting out of
* knocked’ on the door,
y, then. began shout-
me, Viola!”
nd of steps inside and
A man stood. vaguely
he darkness..
d,” he started angrily.
> your key? I was
the house. Is Bobbie
u think he is? Sure
all the. commotion
] these people here
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BURNS & ALLEN
MARIE WILSON
EVE ARDEN
LUCILLE BALL
BERG
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RADIO AND
or October
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Tne sa
“They can’t find Mrs. Martoff’s niece,”
she told him as the group in the hall saw
her vanish into the dark apartment. She
was back quickly.
“Bobbie’s in bed, asleep,” she announced.
From back of her came angry shouting.
“Listen, you. I’ve got to get to work
in a few hours. I want to sleep.”
“Just wait a minute!” Mrs. Nestor
shouted back with indignation in her voice,
“If it was your own child lost you’d keep
your mouth shut.”
“Maybe,” Mrs, Brady suggested, “Bobbie
knows where she went.”
“T’ll wake him up and you can ask him,”
Mrs, Nestor offered. “You'll have to strike
a match. I didn’t get down in time to pay
the electric bill and our lights have been
shut off.”
Mrs. Martoff and Mrs. Brady followed
her through the dark living-room and a
short narrow hall into a bedroom. A match
flame showed a cot against the wall. Mrs.
Nestor touched the sleeping boy on the
shoulder.
“Bob, wake up, Bobbie.”
He opened his eyes and half closed them
instantly as a new match flared into flame.
“Bob,” Mrs. Martoff asked him, “where
did you leave Mary Jane?”
The boy averted his eyes from the match
and the faces above him.
“On the back porch,” he replied.
“Was anybody with her when you left?”
He shook his head drowsily.
“No.” Eyes already closing, he -gave a
tug on the thin blanket and turned toward
the wall.
In the eerie glimmer of the flickering
match, Mrs. Martoff saw her sister press-
ing her teeth hard into her lower lip.
Sounds of angry shouting suddenly reached
them from the living-room.
“Get out of here and don’t ever let me
catch you hanging around here again.”
Stumbling in the dark after Mrs. Nestor,
who hurried toward the living-room, they
saw the man who had brought her, back-
ing out into the hall, followed by the
raging voice. .
“And stay away. I’ll break every bone in
your body if I ever catch you around here
again.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Mrs.
Nestor cut in indignantly. “He only
brought me home because I got sick.”
“You just let me catch you out with
him again and you really will be sick.
Where have you been all evening? I
looked all over for you. Get these people
out of here. I’ve got to get some sleep.”
Muffled sounds of quarreling continued
to reach the group as they stood on the
sidewalk.
“How about the park?” Mrs. Brady sug-
gested. “She may have wandered in. Some-
body might have grabbed her.”
‘T’ll cruise through the park,” Krause
announced,
In twenty minutes he returned, shaking
his head.
“This is driving me crazy,” Mrs. Brady
burst out. “Better call the police again.”
Lenzo and Mrs. Martoft left to make
the call. It was 12:45 a.m. when they re-
turned. The street was serenely quiet.
Mrs. Brady removed the frayed hand-
kerchief from her lips.
“I just thought,” she said in a frightened
voice, “she might have fallen down in
the shrubbery in back. Or maybe she just
went to sleep there.”
AS THEY waited in the hall for Lenzo
to get a flashlight the door of the ad-
joining apartment opened a little and
they heard the man’s voice. It was gentle
this time.
“Have you found her yet?”
They told him no and followed Lenzo
to the back yard. He was zigzagging the
light beam through the shrubbery when
Cruiser Patrolmen Thomas Osborn and
Thomas Ellis arrived,
They swung their searchlights inside the
tangled growth and worked their way
down to the park ravine. As they reached
the base of the embankment, a shout came
from Officer Osborn.
“There she is,”
The five-year-old girl was lying face
down on the ground, her dress bunched
up in the back, her legs crossed. The
nude limbs and her arms showed cuts
and bruises. The officers bent down. An
involuntary cry rose from Officer Ellis.
“She’s dead.”
The mother crumpled to the ground. She
had fainted.
Lieutenant George Smyth, in charge of
the third platoon at detective headquarters,
received the call from Osborn at 1:58 a.m.
He and Sergeant Thomas White arrived
within fifteen minutes and were quickly
joined by Lieutenant Frank Mernaugh and
other detectives,
(RDERING the body untouched pending
arrival of Inspector Story, Smyth quick-
ly obtained the facts as to the girl’s disap-
pearance. He found that she had been
seen last with the next-door boy.
“T’'d better talk to him,” he said.
Accompanied by Mernaugh and White,
he knocked on the Nestor door without
response. He pounded hard. He tried the
door. It was securely locked.
Informed about the partly open front
porch window, he went to it, raised it,
got one leg in, Swung the upper half
of his body inside and was bringing his
other leg in when a hard blow of a fist
caught the side of his head and another
blow smashed against his arm.
Losing his balance, Smyth toppled into
the room but in so doing got a firm hold
on his attacker and brought him down,
too. They grappled silently in the dark,
knocking over a lamp, a small end table
and a chair.
Lieutenant Mernaugh and Sergeant
White in the hallway heard the uproar.
They put their shoulders to the door,
went through, and freed Smyth from his
assailant’s grasp.
“You’ve got no right breaking down
the door,” the man roared. “What’s the
idea breaking in through the window? I
thought you were a burglar. What’s the
idea?”
“We're police,” the winded Smyth told
him. “Where’s the light switch? We want
to talk to Bob.”
A flashlight found the light switch. It
clicked without working. From the floor
near the door, Mrs. Nestor started get-
ting up unsteadily. The beam from the
flashlight showed her hair disheveled, her
eyes puffed and discolored, and bruise
marks on her chin and cheeks,
“Yes,” she nodded approvingly in a bit-
ter tone, “take him away. He’s no good.”
She rubbed her jaw ruefully. “He beat
me until I passed out.” She turned her
head slowly to the man being held by
Officer Ellis. “I’m through with you, Ed.
I’m through. Don’t ever come back here.”
With a furious wrench, the man broke
away from Ellis and made a rush for her.
As Mernaugh and White leaped to inter-
vene, he began flailing wildly at them.
They pinioned his arms. Smyth warned
him. “All we want to do is ask your boy
some questions.” ;
“It’s not his boy,” Mrs. Nestor protested.
“He’s mine.”
The man twisted violently in the officers’
arms in an effort to get at her. Smyth
snapped an order. “Get him out of here.
Take him to the station.”
As he was taken outside, a car pulled
up. It was 2:30 am. Inspector Story got
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sweater and a black hat. Talks soft, al-
most like a girl. Get this out at once
to all precincts and squad cars.”
We rushed the girl to City Hospital
for medical treatment, then asked her
if she was able to come back with us
to the Detective Bureau and go over
our Bertillon photo files.
“T’ll do anything you say,” she said.
But we didn’t catch the fiend that
night who’d attacked Alice Larken.
The poor kid sat in our Bertillon room
for five hours, going over our photo
files, without finding the youth with
the lopsided jaw. We sent her to her
room at the Y. W. C. A. in a squad
car and we sent a policewoman with
her to help her get to sleep.
I’d read through every description
in our sex-degenerate list, but not one
had a lopsided jaw.
“Maybe she just imagined it,” said
Sullivan.
“That’s possible,” I said. ‘We'll
send cars out at daylight, and pull in
every degenerate we know of in the
city.”
We did that, and we lined them up
in rows. But Alice Larken could not
find her assailant among the bunch of
them.
That night again we were sitting up
in the Detective Bureau. We were dis-
cussing the Alice Larken attack. We
didn’t have a single clew, except the
lopsided jaw. We were discussing
this when...
Beatrice Gallagher, 21, a _ pretty
housemaid employed by wealthy Mrs.
Robert Purdue, at No. 1856 East 87th
Street, off Euclid Avenue, took one
scared backward glance and hastened
her steps. It was almost midnight and
Miss Beatrice Gallagher:
almost lost her life in her encounter with Cleveland’s rapist,
when he stepped back and fired five bullets into her body
Instead of fainting, she fought and
Mrs. Mary Pshock: She feared the worst when she faced the man with
the lop- jawed face and large, filmy eyes that gleamed like glassy agates
she was hurrying home from a movie
at a downtown theater.
She was three feet from the Purdue
drive when an arm shot out and coiled
tightly around her waist. The scream
—in choked, eerie wails—burst con-
vulsively out of her.
“Shut up,” a voice said. “I’ll kill
you.”
It was not a rough voice. It was
soft—almost gentle. It was not a man’s
voice; it was a boy’s. °
Beatrice Gallagher looked back and
saw, three inches from the tip of her
nose, a face—a smiling, lopsided face.
A quarter-block down was a street-
lamp. Reflecting its pale glow was a
pair of large, filmy eyes. They rolled
slowly as they took in her tense, blood-
less features. The smile was a jerking
smirk on the youth’s plump mouth.
She couldn’t speak; her vocal cords
were paralyzed. So were her arms and
legs. She just leaned there on the
youth’s arm and stared.
“Did you hear me?” the youth said.
She nodded numbly and he with-
drew his arm and took hold of her
coatsleeve.
“Come on,” he said.
. In speechless terror she permitted
herself to be pulled gently into the
Purdue driveway. They now were out
of the street-lamp’s glow, but she still
could see his big eyes and the outlines
of his dumpy form.
Bordering the driveway was a high,
leafless hedge. The youth shoved her
abruptly against it and grasped her
shoulders. As the awful realization of
his intentions dawned fully on her
numbed senses her voice came back.
She screamed.
TS youth stepped back three paces
and pulled out a nickel-plated re-
volver. “I told you to shut up,” he
said. Calmly he raised the gun, took
aim, fired.
The first bullet struck her in the
leg. The second tore through her arm.
The third dug into her shoulder. The
13
4...
| a
IDNIGHT ... a lonely, dimly
M lit street . . . a form suddenly
darting out from behind an un-
lighted billboard and confronting her
with a gleaming nickel-plated revolv-
er! Is it any wonder that slender,
blue-eyed Alice Larken was paralyzed
with terror? That she could not obey
the voice that said softly:
“Scream and I’ll kill you. Get back
of this billboard.”
The street—East 22nd, in Cleveland
—was a deserted one at midnight. It
was right off Euclid Avenue, a main
thoroughfare, and was only four blocks
from the big downtown Y. W. C. A,,
where Alice Larken lived. She’d been
to a Euclid Avenue theater and had
unwisely chosen this lonely street as
a short-cut to her room. She’d stepped
into a narrow lane of silent, creepy-
looking rooming-houses— with dark-
ened windows—and huge billboards,
behind which lay the ruins of crum-
bling, century-old houses.
She noted this much: The gunman
was a boy. She could not see his eyes:
the brim of his black hat was turned
low. But she saw, with a new chill of
terror, that his plump, boyish face was
lopsided; that his lips were pushed
out like the lips of a laughing monkey;
that his arms were long, his hands big,
his legs short.
She gasped: “I—I—”
“Shut up.” He grabbed her arm and
his head went back. Alice Larken, her
whole body straining against his pull,
saw a pair of large, filmy eyes. At the
corner was a street-lamp—it swung in
the cold, December wind. She heard
the distant rumbling of a streetcar on
another street, the honk of a faraway
auto horn.
ae
By Detective George Clark
Cleveland, Ohio, Police Department, as Told to
Jon Edgar
She was nineteen, and an orphan.
Two months back her parents had died
in a train crash; she’d packed her bags,
then, and come to Cleveland with only
seventeen dollars to her name. But
she’d soon got a job in a downtown
restaurant.
“Get back of this billboard,” the
voice ordered.
A detective who ate at the restau-
rant one day had said to her: “Never
fight a gun. It’s better to lose every-
thing you own than to die.”
But this was different, she thought
weakly. By the look on the youth’s
face and the sound of his quiet voice
she knew that it was not money he
wanted...
“T—I can’t!” she cried. “Please—”
The youth’s lips jerked out in a hor-
rible pucker and he yanked her off
the sidewalk and pushed her headlong
to the frozen ground in back of the
billboard. He immediately leaped on
her and tore open her coat. She heard
a sudden rending hiss, and she re-
alized, in chilling mortification, that
he had ripped her thin dress to
shreds—
“Stop! Don’t—please!” she screamed.
Said a gentle, whispering voice in
her ear: “Do you want to die?”
She felt the hard muzzle of the gun
digging deeply into her side. She did
not want to die. She stopped strug-
gling ... the tears burst-out of her
in great, glistening drops of heart-
break and shame...
I was on night duty at the time, and
was up in the Detective Bureau, with
Detectives John Sullivan, Orley May
and George Zicarelli. We were all at
typewriters, making out our reports on
a captured robber. I finished mine and
glanced.up at the clock. It was 12:38
a.m. I wrote that down, along with the
date: December 19, 1929. Just then the
door opened and a girl walked in.
We all looked up.
Her face was streaked with dirt. Her
dark hair was in disorder and pieces
of shredded cloth hung down below
her Winter coat which she held tightly
around her with vungloved little
hands.
I jumped up.
“What happened, girl?”
Big tears were streaming down her
small, pretty face. In her eyes was a
brimming, dumfounded look of utter
humiliation.
“I was sent up here from down-
stairs,” she said, glancing down at the
These men directed the hunt for a shifty enemy. From left: Sergeant James Hogan, Inspector
Cornelius Cody, Lieutenant Kurt Kloeckner, Inspector George Matowitz, now Chief
12
awed
floor. “I want to report a—a man—a
boy, I mean—he—”
She covered her face with her hands
and began weeping convulsively. I
took her arm and led her to a chair
alongside my desk. She sat down and
put her arms on the desk and buried
her face in them.
I sat down and asked her gently: “A
boy what? Did a boy attack you?”
She lifted her head and nodded and
dropped it again. I looked around at
Sullivan, Orley May and Zicarelli.
They jumped up and started putting
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I said quickly: “How long ago?”
“He—he left me about ten minutes
ago.”
“You come here in an auto or did
you walk?”
“T walked,” she sobbed. “It’s just a
few blocks from here. I want you to
catch him. He’s terrible!”
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There was not a clew. Except in
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out and saw the arrested man. He halted
abruptly and stepped nearer for a close
look at him. He recognized at once the
round face and vicious eyes.
It was Edward Ralph!
| egrets: my by Smyth and the others,
the inspector inspected the body. Be-
sides injuries so shocking they are un-
printable, the ravished girl had been
strangled to death.
After talking to the people in the Martoff
apartment, Story strode next door where
he ordered extension lights hooked up.
Mrs. Nestor staggered toward him pro-
testing his entrance. He ordered her
locked up on a charge of drunkenness
and instructed Mernaugh to have the boy
taken to the Children’s Home. As Bob
dressed sleepily, he gave the inspector
the same replies he had given Mrs. Martoff
earlier.
When the lights were connected, Story
ordered a search of the apartment while
he inspected the living-room. The carpet
near the corner showed a dark stain. He
examined it.
“Blood,” he said. He was about to
straighten up, when his eyes caught the
sheen of glistening nap on another spot
in the carpet. He ran his fingers over it.
“It’s damp,” he said with a puzzled frown.
“But it doesn’t seem to be blood.”
A search in the bedroom clothes closet
disclosed in a corner, behind a laundry
bag, a crumpled shirt and trousers. Smyth
shook them out and held them to the light.
Both were splotched with blood.
A few minutes after 4 a.M., Inspector
Story, in his office at headquarters, ordered
Ralph brought in. His demeanor as he
entered reminded the inspector of the
cool, poised manner in which the terrorist
had confronted Miss Gallagher and Mrs.
Pschock thirteen years before. In the
mild gaze which he now turned on Story,
there wasn’t the faintest suggestion of the
viciousness with which he had hurled him-
self at Lieutenant Smyth and Mrs. Nestor
a couple of hours earlier.
“Did they find the girl?” he inquired
blandly.
Story nodded. He gestured to the bloody
shirt and trousers in the unwrapped pack-
age on his desk.
Ralph opened his eyes wide and stared
in a puzzled manner.
“They’re mine all right,” he grudgingly
admitted. Suddenly he began to glare
with suspicion at Story. “You're trying
to railroad me,” he charged angrily. “I
had nothing to do with it.”
He then clammed up and would say
nothing further.
On checking back, it was found that al-
though it was well known that Ralph
had committed a long series of sex attacks
on women and girls, including the brutal
murder of the beautiful sixteen-year-old
high school girl, Janet Frater Blood, all
of which had aroused the people of Cleve-
land to a frenzy of rage and resentment,
this depraved psychopathic sex killer
nevertheless had been released on parole
on January 27th, 1941, by order of Chair-
man H. W. Jewell of the Ohio Pardon
and Parole Commission, Vice-Chairman
Emmett E. Everett and Lawrence O. Payne,
third member of the Commission, without
any recommendation for such release from
any Cleveland official and without con-
sulting Inspector Story.
His parole had been the direct cause of
little Mary Jane Brady’s horrible death,
notwithstanding that those responsible for
his release must have been convinced they
were doing what was right.
After his release, Ralph had married,
and now had a nine-months-old son. He
had separated from his wife five months
before he strangled little Mary Jane Brady.
He had started living at Mrs. Nestor’s
apartment two months before murdering
the girl.
Recounting to Story his activities dur-
ing the previous evening, he listed
fifteen saloons he said he had visited
searching for Mrs. Nestor. He said he
had returned to the apartment very drunk.
Story again called his attention to the
bloody trousers and shirt and told him
about the blood on the carpet.
“Besides,” he added, “Bob will be up
in a few more hours and we're going to
talk to him. Do you want to tell us
about it?”
Ralph sighed deeply.
“I can’t believe I did it,” he insisted.
“I drank an awful lot and I don’t re-
member everything clearly but I’m sure
it couldn’t have been me.”
At 8 a.M., when he was turned over to
David L. Cowles, superintendent of the
Identification Department, bloodstains
were found on the underclothes he was
wearing. Detective Lieutenant Martin P.
Cooney and Detectives Arthur Blythin and
Emil Musil took him to the county morgue.
THE HARD WAY
Near Seattle, Washington, C—
T—— went to a neighbor’s farm to
see if his brother and sister were
there. Too bashful to knock on the
door and inquire in the conventional
manner, T. instead set fire. to the
‘barn so, as he explained to police.
“I could tell when everyone ran out.”
T was eighteen.
—C. G. Reid
At sight of the dead girl, Ralph burst
into tears.
“If I did it,” he cried, “I’m sorry. I
wish it was me instead of her. I didn’t
mean to do it.”
A few hours later, as his questioning
continued at headquarters, he began tell-
ing in a low voice that he had strangled
the girl to silence her outcries and then
carried the body through the backyard
and rolled it down the ravine.
The ink was hardly dry on the state-
ment he signed when he leaped to his
feet and shouted at the top of his voice:
“It’s a lie! You tricked me into con-
fessing. I didn’t do it. I don’t remember
killing her. And if I did, I didn’t mean it.
I didn’t plan to do it. If I did it, I must
have been out of my mind.”
Shortly before noon, when Bob was
brought from the Children’s Home. Story
and Cowles talked gently to the boy, grad-
ually reassuring him that he had nothing
to fear from Ralph.
“But he’ll hurt my mother,” the boy
still protested.
Convinced at last that she would be pro-
tected, the boy told with a firm voice
but downcast eyes that Ralph had brought
the girl into his bedroom as he was getting
ready to go to sleep. Then Ralph led
her to the living-room, closing the door
behind them.
He heard Mary Jane let out.a choked
moan. He said her pitiful crying seemed
to last about fifteen minutes.> Then it
became so unbearable that he:pulled the
covers over his head to shut? the sound
out. He said he was afraid to’ tell the
truth when first questioned, certain that
his mother would be beaten..
News of the atrocity committed. by Ralph
and his being at large shocked’ the civic
leaders and officials of Cleveland.
H. A. Hauxhurst, president.of:the Cleve-
land Bar Association, demanded a thor-
nepal
ough and vigorous in:
conditions allowing Ra
Chief Justice Homer
Cuyahoga County Con
thundered that “som:
miserably in Ral,
Bruce Boutall,
Cuyahoga Cou
Bureau, stated that a
tention to the heinous
by Ralph had been s:
and Parole Commissic
released.
HAT same Friday a
Story, carrying a lar
called on County Prose
tan at the Criminal C
joining the police sta
Street.
Prosecutor Cullitan in
his most brilliant crir
‘Assistant Prosecutor J
take charge.
“He cheated the ek
Story told Mahon, afte
highlights. “I don’t w
the death penalty agai
He gestured to the
brought.
“You'll find from thes
on, “that he is just abo
killer we’ve ever arres
cunning.”
“You have ample e\
viction,” Mahon assur+
added with a shrug, “J
the death penalty.”
“It’s got to be the el
insisted. “Many of u
know that he committe:
der before this and |
at us. He has assaultec
He shot two others. H:
penitentiary once. If
chair this time. he'll b«
some day.”
The inspector leaned
out of the envelope °*
“Janet Blood.”
“This record will tell
he got away with one!
others who worked wit
included Cowle ~~~ ¢
crime detection n
he killed the £ |
him on other ~...-.-~4.
then that he’d murder
he must pay for it.”
After some more dis
Mahon began their e
the loopholes through
ready apparent Ralph \
the death penalty. Hi:
dodging full responsib
depended upon his a
lack of premeditation ;
Mahon arranged for
Cleveland psychiatrists
and keep him under t
vation.
Story assigned detect
bartenders in the place
he had bought drinks tr
der and to interview tl
as his drinking compa
others to question ne
of any who might hav
the murder.
In addition, the inspe
room carpet moved fro
the police laboratory !
Cowles.
Prosecutor Cullitan a
indictment and trial.
Ralph’s court-appoint:
a jury trial. Three
evidence. They rejecte
after the four alienists t
fendant was sane but
community.”
Nestor’s
iurdering
‘ties dur-
ie listed
d visited
: said he
ry drunk.
on to the
told him
ill be up
going to
o tell us
> insisted.
don’t re-
I’m sure
:d over to
nt of the
loodstains
»s he was
Martin P.
lythin and
ty morgue.
alph burst
1 sorry. I
ar. I didn’t
questioning
began tell-
d strangled
‘s and then
e backyard
1 the state-
iped to his
f his voice:
e into con-
t remember
.n’t mean it.
da it, I must
a Bob was
dome. Story
.e boy, grad-
had nothing
r,” the boy
‘ould be pro-
. firm voice
had brought
2 was getting
n Ralph led
ng the door
put a choked
-ying seemed
25.2 Then it
1e- pulled the
it! the sound
i to tell the
certain that
yy Ralph
he civic
‘eland.
of:the Cleve-
nded a thor-
ough and vigorous investigation of “the
conditions allowing Ralph to be at large.”
Chief Justice Homer G. Powell of the
Cuyahoga County Common Pleas Courts
thundered that ‘somebody slipped up
miserably in Ralph’s parole.”
Bruce Boutall, superintendent of the
Cuyahoga County Criminal Records
Bureau, stated that a notice calling at-
tention to the heinous crimes committed
by Ralph had been sent to the Pardon
and Parole Commission before he was
released.
pipe same Friday afternoon, Inspector
Story, carrying a large, bulky envelope,
called on County Prosecutor Frank Culli-
tan at the Criminal Courts Building ad-
joining the police station on East 21st
Street.
Prosecutor Cullitan immediately assigned
his most brilliant criminal case lawyer,
Assistant Prosecutor John J. Mahon, to
take charge.
“He cheated the electric chair once,”
Story told Mahon, after summing up the
highlights. “I don’t want him to escape
the death penalty again.”
He gestured to the envelope he had
brought. :
“You'll find from these records,” he went
on, “that he is just about the most vicious
killer we’ve ever arrested. And the most
cunning.”
“You have ample evidence for a con-
viction,” Mahon assured him. “But,” he
added with a shrug, “I don’t know about
the death penalty.”
“It’s got to be the electric chair,” Story
insisted. “Many of us at headquarters
know that he committed at least one mur-
der before this and practically laughed
at us. He has assaulted scores of women.
He shot two others. He escaped from the
penitentiary once. If he doesn’t get the
chair this time, he’ll be free to kill again
some day.”
The inspector leaned forward and picked
out of the envelope the folder marked
“Janet Blood.”
“This record will tell you,” he said, “how
he got away with one murder. I, and the
others who worked with me on that case,
included Cowles, one of the top scientific
crime detection men in the country, knew
he killed the girl and yet we had to try
him on other charges. We were afraid
then that he’d murder again. This time
he must pay for a
After some more discussion, Story and
Mahon began their efforts to plug up
the loopholes through which it was al-
ready apparent Ralph would try to escape
the death penalty. His principal hope of
dodging full responsibility for his crime
depended upon his ability to establish
lack of premeditation and awareness.
Mahon arranged for four. of the leading
Cleveland psychiatrists to examine Ralph
and keep him under their expert obser-
vation.
Story assigned detectives to question the
bartenders in the places where Ralph said
he had bought drinks the night of the mur-
der and to interview those he had named
as his drinking companions. He assigned
others to question neighbors in search
of any who might have seen him before
the murder.
In addition, the inspector had the living-
room carpet moved from the apartment to
the police laboratory for examination by
Cowles.
Prosecutor Cullitan arranged for a quick
indictment and trial.
Ralph’s court-appointed attorneys waived
a jury trial. Three judges heard the
evidence. They rejected an insanity plea
after the four alienists testified that the de-
fendant was sane but a “menace to the
community.”
Cowles testified that tests of the damp
spot in the carpet had shown it had been
vigorously scrubbed in an obvious effort
to wash out the blood.
Also striking hard at Ralph’s contention
that he was too drunk to know what he
was doing was the testimony of Mrs.
Myrtle Falasco, occupant of Suite Six, the
apartment above the scene of the murder.
She revealed that while returning home
at ten-twenty that evening, she saw Ralph
trying to hook up an extension cord to
one of the hall lights.
Detective Carl Dunch, who had been
assigned by Story to keep Ralph under
surveillance from the moment he had
been arrested until he had been summoned
for questioning, asserted: that he had
shown no symptoms of being drunk dur-
ing that time.
N SUMMING up the case after he had
submitted all the evidence, Mahon,
goaded by Ralph’s weeping in court and
his theatrical efforts to gain sympathy,
stressed his inhuman callousness in ap-
pearing at the door of his apartment when
the search for his victim was under way
and asking the mother, “Have you found
her yet?”
“He knew then,” Mahon reminded the
panel of judges, “that her lifeless body
had been disposed of by throwing it down
that hill behind the apartment. He rav-
ished and tore that little body to satisfy
a lust he had possessed for years.”
Mahon then turned to face Ralph, sitting
with his attorneys and wearing that mild,
gentle, sympathy -seeking look and letting
big tears roll down his cheeks. Stretch-
ing his arms out and shaking his finger
at him, Mahon went on:
“How can any mercy be shown this
man? We can not picture the torment
that girl went through. In the darkness
of that apartment this beast struck at
her. The hell of eternity was suffered by
that young soul. I ask you, for the sake
of decent citizens everywhere, send this
man to the electric chair.”
On June 22nd, the judges returned a
verdict of guilty of first-degree murder
without recommending mercy and sen-
tenced the pale and trembling Ralph to
die in the electric chair.
Judge Samuel Silbert, one of the three
jurists, in explaining his verdict, said that
it was the first time in his thirty-one years
as a judge and public officer that he had
agreed upon a death penalty. Judge Frank
S. Day said the crime was “one of the
worst ever committed.” Judge Stanley
L. Orr said, ‘“Ralph’s life was a menace
to the lives of others.”
The same day that he was convicted,
Ralph’s wife, Rita, was granted her di-
vorce from the man she had married May
16th, 1942, and from whom she had sep-
arated in January 1943. Judge Frederick
granted the decree on grounds of gross
neglect and cruelty.
Mrs. Nestor was given a Warrensville
Workhouse sentence for neglecting her
son.
On October 4th, 1943, when Ralph was
electrocuted at the Ohio Penitentiary in
Columbus, Inspector Story, now the ad-
ministrative head of the Cleveland Police
Department, said:
“I am satisfied. The murderer of Janet
Blood at last has paid the penalty.”
.
Eprror’s NOTE:
To protect an innocent boy, the
names, Bob Nestor and Mrs. Viola
Nestor, as used in this story, are not the
real names of the persons concerned.
Photograph of Edward Ralph appears
on page 14, with blindfold.
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fingers and the small figure with the’
gun was pulling her firmly into the
field!
“Get back of this sign,”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
gasped Mary Pshock, half paralyzed
with terror.
“Get back here.”
It was so dark that Mary Pshock
could not see the youth’s face. She
knew now that he was a youth from
the pitch of his voice. His hat-brim
was down low and the collar of his
jacket was turned up. But just then
the headlights of an automobile
streaked past and Mary Pshock nearly
fainted.
H's face was lopsided. Set in it, like
two glassy agates, was a pair of
large, filmy eyes. The lips, she noted,
were drawn up in a tight, ugly grim-
ace. She shuddered and began to cry.
She had read in the newspapers of
the shooting of Beatrice Gallagher, by
a youth of this very description.
“Oh, please—” she began.
“Shut up,” said the youth. “You just
do as I say and I won’t hurt you. How
much money you got?”
“Money? Is that what you want?”
Mary Pshock hastily handed the
youth her bag and he snatched it. She
heard him dump out the change from
the little inside purse into his hand.
“There’s a five-dollar bill in the side
pocket,” she said quickly.
“I got it,” he said. He handed the
bag back. “All right now, get over
here.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked
fearfully.
A horrible comprehension had_as-
serted itself in the instant the words
left his lips, but she didn’t want even
to think of it.
“Over here,” the youth said. “I
won’t hurt you. You know what I
mean.”
Mary Pshock began shaking all
over. The papers had said that Bea-
trice Gallagher had repulsed the
youth’s advances and that he’d de-
liberately stepped back three paces
and shot her.
But she cried: “No! I—I—”
The youth’s fist shot out and hit her
on the chest. At the same time he
threw his right leg behind her knees
and pulled it forward, and the terri-
fied young wife, a moment later, was
lying flat on her back, her slim arms
pinned to the cold ground beneath the
plump knees of her assailant.
Panic-stricken, she opened her
mouth and screamed. But only for an
instant. A cold hand came down over
her taut lips and squeezed. It screwed
her whole mouth around.
“T told you,” the youth said. “I told
you I’d kill you.”
His other hand, she realized abrupt-
ly, was fumbling with her coat...
She couldn’t scream—his left hand
Behind this high billboard on East 22nd Street in Cleveland The
Lopsided Jaw’s first victim faced a fate worse than death on a
foggy, cold night, but she lived to tell the police of her experience
AD—1
ond
|
He *
“This reminds me of a gangster movie,” said Edward Ralph after
detectives found the nickle-plated revolver, left, under his bed
was on her mouth, still turning it
around. It hurt terribly, but it wasn’t
the pain that was intolerable—it was
her fear.
She abruptly lifted her knees and
kicked.
“Okay,” he said softly.
He released her lips, got up off
her arms.
She was half-way on her feet when,
from a point about two yards away,
there came a flash of pink fire, and a
bang. She felt a sharp sting in her
arm. There was a second flash, and
another bang. She felt a sharp sting
in her thigh. She fell backward—
heard another bang, felt another sting.
This time in her neck.
HE heard the youth laugh. She
heard his heels pounding on the
hard ground as he rushed away.
Astonished, she reached up and felt
something warm trickling over her
fingers. She felt a terrible weakness
assailing her. She got up on her feet
and staggered out from behind the
“For Sale” sign to the street.
She never remembered how she got
to the next corner, around which was
located the movie theater. But that’s
where she first was noticed, by the
ticket girl. The girl thought it was a
patron coming, but when she looked
up she went weak all over at sight of
a lurching, blood-spattered woman
whose hair was sticking out in matted
wisps, whose eyes were spread wide
in stark, chilling terror.
You see now what we were up
against? Of course, we did not know
right off the bat that Mary Pshock had
been shot by The Lopsided Jaw, but
we soon found out. We learned it be-
fore she regained consciousness, from
ballistics tests with the bullets from
her and from Beatrice Gallagher.
(Continued on Page 40)
15
same, like a festering cancer. And
now I saw it. I knew there was but
one thing to do. Better to face it out
than to go back together only to
have our lives shattered once more
in a few years when the inevitable
discovery of my theft came.
So I did the only thing possible. On -
May 25, 1938, I wrote Francis. It was
a short letter. Mainly it told him I
had stolen $4,300 from the bank.
He arrived at my sister’s house May
26. Our conversation did not last long.
He told me I must give myself up. I
knew it. That was a sleepless night.-
The next morning he went to Mr.
Parks, the president, and told him
everything.
Then he returned to the house and
took me with him to the bank. At five
o’clock in the afternoon, May 27, 1938,
I went with him and told the whole
story to Mr. Obalil. What else could
I do? I was licked, broken. Mr. Oba-
lil could hardly believe my story. I
had been a trusted employe for nine
long years. They had placed implicit
faith in me; had raised my salary un-
til I now was making about $22 a
week. They had helped me and Mr,
Obalil had helped get my husband a
job.
I produced the records, which
showed that I had taken about $4,300.
I cannot be sure of the amount—the
bank claims the amount was nearer
$6,100. Does it matter?
I told my story to the bank’s presi-
dent and bonding-house agent and
attorney. They called Police Chief
Clarence Buehl of the Western Springs
Police Department. On June 8 I was
arraigned before Justice of the Peace
H. J. Prendl, and after I had pleaded
guilty he bound me over to the grand
jury. I spent two weeks in jail before
I could raise my bond of $5,000. The
grand jury indicted me for embezzle-
ment June 20. After being released on
bond I went back to live with my sis-
ter, Josephine, in her house at No.
4134 Wolf Road, Western Springs.
Meanwhile Francis had gone back
to Oklahoma. We wrote to each other,
and he said he would stand by me
during this trouble. He wrote me once
while I was still in jail.
When Cook County Criminal Court
Chief Justice C. J. Harrington as-
signed the case to Judge Francis Al-
legretti June 21, I obtained a con-
tinuance for several weeks. For, I told
the Court, Francis was sticking with
me and was willing to do everything
in his power to make restitution of the
funds I had stolen. I hoped it was true
—fervently I prayed it was. i
Several other continuances were ob-
tained, but at length, when I appeared
once more in court on October 19,
‘Francis was with me. He had come to
me that very day to spend a two-
week vacation with me and to help me
in court. I told the Judge that if I
were freed we were going back to live
together again. Francis said he was
going to get some money from his aunt
in California and was going to get the
$4,300 together somehow. He asked
for another month’s delay. I shall
never forget him standing up there be-
fore the Judge’s bench, pleading for
me, begging for more time in which
to make restitution. Almost it paid
me back for all my suffering.
Judge Michael L. McKinley, now
Chief Justice, agreed to hold the trial
on November 25, giving us a month’s
time, and we went back to my sister’s
home. I knew that somehow, some-
where, we would find the money. Then
we could start all over again.
After he had been there a week, on
Saturday night Francis left the house
at 8 p.m. saying he’d be back soon. I
dressed and waited for him to come
back so we could go out together. All
evening I sat there in the house just as
I had on Christmas night, waiting for
him—waiting and straining to hear his
footsteps each time a car stopped near
our house or a man passed outside
whistling. ;
But when he didn’t come I went to
bed at midnight, exhausted with the
strain of it all. Of course I slept fit-
fully. Finally he came home a few
minutes before four o’clock. He of-
fered no explanation; just put on his
pajamas and got into bed.
I didn’t question him. This was my
last chance and I was clinging to it.
I wanted to say nothing that might
anger him. For he was back with me
now; nothing that he could do would
make me say anything that might
drive him away again. $
In fifteen minutes I heard him get
up in the darkened room. Unable to
see what he was doing, I switched on
the light. He was dressing.
“Where are you going?” I asked
him. :
“T’m going back to Oklahoma, where
I’m comfortable,” he replied tersely,
putting on his shoes and not looking
at me,
For a moment I could not speak.
Then I managed to say, “Is it for good
this time?”
“Yes,” he answered, his voice harsh.
“This time it’s for keeps.” In a mo-
ment he added: “We’re through, Hazel.
We're all washed up.”
I almost screamed at him, “But are
you sure you know what you're do-
ing?”
“Yes,”
“You're going back knowing what
I’m going to face?”
“Ves,” .
“You’re leaving me flat, just when I
need you more than I ever needed
you?”
“Yes,”
| WAS not screaming then, nor was
I crying. All the tears were gone.
It was over. I only felt hollow inside.
“Francis,” I said dully, “if you leave
now, we’re through. You know that.
We’re through for good. I mean it,
even more than you do.”
“Yes,” he said, “I know that.”
He was dressed. He put on his hat
and snapped his suitcase shut.
“Good-by,” he said, then paused in
the doorway to add: ‘‘And good luck.”
. He was gone. I did not hear from
him again, and at the trial November
25, he did not show up.
For two hours that day Judge Mc-
Kinley questioned me and Mr. Parks,
the bank president. I told the whole
story—how I had known it was wrong
to steal, how my record had been
spotless, how I had stolen to hold my
husband’s love. The Judge, turning: to
Mr. Parks, declared that a salary of
$90 a month was an invitation for me
to steal. He asked what the bank
wanted done with me, but Mr. Parks
refused to say definitely, expressing
the hope that his bank could recover
some of the money I had taken. The
Judge said he either could sentence
me to one to ten years in the peni-
tentiary or could place me on proba-
tion.
Telling me to make every effort to
collect some money for the bank,
Judge McKinley withheld judgment
until December 1, 1938.
Frantic, I wrote to Francis. But he
did not answer. His silence was the
deepest wound of all. Now I could
only throw myself on the mercy of the
Court—Judge McKinley was a fair,
kindly man—and hope that I would
be placed on probation.
But on December 1, I had to admit
that I could not raise the money. The
Judge and Assistant State’s Attorney
McNamara questioned me at length
to determine whether Francis knew I
was stealing. The Judge suggested
that Francis be prosecuted in connec-
tion with the crime and Mr. Mc-
Namara replied that he could obtain
an indictment only if I would testify
before the grand jury that the man I
loved knew I was stealing for him. I
think I might have received probation
if I could have done that.
Judge McKinley said to me: “I can-
not understand why you would do
these things for a parasite. You have
been maintaining a gigolo who has
sold you into the penitentiary. You
had better go before the grand jury
and tell the truth. Why protect this
parasite?”
I looked at him steadily. Nothing
mattered now. I said, “I already have
told you the truth.”
Then, after a moment, the Judge
sentenced me to one to ten years in
the Illinois Women’s Reformatory at
Dwight, Illinois. My attorney moved
for a new trial and to vacate the sen-
tence, and the Judge agreed to hear
arguments on the motions December
15. But I did not hear my attorney
make the motions. I felt my knees
give way under me, and saw black and
red and blue lights flash brilliantly
across my brain. Then I slumped
senseless to the floor in the crowded
.courtroom.
After this story was written Mrs.
Cornwall’s husband was indicted on
charges of embezzlement and receiving
stolen property when Mrs. Cornwall
testified before the grand jury. He was
tried before Criminal Court Judge
Walter T. Stanton and acquitted on
both charges on January 26, 1939.
On January 31, following acquittal
of Mr. Cornwall, Chief Justice Mc-
Kinley denied Mrs. Cornwall’s mo-
tion to vacate her sentence but re-
duced the sentence to one year in
the Illinois Women’s Reformatory at
Dwight, Illinois. Mr. Cornwall ap-
peared in court with her.
Another picture with this story may
be found on Page 37.
We Had to Catch Cleveland's Lop-Jawed Rapist (Continued from Page 15)
It was a few minutes after midnight
when we got the story from Mary
Pshock’s trembling lips.
Big Ed, the Safety Director, and In-
spector Cody were waiting for us in
the Detective Bureau.
“You find a clew?” asked. Big Ed.
“Nothing more than we had,’ I said
glumly. ‘‘And that’s nothing to go on.”
“Nothing to go on?’ roared Big Ed.
“He wore the same clothes tonight,
didn’t he? And he’s got a lopsided
jaw. How come he’s able to run around
the streets and not be seen by one
of your men?”
RAREY was not talking to me. He
was talking to Inspector Cody.
“He knows he’s wanted,” said Cody.
“He’s probably read the papers and
keeps out of the light. Maybe he has
an overcoat and takes it off just before
an attack and dashes back to it right
after.”
“He can’t change his jaw,” said the
Safety Director sarcastically.
“We're doing our best,” said Cody. .
“There are eight hundred and sev-
enty cops and detectives out right now
on the lookout. And no telling how
many thousands of citizens. Until we
get a definite lead on him we can’t do
any more than watch out for him.”
“Maybe you're right,” said Big Ed.
“Stick to it.”
The next night we picked out ten
of our smallest, slimmest, best-looking
cops and dressed them up. We put
dresses on them—and powder and
lipstick. We put wigs on them. The
hardest part of the job was getting
shoes on them. We pushed and puffed
40
—and they groaned and squirmed. But
we finally had all ten ready, and Big
Ed stepped up and looked them all
over,
They stood before him with down-
cast eyes, and he said to them:
“Look up here, boys. This is no
time for blushes. I want each of you
to take a dark, lonely street. And
don’t stick to one street. Go up one
and down another and so on, then
come back over your route. Then
do it over again. We’ll start with
the quiet streets off Euclid Avenue
between the Public Square and East
105th Street. And keep your hands
on your guns. And if you have to—
shoot. I’m telling you to shoot! That’s
all, and good luck.”
About six guys were almost shot
that night. That many were so taken
in by the good looks of our “female”
decoys that they tried to pick them
up for a date. But none of them was
The Lopsided Jaw.
At 3 a.m. our decoys staggered into
the Detective Bureau, one after an-
other, and flopped into chairs. We
hastily removed their shoes. One al-
most fainted and we had to get “her”
a quick glass of water.
“T couldn’t have run ten feet,” said
one, “if I’d run into the guy and had
to chase him. I was thinking all the
time: ‘How am I going to aim a pistol
on wobbly high-heeled shoes?’ ‘Whew,
what a job!”
“Save your whews,” said Inspector
Joseph Sweeney. “You're going out
again tomorrow night.”
We got nowhere with the decoys.
We sent them out four nights in a row;
then the papers came out and exposed
them. We put them back in trousers
and increased our Lopsided Jaw De-
’ tail of roving squad cars to 36.
The days passed—eleven of them—
without another attack by The Lop-
sided Jaw. But we did not relax our
vigilance. If anything, our alertness
increased with each passing night. We
felt sure The Lopsided Jaw was bid-
ing his time; that he was waiting for
us to ease up a little—then he would
strike again. His type, we knew, did
not stop once it was started. He
was waiting for us to pull off our
“roving dragnet.” And he was prob-
ably watching the newspapers to find
out when we did.
So we called the reporters in and
told them that we were whipped. We
told them there was a lot of other
work to do besides keeping our eyes
eternally open for The Lopsided Jaw.
They ran to the telephones and you
can bet the evening papers lambasted
the police department.
E DIDN’T mind. We increased our
Lopsided Detail to 42 cars. We
dressed our “lady” cops up again. We
placed plain-clothes men on street
corners throughout the East Side, with
orders to keep an eye open not only
for The Lopsided Jaw but also for
young, unescorted women. If they saw
one going down a lonely street, they
were to watch out for her—discreetly
—at a distance. “
At 9 p.m. we sent out the decoys,
and in code we sent word by radio to
all the cars to start roving. The cars,
incidentally, were not our regular po-
lice cars. We weren’t doing any ad-
vertising.
At 10:15 pm...
Betty Kmetz, eighteen, employed as
a maid at No. 1377 East Boulevard,
not far from Euclid Avenue, was re-
turning early from a dance down-
town. She alighted from a streetcar
at East 105th Street and Ashbury
Avenue. She started walking toward
East Boulevard and was passing a
dark alley off East 105th, when a long
arm reached suddenly out of the alley
and a clammy hand closed tightly
around her wrist.
Miss Kmetz was small—she weighed
only 106 pounds—but she rooted her
tiny heels solidly to the firm gidewalk
and screamed.
The arm pulled and yanked and
abruptly a plump, grimacing face
poked out and a soft voice said:
“Stop screaming.”
She saw the flash of a gun and she
jerked her whole body in a sudden
spasmodic series of frenzied, gymnastic
convolutions.
“Confound it, I’ll shoot you.”
The gun came up and Betty Kmetz
kicked. Her little leg shot up and the
tip of her shoe zoomed smack into the
knuckles of the plump hand holding
the gun.
There was a cry of “Ouch!” and
the hand gripping her wrist let go.
Miss Kmetz whirled and started run-
ning. A block away she banged open
the door of a gas-station and fell at
the feet of a startled, open-mouthed
attendant.
“What’s this?” he cried.
aD—1
——_-»-— : eee? ee
Detective George Clark, co-author, pursued The Lop-
sided Jaw down this alley off Wade Park Avenue after
picking up his footprints near the gas-station, right
fourth shattered her elbow. The fifth
ripped through her lung.
Her eyes bulging in terrified sur-
prise, Beatrice Gallagher spun slowly
around. She heard the youth laugh.
Then she fell.
“Take this call,” said the desk lieu-
tenant. It was exactly 12:32 a.m.
I took it, and a minute later I
slammed up and said: “Girl shot.
Come on.”
We ran out and jumped in a squad
car and drove speedily to Huron Road
Hospital. A nurse told us the wounded
girl was under ether, in the operating-
room. A doctor came up and said:
“You've got a long wait. Sit down.”
“She pretty bad?” I asked.
“Very bad.”
He described her wounds. Then a
door opened, a voice called out and
he hurried away.
A well-dressed woman came up and
asked us if we were-the police. “You
Mrs. Robert Purdue?” I asked. She
was, and we sat down.
“I was sitting in my living-room,”
she said, “when I heard the shots. Mr.
Purdue was with me and he ran out
and found her. He didn’t see any-
body except her. It’s horrible!”
I asked her how the girl was lying
when found and if she’d talked any
and various other routine questions.
Such as “Have you any idea who shot
her?”
“Not the slightest. She couldn’t
possibly have any enemies. She was
a sweet, unassuming child. I simply
cannot understand it. She’s been with
me a year and I haven’t seen her with
a boy. On her night off she always
went to a movie. She was always
alone and I’ve cautioned her about
coming down our street late at night.
It’s such a lonely street.”
I excused Mrs. Purdue and looked
into the operating-room. I was
promptly ejected.
“If she dies we won’t know what
happened,” I grumbled. “Come on,
we're going out to the scene.”
There was nothing there, not even
a footprint. The ground was frozen
hard and there was no snow. We poked
all around, looking for a clew. We
14
didn’t find any. We rang doorbells and
got people out of bed, but learned
nothing. Disgusted, we went back to
the hospital. :
We sat down. There was nothing
we could do except wait. At 5 a.m. a
doctor came out and said:
“She’s waking up.”
“Get any slugs?” I asked quickly.
“Three. We'll hold them for you.”
We followed him into a small, white-
walled room and I pulled a chair up to
the bed and sat down. The girl’s eyes
were half open.
“Go easy,” said the doctor. “If she
wants to talk, okay. If she doesn’t—” '
“I’m Detective Clark,” I said gently.
“What happened, girl?”
“That’s it,” she said. “The way he
ate Go"*
“What?” I asked tensely.
“The way he talked. Like you.”
I gulped and leaned forward—and
five minutes later I got up and went
hurriedly for a telephone. I called
Central and asked for Radio Sergeant
Ernest Clement.
“Fellow who shot Beatrice Galla-
gher,” I shouted, “is the same one who
attacked Alice Larken. He’s probably
in bed by now, but get the report out
immediately. Only clew we have be-
sides his jaw is three slugs from his
gun, a thirty-two caliber nickel-
plated revolver. But a lot of good that
does us now. He-was wearing the
same clothes as last night, which
means he may come out in them again.
Get that over, too.”
ITH the morning papers, the city
started to sit up and take notice.
The phones started ringing. Tips
poured in by the scores, and men were
sent out to investigate each one of
them. One of the calls came from City
Hall, from Safety Director Ed Barry.
“T’m not coming down,” he told
Detective Inspector Cody. “I’m too
mad. But get this—I want some quick
action. Do you understand?” ‘
“Yes,” said Cody.
We put fifteen squad cars on what
we called the Lopsided Jaw Detail.
In each car were four men, with
sawed-off shotguns. They did nothing
but cruise slowly up and down dark
Ly
streets, between 9 p.m. and dawn.
Especially off Euclid Avenue, from the
Public Square. to East 105th Street.
Two nights later...
Mrs. Mary Pshock, 20, a pretty bride
of three months, was on her way to a
movie theater from her home at No.
1736 East 55th Street. It was 9 p.m.
It was very cold out and Mary
Pshock walked briskly, her face buried
in the deep fur of her coat collar. An-
other reason she walked briskly was
because of the lonely district she was
passing through.
At Utica Avenue and East 55th
Street, a short distance from the thea-
ter, it was very dark. There was a big
field there and Mary Pshock kept
looking in all directions as she ap-
proached it.
She was half-way past the field
when suddenly a short, plump figure
leaped out from behind a large “For
Sale” sign and confronted her.
In his hand was a nickel-plated re-
volver.
ARY PSHOCK gasped and began
to back up. The figure bounded
toward her and said:
“If you run or scream I’ll kill you.”
His voice was so soft and gentle that
Mary Pshock thought for a moment
that someone was playing a joke. But
in the next instant she realized the
gentle voice meant business.
For her wrist was gripped in tight
4
4
,
atte
pA TSN CREASE |
The Lopsided Jaw disappeared in the darkness and
shadows of this vacant lot after shooting Mrs. Mary Pshock
AD—1
She lifted her face up and stared
at him, and a brief giggle of hysteria
burped out of her. Then she fainted.
Five minutes later there were eight-
een Lopsided Jaw Detail cars spread-
ing out from the gas-station. Twenty-
four additional cars were speeding
madly to the area from distant points.
Up and down streets the cars roared.
They stopped streetcars and searched
them. They stopped every automobile
and scrutinized the occupants. Two
hundred cops and detectives were
thrown into the area on foot. They ran
down alleys and climbed fences, and
pounded on doors and searched cellars.
We didn’t get him.
ey the night was not over. At
| ree
Mrs. Sally Mason, eighteen, who
lived off Euclid Avenue, was returning
home from a church social. The street
was not dark and lonely. It carried
the heavy traffic which ran between
Euclid and Hough Avenues. Mrs.
Mason, for that reason, was not ap-
prehensive of meeting up with The
Lopsided Jaw. She knew all about
him from the newspapers; she knew
he operated only on lonely streets.
She therefore was quite unprepared
for the shock that awaited her. She
was six doors from her home when a
youth, a small youth with big, filmy
eyes, darted out from between two
houses and pressed an ugly nickel-
plated revolver against her side.
“One scream and I’ll kill you,” he
said quietly. “Give me your money.”
Mrs. Mason had to bite her lips to
keep from screaming. She knew, from
newspaper descriptions, that the youth
ee her was The Lopsided
aw.
S™ handed him her purse and he
opened it and took out the little
money it contained—a one-dollar bill.
He said: “One buck, eh? Here.”
He gave her the purse back and said:
“T’m walking beside you and you're
acting as if I’m with you. If a car
passes and you scream I’ll pull this
a Turn around and start walk-
ing.”
Mrs. Mason, terrified, obeyed him.
He fell into step beside her and in
front of No. 1804 he pulled up abruptly
and said: “Go up this driveway.”
Scarcely knowing what she was
doing, she obeyed him. There was a
big house on each side of the drive-
way, but the windows in both were
all dark. In the back. was a garage.
In front of it the youth stopped and
pulled on the door. It swung open
and he said:
“Step in there.”
“Why?” gasped Mrs. Mason.
“If you don’t want to die, step in
there.”
She obeyed and the youth stepped
in behind her and pulled the door
shut. They were in utter darkness.
“Are you frightened?”
Astonished, Mrs. Mason stammered,
“I—I’m going to faint.”
“Faint? What for? I’m not going to
hurt you. You did as I told you.
You’re okay. Take your coat off.”
“Oh, please—”
The muzzle of the gun jabbed sav-
agely in her side. “Take it off, I said.”
She took it off ... then started to
protest. She heard a sigh and a plump,
clammy hand came up and pawed her
about the neck. It gripped the top of
her dress and she felt a swift jerk.
There was a ripping hiss as her dress
was torn from her. She couldn’t move
—she felt as if she suddenly had
turned to stone. The cold January air
smote her bare, trembling flesh. A
wave of excruciating terror swept
over her and she ducked down...
Instantly a match flared and a quiet
voice said: “You are doing as I say
now, or I'll split your head open.
After that I’ll shoot you. Do you hear
me?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
Them; «<5
Next morning the newspapers burst
out in shrieking fury. And Big Ed
Barry came pounding into the Detec-
tive Bureau, his huge face flushed with
bristling anger. He let out a roar and
AD—1
came near tearing off its hinges the
heavy door into Inspector Cody’s pri-
vate office. We were presently called
in and he said to us:
“We got twelve hundred cops and
every blasted one is going on double
duty. We’re getting this maniac or I’m
firing every man in the department.
Get Matowitz in here!”
Inspector George J. Matowitz, now
Chief of Police, was down in Chief
Graul’s office. Graul was home in bed,
with the flu, and Inspector Matowitz
was occupying his chair. Cody phoned
down and told him to come up.
A minute later he walked in, and
Big Ed said to him: “I’m officially
placing all responsibility for this case
in your hands. From this minute on
I’m holding you responsible for every
act committed by this maniac. Do you
understand?” ,
“T understand,” said Inspector Mato-
witz calmly. “I prefer it that way.
The men here have been working
night and day. They’re so worn out
they can hardly stand on their feet.
You are, too, and so am I. We're ready
given free rein and were working
alone. We were permitted to follow
out our individual hunches, to go and
come as we pleased, to stay away from
the office two and three days in a row
if we had good reason for doing so.
Inspector Matowitz had no worry that
a single one of us would do any se-
cret loafing. The grim, haggard looks
in our eyes told him how determined
we were to keep going until we caught
our man.
So it came about that I was out
alone on the bitter, bone-chilling night
of January 26, 1930, a little more than
one month following The Lopsided
Jaw’s first appearance on the streets of
Cleveland. A heavy snow was falling.
The ground was covered to a depth of
five inches. The wind howled around
my ears and my nose felt like an icicle.
For five days I’d been working on
a manufactured clew. I’ll explain.
On the afternoon of January 21, I’d
sauntered into the Record Room and
asked for the crime report file for De-
cember, 1929. In this file would be
listed every crime reported and inves-
A Hillsville, Pennsylvania, resident pointed out the houses that figured
in Angeline Maravola’s tragic romance to District Attorney John H.
Lamoree, center, and Special Prosecutor J. A. Chambers. See Page 8
to explode. But I accept the responsi-
bility.” :
“I guess I do blow off a little,” said
the Safety Director wearily. He sat
down, and a few minutes later we
were planning another campaign of
attack. Fundamentally, it was no dif-
ferent from the one we’d launched the
night before. It was merely bigger.
But The Lopsided Jaw was as cun-
ning as he was vicious. He kept com-
pletely under cover. He did not. attack
or molest another woman, Every man
in the department was watching alert-
ly for him to so much as show his face
on the streets of Cleveland. He didn’t
show it.
Under Inspector Matowitz’ direction,
a general round-up was made of every
suspicious character in the city. Pool-
rooms, speakeasies, houses of ill-fame,
underworld dives, even rooming-
houses and the smaller hotels—all
were combed in the frenzied, ceaseless
hunt for The Lopsided Jaw. Hundreds
of suspects were brought in, grilled,
put in line-ups—released.
Acting on the theory that there were
not enough men patrolling beats and
that this situation encouraged night
attacks on women, Matowitz issued or-
ders disbanding all special squads. He
put these men on the streets. He even
took traffic officers off busy corners
and pressed them into the relentless
drive. He said: “This is serious busi-
ness. That fiend will be caught if I
have to empty Central Station and
every precinct station in the city of its
desk officers and turn them over to
the job.”
So it went—and the days passed.
Headquarters detectives had been
tigated during the month. I was curi-
ous to know if a nickel-plated revolver
had been stolen in any of the bur-
glaries.
I was regularly on the Robbery
Squad and knew that no nickel-plated
revolver had been taken in a robbery.
But what made me think of looking
up burglaries was no result of a long
line of brilliant mental reasoning. It
was just one of those impulsive things
detectives sometimes do out of sheer
desperation, after exhausting all other
possible leads. It was just something
I was doing to keep busy—with, of
course, that perpetual last spark of
hope gleaming brightly in the back of
my head, that little spark that moti-
vates practically every last move a de-
tective makes on a case generally con-
sidered unsolvable.
| WENT down the burglary list and I
suddenly stiffened and sat up. On
the very night that Alice Larken was
attacked, a gas-station a little past
East 65th Street, on Wade Park Ave-
nue, the first main thoroughfare north
of Euclid Avenue, had been bur-
glarized. And the loot consisted of
$27 in cash and a .32 caliber nickel-
plated revolver!
There was no reason to get excited,
I told myself. It could very well be a
coincidence, and besides, our Lopsided
Jaw was a sex fiend, not a burglar.
But he was a robber—he’d taken
money from his victims.. Which meant
that he was hard up for cash. So why
couldn’t he also be a burglar?
No one had been arrested in the
burglary. The report had come in on
the morning of December 20 and had
gone down routinely in the records,
along with a number of other—
I grabbed the list and went over it
again. Burglaries—there was a steady
stream of them all through the Wade
Park Avenue area, between East 65th
and East 105th Streets. Every two or
three nights there was a burglary re-
port for the area. And most of them
were gas-stations. They’d started on
December 19, the night Alice Larken
was attacked. And on that night the
gun was stolen.
Hastily, I made a list of the bur-
glaries. That night I got into my car
and toured the Wade Park Avenue
area. I went up and down streets. I
scrutinized each face I passed. I
peered into drug stores, poolrooms,
speakeasies. I even peered into the
windows of houses.
After a couple of nights roaming
aimlessly about the district I settled
down to some concrete reasoning. I
noted first that the burglaries still
were going on in the area. About
every third night one occurred. And
many of them were repeat jobs. In
other words, the burglar was coming
back to gas-stations he’d burglarized
two or three weeks previous.
I went through the list and elimi-
nated the burglaries that had occurred
within a period of three weeks prior
to January 24. Out of the balance I
got a list of four gas-stations that had
been burglarized only once. Among
them was the one from which the
nickel-plated revolver had _ been
stolen.
I got Sullivan, Orley May and Zica-
relli in a room off the Detective Bu-
reau, and I told them about it.
“Can’t hurt to look into it,” said
Sullivan.
“We'll each take one of the four
stations,” I said, “this guy might pull
a repeat on. I’ll take the Flagel sta-
tion, where the gun was stolen.”
S° THAT night each of us watched a
gas-station until the early hours of
the morning. Nothing happened. We
went back the following night and
did the same. We were going to keep
it up until something happened. And
so it was that on January 26, the
third night after we’d decided to watch
the gas-stations, I was out in the bit-
ter cold, alone.
My car had frozen up. I’d been sit-
ting in it, a short distance from the
Flagel gas-station, when I happened
to think that if the burglar did come
along I’d have a devil of a job getting
my car started. The temperature was
below zero. So I tried the motor—it
wouldn’t start. I got out and walked
up Wade Park Avenue, in search of a
telephone. It was 2 a.m.
I passed the Flagel station, which
was locked up and dark, and five
blocks down I found a phone. I called
in for another car. It took me about
20 minutes to do all this. I trekked
back, through the heavy snow—it was
coming down in flakes as big as dimes
—and was again passing the Flagel
station when I saw a trail of foot-
prints leading up to the rear of it.
They came off the sidewalk.
I immediately broke into a run. I
had my gun out when I got to the back
of the station. There was a smashed
window there and I foolhardily poked
my flashlight through the empty frame
and backed it up with my face. If an
armed burglar had been inside he
could have picked me off with ease.
The station, so far as I could see,
was empty. But there was a small
washroom, with the door closed, and
I scrambled through the window and
jerked open the door. The washroom
was empty. I leaped out through the
window, and picked up the fast-
disappearing trail of footprints. I
noted how small they were.
As I went along, I cursed. I’d sat
for three nights in the car, and the
minute I’d got out of it the burglar
had come along and broken into the
station. Or, I asked myself, had he
been watching me? Had he seen me
get out of the car, and the minute I
was out of sight, had he come out of
his place of hiding and dashed to the
rear of the station?
The trail of footprints went out to
4|
the sidewalk and right past my car.
They went on about 20 feet and turned
sharply to the right, into a dark alley.
I turned my flashlight on and waded
down the alley. I came to another
alley and I heard a muffled grumbling
hum. I flicked my light off and backed
up against a high fence, and listened
tensely. I didn’t dare look around the
corner of the fence, into the other al-
ley, until I’d placed the hum.
It came again and I recognized it.
There was a car in the alley, and it
was frozen. It wouldn’t start; some-
body was frantically working on the
starter. I peered cautiously around the
corner of the fence.
The car was only ten feet away, and
it was a small black sedan. The white
snow all around gave enough light to
enable me to make it out. I couldn’t
see into the car—the windows were
coated with wet snowflakes. I didn’t
know what to do.
Was the party in the car the bur-
glar? Had his car been standing there
while he waited for me to drive away
from my post on Wade Park Avenue?
In any event, the footsteps from the
gas-station had turned into this alley
—and there was a car, and in it, at
2:30 in the morning, was someone I
had to investigate.
I made a note of the license number.
Then I came to a decision. I would
rush the car and try to yank open the
door. I got my gun ready and braced
myself for a leap forward. But just
then the car started. I leaped. I got
to the running-board. I banged the
butt of my gun on the glass in the
right door. I yelled: “Open up—po-
lice!”
I heard a curse. The car started
moving. I grabbed at the door-handle
and missed. The rear fender caught me
on the shoulder and I felt myself go-
ing into a spin. An instant later I was
flat on my belly in the foot-deep snow,
and roaring up the alley in second
gear was the small black sedan.
I was on my feet in a flash—and
running. I saw the tail-light come on,
saw it suddenly disappear. The car,
I knew, had turned left into a street.
I came to the street just in time to
see the tail-light again. It turned left
into Wade Park Avenue. I kept on,
and it was all I could do to stay on
my feet. The snow was wet and slip-
pery and I had galoshes on. I cursed
them, too.
Luck, fortunately, was with me. For
just as I got to Wade Park Avenue,
a big sedan came along. It was trav-
eling slowly, because of the heavy
snow and icy pavement. I hailed it,
gun in hand, and it’s a wonder it
stopped. I yelled:
“Police officer! Follow that car!”
I jumped on and the fellow behind
the wheel leaned forward and put on
speed. A big smile came on his face,
and I asked him:
“You like this?”
“I love it,” he said. He was about
40, and well dressed. “I’m a minister,”
he went on, his foot stamping on the
accelerator, “and excitement doesn’t
often come my way. Who is he, a
robber?”
“A burglar—and maybe worse,” I
said.
The red tail-light was about two
blocks away, and traveling fast.
“A little faster,” I said.
“T’ll_give you the limit, sir.”
He did. I grabbed the door-handle
and held on. The Reverend Driver
was going to town.
We were less than a half-block from
the red tail-light when it suddenly
turned right, into a side street. The
Reverend Driver cut his gas and eased
down on his brakes. We took two
turns.
“Whew!” I gasped;
Bur there was the small black se-
dan. It stood in the middle of the
side street, about 30 feet in off Wade
Park Avenue. We drove up alongside
and I leaped out and yanked open the
car door. There was no one inside. I
shot a quick look at the snow-covered
street. There were his footprints!
“Call the station,” I yelled at the
Reverend Driver. “Tell them about
this. I’m Detective Clark. Tell them
I’m following his footprints.”
The car, we found out later, was a
stolen one.
I crouched down, flashlight on, gun
out, and scooted off in the wake of the
small shoe-holes in the deep snow.
From the street they led me to a drive
between two dark houses. I kept on.
I climbed over a fence. I went around
houses. I went across a street, down
an alley—over another fence, through
a back yard to a back door.
The question was: Did my quarry
know that he had left a trail; that he
could very easily be followed? Or was
he too dumb to think of that? The
house, I could see, fronted on: Wade
Park Avenue. The last street I’d
crossed was East 81st Street.
There was a ladder in the yard. It
hung on brackets on the back fence; I
sat on my heels in the dark shadow
of the fence and stared at it. Then
I looked at the house. I saw a light
go on in a rear upstairs window. A
short figure came up and pulled down
the shade. It was so quick all I got
to see was the outline of a small,
plump man.
Plump! I tensed and wondered:
“Man or boy?”
I glanced at the ladder and came
to a quick decision. The shade, I
noted, had not been pulled all the way
down. It was up about a half-inch
above the window-sash. I wasted no
time. I got that ladder and struggled
with it. I had to go easy and make no
noise. It took me ten minutes to stand
"It's That Hotel-Room Gang
weird affair. Weeks passed into
months, and the police heard no fur-
ther word of the gang. And during
these same months Madame Raymond’s
troubles died down, too. Either the
hijackers had flitted elsewhere or
they had used up all the names of pa-
trons and of girls in the pilfered note-
book and gone on to something else.
But there was every likelihood that
so wicked a racket was bound to flare
up again—perhaps in a yet more dan-
gerous form.
It was a night early in April, 1937.
Mrs. Anna L. Wilson, a middle-aged,
well-to-do midtown hotel dweller,
said to a younger friend:
“Come over to my hotel tonight,
dear. There’s a business convention
going on, they’re having a banquet,
and the delegates are holding some
amusing room parties along with the
banquet. I’ve met such a charming
man. He belongs to this trade organi-
zation and he’s asked me to get an-
other girl and come over. His name is
Mr. Kellogg. He has an out-of-town
friend, Mr. Baird.”
42
Somehow, as Mr. Kellogg helped her Now, as he fox-trotted with Mrs. the drinking-glasses and other articles
So it was that the two, Mrs. Wilson into the cab, his finger caught in the Wilson in his arms, he suddenly that might contain finger-prints, and
erence AD—1
-
. Ls
aes *) ; } Pa aaa? <i
and the one we shall call Miss Rose,
found themselves being charmingly’
entertained later that evening in a
tenth-floor room of one of the largest
and safest hostelries in the city, a
hotel with a separate clerk on every
floor. Why should the women worry?
They were met in the lobby by a
suave, bushy-haired young man who
said he was Mr. Baird’s secretary; he
escorted them up to the room.
A_heavy-set man was there alone;
he introduced himself as Mr. Baird.
Shortly a valet brought drinks, and
soon afterward that perfectly charm-
ing, well-clad and affable business-
man, Mr. Kellogg, arrived. Talk,
gaiety, cocktails, dancing to the radio.
Kellogg devoted himself to Miss
Rose. “Come downstairs and have a
peak at our banquet—it’s a grand one,”
he suggested, and Miss Rose com-
plied. Downstairs, when he said it was
a lovely Spring night and suggested
a cab ride through Central Park, she
complied again. She wore a platinum
wrist-watch of considerable value.
it up against the house, with the top
ad right below the upstairs window-
sill.
Going up now was the job. The bot-
tom of the ladder was resting on
slippery snow. I took a deep breath
and started. It took me five minutes
to climb to the window, slow step by
slow step. I had to steady each step
on the rungs. They were slippery with
ice.
I got my face down‘to the window-
sash and peered in. It was a bedroom.
There was a boy in the room—about
nineteen. He was short and plump.
He was taking off a dark turtle-necked
sweater. A black hat lay on the
dresser. He had big hands. The sweat-
er came off—I gulped and stared. He
had a lopsided jaw!
I started down. I went slowly,
breathlessly. A slip now would send
my quarry dashing out of the front
door of the house. It took me ten
minutes to get down.
I put the ladder back—another ten
minutes—and went for a telephone.
But just as I got to the corner, I ran
into a squad car. In it was Inspector
Joseph Sweeney.
_ “We got the SOS,” he said. “We’ve
been hunting for you. Snow covered
your footprints.”
“How come you’re out?” I asked,
holding back my inner excitement.
“Well, you’re on the trail of The
Lopsided Jaw, aren’t you? It’s no se-
cret, Mister. We all know you guys
been watching some gas-stations. You
lose your man?”
“I got The Lopsided Jaw,” I said
calmly.
The four officers in the car, includ-
ing Sweeney, sat up stiffly and ogled
me.
“Where?” cried Sweeney.
“Upstairs in a house at No. 8010
Wade Park Avenue,” I said proudly.
We got three more squads and
crashed the place. I don’t want to say
much about that part of it. There was
a sweet, motherly woman there and
some respectable-looking kids. She
wept when we told her we wanted the
boy in the back room, upstairs.
“That’s Edward,” she sobbed. “He’s
always out late and I knew he’d get
into trouble. What has he done?”
“We'll let you know,” I said.
Upstairs, we jerked open the rear
bedroom door and stepped into the
room, our guns out. In the bed was
a boy. The light was on and he was
reading a love-story magazine. He
sat up slowly at sight of us, and said:
“What’s going on?”
“Get up,” I said.
arrest,”
“What for?”
“Burglary, assault and_ battery,
shooting to kill and rape,” I said.
“That’s impossible,” he said quietly.
We stood around impatiently and
watched him dress. He put on a light
“You’re under
Again!"
wrist-band of the watch and the clasp
was broken. All the. way out to the
park he was full of apologies about
the mishap. Couldn’t he take it and
get it fixed? Soon the watch reposed
in the pocket of his dinner-suit.
“Let’s stroll around the lake,” he
urged. “This air is wonderful.”
Again Miss Rose consented—she was
in a glow. Mr. Kellogg told the cab
to wait, and they got out... It was
with some surprise that she saw Mr,
Kellogg, not long afterward, taking
off through the shrubbery and trees;
she waited a while, but he didn’t
come back ...,
UP IN the hotel room, meanwhile,
Mr. Baird and Mrs. Wilson were
dancing; the secretary and valet stood
around. Expecting to go to a Green-
wich Village night-club, Mrs. Wilson
had worn her $1,000 diamond brooch,
a two-karat diamond ring worth $1,-
500 and a platinum band worth $60.
Mr. Baird was a clumsy dancer; the
cocktails hadn’t made him less clumsy.
poz a light felt hat and a light over-
coat.
When he was all ready I said to him:
“Now bring out your dark clothes and
your turtle-neck sweater.”
“T haven’t any,” he said.
We tore the room upside down and
under the mattress we found a black
hat, a black suit, a brown turtle-
neck sweater and a_ nickel-plated
revolver. We’d learned his name from
ae ee: It was Edward Ralph. I
said:
“Okay, Ralph, tell us about it. You
attack some women?”
“I certainly did not.”
We hustled him to a squad car and
took him down. We questioned him.
“T’'m admitting nothing,” he said. “I
don’t care if I’m identified by a mil-
lion women, I’m admitting nothing.”
“That’s guilty talk, boy,” said In-
spector Matowitz. He’d been sum-
moned hastily from his bed at home.
We all got around him and he looked
up at us and smiled. “This reminds
me of a gangster movie,” he laughed.
“You're going to find me_ tough,
though.”
We grilled him until 9 a.m. Then
the attack victims came in. One after
another they identified him.
Beatrice Gallagher still was in the
hospital. She was past the danger
stage, so we took him to her.
“That’s the man!” she cried.
Edward Ralph, our prisoner, stepped
up alongside the bed and looked down
at her.
“You in any pain?” he asked.
Beatrice Gallagher stared at: him
coldly, but didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “You
just shouldn’t have screamed. What
did you scream for?”
We got his confession on the spot.
In it he said: “Something just comes
over me. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Each time I went out to get a woman
I was half drunk. It was the liquor, I
guess. I don’t.know what it was. I’m
sorry I hurt them. I didn’t want to
hurt them.”
He was only eighteen.
BECAUSE of his youth Edward Ralph
was sentenced to an indeterminate
term at the Ohio State Reformatory.
Two years later he escaped, and was
recaptured a month later in California.
He was brought back to the Reforma-
tory and a year later was examined
by psychiatrists and committed to the
Ohio State Hospital for the Insane, at
Lima.
“I’m not insane,” he told the psy-
chiatrists. “Just out of step.”
(The names Alice Larken and Mrs.
Sally Mason are fictitious for obvious
reasons.—The Editor.)
For another picture with this story
see Page 35.
(Continued from Page 21)
tripped, fell forward heavily; she felt
herself falling, too, strove to recover
and—crash!
Her head struck the radiator. Ev-
erything momentarily went black.
And in that stunned moment, to her
amazement, this middle-aged woman
felt hands tugging at her brooch and
tearing the rings from her fingers.
She was able to struggle, and she tried
to scream. Then she dimly noted the
bushy head of the secretary bending
above her. He struck her in the face
with his fist. Mr. Baird struck her,
too. Her jewels were wrenched away.
Then the door slammed —the three
men, including the valet, were gone...
It took Mrs. Wilson a few minutes
to recover her appalled senses. Then
she groped to the phone and screamed
frantically for aid. It was the hotel
management that immediately notified
the police.
Detectives William Secor and Brad-
ley Hammond of the Eighteenth Pre-
cinct whizzed to the hotel.
They were carefully gathering up
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Pretty girl left this house to return book to friend.
shot with bullets fired from the same weapon.
The composite description of the attacker was to the effect
that he was in his early 20s, five feet, six or seven inches
tall and weighing, perhaps, 135 to .150 pounds.
Literally hundreds of suspects, known sex deviates and
men with records, were brought in for questioning. The
victims failed to identify any of them.
Public indignation grew to tremendous proportions. The
safety director, Chief Matowitz, and the police force were
far more worried than they let it appear. They were con-
cerned not only because of the general clamor, but because
they knew quite well that unless the marauder was swiftly
captured the chances were better than good that he would
commit murder.
In that theory they were absolutely right.
Janet Frater Blood was blonde, beautiful and 16 years
old. She was the daughter of a’ widower, and an honor
student at West High School.
At half past seven on the evening of January 3rd, Janet
Blood left her home at West 108th Street for the purpose
of returning a book she had borrowed from a friend who
lived on Clifton Boulevard.
The night was dark and cold. A thin layer of snow sleeted
the ground. The trees were bare and the streets were silent.
At 106th Street, Janet Blood became aware of someone at
her elbow. She turned her head sharply to one side. At the
same moment a hand seized her elbow. ;
A hoarse voice said, ““You’re the best looking girl I’ve seen
this month. I want everything you’ve got.”
The muscles of her throat tightened with fear and her
mouth was suddenly dry. She said, “I don’t have anything.
I didn’t even bring my purse.”
The stranger smiled without mirth. “You’ve got enough
for me. Let’s take a walk. And don’t do any yelling or I'll
have to shoot you.” .
He lifted his right hana and the street lights were reflected
16
grimly from the nickel plate of a revolver.
Janet Blood’s next move was sheer reflex action. With a
tremendous wrench she broke the hold on her: elbow. She
screamed with all her lung power and ran at top speed along
Clifton Boulevard.
The revolver cracked once and Janet’s scream shrilled
into silence. She fell to the pavernent.
A few moments later a motorist saw her. He picked up
the bloody, unconscious girl and sped her to St. John’s Hos-
pital where it was found that the bullet had smashed through
a kidney and lodged in her diaphragm. The medical men also
announced what the police had feared: that the chances of
Janet Blood’s surviving were few.
Some six hours after the attack, Janet Blood regained con-
sciousness long enough to tell her story to Lieutenant Frank
W. Story and Detective Sergeant Edward Koryta. Her de-
scription of her attacker jibed with that of the other women.
Janet Blood added that he had worn a frayed tweed suit and
a dark gray cap.
Now the hunt was intensified. Chief Matowitz selected ten
of his men, instructed them to dress as women and patrol
the isolated sections of the city to act as lures for the
criminal.
During the next two days, as Janet Blood fought the losing
battle for her life, the attacker did not approach the dis-
guised officers. He did, however, attack two other women.
The first he dragged into a garage on the night of Januarv
4th. assaulted her and let her go.
On the next evening, he attempted to pull Miss Sylvia
Harling into a driveway. He threatened her with the gun
which she tried to knock from his hand. During the struggle
a passing car apparently frightened him. He fled without
harming the girl who stagggered to a nearby service station
and fainted.
On the morning of January 19th, Janet Blood died. By
that date the police had interrogated no less than two hun-
dred suspects. Now, the editorial writers unleashed their most
condemnatory adjectives. Civic societies lifted indignant
voices. Action was demanded on all sides; no one, however,
specified exactly what kind of action.
City Manager Harold H. Burton, later an associate justice
of the Supreme Court, issued an executive order in which he,
personally, became the head of Cleveland’s police depart-
ment. He demanded a daily report from Chief Matowitz until
further notice, and ordered that Lieutenant Story, aided by
Detective Sergeant Koryta, assume command of a special
squad to track down Janet Blood’s savage killer.
Now, three of the victims, including the Blood girl, had
informed Story that the murderer’s gun was apparently of
small calibre and that it was nickel plated. Story’s first move
was an attempt to check the weapon.
His squad was dispatched to institute inquiries at all
sporting goods stores, second hand stores, and pawnshops
where such an article might have been purchased.
Forty-eight hours later, Detective George Clark brought
home some vital information. The owner of a tire shop
situated at Hough Avenue and 82nd Street had stated that
on or about December 4th some tires and tubes had been
taken from his shop. Since then he had also been unable to
find his gun which was a nickel plated .38 calibre revolver.
When Clark asked if the proprietor suspected anyone the
answer was affirmative and emphatic.
“I sure do. I think it was a guy who recently worked for
me. The cash register was short so often I fired him. He
never turned in the key he had to the store.”
Clark said, ‘““What’s his name and address?”
His name, it appeared, was Edward Ralph. His address
was that of a rooming house in a shabby section of town.
A check with the landlady revealed that Ralph had moved
the previous October, leaving no forwarding address.
“Well,” said Story, “‘at least we know whom we're looking
for. And we have a fair description. Get everybody on it
right away.”
Another day of dogged, tireless interrogation resulted
finally in the discovery of a service station attendant who
worked the night shift, a man who was an acquaintance of
Edward Ralph.
He told Detectives Clark and Orley May that Ralph often
passed the
Park Avenvu
“I’m pre
added. “I fi;
two or three
On Lieut«
station. Sho:
A shabbily «
The attenda
“That’s h
Clark an
dressed you
Avenue. A 1
story windo
May stoo
Story. A Ss
Sergeant En
Ralph’s roor
The yout
quiringly as
You’re unde
Ralph loo
his shoulder:
In the mean
searched the
gun nor any
the man the:
At headqi
old, was que
Prosecutor Ff
with apparer
owned a revc
a woman, he
His manne
He walked by night—bringing violent death to innocent girls
* EVERY VETERAN police officer knows that murder
can multiply. A series of major crimes throws an entire
community into panic. Those persons appointed to enforce
the law know this only too well. It’s even worse when the
crime wave is apparently perpetrated by a single individual.
Husband and fathers demand immediate action and results
that count. That’s exactly the kind of critical situation the
police department in Cleveland, Ohio, faced.
Between late October and Christmas a terrorist, a sexual
sadist and potential killer stalked the streets of Cleveland.
During that period he had attacked five young and attractive
women, some most seriously, some less so.
His first three victims, Mrs. Hortense Malvek, Miss Joyce
Linsay and Miss Harriet Sanders had screamed at the instant .
the prowler had laid hands on them. That manifestly had
frightened him. He had fled precipitately into the night.
His fourth victim, 9-year-old Leona Horstan, was not as
fortunate. As she passed the intersection of East 105th Street
and Ashbury Avenue, a shadowy figure loomed before her,
seized her in a pair of powerful arms.
As she cried out for help she was struck brutally in the
ribs with a length of iron pipe. As she still struggled the iron
pipe was brought down viciously on her skull. An hour later
a truck driver, seeing the unconscious figure at the edge of
the curb, picked Leona Horstan up and rushed her to St.
Alexis Hospital.
Five days before Christmas, 23-year-old Margerie Dunni-
son entered the grounds of the home where she worked as
a domestic. A dark, menacing figure emerged from the foli-
age, aimed a revolver at her with one hand and seized her
with the other.
Margerie shrieked and struggled desperately. She felt hot
breath against her ear and a hoarse voice said. “You little
fool. You'll be sorry you yelled.”
That could well have been true, for a moment later the
revolver cracked and five bullets hammered into the girl’s
body. Her employers, aroused by the shooting, drove the
bleeding girl to the Huron Road Hospital.
Two days later, at nine o’clock in the evening, Bella
Penderhag, a bride of three months, walked down Utica
Avenue on her way to the Lexington Theatre. Suddenly, a
dark figure with an unshaven face materialized beside her. A
Janet Blood’s funeral had terrific impact on the community.
gun muzzle was thrust in her side.
A voice, harsh and menacing, said, “Let’s go for a walk
where it isn’t so crowded.”
Bella, having read of the shooting of the Dunnison girl,
was panic stricken. Desperately, she tried to buy off her
assailant.
She held out her purse. She said, “Here’s everything I
have. It’s all yours.”
The stranger opened the handbag, extracted three dollars,
then threw the purse in the gutter.
“That’s fine,” he said. “But I want something beside money.
Come along with me.”
But Bella Penderhag had no intention of going along, no
matter what her fate might be. She lifted her voice and cried
shrilly for help.
The hoarse voice said, “I warned you—damn you!” and
pressed the trigger of his revolver.
The girl fell with a bullet in her abdomen and another
in her back. The cashier of the Lexington Theatre, hearing
the shots, rushed from the box office, saw what had occurred
and called an ambulance. Bella was taken, forthwith, to
the Charity Hospital ‘and Cleveland’s police department
reached, collectively, for the aspirin bottle.
From the descriptions supplied by the victims the police
were certain that all the attacks had been committed by a
single man. The editorial writers for the newspapers clamored
for his apprehension. They pointed out that for one in-
dividual to terrorize a million was an utterly unthinkable
situation. The police department was criticized in blistering
terms.
The chairman of the American Legion’s Community
Council called upon ex-service men to patrol the streets in
order that Cleveland might “be safe for our wives, sisters,
mothers and daughters.”
Spurred and nettled by this criticism, Safety Director
Edwin D. Barry installed Inspector George Matowitz as his
new police chief. Days off were abolished as were all fur-
loughs. Each of the 870 members of the force were assigned
to seven days a week, twelve hour duty.
On the day after New Years, both Bella Penderhag and
Margerie Dunnison were reported out of danger. In addition,
the ballistics experts announced that both women had been
-
in Brownson
ae —
e
»* RANSBOTTOM, Jesse, white, hanged Xenia, Ohio, 1/25/1860,
LEGAL EXECUTIONS
Extracted by C. L. Strobridge, Xenia, Ohio, June 21, 1977.
EXECUTION OF JESSE RANSBOTTOM - Xenia Torch Light (Weekly), January 31, 1350,
* O 2y O6le 26
Ransbottom, who murdered his wife in Fairfield in June last, and whose case
has been such a fruitful topic for discussion here since his conviction,
explated his crime with his life Friday last-(January 25, 1850) pursuant to
sentence, .
As we have already stated, the most vigorous efforts were made during the
week previous to his execution to induce the Governor to commute his
punishment on the ground of insanity but without success. On Thursday, an
inquest was held as to his sanity and the jury after several hours consultation
rendered the following verdict, "Limited mental capacity but not insane to
any greet extent." The investigation was entirely of an ex parte character <
was not one of those recognized by law and was projected probably for the
sole purpose of convincing the public that the utmost penalty of the law was
about to be inflicted upon an insane man. The State was not represented by
council and the witnesses were called by those favorable to the asked-for
commtation. The verdict of the jury may be looked upon as the general
opinion of the public and not far wrong. If there was any insanity, it was
such as would result from a defective education, a naturally bad and depraved
heart and limited mental capacity, It has this extent, no more,
Up to the moment of his execution, he persisted in a denial of all knowledge
of the transaction for which he stood condemned, seldom or never alluded to
his wife but frequently gave minute statements relative to his former life.
He stated to us that he was born in Culpepper County, Virginia, that he was
married in that state to Fannie Jenkins (the deceased) who was at the time of
the marriage 18 years of age, that he enlisted to serve in the Mexican War
but received a discharge in Cincinnati in consequence of sore eyes, returned to
Wheeling, was arrested as a deserter and confined in prison until evidence
of his having been discharged was received, assisted in quarrying stone for
the Wheeling suspension bridge, etc. The fact is sufficiently attested to
be mentioned in this connection, that he had made frequent attempts before,
if not to take the life of his wife, certainly to maltreat and abuse her in
the most infamous manner.
But a few words more directly relating to the execution and we shall dismiss
the subject. Between 9 and 10 O'clock on Friday morning, the people began
to gather in crowds around the enclosure and from that time until nearly
4, O'clock in the evening the courthouse grounds and adjoining streets were
fillied by from 2,000 to 3,000 people anxiously watching the progress of
affairs, notwithstanding, they all kmew that in no event would they be
permitted to witness the execution. The presence of a strong armed guard
under General Stewart and the firm and substantial manner in which the
enclosure had been constructed evidently alone prevented its being torn to
pieces by the excited multitude.
A piece of ground, 18 by 13 feet, one side embracing the south window and
door of the prison, was firmly and completely enclosed by sawed pickets
18 feet in height and buried 3 feet in the earth. The piece of ground
thus fenced in was neatly covered with sawdust, and immediately in the
center a small stake was driven, nearly level with the earth, to which
a rope was attached, running over wheels placed in a beam overhead, down
again at the side of the enclosure, and attached to a heavy iron ball
a couple feet from the ground. This was "the gallows" and probably the
simplest and at the same time the most efficient that could have been devised.
From an early hour in the morning until the moment he was taken out for
execution, the prisoner was attended by one or more ministers who
endeavored to direct his thoughts to the unknown world which he was so
soon to enter. His actions toward them were courteous and respectful and
he ocassionally joined them in supplications for devine mercy. None of the
prisoner's relatives visited him on the day of execution except a son about
10 years of age, who has been living for some time past with a gentleman
near this place. He remained with his father for several hours before the
execution and appeared quite as miserable as the prisoner. On leaving, his
father shook his hand and told him to "tell his grandmother that he had seen
his father for the last time."
About 3 Q'clock the prisoner wes arrayed in a complete suit of grave clothes,
joined in prayer for the last time with a minister in attendance, and announced =. ;%
that he was ready. He walked with a firm step, unsupported, cool and collected,
and took his position beside the upright rope, saying as he folded his hands
over his breast, "Oh Lord. Have mercy upon me. Oh, my poor mother, my poor
wife, my poor children." A bystander inquired, “where is your wife?"
"I don't know." The rope was then properly adjusted to his neck and attached
to a ring in the perpendicular rope about a foot above his head. “Now, Jesse,"
said the Sheriff (Samel Harry), “have you anything more to say?" "Any
requests to make?® "Yes. Will you see that I'm buried up yonder?" (Alluding
to Champaign County). The Sheriff hesitated. He had already made other
arrangements and the grave had already been prepared elsewhere than in
Champaign County. "I'll see that you are decently buried, Jesse."
"Up yonder?" "Yes, up yonder." He again joined his hands upon his breast
and looked around him for a moment upon those he was about leaving. The cap
was pulled over his face, the rope cut, and in a moment more, he was launched
into eternity. He met his fate with unexpesbed fortitude. Not a mscle
moved not a nerve trembled. He died almost without a struggle, a fearful
example of that retribution which is sure to overtake the criminal and
the murderer.
END
NOTE: This execution obviously occurred during the term of Sheriff Samuel
Harry (1846 - 1850), since his signature appears as late as May 16,
1850 in the Xenia Torch Light under Sheriff's Sale notices,
LEGAL EXECUTIONS
Extracted by C. L. Strobridge, Xenia, Ohio, June 22, 1977.
Xenia Daily Gazette & Torch Light, March li, 1901, p 2, col. 2.
CHAPTER IN THE CRIMINAL HISTORY OF GREENE COUNTY
Hanging of Ransbottom on the Courthouse Lot in 1850.
Within the shadow of the walls of the old courthouse, just torn down to make
room for the one now building, occurred the only legal execution ever held
in Greene County. To many of the citizens of Greene County, the incidents
connected with the tragic effeir are yet well remembered, but the story of the
crime, the execution, and the incidents thereto, as gleaned from the old
files of the Xenia Torch Light, will be read with interest by all at this
time,
The crime was committed at Fairfield, on the evening of Wednesday, June 20,
1849, by Jesse Ransbottom, the victim being his wife. She was entering her
home when she was met by her husband, and perceiving that violence was
intended, she fled. He pursued and ceught her a short distance from the
house, where a brief but desperate struggle took place. He succeeded in
cutting her throat almost from ear to ear with a razor. She fell end died
instantly. She had also received two stabs in the region of the heart from
the blade of a small knife. Ransbottom returned to his home and made an
attempt to cut his ow throat with his hand and razor still reeking with the
blood of his murdered wife. After inflicting a couple of scratches,
apparently deep enough to bring the blood, he abandoned the attempt, saying
that, "It hurt too bad,"
The murderer was immediately arrested and admitted thet he had murdered his
wife deliberately, and with a full knowledge of the consequences, After he
was locked in the Greene County jail, he made the plea that he was a drunkard
and not sane. Ransbottom had a short time before been convicted of stealing
a cow and had been sentenced to the dungeon on bread and water for five days.
Jealousy was the cause of the murder of his wife. "
The trial of Ransbottom was begun October 18, 1849, Judge Vance presiding
with J. G. Gest, Prosecuting Attorney, and Ellsberry and Sexton, attorneys
for the defendant. The prisoner pleaded not guilty and the following jurors
were selected to try the case: Bennett Lewis, Peter Babb, walter Perry,
Nathan Plowman, William Baker, Michael Dougherty, George Glotfelter, James A.
Brovn, Samuel W. McCoy, Abraham Ellis, John D. Burrell, and David Puterbaugh.
After hearing the evidence of some 25 or 30 witnesses, the jury brought in a
verdict after half hour's deliberation, finding Ransbottom guilty of murder
in the first degree. Judge Vance then sentenced the prisoner, who stated
that he had no choice as to the time of his execution, telling the Judge to
suit himself’as to whether he made the time for him to live long or short.
Then Judge Vance urged the prisoner to seek pardon and salvation for his soul,
and the sentence of the court was that Jesse Ransbottom should be remanded
to the jail and there be kept until January 25, 1850, when between the hours
of 9:00 AM and 4:00 PM he was to be taken to the place prepared for his
execution and hanged by the neck until he was dead,
men decided to
Mrs. Brady, Mrs.
ine Martoff stepped
‘o the Yale Theater
ue to take in the
bill was playing,
what happened the
pictures—’ Quiet
and “Meanest Man
re bitterly ironic.
neither played cards
wovies. She went out
hn of the apartment
evening was warm,
ant,
) o'clock, the movie
find the men still
inochle. Mrs. Brady
, Jane and was in-
irl had not come in
h. “About a half hour
re for a minute to get
ne of the card play-
wy Jane was talking
a lad about 8 years
be young Frankie
off explained. “His
rear apartment on this
months ago.”
‘f them?” somebody
\irs. Logan widowed?
a
ay
‘at to the back porch,
: her daughter nor lit-
wn. She returned through
ihe apartment building
ihe street. Mary Jane
) be seen. Worried,
iked down to the cor-
erhaps Mary Jane had
But the girl was not
sturned to the Martoff
sommunicated her dis-
thers. “Perhaps Mary
ing the Logans,” Mrs.
ed. “Wait. I'll go knock
Mrs. Martoff did this
with a puzzled frown.
ierstand; there’s no an-
| pounded. It surprises
Logan would go off and
wnkie alone. Perhaps he
here. At any rate, the
The rear windows are
=
ihe group volunteered to
arch the streets for Mary
rch availed them noth-
with their return, short-
ht, Mrs. Logan entered
the building, and it was apparent that
she had been drinking. She had been
out all evening, she declared when ques-
tioned by Mrs. Martoff, and added
that certainly little Frankie ought to be
home.
“In the dark?” somebody asked.
“I’ve had trouble with the electric
company,” Mrs. Logan replied. “I failed
to pay the bill on time. They shut off
my current.”
“Well, I’d like to talk with Frankie,
even if it is necessary to wake him
up,” said Mrs. Brady. “I can’t find my
daughter.”
Mrs. Logan walked to the door of
her apartment, then fumbled in her pock-
etbook; she appeared unable to find
her key. She beat on the door and
called and called, her voice growing
louder and louder. Finall'a stocky, part-
ly dressed man flung the door open from
within and began cursing her. Where
had she been, he demanded angrily,
and why hadn’t she come home? He had
been looking for her in every bar in
the neighborhood.
Mrs. Brady and Mrs. Martoff stepped
to the fore, brushed past the angry
man, and insisted on talking with
Frankie. Mrs. Logan mumbled some-
thing in a weak attempt to explain the
strange man’s presence, then led the way
to a back room where Frankie lay on a
cot.
The child, in replying to questions, ap-
peared halting and fearful. Yes, he had
seen Mary Jane on the rear porch, but
he didn’t know what had happened to
her. When he had left the porch to
come in and go to bed, Mary Jane had
stayed out there alone.
Less than satisfied, Mrs. Brady and
Mrs. Martoff made their way out of
the apartment, and the raging man (ap-
parently Mrs. Logan’s lover) slammed
the door behind them. Then, from
within, the man could be heard cursing
and ranting.
Standing perplexed in the hall, Mrs.
Martoff whispered to her sister: “I
think we ought to call the police!” and
Mrs. Brady agreed. The call was made.
While the group awaited the coming
of the police, the strange man briefly
emerged from the Logan apartment,
he was fully dressed and his mood had
changed. “Has the girl been found?”
he asked solicitously, and now in the
light it could be seen for the first time
that he was in his early 30s and that he
had a round face and narrow eyes.
When informed that Mary Jane had
not been located, he returned to the
apartment, closed the door and all was
quiet.
Patrolmen Thomas Osborn and
Thomas Ellis, in a radio car, answered
the police call. They went to the back
porch and cast a searchlight beam down
the steep bank behind the house lead-
ing into Gordon Park.
Patrolman Osborn scrambled down
the slope and hunted among the park
bushes. “Here she is!” he called after a
few seconds. “My heavens, she has been
murdered!”
Mrs. Martoff’s card-playing men
friends joined the officer and identi-
fied Mary Jane’s body. The girl had been
strangled and ravished, seemingly; her
clothes had been torn off her and her
body was half-covered with leaves.
Patrolman Ellis hurried out to the
police car and used the radio-tele-
phone to communicate with headquar-
ters. Inspector Frank Story, he was
told, was not on duty but would be in-
formed at his home of Mary Jane’s mur-
der. Meanwhile, Detective Lieuts.
George Smyth and Frank Mernaugh and
Detective Sgt. Thomas White would
hurry to the scene.
The headquarters detectives were soon
viewing the body. Informed of the
strange goings-on in the Logan apart-
ment, they climbed back up the hill
and knocked on the apartment door.
There was no answer to their repeated
poundings.
Lieutenant Smyth circled the house
and found an open window to the Logan
apartment. He scrambled in—into the
darkness—and the moment his foot
touched the floor, he received a blow
to the jaw. He grappled with his as-
sailant, cried out for help, and the
other officers broke in the door.
The man wrestling with Lieutenant
Smyth continued to fight furiously, but
was in time subdued. “I thought you
were a burglar!” he panted, when hand-
cuffs were finally snapped about his
wrists. “What do you mean, climbing
through a guy’s window?”
“Burglar-rot!” snorted Smyth. “You
heard us yelling for you to open up-
that we were the police! ... All right,
boys, bring in those searchlights and
let’s see what has been going on here!”
At that moment, Inspector Story ar-
rived and he followed the patrolman
with the searchlights into the Logan
apartment. A beam shot across the room
and picked up the features of the man-
acled man.
“Eddie Ralph!” exclaimed the in-
spector bitterly. “Damn it, Ralph, I knew
they should have burned you thirteen
years ago! But now we ve got you.
You can’t kill a second girl and beat
the chair!”
Auxiliary lighting rigged in the apart-
ment disclosed Mrs. Logan cowering
in a corner, with puffed lips and a
black eye, Ralph had slugged her un-
mercifully an hour before. Little Frankie
Logan still lay in his cot, the covers over
his head, but now that Ralph was in cus-
tody the boy added to the story he had
related while the search for Mary Jane
Brady was still in progress.
Before 10 o’clock, he said, he had
been out on the porch talking with Mary
Jane. Ralph appeared and ordered him
to bed. Soon thereafter Frankie heard
terrifying sounds from the adjoining liv-
ing room, which could be reached di-
rectly from the porch. Then all was quiet
for a few moments and Ralph came into
the bedroom to warn Frankie that if he
ever told what he had heard that would
be the end of him.
Bearing out the boy’s statement were
bloodstains Inspector Story and his men
found on the living-room carpet and
blood of the same type as Mary Jane’s
subsequently recovered from Ralph's
underclothes.
Questioned at headquarters, Ralph
finally admitted killing the girl “to quiet
her,” and (reminiscent of his 1930
confessions) he attributed his lustful de-
sires to the liquor he had drunk during
the course of the evening while vainly
hunting Mrs. Logan.
These contentions, put forth as ex-
tenuating circumstances apparently,
did Ralph no good. A grand jury indicted
him for murder in the first degree and
four psychiatrists termed him sane but
a “menace to society.”
Ralph elected a trial before three
judges rather than a jury. The proceed-
ings were held in June, 1943, and the
triumvirate who heard his case found
him guilty and sentenced him to die.
One of the judges declared: “It’s the first
time in my thirty-one years on the bench
that I have agreed with a death penal-
ty, but in this case I do.” On October
4, 1943, Ralph was electrocuted at the
Ohio Penitentiary. *
61
Se
ET: Se
20
FA an
TUNED IN—
Telephone linemen Paul Vanta (left) and Larry Potapas saw the gunmen escape.
side pocket. The man who did most of
the talking shot him.”
“Your son had a gun?” Carlson asked.
“No,” Margulis replied. “He was
reaching for his wallet. I believe he
thought that would satisfy them.”
“They were expecting to find the pay-
roll money,” Carlson said. “That would
indicate they were familiar with your
routine. Did you recognize any of
them?”
“No.”
He described the men as being some-
where in their twenties. The two armed
bandits, he declared, were tall and slim;
the third was short and stockily built.
The three office girls, still trembling
from their experience, could add noth-
ing of value. They verified Margulis’
story of the morning’s grim events and
agreed ‘with his description of the gun-
men. They were equally certain that
they hadn’t seen any of them before the
shooting. '
The routine questioning was inter-
rupted by the arrival of John Nedrost,
the office manager, who carried a black
bag filled with the payroll money. Dis-
mayed by what had happened in his
absence, he could give no lead to the
identity of the masked gunmen.
“What made you so late?” Carlson
asked. “You're usually back long before
this, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Nedrost said. “There was an
unusually long line at the bank this
morning.” :
“You weren’t followed?”
Nedrost shook his head. .“I don’t
think so,” he replied.
“You followed the same routine every
- week?” Carlson probed. “You left the
plant every Friday morning about ten
o’clock and returned with the payroll
shortly before noon?”
“That’s right.”
“Who knew about it?” :
Nedrost shrugged. ~“Everybody I
guess,” he said. “The girls, the men who
work in the plant, people who live
around here.”
EANWHILE, Sergeant Leo Cavan-
augh and Patrolmen William Spell-
acy and Jerry Gilmore had arrived at
the plant and were questioning the two
quick-thinking telephone linemen.
The two men, who had already re-
ported all they knew to headquarters,
could add nothing more of value.
“But I’d recognize the one who
_ dropped his handkerchief,” Vanta said,
“if le ever saw him again.” Potapas
nodded in agreement. é
“You'll see him again,” Cavanaugh
said grimly. “I promise you that.”
He led them into the office where
he conferred with Sergeant Carlson.
After correlating their information,
Carlson called headquarters.
TRACKER—
Homicide Chief Kerr directed the search.
Details of the murder were promptly
relayed to the offices of Coroner Samuel
R. Gerber and Lieutenant David Kerr,
Chief of Homicide, who immediately
took over the direction of the investiga-
tion.
He summoned Detective John Sulli-
van, veteran homicide investigator. After
relating the details of the crime he
added, ‘The descriptions are too vague
to mean anything yet. The only real
‘ thing we have is that the killers drove
a light-blue Chevy, 1947 or 1948 model,
and that the car was probably recently
involved in an accident.”
“Did you check the accident reports?”
Sullivan ‘asked.
“That’s your job,” Kerr said. “I'll
be in the Chief’s office. Let me have a
report as soon as possible. I’m going
to work right away.”
Kerr headed for the office of Chief
George J. Matowitz. He found the
‘ broad-shouldered officer hunched over
his desk, studying the reports on the
murder of George Margulis.
“It’s a bad business,” Datowitz told
Kerr. “Young Margulis was well-known
and liked. College graduate, Phi Beta
Kappa man, active in civic movements.
What have you got so far?”
Kerr shook his head. “Not much,”
he admitted. He described the clue of
the blue Chevrolet with the dented fen-
der, “That might lead to something.”
“We'v
around |
couldn’t
to bottle
Mato\
step?”
“A chi
Kerr sai
was pull
around.
approxir
We mij
way.”
Detec
tered th
“We's
he said,
good. J
time ag:
The
during t
Chevrol
car had
Street a
cabbie
driver
his car
raced fr
The t
plate of
his repo
accident
“The
Charles
“He’s
practica
it stolen
Kerr
homicid
the own
Mean
requesti!
land po!
to appre
Police
off the
dustrial
east and
blocks v
the app:
and the
Radic
on a co!
blue C}
fender.
Vanti
linemen
where,
Dunch,
examini!
hoodlun
ERR
Batt:
ment.
he exp!
stolen.
without
“T hac
night of
*
eee ob tae raicre is Bish ei
do you
her, and
the fact
ites. Did
is. shiny,
ve a rea-
ng to do
d. “[—I
st night.”
Baker
said she
ill, and I
1e to call
handker-
d a late
it.”
2,” Baker
‘nreuther,
iduct the
g to be?”
vas away
”” Baker
t,” Sava-
th some-
ed. “Who
le an
She’s
you who
row him
“TI don't
into this
husband
t right—
eputation
of your
the sher-
when we
he knife
“Well,
fyra was
nd I was
noon for
was up
1 it!”
Strossen-
had been
lecide to
for one
moment.
without
he morn-
hair and
had gar-
to call
to clear
ions and
vembered
ide.
S serving
ue. The
f
“iands dry
iterlacing
| run to-
wet,
it. I
vany CX-
pect anything.” He went over to the body
on the table and pulled the sheet back.
He looked at the bruise marks and gashes
on her face and wondered how much of a
struggle there had been.
He bent down to see if there were any
bruises on her wrists. As he pulled back
the sleeve of the red robe, something he
hadn’t noticed before caught his eye. It
was a red mark on the third finger of the
right hand where a ring had evidently
been worn—and no ring had been found
at the murder scene!
Baker rushed back to his office. Klie-
block stopped him just outside.
“John Ruppenthal’s back, and he and
Sambs have gone over the house——”
“Skip it!” the sheriff barked. “Get me
Jean Sambs on the phone. I’ve got a few
questions to ask her.”
In a few minutes Baker was talking to
the girl who had been so helpful in the
early part of the investigation. -
“You would have noticed a thing like
this,” the sheriff began. “I want to know
what kind of a ring Myra Ferry wore on
the third finger of her right hand.”
There was silence at the other end of
the line for a moment, then Jean an-
swered: “It was a silver signet ring, I
think. Yes, that’s it—it was a heavy, sil-
ver signet ring that once belonged to
Walter.”
“What did it look like?”
“It was a military ring from some kind
of combat unit or regiment or something,”
the girl went on.
“How could she wear a man’s ring?”
Baker wanted to know.
“Just after she and Walter were first
engaged—before he had enough money
for their engagement ring—he had it
made smaller so she could wear it.”
Baker suddenly connected the mark on
Myra Ferry’s finger and the scene in the
Ruppenthal’s home as Ferry sat in his
chair answering Baker’s questions and
trying to force onto his finger a ring
that was now too small for it. The sheriff
remembered that the ring had refused to
go beyond the second knuckle.
“Thank you very much, Miss Sambs,”
Baker said. “You don’t know how much
of a help you’ve been.”
He called Klieblock and Bahr into the
room just as Strossenreuther returned
from questioning Savarese.
Baker looked around with a grim smile.
“I’ve got what I wanted,” he said. He
picked his hat up from the desk. “We're
going over to Marion to the Ferry home.
We're going to pick up Walter Ferry for
the murder of his wife!”
Walter Ferry allegedly confessed the
next day to the murder of Myra Ruppen-
thal Ferry after being charged with will-
fully slaying his wife. Charles Savarese
was immediately released from jail and
completely exonerated.
On March 8 Ferry waived preliminary
examination and was bound over to the
circuit court for trial. He reportedly said
that he had killed his wife in a violent
argument over divorce proceedings and
that there had been no premeditation on
his part.
At this writing the prisoner is ‘being
held at the county jail in Marion without
bail. He is to be presumed entirely inno-
cent of the murder of Myra Ruppenthal
Ferry.
Epitor’s Note: The names Jim Bagnoll
and Charles Savarese are fictitious in order
to protect the identities of persons inno-
cently involved in this case.
DECOY FOR THE DUKE
(Continued from page 21)
fifteenth,” he told Kerr. “We ran short of
beer, so I sent Edsel Muncy out with my
car to pick up a case. An hour later he
came back with a friend of his. He told
me about the guy who ran off with it
near Euclid and 71st. Edsel called the po-
lice.” ,
Muncy, who lived only a block away
from his friend, promptly confirmed the
story.
“Charley gave me the keys,” he said. “I
drove down to Euclid and parked near
71st Street. I went in to buy the beer.
That’s where I met Ralph Reed.
“He was in the cafe when I came in.
We had a drink together at the bar, and
then I offered to take him home. When we
got outside the car was just moving away
from the curb.”
“You saw who was driving it?” Kerr
asked.
“No,” Muncy replied, “but I have an
idea that the name of the driver was Con-
ners or something like that.”
“Conners?” Kerr repeated the name.
“How did you get that?”
There had been three men in the car,
Muncy explained. He had heard one of
them shout, “Hurry up, Conners! The
guy’s coming out!”
Reed, questioned at his apartment later
that evening, confirmed Muncy'’s story.
He, too, had heard the man in the rear
seat warn the driver, whom he had called
Conners, to step on it.
“Any of them have black hair—thick,
wavy?”
Reed shook his head. “I don’t know,”
he admitted. “I couldn’t see any of them
that clearly.”
Kerr. immediately instructed Sullivan
to inform headquarters of the new in-
formation.
“I want a thorough check made of
everything we have on file that sounds like
Conners,” the homicide chief said, “es-
pecially anyone with a record of auto
theft anywhere along the line. Conners
—Collins—Conn—try them all.”
Kerr personally began a check of Euclid
Avenue merchants and residents in the
hope of locating a questionable character
named Conners. *The search, however,
proved futile. Hearing nothing more spe-
cific than the name, no one was willing to
commit himself.
Kerr finally returned to headquarters.
The desk sergeant signalled him as he en-
tered. ~
“Chief wants to see you, Lieutenant.”
Matowitz was pacing his floor when
Kerr walked in.
‘“We've got the city shut up tight,” he
said. “We’re closed in so tight now that
it’sealmost a certainty that our men are
somewhere in the square bounded by 88th
Street on the east, 55th Street on the west,
Superior north and Euclid south.
“But,” he said, “that isn’t what I wanted
to.see you about.” He glanced down at a
card on his desk. “Do you happen to
know a young thug by the name of Sam
LaDuca? Some guys call him ‘The
Duke.’ ”
Kerr frowned. “Sounds familiar,” he
said slowly. “Didn’t he do a stretch in
Mansfield recently for armed robbery?”
“That's the one,” Matowitz agreed. “He’s
out now.” He paused, then added evenly:
“Cavanaugh and a couple of men are out
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wee ews Beseeseeessesessses
81
‘ed the search.
were promptly
yroner Samuel
t David Kerr,
) immediately
the investiga-
ve John ‘Sulli-
estigator. After
the crime he
are too vague
The only real
e killers drove
or 1948 model,
»bably recently
cident reports?”
cerr said. “VU
Let me have a
ible. I'm going
office of Chief
He found the
hunched over
reports on the
gulis.
’ Datowitz told
was well-known
duate, Phi Beta
ivic movements.
ar?”
“Not much,”
bed the clue of
the dented fen-
to something.”
“We've thrown a_ police blockade
around the entire neighborhood. A fly
couldn’t crawl through. We’re hoping
to bottle them up.”
Matowitz nodded. “And the next
step?”
“A check of the identification photos,”
Kerr said. “My guess is that this job
was pulled by hoodlums who have been
around. We’ll pull all the photos that
approximate the descriptions we have.
We might get an identification that
way.”
Detective Sullivan knocked and en-
tered the room. |
“We've got a lead on that Chevy,”
he said, “but it won’t do us too much
good. The car was reported stolen some
time ago.”
The accident listed on police files
during the past week involving a blue
Chevrolet was a peculiar affair. The
car had collided with a taxi at East 55th
Street and Euclid Avenue. Before the
cabbie could get out of his car the
driver of the Chevrolet had whipped
his car around, gunned the engine and
raced from the scene.
The taxi driver had noted the license
plate of the car and had supplied it in
his report of the accident to the traffic
accident bureau.
“The car belongs to a fellow named
Charles N. Batts,” Sullivan continued.
“He’s been calling the department
practically every day since he reported
it stolen on January fifteenth.”
Kerr noted Batts’ address. Then the
homicide chief and Sullivan left to visit
the owner of the getaway car.
Meanwhile, Matowitz issued orders
requesting all departments of the Cleve-
land police"to cooperate in the attempt
to apprehsnd the slayers.
Police details were assigned to choke
off the roads leadirig through the in-
dustrial flats and bridges spanning the
east and west sides of Cleveland. Road-
blocks were set up immediately to cover
the approaches to the city from the east
and the south.
Radio police cars were ordered to be
on a constant looKout for a late-model,
blue Chevrolet sedan with a dented
fender.
Vanta and Potapas, the telephone,
linemen, were called to headquarters
where, assisted by Cavanaugh and
Dunch, they began the tedious task of
examining hundreds of photographs of
hoodlums in the hope of finding a killer.
ERR and Sullivan located Charles N.
Batts in a small, two-room apart-
ment. He had hardly left the place,
he explained, since his car had been
stolen. He was a salesman, helpless
without it.
“I had a couple of friends over on the
night of January (Continued on page 81)
ih,
L LOVE HIM”
a
* Los ‘ANGELES, CALIF. Airline stewardess Betty Soulema, 31,
. turns her: back to newsmen during press conference in which
she told of her much-publicized romance with John Henry Grant.
Grant, also 31, is accused of Pata to blow up a United
Airlines plane after taking out $25 in insurance policies
on the lives of his wife and two children, all passengers on
the airlmer.. ae
"” Atthe last’ moment, police say, ‘Grant wavered in his de-
termination to kill his ives Gigs and notified authorities that he
had planted a bomb in a package on the plane. Airport main-
_ tenance men rushed ‘she: ig leet which was just about to
take off, and got the smoking off in time.
_ Grant was: grec a Fines into custody and held for
roe ee ;
) th m ineer,. Miss Soulema, who later
resigned od fom her job, e airline, said, “I knew he was
, See ipa but it was my Scadevinger |
c Ars his feat amily.”
“about his wife to me, and he never criti-
dd, She said she had known of his financial
ad, I still love him. - I want to do
ee
Roadblocks guarded the exits from the city and a squad of detectives was
assigned to catch the killers—but the thugs had found a perfect hideout.
ERCHED on top of
a telephone pole ap-
proximately 100 feet
away from the en-
trance to the Reliable Steel
Company, two Ohio Bell
Telephone Company line-
men, Paul Vanta and
Larry W. Potapas, worked
hard on the ice-covered
line. It was a freezing day
in Cleveland.
It was a few minutes be-
fore noon, February 6,
1948. Vanta pulled off
his insulated gloves and
blew into his numb hands.
Another job was finished.
He gestured to his working
mate. “Let’s get the stuff
back into the truck.”
Potapas, his head cocked, stared at
the entrance to the factory. “Better get
back up the pole,” he yelled at his pal.
“Plug in and call the police!”
A hurried glance told Vanta what was
happening. A late model Ghevrolet
sedan, its exhaust pouring an even
stream of smoke, was parked at the
curb. The man behind the wheel had
his head down and seemed to be holding
his hands over his face.
Three men, all of medium height,
started up. the stairs to the factory en-
trance, their backs to the linemen. Each
wore a red handkerchief over the lower
part of his face. Two of the men carried
pistols.
Vanta dug his spike into the pole.
Seconds later, with nervous, half-frozen
fingers, he attached his spring clips to
an insulated wire and dialed the test set
that hung from his collar.
“Police!” he called. “Get me police!”
But the set was dead. He withdrew
the clips, looked for another spot to tap
in. The second attempt was another
failure. Vanta grimaced, tried once
more.
REED—
Reported two men stole his car. Was spotted in polite lineup.
" By WILL HERMAN
THE DUKE—
This time he made the connection.
But even as he relayed his message -
to the police a muffled explosion broke
the icy stillness outside the plant. Less
than a minute later the three men raced
down the steps and leaped into the wait-
ing automobile.
Vanta spoke rapidly into his mouth-
piece. “One of the men has his hand-
kerchief down—stocky, dark com-
plexion, black, wavy hair, wide nose,
thick lips.”
He tightened his grip on the slippery
pole.. He got a better view of the car
as it pulled away from the curb and
headed north on 79th Street.
“Blue car,” Vanta called into. his
transmitter. “Long, deep dent in the
right-front fender. Looks like a fresh
one. License number .. .”
He paused, called down to Potapas,
“Did you get the number, Larry?”
Potapas shook his head. “It’s cov-
ered with mud,” he said.
Then, even before Vanta could relay
the information, the door
of the Reliable Steel office
opened. An elderly man
dashed onto the porch and
shouted hoarsely into the
frigid air.
“Murder!”
N A matter of minutes
radio cruisers formed a
complete police blockade
around the area.
Police sirens were still
screaming in the neighbor-
hood when Sergeant Theo-
“i 4 j| ' dore Carlson and Patrol-
man Carl Dunch arrived.
The elderly man, Emman-
ue] Margulis, president of
the company, waited for
them on the steps.
“It’s my son!” he cried. “Inside.
On the floor of the office, George
Margulis, a husky, good-looking man,
lay on his right side. His eyes were
closed. A small pool of blood had
formed on the floor near his chest.
Carlson bent down and reached for
young Margulis’ wrist. At last, quietly,
he let the arm drop alongside the life-
less body. He rose to his feet slowly,
then faced the victim’s father.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” the
officer said.
In a voice trembling with emotion
Margulis described the sudden entry of
the three masked men into the office.
“Two of them had guns,” he said.
“They lined us all up—the three office
girls, my son and myself—against the
wall. Then they asked us for the payroll
money.
“T told them it hadn’t come yet. They
cursed me and said I was lying. The
money was always here by that time,
one of them insisted. I told them our
cashier hadn’t returned from the bank.”
Margulis dropped weakly into a chair.
“That’s when George reached for his
”
for the DUKE
Re: DonaLtp REINBOLT
+ 1140314, OP.
DonALD REINBOLT WAS INTERVIEWED HarcH 15, 1963.
HE EXPRESSED THE DESIRE THAT HIS LAST MEAL CONSIST
OF THE FOLLOWING?
ORANGE JUICE
SIRLOIN STEAK
FRENCH FRIED POTATOES
COLE SLAW
COTTAGE CHESSE
HOT rOLLS
BUTTER
PEANUT BUTTER
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE
FRESH MILK COCA COLA
CIGARETTES
RELEASED MarcH 15, 1963
By: EL. MaxwetLt, WARDEN
Ouro PENITENTIARY
CoLbumBus, OHIO
Hon. JAMES A. RHODES RE? DonauD L. REINSOL?
GoVERNOR OF OHIO = 114-314, O.P. “
oJje
REINBOL® IS DESCRIBED AS FOLLOWS?
Name? Donwatpv L. RernBourt Dats or Brrarxz: 8-31-33
.
=z
0)
bm
4)
.)
=)
e
Race: WHITE Puace or
Evucatron: 10rxH Grade
Hercure 5' go" Harr: BROWN
WEIGHTS: 155 Eyes: BROowN
COMPLEXION: FAIR
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EL. HAXWELL
WARDEN
Ehii &¢MLF
1 Inch.
DOWALD L. REINBOLT
O.P. # 114-314 L
DonaLD LL. REINBOLT WAS RECEIVED AT THE OnIO PENITENTIARY
FROM FRANKLIN County on FreeruaRy 28, 1962, HAVING BEEN CONVIC-
TED OF fURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE. HIS DECREE BY THE CouRT —
WAS DEATH AND THE DATE OF EXECUTION WAS SET FoR JUNE 15, 1962.
On June 15, Governor DISALLE GRANTED A THIRTY=DAY REPRIEVE, SET-
TING THE NEW EXECUTION DATE For JuLy 135, 1962. A SECOND THIRTY~
DAY REPRIEVE WAS GRANTED BY THE GovERNOR on Juby 11, 1962 awnwpD
THE EXECUTION DATE WAS SET FoR AucusT 17, 1962. AN INDEFINITE
STAY OF EXECUTION WAS GRANTED BY THE OHIO SuPpREME CourT on AuUG-=
usT 9, 1962, anp on FreBRUARY 21, 1965, THaT CouRT SCHEDULED THE
EXECUTION FoR Ilarcu 15, 1963.
On SepremBer 7, 1961 REINBOLT WAS ARRESTED BY THE FRANKLIN
County SHERIFF, PLACED IN CounTY JAIL AND CHARGED WITH J/URDER
In THE Frrst DEGREE. POLICE CLAIMED THAT ON THE AFTERNOON OF
Aucust 28, 1961 DURING AN ATTEMPTED HOLD-UP OF A GROCERY STORE
on li, HAGUE AVENUE, CoLUMBUS, REINBOLT SHOT AND KILLED EDGAR
WEAVER, OWNER OF THE STORE. HE PLEAD NOT GUILTY AND WAS BOUND
OVER TO THE GRAND JuRY. JRIAL IN THIS CASE BEGAN ON FEBRUARY Q,
1962 and on FeBpruarny 16, REINBOLT WAS FOUND GUILTY AS CHARGED.
THE SENTENCE OF DEATH WAS PRONOUNCED ON FEBRUARY 25, 1962.
PEINBOLT'S RECORD SHOWS THREE PREVIOUS FELONY CONVICTIONS.»
He SERVED TWO I8—MONTH SENTENCES AT THE FEDERAL REFORMATORY,
CHILLICOTHE, CHIO FOR VIOLATION oF THE DyER Act (TRANSPORTING
Sroben Autos InTer-STaTe), AND A ONE TO TWENTY YEAR SENTENCE
AT THE OHIO PENITENTIARY FOR FORGERY, ENTERING THAT INSTITUTION
hove7pER 69, 1956. RELEASED iiAy 11, 1961, HE WAS STILL ON PaAe
ROLE FROM THE PENITENTIARY WHEN HE COMMITTED THE PRESENT OFFENSE.
VHE OLDEST OF THREE CHILDREN, REINBOLT WAS BoRN AucusT 31,
1955 at Kansas, OHIO. HE SERVED BRIEFLY IN THE UnrrEeD STATES
ARMY RECEIVING AN UNDESIRABLE DiIscHaRGE. HE NEVER HAS BEEN MABR-
RIED.
LiIEMBERS OF REINBOLT'S FAMILY HAVE VISITED HIM REGULARLY
DURING HIS INCARCERATION, HOWEVER, HIS MOTHER WAS THE ONLY RE-
LATIVE WHO VISITED DURING THE PAST WEEK. \iiarkene Jfeen belt
332 °3°? dIWEe Ainsley Com
ad
RELEASED liancy 15, 1963
By: 2.L. HAXweELL, WARDEN
Onto PENITENTIARY
CoLumBUS, OHIO
. 1
International
“Olnited dress &
GENERAL OFFICES
NEWS BUILDING NEW YORK CITY
Written From
COLUMBUS BUREAU
62 E. BROAD STREET
COLUMBUS 15, OHIO March 15, 1963
Mr. E. Le Maxwell
Warden, Ohio Penitentiary
Columbus, Ohio
Dear Warden Maxwell:
This letter will identify David Heeren, staff correspondent for the
Columbus, Ohio, bureau of United Press International. He has been
assigned to cover the execution of Donald L. Reinbolt of Columbus.
Thank you for any assistance and courtesies you might extend him.
Sincerely
/3 N. (Guttle-
Bernerd He. Buttler
Bureau Manager
cc: czfiles
1ent love
re of the
(tempted
ig of his
uns, pic- °
ecovered
Hahnel’s
shooting.
LING DETECTIVE
Patrolman Frank H. Deitrich, below, was
Hahnel’s companion on the street paint-
ing job when the bandits were stopped
for questioning. Joe Prymas, one of the
murderers, right, attempted suicide and
was taken to the hospital after his arrest.
“Come on!" Pugh shouted to Dietrich,
turning the instrument over to the desk
sergeant to complete the call. “Mike's
been shot! He's in St. Alexis.”
As Lieut. Pugh and Patrolman Die-
trich were speeding to Ashwood road,
where the wounded patrolman had been
found, the desk sergeant flashed word of
the shooting to Cleveland police and the
suburban precincts. Detective Lieut.
Emmett Potts of the metropolitan detec-
tive bureau received the flash and raced
to the scene with Detectives Gus Funk
and John Buettner.
Potts and his men, Lieut. Pugh and
Dietrich met Armstrong at the spot
where he had picked up the wounded offi-
cer and listened to his story of the finding
of Hahnel and details of the ride to the
hospital, where it was found that Hahnel
had been shot through the stomach and
there was no chance that he would pull
through.
Lieut. Potts flashed his light over the
sandy patch beside a catch basin, where
Hahnel had been ving.
“hook!” exclaimed Pugh, pointing: to
crude figures scrawled in the sand.
ADVENTURES
Bloody fingers had toiled laboriously
to leave a message behind in the event
that death came before aid.
*6-1-5-7-1-2," read Potts.
“The license number of the killer’s ma-
chine !””
Pugh nodded. “But he must have trans-
‘posed the first and third numbers in his
anxiety. He insisted to Armstrong that
the number was 516-712.”
“That's right. He begged me to re-
member the number, and kept repeating
it over and over,” Armstrong insisted.
“Then, when he was sure I had the num-
ber right, he told me about starting to
the station with the two men, and how
they shot him without warning and
dumped him in the street for dead.”
N THE glum ride back to the police
station, Dietrich gave Lieut. Potts
further details of his and Hahnel’s ac-
tivities prior to the departure of Hahnel
with the two men to the station house.
He described the car as a gray touring
car, with two spare tires and a trunk, or
box, on the rear.
When they arrived at the precinct
station a man was there reporting a rob-
bery of a gasoline station,
The desk sergeant was taking down
notes. “And what kind of a car did they
have?” he asked.
“It was a gray touring car—”
“What's that!” broke in Lieut Pugh.
The man turned around, startled.
“This is John Schmidt,” explained the
sergeant. “Two men held up his gas
station at Taylor and Fairmount and took
$60,” he added.
“What time was this?” asked Pugh.
“Shortly before 11,” Schmidt an-
swered. “I was just about ready to close
when these fellows pulled up and asked
for five gallons of gas. T was standing
at the side of the car next to the driver
waiting to be paid when his companion
jumped out, ran around and frisked me of
my wallet. They ordered me to keep
silent for five minutes and drove away.”
The man was excited and spoke fast.
As he paused for breath, Pugh inter-
rupted:
“Did you pet the number 2?”
{Continued on page 70]
17
door on the driver’s side was open and a
nan was stepping oul
They had been looking for a couple of
hoodlums who were wanted for a stickup..
They believed the pair who had stolen
Piccus’ cab might be them.
The police car pulled up back of the
stolen cab. Both detectives leaped out
and covered the men,
“We've got youl” Potts shouted. “Don’t
move,”
In no time they had the pair disarmed
and handcuffed.
“Well, I'll be!” Maug said. “To think
we'd play tag with all those Pittsburgh
cops and then get caught by a couple of
hicktown bulls.”
“Who are you?” Potts demanded,
“My name’s Johnny Maug. ‘That’s
Turpack, my partner.”
The sweat popped out on Officer Pott’s
forehead. He knew the reputation of the
killer, But he kept cool.
Both Maug and Turpack talked glibly
over the long distance phone with a Pitts-
burgh reporter, but later when Chief of
Detectives George W. Murren and a
“Not all of it. The first two numbers
were 5 and 1.”
“What did the men look like?”
“The driver wore a gray cap and a
gabardine coat over a dark suit. He was
about 28 or 30. The other fellow was
dark and had a long lean face. Ie wore
a cap, too.”
“Those are our men, They were hurry-
ing from the stickup scene when Tahnel
stopped them!” Potts exclaimed.
Despite reports from St. Alexis hos-
pital that the wounded patrolman was in
a critical condition, Licuts. Potts and
Pugh raced to Hahnel’s bedside in the
hope that he might be able to add some-
thing to their meager information.
Doctors shook their heads ominously.
They feared almost certain poisoning
and complications. °
“He’s in no condition to talk now,” they
told the officers.
But the physicians reckoned without
the determination of their patient. The
rookie cop, who chafed at the painting
job and yearned to chase crooks, hadn't
changed his mind, The iron nerve that
enabled him to scratch the figures in the
sand with a bloody forefinger now
exerted itself once more.
At the sound of Licut. Pugh’s voice
through the open door of his room,
Hahnel’s face brightened.
“Let me see the lieutenant,” he de-
manded,
Once again Patrolman Michael Hahnel
brushed aside the fingers of death to aid
his brother officers in running down his
assailants.
“They tried to beg off as we drove
along Lee road,” he explained. “T told
them it was out of the question because
Dietrich had ordered the pinch.
“They mumbled between themselves
and I leaned forward to try to catch the
conversation. Before we got to Shaker
Heights the man beside the driver sud-
denly turned. He shoved a gun over the
ry ae ,
squad of Pittsburgh detectives arrived,
both.“clammed up.”
When asked if he had known that his
girl friend was married, Maug said, “I
haven't anything to say about that.” He
paused, then went on, “We got the dirt
in Pennsylvania, That was the rottenest
pair of sentences ever handed out. It was
the fault of the newspapers. You'd think
from reading them that we'd killed 16
guys. ‘The papers got us the rap.”
The pair refused to return to Pennsyl-
vania and waive extradition unless they
were permitted to be taken into custody
by William E. Guffy, special investigator,
and now deputy warden of the Western
penitentiary.
“We'll go back with Guffy,” Maug said,
“put not with those Pittsburgh cops.”
It was finally agreed to turn them over
to Guffy but when the train pulled out
the Pittsburgh detectives also were on it.
When asked why they hadn’t shot it
out with the two Ohio officers, Maug
said, “How could we shoot when we were
covered?”
On the way back Turpack was inclined
.Figures of Doom
[Continued from page 17]
top of the front seat and there was a
blinding flash.
“L toppled over on the floor and lay
still to make them think L was dead so
they wouldn't fire again. I couldn't get
at my gun because of the overalls. I
know they then made several turns, but
I don’t know where they drove.
“After they had driven for a couple of
minutes the man who shot me climbed
over and took my gun and badge. I still
played dead. ‘Drive down a dark street
and we'll throw him out,’ he told the
driver. A little while after that the car
stopped and they dumped me in the
middle of the street.
“T crawled over to the curb to get out
of the way of machines and managed to
get my flashlight. I tried to signal with it.
T felt that I was going to faint so I tried
to write the license number of the
machine in the dirt. It was 516-712.”
Back in the Cleveland detective bureau,
Lieut. Potts, in night command, ordered
an immediate check on the license
number 516-712, and—just to be sure—
on 615-712,
The report on the latter number came
back first, It had been issued for a car
in Kinsman, O., that did not answer the
description of the gray touring car, and
there was‘nothing to indicate that either
car or plates had been stolen.
A few moments later the auto bureau
sent a stolen car report made by a resi-
dent of Hinkley, in Medina county south
of Cleveland.
His gray touring car, bearing license,
516-712, had been stolen from a parking
lot in downtown Cleveland during the
night of October 15. He had reported
the theft shortly after 8 o’clock on the
morning of the 16th.
When the day shift came on Saturday
morning Lieut. Potts submitted a com-
plete report to Detective Inspector
Charles N. Sterling and Capt. Cornelius
Cody, and every available man was
turned out on the case.
to boastfulness and seemed to bask in the
spotlight of publicity. Maug, on the other
hand, was sullen and quict.
It was the $10,000 reward that drove
them out of Pittsburgh, Maug revealed.
On June 20, the men were back in the
Western penitentiary. They were not
sent to the “hole” as reported in the news-
papers, but returned to their cells.
The two Ohio policemen who made
the arrest received $7,500 of the reward
money. Piecus, the cab driver, was paid
$2,500 and $500 went to Mrs. Kahns in
whose yard Piccus was tossed by the
bandits. She refused to accept it, how-
ever insisting that it should go to Piccus.
Ultimately it was paid to Piccus who gave
her $200 as a present, which she accepted.
Johnny Maug made one short statement
when he was returned to his cell and heard
the iron door clang once more upon him:
“Tt wasn’t worth it.”
Which pretty well sums up what a lot
of others behind those same gray walls
have concluded.
(The name of Grace Johns used in this story ts
ic ea in order to protect an innocent person—
ya.
“It'll be murder,” Sterling told Cody
after a report from St. Alexis advised
that death was not only certain but im-
minent. At every roll call in Cleveland
and the suburbs that morning the order
of the day was:
“Get those gunmen!
Shortly after 9 o'clock, Patrolman
John F. Budds found a large touring
car parked on the cast side of 6lst
street. Ile caught the number as he ap-
proached, It was 516-712. Opening. the
tonneau door he noted blood on the floor,
and a police badge.
Capt. Cody, Lieut, Masterson, and half
a dozen detectives were rushed out to
East 6lst street immediately.
“Cover every house in the neighbor-
hood and find someone who saw the men
leave the car,” Sterling ordered.
Newspaper reports of the shooting
brought the usual scores of tips to the
detective bureau and Sterling was kept
busy assigning men to run them down,
A call came in from the Empire Sheet
mill, not far from where the car had been
found, An employe had found two guns,
one of them wrapped in a towel, while
on his way to work, Sterling gave the
new assigument to Detectives Dempsey
and McNecley.
The finder of the guns was waiting for
them at the plant when they arrived,
Opening the towel-wrapped package
‘McNeeley found two revolvers, a_ .38
special of the police type and a 32. Mc-»
Neeley sniffed at. the muzzles and then
opened the cylinder © the smatier
gun.
“T thought so,” he remarked as he
examined the five loads and the single
exploded shell. “This looks like the death
gun and if [’m not mistaken that other
gun is the one they took from Hahnel.”
The workman accompanied the detec-
tives to the spot where he had picked
up the weapons. There they found that a
logical path of flight could be mapped
out from Ashwood road, where Hahnel
»”
was dumped, to !
was found.
That Saturday
hectic in the his
police departme:
tendent George }
hundreds of pict
Dietrich to stu
identify a single }
other of the gum
Comparison of 1
the car and gun
probable route o!
ing Hahnel out
vinced the detec
were well acqua
side where the st
uninitiated.
“Until we get <
that entire sect
Sterling said. “\
Almost 72 how
overcame Michae
ly the charge a:
fugitives became
escaping from a
for that was dea:
“They've got n:
they’ll probably
before they're ca:
tectives warned |}
lodded from cd
ast 66th street.
o
FEW minu
Buettner, om
a high sign and t)
ered to see what
“There was a |
one, in front of
last Friday afte
formed them, re}
just gleaned at
drove it back in t
seen it since.”
Detectives Me
slipped around to
heavy lock on t)
Detectives Fun’
onto the porch.
“The killers ma:
ner whispered as
a second time.
Footsteps soun
“What do you v
“Open up!” o
police.”
The owner of
Iet the officers in
his garage to two
Questioning diseh
afternoon. Heh:
sign out front an:
stopped. Two m
measuring the ga
it was long enou:
of them had paid |
“The man who
paid me the mone:
on “I'd know hi
The other man w.
He talked funny
scriptions tallied
and Dietrich, sucl
Superintendent
combing his files
headed criminals
description of the
He sent the pic:
of the garage. F
one out—the phot:
chap who looked
crook.
“That's the re
nounced without |
ighte
“ ‘ ee
Fr ar core eGR AL TEIN EMT TR TT ETT easel a c
. NRT REIS
was dumped, to the spot where the car tion. “Td know him anywhere. And you
er a ,
was found. say he’s a killer?” There was sudden Wow! MY STOMACH
we That Saturday was one of the most look of something akin to fear. et FEELS LIKE ITS ON
hectic in the history of the Cleveland “Never mind, we'll see that he doesn’t ny FIRE FROM ACID
the police department. Bertillon Superin- bother you,” Funk promised and the we Cel INDIGESTION.
ot tendent George Koestle had trotted out =man breathed more easily. Later a
vs- hundreds of pictures for Schmidt and boarder who had talked to the two men
Dietrich to study, but neither could identified the same redhead. He was ian wh
ide identify a single photograph as one or the Albert “Red” Holt, graduate of Mans- y GA's HERE, CHEW A
ard other of the gunmen. field state reformatory, a gunman and ; COUPLE oF TUMS
said : Comparison of reports, the spots where stickup artist. : j .
; : THEY FIX ME UP
‘ jn the car and guns were found and the Lieut. Potts learned from a proprietor ay BeA Quick WHEN MY
the probable route of the gunmen after toss- ofa soft drink place at Bessemer avenue | Prey 2 STOMACH FEELS
we ing Hahnel out on the pavement con- and East 65th street, that the redheaded if} w LIKE THAT, '
cus. vinced the detectives that the bandits Holt had been spending considerable “4 ee é .
an were well acquainted on the southeast tims. in the neighborhood. 5 ii h ‘ RAAT
ated. side where the strects are a maze to the “Haven't seen him this week, thoug),
vent one the man declared, “Pye known him for HERE'S AMAZING RELIEF i
eard “Until we get a better lead we'll comb quite a while, and sometimes when he's
um: that entire section, house by house,” down on his luck he comes to me for a FROM ACID INDIGESTION
Sterling said. “We may flush them.”: touch.” . Ves oS a remarkable discovery
v lot . Almost 72. hours passed before death Before he left, Potts had a promise X brings amazing quick relief from indiges-
valls overcame Michael Hahnel. Automatical- that the man would notify him immedi- tion, heartburn, sour stomach, gn, and con-
overcame, Michael Uaheh A inigemined ately Hf he BOt ANY oe PO cers Pot SL During ae Ace unblie
ry is fugitives became murder—murder while Vil med you under cover, Potts ably fast to neutralize excess acid conditions,
sor escaping from a robbery. The penalty Prowith tl . r i ‘ Acid pains are relieved almost at once. TUMS
for that was death. . With the identification, detectives hur- contain no laxatives; no harmful drugs. Guar=
i “They've got nothing to lose now and ried to an address on Carnegie avenue conta e contain no soda, Over 1}4 billion TUMS
they'll probably do some more killing Where Holt had been living with his wife already used—proving their amazing. benefit.
: ; before they're captured,” one of the de- and family. Try TUMS today. Only ttc for 12 TUMS at
: P “dt } , : | But the woman had not seen her hus- all druggists. Most economical relief. Chew like
tectives warned his companions as they : bs . candy mints. Get a hand 10c roll today, or the
plodded from doorbell to doorbell on band since Saturday, the day after the three roll economy package with metal con-
East O6th street. shooting, when he stopped at the house
. and gave her $13 for the children.
Three days later Cody learned that
FEW minutes later Detective TIolt had called his wife late the day
Buettner, one of the searchers, gave before and told her that he was in a
Cody a high sign and the officers quietly gath- scrape and had to leave town for a while. ; “ i
ivised ered to see what he had found. I'l send for you as soon as I get oe UMS FOR THE TUMMY :)
it im- “There was a big touring car, a gray settled,” he cooed over the wire, but Mrs. IN ACID INDIGESTION 4)"
i a gre P . vot
veland one, in front of that house over there Holt reported it. ; : e alt
order last Friday afternoon,” Buettner in- sun teak foe ey ie a oc a ae Learn Public il
formed them, repeating the information sed tha vit had not appeared To s 4
just gleaned at his last call, “A man ‘wore on Monday and had wages, coming len Speaking !
rolman drove it back in the garage. No one has ess 8 ee I At home—in gpare time~~Many overconn ay
eure Sen Ht aince. garag He had appeared at a transfer company, Phare mpc ne," gain sell cone engh ability
f{ G6lst Detectives McNeeley and Dempsey near East’ 18th street and Superior to eway others by ete rine to Work
he ap- slipped around to the rear ‘and noted the avenue late Wednesday and succeeded Wonders With Wordsand requirements hy
ng the heavy lock on the door jin borrowing $5 from an acquaintance. North American Inet tuts Oyo, tle Pees 14
ie floor, Detectives Funk and Buettner stepped ee if driver ged Fader “
onto the porch. Tolt 1ac een wont to spend considera) c a |
nd half ur ’ ag ct i ” time, Detectives Funk and Buettner ee CAN MAKE BIG MON '
“The killers may be inside now, Buett- tat with HOOVER U f
out to ner whispered as he pushed the button learned that he had been missing for e Hi OR j
. - ; a second time. several days and with him had gone a Ii earningn for nbitioun wey woinen In new
‘ighbor- Footsteps sounded within Ford coupe whee he had mae but Fate amr ta acne ce a!
the men y ee ° y never returned, Lhe p ates on the coupe ¢ nts, fountalne. ime. Noo Lela pas dah Seals Oe p pub
ig 2 Mc do “an ee egies s ae : were 991-433 F ' “ape Be "eat wot nto tin news Bletincome Womens all
A : , “ le 6 stcard no ‘or beautiful new Uniform tyle 4
hooting ' . pen up ordere unk. ere resentation, actual samples and money-mak-
; lice.” ing equipment—sent 4
. to the BR QUSes : HOOVER 251 West 19th Street
, om Dept. CH-7, N York
ye Oe ’ inte Br neces the gare fay an ha PARee Sunday morning the phone - pone a
Me A ‘ Q i eld sctive
ve Sheet . his garage to two men the week Pelerk. bureau. ‘The Ne ie aed a) 3 GET A
\ad been gia g oes Be ee vant “This is the soft drink man,” came the ‘ 2 GOOD JOB Stine
i ° a T ‘ “ $ $ on
Vv yuis, > ° : . . - ~ Ne , simple, » i
aaerte afternoon nt and a big touring car had hye” is the soit Cre something. Good- | x coy, sam coun inchs ony ae ag
: . . tl ‘ stopped. Two men got out and after ye. ‘ war school education needed, Prepare for pay raise! Be fitted to step 4
gave. it measuring the garage to make sure that The lieutenant raced out to 65th and brite perager enema lg created by new sales taxes, Social ne
Dempsey it was long enough to hold the car one Bessemer. The soft drink store owner Secor Se ad oh Bae Rave your pay S10-K20 © er tiotection (ne
Cs of them had paid him $5—a month’s rent. was waiting. He thrust a folded yellow cornea trad money back, Shelby System, Drawer 621, Dept, FD, : (ied
iting for “The man who rented the garage and sheet into the lieutenant’s hands. ——
‘ived. i Bare “WIRE FIFTY SLUGS TO WHEEL-
evant paid me the money had red hair,” he went a eh Sotkear: Ps ny
oe _ 38 on. “I'd know him again if I saw him. ING.” The signature read, “Jones.
30 ‘ Mc-» The other man was thin-faced and dark. d Potts looked up to find the man nod-
at He talked funny.” Otherwise his de- ing. LEARN BY DOING’? — VLL FINANCE
2 hen ‘ys nny. , : ¢ Az weeks training
and tier scriptions tallied with those of Schmidt “Sure?” asked the officer. There were “ . wn Se pe geben ton
; and Dietrich, such as they were. more nods. |, ; a All ease ecly Se tata.
cd as he Superintendent Koestle again started Without waiting for further explana- gor actual shonwark on reco rrespondence= Y
ae single combing his files for pictures of red- tion, Potts roared back to headquarters. page Dit crake 18 Monti feng <
the death headed criminals who seemed to fit the Ile put ina hurried call to the police of my nemalt’ monty, Derr tae se Xe
‘iat other description of the garage renter. Wheeling, W. Va. to put a watch on the bee ro or epuaneny nlie Ceapntniy
Hahnel ” He’sent the pictures out to the owner telegraph office for anyone who called Enel se iogtrte Refriesralga if NE
th "dakec- of the garage. Finally the man picked for $50 from Cleveland. ~ , Bre Te OOK andal Facts.
ad eke one out—the photo of a clean-cut looking “Watch for a redheaded man,” urged Hog LEW!S, President, COUNT © ECTRICAL SCHOOL ei ae
aed that = chap who looked like anything but a Potts. And then, on ‘second thought, J ebout your Pay Fi writh factor Coyne training and tell me i &
we mapped crook, added, “It may be a woman. He gave NAME AGE
“e Mahnel “That's the redheaded one,” he an- — the details of the Ford and the license ADDRESS vg
— pounced without looking at the descrip- | number. a al Ld rarypenngennyemy—" 3 a
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Capt. Cody and Lieut. Potts gathered
every available detective jammed them
into two police cars and dashed out of
Cleveland, heading for the West Virginia
city, 200 miles away and over bad roads.
The weather was worse, but the ma-
chines careened at breakneck pace
through the early morning mist.
The Cleveland police cars still were
miles from Wheeling on that Sunday
morning when a woman, accompanied by
alittle girl with an iron brace on one of
her legs, stepped into the telegraph office.
Two loungers across the street noted the
furtive glance she cast around as she
entcred,
TLIEY saw the woman, her face hidden
by a drooping helmet-like hat and a
high fur collar, pause’ at one of the desks
as if to write a telegram but she kept
watching the loungers through the
window.
They saw her fold up the paper and
then step out on the sidewalk without
going near the clerk. With the crippled
child she strolled down the street. Then
she turned a corner and disappeared,
The loungers burst into a run.
They just caught a glimpse of her as
she stepped into a taxi. A block ahead
a small coupe was turning off the side
strect. They pulled the nearest call box
and summoned a police car from the
station two blocks away.
ive minutes later Wheeling police
were scouring the city for a Ford coupe
and a woman and crippled child in a taxi.
The two “loungers” picked up the trail
of the taxi and followed it out of the
city but they were 20 minutes behind.
Racing out the rural road, the police car
burned up the miles in the hope of over-
taking the cab. Unnoticed was the
small coupe that pulled out of a wooded
patch after they'd roared past and headed
back to the city.
Just outside of Valley Grove, 15. miles
from Wheeling, they came upon the cab
at the roadside. An explosive driver
blued the air with oaths. Ife’d run out
of gas. A Ford coupe had come along
and, before he could stop them, his fares
had jumped in. When he demanded his
money a redheaded man in the coupe
threatened him.
“They turned around and drove back
toward Wheeling,” he told the astonished
pursuers,
Once more in Wheeling, with police
sirens wailing all around, the coupe
headed across the bridge that leads to
Wheeling Island, in the Ohio river. An-
other bridge carries on to the Ohio side.
3ut on the island were more police, and
the coupe swung into a cross street be-
fore it reached the bridge leading into
Ohio.
“I’m going to jump! Grab the wheel!”
yelled the redhead to his frightened com-
panion, An instant later he flung himself
out and, as he disappeared around the
corner of the school house at an inter-
section, the coupe crashed into a tree.
Then the police car pulled up.
As the fleeing man rounded the school
he collided with Bert O. Phillips, deputy
United States marshal who sensed the
situation immediately.
“Stick ’em up!” Phillips ordered, “and
keep them there. Now march.”
When Lieut. Potts and Capt. Cody
arrived in Wheeling an hour later they
readily identified the redhead as the
fugitive, Albert Ifolt. He was sullen and
surly. Planning their strategy quickly
to avoid complications and the delays of
extradition, Capt. Cody bundled Holt into
a police car and, before he realized what
was happening, he was back in Ohio.
Potts waited back in Wheeling for a
train to bring the woman and child.
It was on the long ride back that he
succeeded in wheedling the story out of
the woman.
Her name was Margaret and the child
was her daughter, Three years before
the woman's husband had deserted her
and their child in Baltimore and she had
come to Cleveland to live with relatives.
She had found the going tough in the
Ohio city but, with the aid of relatives
and a job in an engraving plant, she had
managed to make ends meet. With all
her troubles she was a dreamer, dream-
ing of a Prince Charming and the happi-
ness he would bring her.
Then Red had come along
“THe was so good and kind to us,” she
wept. “He can't be bad. It must have
been his pal, Joe.” She caught herself at
the name, but her quick glance at Potts
found him looking out the window.
“Al was with me that night, all eve-
ning,” she went on. “Tle couldn't have
shot that policeman. We went to a
movie.”
When they arrived at headquarters in
Cleveland the woman and her daughter
were taken directly to the office of Chief
Graul. The grilling of Holt was already
under way in the detective bureau.
But the young man who wooed many
women ‘with soft words and honeyed
phrases had discarded his soft and tender
nature.. His voice was snarling and de-
fiant. His language came from the gutter.
Ife leered at his tormentors and spat his
denials,
HIFTING their attention to the
woman, the police quizzers tried to
work on her love for the redhead.
“It'll be easier for Holt if we can catch
Joe,” Potts told her. “You can help Red
by helping us get Joc. Maybe Joe is the
one who killed the patrolman.”
She told what she knew about the
mysterious Joe but it wasn’t much. Ite
was a sallow-faced man with a peculiar
dialect or impediment in his speech, They
were out together frequently, Joe and
Red, but beyond that she knew nothing.
Twenty-four hours after the sensa-
tional capture of Holt in Wheeling, police
had to admit that the hunt for the phan-
tom Joe was ata standstill, In fact, there
were some that doubted he existed.
“It may be a ruse to shift the blame,”
Inspector Sterling told Chief Graul. “But
we'll keep after him until I can prove
this Joe’s a ghost.”
Holt was questioned Monday night as
few men have been questioned but his
stock answer was:
“T won't talk.” 4
John Schinidt) faced the “belligerent
redhead.
“That’s the man who held up my gas
station.”
Another man. said:
“That’s the fellow who rented my
garage.”
An ambulance call from East 59th
street came into the Superior avenue
station a few minutes after 9 o’clock
Tuesday morning and Patrolmen Clar-
ence May and Matthew Harlan went to
investigate the call. i
The woman who answered the door
led them to a basement room,
“[ heard him groaning during the
Aways Insist on THe Apvertistp Branpt
night,” she explai
have taken poise:
May leaned ove
pillow. Outside «
nothing to indicat
“Get your cloth
The man_ meek
With an officer o:
out to the emerge
“Lie down if y
him. He studied :
thing about it se
“Ever play base
denly as his mind
sandlot days.
“Yeah.”
.. “Over around
May continued. \
he said, “I though:
your name?”
“Joe King.”
“You're not this
searching for for |
are you?” It was
May caught the s
“Drive to headaq:
suddenly.
“You're Joe P:
fingerprint expert
taken his prints a:
The man licked |
admission,
_ “You were in M
jail down there wi:
“Red was no ma
about me,” Prymas
A hurried call \
and Cody to inform
ee in custody.
ed says you
Cody’s first shot.
The man who h:
Joe Prymas looked
licked his lips and
pain.
“You're headed r
chair, and Holt is
added Prosecutor $
yy 4
To:
From:
Victor L. Streib
Michael Buzulencia
Subject: Sam Purpera
Page:
2 ~
Purpera stated that he had travelled east to Philadelphia with the
intention of taking a boat to Italy, only to find that police on the
east coast were on the lookout for him. Purpera then doubled back,
going west and into Mexico, and finally into Los Angeles. Purpera
stated that he was informed of the Cleveland Police's search efforts
and was supplied with passports for his entrance to Mexico. Once
Purpera was captured in Los Angeles, a special session of the Cleveland
Grand Jury was convened, and on March (147), 1921, he was indicted on
two charges of first-degree murder after seven witnesses identified him
as the murdered of Sly. He was subsequently brought back to Cleveland,
and on March 27, 1921, implicated Frank Motto, who was serving a sentence
'
in the Mansfield Reformatory, - as his confederate in the killings. Motto
was later sentenced to death. Another member of the gang, Louis "the
Toledo Kid" Komar, was given a life sentence after turning State's
evidence. Two others, Benigno and Coletti, were captured in Mexico City
in July, 1921.
Purpera was tried before the Cuyahoga County Common Pleas Court on
March 16, 1921 on the charges of first-degree murder, pursuant to Ohio
General Code §12400. There is no indication that juvenile court
proceedings were ever contemplated. Purpera's attorney attempted to
disassociate him from other members of the gang, Purpera stating that he
did not etnak either Sly or Fanner and did not see any of the $4200 that
was stolen. Purpera stated that he ran from the auto as the shooting was
going on. Purpera's attorney also pointed to his age and the impoverished
conditions that Purpera lived in as part of his plea for mercy Purpera’s
defense was damaged by statements of two witnesses, who stated that Purpera
was the one who shot Sly. The prosecutor pointed out that it did not
matter who fired the shots as far as a first-degree murder charge Is
ae... &
\ a
. . y > _ Pe =
tee aloe wr Jae pe 2 puke, Se M7 eve, J Oe pare
To: Victor L. Streib
From: Michael Buzulenctia Date: October 4,
Subject: Sam Purpera * Chis) FebrHag2 S—-7-SGF 2 A
Crime(s) committed on December 31, 1920
Executed on March 8, 1922
Jurisdiction exercised by Cuy. County Common
Pleas Court
Convicted on two charges of first-degree
murder (felony-murder)
Age at commission ~- 16
Age at execution - 18
Date of birth - February 21, 1904 a
Sam Purpera was convicted and sentenced to death on two charges
of first-degree murder (Ohio General Code §12400) for his role in the
murders of Wilfred C. Sly and George K. Fanner. Purpera was a member
of a group of six young men who held up and robbed the pair as they were
driving on W. 47th Street to the W.W. Sly Co. Plant on Train Avenue to drop
off a $4200 payroll at 12 noon on December 31, 1920. Sly was the president
of the company, Fanner the superintendent. The holdup and murder occurred
\ after the auto driven by the six men had collided with the Sly auto,
pushing the Sly auto into an embankment. The crash brought out many of the
neighborhood residents, a crowd forming around the cars. Sly and Fariner
got out of their car immediately to protest the reckless driving of the
robbers. An argument ensued, and one of the robbers reached into the Sly
auto for the payroll. Fanner attempted to wrest the payroll away from the
robber. Sly, seeing this pulled a gun out of his pocket but put the gum
back in his pocket quickly. He then rushed towards Fanner and the robber,
who were still struggling with the payroll. One of the robbers fired two
shots at Sly, killing him. Another shot and killed Fanner. Five of the
robbers jumped into their auto and drove away. Another later identified as
Purpera, fled through the back yards.
Purpera was arrested on March (12?), 1921 in Los Angeles on a charye
of auto theft. The arrest led to his identity in the Sly-Fauner murders.
1982
Streib
Michael Buzulencia
To: Victor L.
From:
Subject:
Page: 3
Sam Purpera
concerned.
The prosecutor also pointed to Purpera's previous criminal
record and to his role in procuring the get away car’as prime factors
in imposing the death penalty.
The jury was only given an instruction
on first-degree murder, with or without a recommendation of mercy, or
for finding of acquittal.
murder on May 19, 1921, given no recommendation of mercy.
The jury found Purpera guilty of first-degree
Purpera was
sentenced to follow Fran Motto to the electric chair on August 29, 1921.
Purpera was given three reprieves by the governor of Ohio while
others in the murders awaited trial.
His attorney pointed out that Purpera
had turned state's evidence in the trial of Dominic Benigno, and that Louis
Komar, who had turned state's evidence in that trial, was only given a
life sentence, in a plea for commutation of Purpera's sentence.
governor refused, and Purpera was executed on March 8, 1922 at age 18.
court appeals were taken.
The
No
The murders, which became known as the Sly-Fanner murders stirred
the interest of the community. The year 1920 saw an increase in crime in
Cleveland, especially by organized gangs.
The murders only confirmed the
suspicians of many of the community who felt that the justice system in
Cleveland was too "soft'’ on criminals and the law enforcement system was
inefficient. The murders helped lead to studies and a push for a more
efficient system of justice in Cleveland.
Newspaper Articles Used
Officials to Aid Study of Justice
Confesses in Sly-Fanner Murders
Purpera Admits Being Tipped Off
Purpera Points Out Aid in Crime
Another Man Charged with Pay
Murders
Tells of Hatching Pay Murders in
Pool Room
Purpera Confession Put Before Jury
Purpera Jury Locked Up for Night
Purpera In Fury, Rages Over Fate
Escape of Sly Suspects is Blocked
Purpera Facing Death Tont¢ht
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Plain
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
Dealer
1921
1921
192]
1921
1921
January l,
January 6,
March 1/7,
March 18,
March 26,
March 28, 1921
1921
1971
1921
1y2]
1921
192)
May 2,
May 18,
Mav 19,
May 20,
July 11,
March 8,
a. ay
OURTEEN murderers await th-
h in’ the electric chair
at thd Penitem,
‘ary. The first is con.
demned_té die
Feb, 24, ang the last
Twelarc, scheduled
Week... bOUY Frida y
doomed to die Mare
-More ATO... oF
24 tesson for Youth tn
Paclures above,
© Ake.—for ay men.
iuring from a
ward of ¢rime
* Crime. ma y
Welier Undhe
after Thursda
ing John W.
i \ se men Kkiileg for on.
thing, some ¢ i
them kitied fo, Sema aaee ain
WALTER W
Newman and Loulse
as Bland for > bitin
ARTHUR WAR
iW be elevtricuted on the
pa
oh negra, of
with Chimblin :
WoT TEI IST fue
a colors? girl,
pis Meuire,
MW ga5to the chatr
Eht with Tytler for
in the murder of Rak.
-Youtrestow T
e
th e murder of
JOUN Unvnice,
vw Toleto, w
on the same ni
HARRY BLAND, zy, wl
will die March 1 for
George Wrshington
£9 to the chair
ata few minutea
Farry L. Blard. John Vaiden Edward M.
RIGUT, 23. of Steu-
he name night
3 Usarcy Cum.
Froid Detectives
and. Auguetus Long.
SAMUEL PURPERA of Cleveland
os perhaps the mose interesting tn.
IMate of ¢
Ag
Lewis
ere)
y rhe.
Pwec siy ead W. OK. Fanner cq
- “d 3 i . q
|
Das aw Joba;
4 i
Payroil robbery ut Clevetan! lec, Bed
ol, 1920. : :
EDWARD MOFPFETT, oe NE
Akron. will die Murch 24 for a |
muréer of his wife.
GHORGK RUSU, 264. neogen af :
Younsstonn wii die Acre t. fur the
murder of Luctz Les. :
| C STREVE. MAVRRREY. eects,
=3. of Younxstown, wit the Apriiia,
for the murder of Stela Hern.
off
JAMES CONWELIL 72. negra of ¥
Columbus, will go to tne chur Apri:
20 for kiling Mrs. CGe-urcia Watson
April 2 8921.) Canwell ated Vibe}
Amanda Vaxton in :..- same erime.
Comptteity in the murier at Stesta
Korn. ny
Cleveland will die APNMi 27. foe nore
{rome south
Years old until Feb.
noc 16 when the
he will d!e wus ‘committed,
sentenced to meet desth. an
10 for complicity
due to hiv—+s~
He wiil not
. 27, and he was
murder for which
in the murder of
teipattorn—witty- Semttet -Purpes< er |
the Sty-Fanner murdere
tumbus, with we May 3 fer tire mur.
dee of Charies pv. Raker, « 6cotum.
base Meurtuice coliectar, Jr: iD.
1921.
CHARLES MARKOVITECH, of, af:
Youngstawn, Will Cie Apert 2% fae
DOMINIC RENIGNG, 24, et!
JOHN VAIDEN, 26, negra, of Ca
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“Look,” he said to Floyd, “we're just
three workers from the pottery plant over
across the tracks. We don’t mean any-
ly any harm.” .
“March!” Floyd commanded, gesturing
Vv he gun toward the camp, where
i was getting up from the ground.
Fultz walked forward a dozen steps, with
Potts and Irwin close behind.
“You’re a cop!” Pretty Boy accused.
“I can smell a cop as far as I can smell
a skunk. Get him, Addie. Kill him!”
Why Pretty Boy himself, with Chief
Fultz utterly at his mercy, did not squeeze
the trigger on his tommy-gun, no one will
ever know. But he stood by while Richetti
went for his pistol, and in this split-
second Fultz saw his one chance to live,
and took it.
His own gun leaped from its shoulder
holster. He snapped off three shots at
Pretty Boy, spoiling Floyd’s aim with
the machinegun and then threw two more
slugs at Richetti.
The tommy-gun stuttered. A bullet took
Fultz in the ankle. He answered with a
shot that jarred Floyd. The machinegun
stock came apart in Pretty Boy’s hands.
He flung it away with a curse, and drew
his automatic. Richetti tried to flee down-
hill, stumbled and somersaulted down the
slope.
Fultz’ gun was empty. Standing firm
before the fire from Floyd’s pistol, he
calmly reloaded and _ started forward
toward the outlaw.
Pretty Boy’s nerve broke. His last shot
hit Grover Potts in the shoulder, and he
turned and ran.
Fultz placed a bullet less than an inch
from Richetti’s right ear, and Richetti
thrust his hands skyward and called out:
‘ t shoot! Come take me!”
] ‘ti was jailed in Wellsville, where
exauunation of Floyd’s broken tommy-gun
revealed that twenty-nine shots had been
fired from it, with only one taking effect,
that which had grazed the police chief's
ankle. Potts’ wound was not serious.
Richetti could not deny his identity, but
he insisted his pal in the hillside gunfight
was not Pretty Boy Floyd. The Ohio cops
were certain that he was.
Within hours, Melvin Purvis, ace field
agent of the FBI, was in northeastern
Ohio with a dozen handpicked men. Pretty
Boy Floyd was there somewhere, alone,
on foot, and this looked as if it might be
the end for the notorious robber and
killer.
Pretty Boy still had his automatic.
Wijth it he forced one motorist to drive
him toward Youngstown, but his prisoner’s
car ran out of gas. In another machine,
Floyd was spotted by two deputies but,
a yeteran of scores of similar escapes, he
got: away in a hail of bullets.
This was near Lisbon, less than twenty
miles from the scene of the battle at
Wellsville. Purvis and the G-men and
steadily growing posses of local officers
moved northeast out of Wellsville, hot on
the fugitive’s trail.
The two motorists whom he had kid-
napped said Floyd was wounded in the
belly. Blood in their cars bore out their
stories. But, like a wounded animal
brought to bay, his hurt would make
Pretty Boy only the more dangerous; the
mer uing him were well aware of that.
Ji efore noon on that Monday of
Octuver 22, Floyd appeared at the farm
home of 74-year-old Robert Robinson in
St. Clair township, above East Liverpool,
asking food and the way to Youngstown.
“I’m lost,” he told Robinson. “My brother
and I came out squirrel hunting. I got
60
drunk and fell asleep. When I woke up,
I couldn’t find my brother anywhere.”
Robinson fed the gray-eyed stranger and
it was only after the young man had
trudged off across a field that the aged
farmer remembered where he had _ seen
that broad face before. In the newspaper.
It was Pretty Boy Floyd! Robinson lost
no time in reporting to the federal agents,
headquartering now in a hamlet only a few
miles from his farm.
Two hours later, Floyd reached the farm
home of a widow, a few miles from the
Robinson place. Here he retold the story
of becoming lost while hunting, and beg-
ged a meal, which the woman prepared.
There was a car in the farmyard. “I
got to get to Youngstown,” Floyd said.
“Can you drive me up?”
“I can’t,” the widow replied. “But ask
my son-in-law. It’s his car. He and my
daughter are just coming in from the
fields now.”
The son-in-law offered to take the
stranger to the village of Clarkson. He got
behind the wheel, with Floyd beside him
and the widow in the rear. As, the car
backed out of the lane leading in from
the highway, two cars sped down the
cont machines loaded with agents of the
BI.
Floyd recognized the cars for what they
were. Out came his gun.
_ “That corncrib!” he snarled. “Drive me
to it!”
- 4
He sprang from the automobile and’
darted behind the crib as Purvis and his.
men roared into the fenced farmyard and”
deployed quickly to cover every possible ‘
route of escape.
“Come out, Floyd!” Purvis called. “It’s i
your last chance!”
Pretty Boy broke from the cover of the ae
corncrib and tried to run. A fusillade of
pistol, rifle, and machinegun fire cut him es
down.
He was still alive when Purvis got to”.
him. “Tell me, Floyd,” the federal agent
urged, “you pulled the Union Station job os
in Kansas City, didn’t you?” 4
Pretty Boy’s eyes were already begin-
ning to glaze. “I’m dying,” he gasped. “I .
know I’m going out—like I always said
I would, full of lead. But I'll tell you
lousy cops nothing. Nothing at all.”
And he died without another word. In
his pockets the G-men found $120, paltry
wages for five years of robbery and murder.
Back in Sallisaw, when Pretty Boy was, '
buried, 20,000 persons crowded into the
little town of 2000 normal population. He
probably would have liked that, if he had
known anything about it. a
Note: Beulah Baird and Rose Ash were
first convicted and given three years each
in Kentucky, then took an appeal and, on
February 4, 1932, were acquitted in a
second trial.
WALK A LONELY STREET
(Continued from page 17)
no one, however, specified exactly what
kind of action.
City Manager Harold H. Burton, later
an associate justice of the Supreme Court,
issued an executive order in which he,
personally, became the head of Cleveland’s
police department. He demanded a daily
report from Chief Matowitz until further
notice, and ordered that Lieutenant Story,
aided by Detective Sergeant Koryta, as-
sume command of a special squad to track
down: Janet Blood’s savage killer.
Now, three of the victims, including the
Blood girl, had informed Story that the
murderer’s gun was apparently of small
calibre and that it was nickel plated.
Story’s first move was an attempt to
check the weapon.
His ‘squad was dispatched to institute
inquiries at all sporting goods stores, sec-
ond hand stores, and pawnshops where
such an article might have been purchased.
Forty-eight hours later, Detective George
Clark brought home some vital information.
The owner of a tire shop situated at
Hough Avenue and 82nd Street had stated
that on or about December 4th some tires
and tubes had been taken from his shop.
Since then he had also been unable to find
his gun which was a nickel plated .38
calibre. revolver.
When Clark asked if the proprietor sus-
pected anyone the answer was affirmative
and emphatic.
“I sure do. I think it was a guy who re-
cently worked for me. The cash register
was short so often I fired him. He never
turned in the key he had to the store.”
Clark said, “What’s his name and ad-
dress ?”
His name, it appeared, was Edward
Ralph. His address was that of a rooming
house in a shabby section of town. A check
with the landlady revealed that Ralph had
moved the previous October, leaving no
forwarding address.
“Well,” said Story, “at least we know
whom we're looking for. And we have a
fair description. Get everybody on it right
away.”
Another day of dogged, tireless inter-
rogation resulted finally in the discovery
of a service station attendant who worked
the night shift, a man who was an ac-
quaintance of Edward Ralph.
He told Detectives Clark and Orley
May that Ralph often passed the gas
station which was at 79th Street and Wade
Park Avenue in the early hours of the
morning.
“I’m pretty sure he lives around here
somewhere,” he added. “I figure he’s on
the way home when I see him about two
or three o’clock in the morning.”
On Lieutenant Story’s orders, Clark and
May waited at the station. Shortly after
3 a.m. their vigilance was rewarded. A
shabbily dressed young man with a round
face strode by. The attendant nodded to
Clark.
“That’s he “That’s Ed
Ralph.”
Clark and May left the station, followed
the shabbily dressed young man. He turned
into a house at 8010 Wade Park Avenue.
A moment later a light flashed on in a
rear second story window.
May stood by while Clark, obeying or-
ders, telephoned Story. A squad was dis-
patched under the command of Sergeant
Emil Ziegler. At 3:30 the raiders burst
into Ralph’s room.
The youth lay on his bed reading. He
looked up inquiringly as the officers en-
tered. Clark said, “Get up. You’re under
arrest. We’re going to headquarters.”
Ralph looked at him for a long mo-
ment, then shrugged his shoulders. He got
off the bed and reached for his coat. In
the meantime, Sergeant Ziegler and his
men thoroughly searched the room. They
him,” said.
found neither the nickel plated gun nor 2
anything else which pointed to Edward
Ralph as the man they wanted.
POLICE FILES |
vl
m At headqi
was but eight«
by Story, C
Prosecutor R
all their que
eyed frankness
a revolver in
never attackec
to the officers
His manner
that the office
vinced that t
“But,” said
him until m
of the victim:
make sure.”
On the fo
nison and Be
They were u
Before they
shook his he:
“I’m terrible
I meant no f
yelled and s'
The officer |
nials of the
in amazemen
women posit
man who ha _
“It must I
the officers.
{’m sober. /
don’t know
“Where,” : |
“I hid it
pile of boa
willingly ga
his friend. [
to look for
He found
Ralph’s friet
there.
“I recall
“that I hid
Story exc
witz. If th
it absolved
Blood, a ©
now certain
most unfor
ballistics e
bullet extra
was too mis
fication.
Ralph wa
less and co
mitted all t
Janet Bloo«
twenty-seve
the tire sh
Blood he {
“IT could:
was so sor
Penderhag
after it ha
in January
Prosecut:
Story and
“We knc
the Blood
eye witnes:
have a cas
of the ott
tried separ:
est and try
It was ¢
of Margeri
These cas
February |
attorneys,
shooting 1
assault.
Commor
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POLICE |
a?
Here the sadist dealt out death for
the first time to climax a long
. Series of outrages on lone women.
M by D. L. Champion
No author's name is more familiar to readers of true
crime stories than that of D. L. Champion. A native of
Australia, he has made the United States his home since
the end of World War | during which he served with the
British Army. An extensive traveler, he digs up original
material at the source for his many articles and books.
His latest book, ‘Run The Wild River", is a thrilling ac-
count of the traffic in Mexican wetbacks. Fiction readers
know him for his famous detective Inspector Allhoff.
i a
« wows hn! *
2 be Gem a Ce
~ al ‘~ “a a” 3 *
16
length of iron pipe. As she still struggled the iron pipe was
brought down viciously on her skull. An hour later a truck
driver, seeing the unconscious figure at the edge of the curb,
picked Leona Horstan up and rushed her to St. Alexis Hospital.
Five days before Christmas, 23-year-old Margerie Dunnison,
entered the grounds of the home where she worked as a
domestic. A dark, menacing figure emerged from the foliage,
aimed a revolver at her with one hand and seized her with
the other.
Margerie shrieked and struggled desperately. She felt hot’
breath against her ear and a hoarse voice said, “You little
fool. You'll be sorry you yelled.”
That could well have been true, for a moment later the
revolver cracked and five bullets hammered into the girl’s body.
Her employers, aroused by the shooting, drove the bleeding
girl to the Huron Road Hospital.
_ Two days later, at 9 o’clock in the evening, Bella Penderhag,
a bride of three months, walked down Utica Avenue on her
way to the Lexington Theatre. Suddenly, a dark figure with
_ an unshaven face materialized beside her. A gun muzzle was
thrust in her side.
A voice, harsh and menacing, said, “Let’s go for a walk
where it isn’t so crowded.”
Bella, having read of the shooting of the Dunnison girl, was
panic stricken. Desperately, she tried to buy off her assailant.
She held out her purse. She said, “Here’s everything I have.
It’s all yours.”
The stranger opened the handbag, extracted three dollars,
then threw the purse in the gutter.
“That’s fine,” he said. “But I want something beside money.
Come along with me.”
But Bella Penderhag had no intention of going along, no
matter what her fate might be. She lifted her voice and cried
shrilly for help.
The hoarse voice said, “I warned you—damn you!” and
pressed the trigger of his revolver.
The girl fell with a bullet in her abdomen and another in
her back. The cashier of the Lexington Theatre, hearing the
shots, rushed from the box office, saw what had occurred and
called an ambulance. Bella was taken, forthwith, to the Charity
Hospital and Cleveland’s police department reached, collective-
ly, for the aspirin bottle.
M@ From the descriptions supplied by the victims the police
were certain that all the attacks had been committed by a
single man. The editorial writers for the newspapers clamored
for his apprehension. They pointed out that for one individual
to terrorize a million was an utterly egregious situation. The
police department was criticized in blistering terms.
The chairman of the American Legion’s Community Council
called upon ex-service men to patrol the streets in order that
Cleveland might “be safe for our wives, sisters, mothers and
daughters.”
Spurred and nettled by this criticism, Safety Director Edwin
D. Barry installed Inspector George Matowitz as his new
police chief. Days off were abolished as were all furloughs.
Each of the 870 members of the force were assigned to seven
days a week, twelve hour duty.
On the day after New Years, both Bella Penderhag and
Margerie Dunnison were reported out of danger. In addition,
the ballistics experts announced that both women had been
shot with bullets fired from the same weapon.
The composite description of the attacker was to the effect
that he was in his early twenties, five feet, six or seven inches
tall and weighing, perhaps, 135 to 150 pounds,
Literally hundreds of suspects, known sex deviates and men
with records, were brought in for questioning. The victims failed
to identify any of them.
POLICE FILES
wee
™ {Plainclothesmen mingled with the mourners at Janet
Blood's funeral, on the lookout for suspects.
Janet, only sixteen and a highschool honor student,
lived with her father in the house seen at right.
One murder didn't quench the ravisher's bloodlust;
he killed again, hiding the body under brush.
Public -indignation grew to tremendous proportions. The
safety director, Chief Matowitz, and the police force was
far more worried than they let it appear. They were con-
cerned not only because of the general clamor, but because
they knew quite well that unless the marauder was swiftly
captured the chances were better than good that he would
commit murder.
In that theory they were absolutely right.
Janet Frater Blood was blonde, beautiful and sixteen years
old. She was the daughter of a widower, William Blood, and
an honor student at West High School.
At half past seven on the evening of January 3rd, 1930,
Janet Blood left her home at 1308 West 108th Street for the
purpose of returning a book she had borrowed from a friend
who lived on Clifton Boulevard.
The night was dark and cold. A thin layer of snow sleeted the
ground. The trees were bare and the streets were silent.-
At 106th Street, Janet Blood became aware of someone at
her elbow. She turned her head sharply to one side. At the
same moment a hand seized her elbow.
A hoarse voice said, “You’re the best looking girl I’ve seen
this month. I want everything you’ve got.”
The muscles of her throat tightened with fear and her
mouth was suddenly dry. She said, “I don’t have anything.
I didn’t even bring my purse.” :
The stranger smiled without mirth. “You've got enough
for me. Let’s take a walk. And don’t do any yelling or I'll
have to shoot you.”
He lifted his right hand and the street lights were reflected
grimly from the nickel plate of a revolver. —
Janet Blood’s next move was sheer reflex action. With a
tremendous wrench she broke the hold on her elbow. She
screamed with all her lung power and ran at top speed along
Clifton Boulevard.
POLICE FILES
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The revolver cracked once and Janet’s scream shrilled into
‘silence. She fell to the pavement.
A few moments later a motorist saw her. He picked up
the bloody, unconscious girl and sped her to St. John’s Hos-
pital where it was found that the bullet had smashed through
a kidney and lodged in her diaphragm. The medical men also
announced what the police had feared: that the chances of
Janet Blood’s surviving were few.
Some six hours after the attack, Janet Blood regained con-
sciousness long enough to tell her story to Lieutenant Frank
W. Story and Detective Sergeant Edward Koryta. Her de-
scription of her attacker jibed with that of the other women.
Janet Blood added that he had worn a frayed tweed suit and
a dark gray cap.
Now the hunt was intensified. Chief Matowitz selected ten
of his men, instructed them to dress as women and patrol
the isolated sections of the city to act as lures for the crim-
inal.
During the next two days, as Janet Blood fought the losing
battle for her life, the attacker did not approach the dis-
guised officers. He did however attack two other women. The
first he dragged into a garage on the night of January 4th,
assaulted her and let her go.
On the next evening, he attempted to pull Miss Sylvia
Harling into a driveway. He threatened her with the gun which
she tried to knock from his hand. During the struggle a passing
car apparently frightened him. He fled without harming the
girl who staggered to a nearby service station and fainted.
@ On the morning of January 19th, Janet Blood died. By
that date the police had interrogated no less than two hundred
suspects. Now, the editurial writers unleashed their most con-
demnatory adjectives. Civic societies lifted indignant voices.
Action was demanded on all sides; (Continued on page 60)
17
—
apartment, then fumbled in her pocket-
hook; she appeared unable to find her key.
She beat on the door and called and called,
her voice growing louder and louder.
Finally, a stocky, partly dressed man flung
the door open from within and began
cursing her. Where had she been, he de-
manded angrily, and why hadn’t she come
home? He had been looking for her in
every bar in the neighborhood.
Mrs. Brady and Mrs. Martolf stepped to
the fore, brushed past the angry man, and
insisted on talking with Frankie. Mrs.
Logan mumbled something in a weak at-
tempt to explain the strange man’s pres-
ence, then led the way to a back room
where Frankie lay on a cot.
The child, in replying to questions, ap-
peared halting and fearful. Yes, he had
seen Mary Jane on the rear porch, but he
didn’t know what had happened to her.
When he had left the porch to come in
and go to bed, Mary Jane had stayed out
there alone. é :
Less than satisfied, Mrs. Brady and Mrs.
Martoff made their way out of the apart-
ment, and the raging man (apparently
Mrs. Logan’s lover) slammed the door be-
hind them. Then, from within, the man
could be heard cursing and ranting.
Standing perplexed in the hall, Mrs.
Martoff whispered to her sister: “T think
we ought to call the police!”—and Mrs.
Brady agreed. The call was made.
While the group awaited the coming of
the police, the strange man briefly emerged
from the Logan apartment; he was fully
dressed and his mood had changed. “Has
the girl been found?” he asked solicitously,
and now in the light it could be seen for
the first time that he was in his early 30s
and that he had a round face and narrow
eyes.
When informed that Mary Jane had not
been located, he returned to the apart-
ment, closed the door and all was quiet.
Patrolmen Thomas Osborn and Thomas
Ellis, in a radio car, answered the police
call. They went to the back porch and
cast a searchlight beam down the steep
bank behind the house leading into Gor-
don Park.
Patrolman Osborn scrambled down the
slope and hunted among the park bushes.
“Here she is!” he called after a few
seconds, “My heavens, she has been mur-
dered!”
Mrs. Martoff’s card-playing men friends
joined the officer and identified Mary
Jane’s body. The girl had been strangled
and ravished, seemingly; her clothes had
been torn off her and her body was half-
covered with leaves.
Patrolman Ellis hurried out to the police
car and used the radio-telephone to com-
municate with headquarters. Inspector
Frank Story, he was told, was not on duty
but would be informed at his home of Mary
Jane’s murder. Meanwhile, Detective
Lieuts. George Smyth and Frank Mer-
naugh and Detective Sgt. Thomas White
would hurry to the scene.
The headquarters detectives were
soon viewing the body. Informed of the
strange goings-on in the Logan apartment,
they climbed back up the hill and knocked
on the apartment door. There was no an-
swer to their repeated poundings. ;
Lieutenant Smyth circled the house and
found an open window to the Logan apart-
ment. He scrambled in—into the darkness
and the moment his foot touched the
floor, he received a blow to the jaw. He
grappled with his assaliant, cried out for
help, and the other officers broke in the
door. :
The man wrestling with Lieutenant
Smyth continued to fight furiously, but
was in time subdued. “I thought you were
a burglar!” he panted, when handcuffs
were finally snapped about his wrists.
“What do you mean—climbihg through a
guy’s window?”
“Burglar—rot!” snorted Smyth. “You
heard us yelling for you to open up—that
we were the police! ... All right, boys,
bring in those searchlights and let’s see
what has been going on here!”
At that moment, Inspector Story arrived
and he followed the patrolman with the
searchlights into the Logan apartment. A
beam shot across the room and picked up
the features of the manacled man.
“Bddie Ralph!” exclaimed the inspector
bitterly. “Damn it, Ralph, I knew they
should have burned you thirteen years
ago! But now we've gol you. You can't
kill a second girl and beat the chair!”
Auxiliary lighting rigged in the apart: |
ment disclosed Mrs. Logan cowering ina |
corner, with puffed lips and a black eye; \
Ralph had slugged her unmercifully an |
hour before. |
Little Frankie Logan still lay in his cot,
the covers over his head, but now that
Ralph was in custody the boy added to the |
story he had related while the search for
Mary Jane Brady was still in progress.
Before 10 o’clock, he said, he had been
out on the porch talking with Mary Jane.
Ralph appeared and ordered him to bed. |
Soon thereafter Frankie heard terrifying |
sounds from the adjoining living room, |
which could be reached directly from the |
porch. Then all was quiet for a few
moments and Ralph came into the bed-
room to warn Frankie that if he ever told
what he had heard that would be the end
of him.
Bearing out the boy’s statemént were
bloodstains Inspector Story and his men
found on the living-room carpet and blood
of the same type as Mary Jane’s subse-
quently recovered from Ralph’s under- |
clothes.
Questioned at headquarters, Ralph
finally admitted killing the girl “to quiet |
her,” and (reminiscent of his 1930 con- |
fessions) he attributed his lustful desires
to the liquor he had drunk during the
course of the evening while vainly hunt-
ing Mrs. Logan.
These contentions, put forth as extenu-
ating circumstances apparently, did Ralph
no good. A grand jury indicted him for
murder in the first degree and four
psychiatrists termed him sane but a
“menace to society.”
Ralph elected a trial before three judges
rather than a jury. The proceedings were
held in June, 1943, and the triumvirate
who heard his case found him guilty and
sentenced him to die. One of the judges
declared: “It’s the first time in my thirty-
one years on the bench that I have agreed
with a death penalty, but in this case I do.”
On October 4, 1943, Ralph was electrocuted |
at the Ohio Penitentiary.
He Wanted Her Dead
[Continued from page 25]
which had tightened her throat. Her
numbed mind recoiled from the sordid,
sickening realization of what was shortly
going to happen to her.
At 11 o’clock that night, a farmer in
Auburn Township of Camden went to in-
vestigate a faint moaning at his front door.
He found Wanda Dworecki lying on the
porch. She was stripped naked, and her
head and face had been beaten to a pulp.
A Cooper Hospital ambulance rushed
the girl to the emergency ward where it
was discovered that in addition to being
savagely beaten, Wanda had been sub-
jected to indescribable sexual torture. The
shocked doctors immediately notified
Lawrence A. Doran, chief of Camden
County detectives. Doran telephoned the
girl’s father.
The Reverend Dworecki got out of bed
to answer the phone. He was aghast at the
officer’s report and couldn’t believe that
Wanda was not safe in her room, asleep.
“Let me go and see,” the minister said.
“P’'m certain youre making some terrible
mistake. Just hold the phone while I go
look for myself.” .
52 ad
When Dworecki picked up the phone ,
again, his voice was hoarse with strain.
“She's not in her room,” he admitted anx-
iously. “Where did you say the injured
girl was? Cooper Hospital?”
“Yes,” Doran said. “Get a good grip on
yourself, Reverend. They tell me she is
hurt pretty badly. I'll send down a car to
pick you up.”
The resident surgeon at the hospital
permitted only the briefest of interviews
with Wanda, that night. The girl, quieted
with sedatives, was conscious when her
father was ushered into the emergency
ward. Their eyes met for the space of a
second, then Wanda turned away her head.
The doctor motioned Dworecki out of the
room.
In the corridor, the reverend spoke
briefly to the chief of detectives, but he
was too incoherent from shock to be of
much help. Realizing this, Doran told him
gently, “We'll talk about it in the morning.
I take it you didn’t know Wanda was out,
tonight, Reverend?”
“No,” Dworecki said.
“Fas she ever skipped out like this be-
fore?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Dworecki said.
“Wanda is a sweet and innocent girl. In
the past, my will has always been hers.”
For two weeks Wanda remained on the
critical list at the hospital. Her skull was
fractured and her internal injuries were
slow in responding to care. However, once
the mending process began, she healed
quite rapidly and within a month, was well
enough to be discharged.
The name of Peter Shewchuk was
brought briefly into the probe when De-
tective Tom Murphy, one of Doran’s ace
investigators, learned that the young man
had for some time been living in_the
Dworecki home. Wanda insisted that Pete
had not been one of the rapists, and her
father confirmed that the youth was no
longer a guest in the rectory at the time
of the attack. Efforts to locate Shewchuk
were unavailing. Evidently, the blond
youth had left Camden immediately after
the flareup with the pastor.
Chief of Detectives Doran was anything
but satisfied with the negative results o!
his investigation. The search for the rapists
and the black sedan continued, but as the
weeks wore on any hope that the mer
would be apprehended became more anc
more remote.
The Reverend Dworecki accepted th
sympathies of his parishioners in a publi
statement from the pulpit, thanking th:
members of the congregation for the:
prayers and good wishes.
The clergyman seemed to seek refug:
from his private thoughts in an increas
ing devotion to his calling. He spent muc!
a
ee.
her
he
screamed for help, the terror shot her twice, once in the
back and once in the abdomen, then disappeared.
Miraculously, Mrs. Pschock was able to keep her feet—
and her head—and to stagger onward to the theater. She was
rushed to a hospital and, as in the case of Miss Gallagher,
Mrs. Pschock’s life was saved by the promptness with which
she received medical attention.
The tales of these two—as well as the stories of the Terror’s
sixteen preceding victims—were, of course, told to the police,
and for two months now the department had been the subject
of harsh criticism. For their part, the police were too busy
to take time to answer the complaints of the general public.
Among the busiest were Inspector George Matowitz, in
charge of the investigation, and Detective Lieut. Frank Story,
who had interrogated each of the eighteen victims and had
personally searched for clues at the scenes of all eighteen
crimes.
But aside from the scant description he had obtained of
the Terror, the lieutenant’s efforts, with but one exception,
had availed him nothing. The excepted item or rather items,
were the .38 caliber bullets recovered from the persons of
Miss Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock. They all had been fired
from the same revolver! The lieutenant detailed a squad
of men to check on recent sales of .38s.
The Terror took a breather over the holidays, but was
back at his horrifying work on the night of January 3, 1930. At
7:30 that evening, Janet Frater Blood, 16, walked from her
home on West 108th Street to return a book she had bor-
rowed to friends on Clifton Boulevard.
Soon after Janet reached Clifton Boulevard, a man stepped
out of the darkness, threatened her with a nickel-plated
revolver, and said: “Hello, beautiful. Quiet now, and I won’t
have to shoot. I want everything you’ve got.”
“I have nothing,” gasped Janet. _
“Then I’ll take this,” said the man, and caught the girl
by the fur collar of her coat.
Janet screamed and jerked away. The Terror fired once,
hitting her in the back, then fled. Morris Nathan, a neigh-
borhood resident, was driving along Clifton Boulevard and
heard the shot. A moment later he spotted Janet lying un-
conscious on the sidewalk. He loaded her into his car and
drove her to St. John’s Hospital.
The bullet was found to have pierced a kidney and to have
lodged in the diaphragm. Doctors hesitated to probe for it.
Janet’s condition was critical, they announced, and although
she regained consciousness in a matter of hours and was
able to tell Lieutenant Story what had happened, the doctors
still feared that she would not live.
For a variety of reasons, this nineteenth crime shocked
Cleveland more than had any of the others. Janet was the
youngest of the Terror’s victims and the most seriously in-
jured. She was a lovely blonde and the only daughter of
William Blood, a widower. An honor student. at ‘West Side
High, she was scheduled to graduate at the end of the month.
Following announcement that Janet needed blood for
transfusions, the entire high school basketball squad marched
in a body to the hospital and offered themselves as donors.’
The police matched the public’s outraged feelings with
vigorous action. All departmental leaves were canceled and
nearly 900 officers were put on seven-day-a-week, twelve-"
hour-a-day duty. A hundred uniformed men were ordered
into plainclothes and assigned to night patrol in the city’s
residential areas. :
In addition, a dozen of the younger and slenderer officers,
dressed in women’s clothes, loitered at night along dark
streets as lures for the Terror. But this and all other moves
failed. The Terror struck again and again.
On the night of January 4, only twenty-four hours after
shooting Janet Blood, he accosted another ’teen-aged girl on
a well-lighted East Side street between two heavily traveled
boulevards and forced her into a garage, where he kept her
for a half hour and then let her go. The girl emerged sob-
bing and desolate.
And then the following night, the Terror’s victim was Miss
Betty Kmetz, 18. At 9:30, she stepped off a streetcar at East
105th Street and Ashbury Avenue (the same neighborhood
in which Rose David had been set upon two weeks before)
and proceeded toward the East Boulevard home where she
worked as a maid.
A man with a nickel-plated revolver halted her and tried’
to pull her into a dark driveway. Miss Kmetz kicked and
fought and strove to knock the gun from her assailant’s hand.
Then suddenly, she turned and [Continued on page 49]
The body of the second murder victim, strangled by
the rapist-killer, above, was discovered in the thick
shrubbery of Gordon Park, left, by searching police.
Hopkinson and Waugh went to the
sheriff's office and Hopkinson told Cap-
tain Brown about finding Eva’s hoarded
possessions.
“Good work,” Brown said. “I’ll have
two detectives out there right away. If
they search in every possible hiding place,
I'll bet they will find the gun that was
used to kill Max Keller. Then our next
job is to find Eva.”
“I’m sure she isn’t far from here,” Hop-
kinson said. “She wouldn’t leave her pre-
cious treasures.”
Waugh got on the telephone again and
spent an hour calling real estate agents
farther afield. At last he turned and shook
his head.
“No luck. She must have rented a place
under an assumed name.”
The three men considered several pos-
sibilities. Then Hopkinson said: “I’ve got
it! A car can’t run without gas and oil.”
“That’s right. Let’s check the gas sta-
tions,’ Brown said. “We have her auto
license number. All we need is copies of
her picture.”
A framed picture of Eva, fairly recent,
had been found in the Arrowhead High-
lands place. Brown ordered twenty copies
made of it. An hour later he was handing
them out to a score of deputies.
“Fan out in every direction from the
Arrowhead Highlands cottage,” he said.
“Try to find a gas station attendant who
remembers a. woman who looks like this
driving a Cadillac.” He gave them the li-
cense number. “Phone me at once if you
get a lead.”
The deputies went out in cars, while
Brown and Hopkinson remained in the
office to await results. During the day, a
call came in from one of the men at the
cottage. at had not yet found the gun. .
i
“But we did find something else, Cap-
tain,” the detective said. “An empty wal-
let with the initials M. K.—Max Keller.
You remember, his stolen wallet was sup-
posed to have about $500 in it. If the
empty wallet was in her possession, she
must have been the one who killed him!”
The detectives continued to search for
the gun. The deputies went from one gas
station to another trying to get a line on
Eva. But several days passed without
further results.
Then at last a deputy phoned in. “I’m
at a gas station on Rocky Loop Drive,”
he reported. “The owner remembers the
woman from her picture and also the car,
though he didn’t notice the license. He
says she lives about half a mile down the
drive.”
Brown and Hopkinson hurried out to
the gas station, and the owner went with
them to a small cottage not far from the
road.
There they found Eva Keller, asleep on
a bed in the midst of another disordered
collection of her loot. They woke her up.
As she stared at them dazedly, they led
her out to a sheriff’s car and took her to
the Crestline station.
The two detectives who had been
searching the Arrowhead Highlands cot-
tage were now shifted to Rocky Loop
Road with instructions to try and find the
gun. Captain Brown argued that a hoarder
like Eva would never dispose of anything
—not even a murder gun.
Meanwhile, Eva was questioned rigor-
ously by detectives and deputies.
She kept shaking her head. “I didn’t kill
my husband,” she said. “It was just like I
told you. I was at a movie when it hap-
pened, and I’ve got proof. I accidentally
left my scarf there and went back for
it,”
Questioned for hours, she stuck
staunchly to her story, and at last the
interrogation was given -up. She was
placed in the charge of a matron. .
Actually, the authorities didn’t have
enough against Eva to book her for mur-
der. The empty wallet might, for instance,
have been another wallet of Keller’s. Or a
good lawyer could argue that it might
have belonged to anyone with the initials
But there were other charges against
her that Captain Brown thought would
stick—theft and arson. The captain held
her while detectives took some of the
merchandise found in the two cottages to
department stores.
Article after article was identified. A
store detective, shown Eva’s picture, said
that she had been on the establishment’s
“watch list” as a suspect, but that she
had never been caught stealing merchan-
dise.
Waugh and fire insurance experts con-
tinued to investigate the insurance angle.
They were able to hand Captain Brown
enough evidence to warrant arrest. Eva
was at once charged with the two crimes
—theft and arson—and lodged in the
county jail.
While she was there, detectives found
a black-handled Smith & Wesson .38 cal-
iber revolver under a mattress in the
Rocky Loop Drive cabin. It was wrapped
in gloves and tied with baling wire to ef-
fect a home-made silencer.
The gun was sent to ballistics experts
who compared it with the slugs taken
from Max Keller’s body. They pro-
nounced that it was Eva’s gun that had
killed Keller. Before this report was re-
ceived, Eva had already been tried and
found guilty on both the theft and arson
charge. She was sentenced to from two
to twenty years in the Tehachapi Prison
for Women.
It took the authorities about a year of
further investigation before they felt
ready to try Eva Keller—actually, in view
of her short-lived third marriage, her
name was Eva Keller Becker—on a mur-
der charge.
She chose to be tried before a judge
rather than a jury. During July, 1950, she
stood before Superior Judge Thomas L.
Ambrose in Los Angeles. The trial lasted
seven days. As a long series of witnesses
paraded before the judge, Eva sat sul-
lenly, hardly taking her eyes from the
floor. On July 24, Judge Ambrose found
' Eva Keller guilty of murder and sen-
tenced her to life in prison.
(The name Ezra Horton is fictitious to protect
the identity of a person innocently involved in
the investigation.—The Editor.)
Mystery of the Sex Monster
[Continued from page 15]
ran toward a filling station, where she fell
in a faint. An attendant called the police,
who immediately blocked off the whole
area. But somehow the Terror slipped
through.
With these new atrocities bringing the
roving sex monster’s attacks up to twenty-
one, a Cleveland American Legion execu-
tive called upon every ex-serviceman to
assist in the search for the Terror “so that
ch eae will be safe for our women-
olk.”
So far as Janet Blood was concerned the
appeal was in vain. On January 17, Janet
underwent a last resort operation for the
removal of the Terror’s bullet from her
diaphragm. Before she went on the table,
Janet had a period of clarity. She appeared
resigned to death and lamented only that
“now poor Daddy will be alone.” f
The bullet removed from Janet turned
out to be of .38 caliber, but so battered
that it was valueless ballistically; experts
could not swear that it had been fired from
the same yun that had wounded Miss
Gallagher and Mrs. Pschock. On January
19, two days after the operation, Janet
Blood died.
Coincident with Janet’s death, Acting
City Manager Harold H. Burton took per-
sonal charge of the Police Department.
Lieutenant Story was given a squad of
twelve picked men and instructed to de-'
vote himself exclusively to the hunt for
the Terror.
The lieutenant and his aides studied the
records of every man under 25 arrested
in Cleveland during the past few years and
interrogated all who were not in prison.
In addition, the lieutenant pin-pointed a
map of the city, marking the areas in
which the twenty-one attacks had oc-
curred. The bulk of them, he found, had
occurred in a rough rectangle bounded b
East 105th and 79th Streets and by Hou
and Park Avenues. Then the lieutenant
ordered Detectives George Clark and
Orley May to re-appraise every other
crime, whether solved or not, committed
within that area in the past few months.
For a starter, May and Clark went to
work on four burglaries, and in their in-
quiries concerning one dug up something
interesting. On December 4, just sixteen
days before the Terror first used a gun, an
East 82nd Street tire shop had been en-
tered and a few tubes stolen. The loot was
small and little attention had been jtiven
the case at the time. Since then, however,
the proprietor of the tire shop had dis-
covered his .38 nickel-plated revolver
missing from the drawer in which he kept
it.
“Do you suspect anybody?” one of the
detectives now asked him.
“Well, yes,” the tire shop man replied
reluctantly. “Last summer, I had a helper
and he is the only person I can think of
who knew where I hid that gun. Again,
‘he wasn’t the most honest fellow in the
world; I missed a few dollars from the cash
register a couple of times and I had to let
him go. He was surly, and when I fired
him he muttered something about getting
even with me. Now if it was Eddie who
broke in and took those tubes on December
4, maybe he swiped the gun at the same
time.”
“Eddie?”
“Edward Ralph was his name.”
“How old was he?”
“Nineteen, maybe twenty.”
“What did he look like?”
“Medium size, but heavily built. He had
a round face and sort of narrow eyes.”
“Where did he live?” pressed Officer
Clark, who realized the description and
age matched the sketchy outline of the
Terror.
The tire shop proprietor checked his
records and supplied the address of a
rooming house a couple of blocks away.
“But T would be surprised if he was still
there,” he said. °
“You haven’t seen him recently?”
“Not since | fired him.”
“Maybe you know the names of a couple
of his friends?”
This question was met by a shake of the
head. “He didn’t make friends easily and
he was always complaining he didi’t have
> 49
‘a. i
I was certainly no secret to his friends
in Clifton Heights, Pennsylvania, that
when Harrison Shelby went to bed, he
slept like a log. “I hit the sack,” Shelby
told people, “and I’m out like a light. It
practically takes a hot foot and a pail of
cold water to wake me up in the morn-
ing. There isn’t a ready-made alarm clock
to be bought that could jar me out of my
slumber.
And it was true. Rising in time to
scrounge up a quick breakfast before
catching the 8:15 to Philadelphia was
Harrison Shelby’s great and constant
concern—as well as that of the office
manager in the Chestnut Street bank
where Shelby was employed.
The young bachelor’s fiancee finally
came to his rescue. For her boy friend’s
birthday, she presented him with an alarm
clock which had been especially con-
structed by a local jeweler. Although it
was small and handsomely mounted in
pigskin and silver, it was provided with
a bull-throated alarm which rang for five
minutes like the strident voice of doom.
Now, at last, his problem would be
solved,
Harrison was delighted. Happily, the
brazen clangor of the bell banished sleep
in no uncertain tones. Each morning at
7, Shelby arose with a start and fought
his way out of the covers like a boxer at
the beginning of a round. There was
time for a shower, a cup of coffee, and a
leisurely stroll to the station. He was not
again late at the office until Thursday,
April 21, 1955.
In the early morning hours on that
Thursday, while Harrison slept in the
bedroom of his tastefully furnished Oak
Lane home, a burglar jimmied a side win-
dow and entered the house. The thief
made little noise, not that Shelby would
have heard him if he did. Carefully and
methodically, the crook made his rounds.
He found a sole leather suitcase in a front
closet and systematically went about the
business of filling it with, Harrison’s
valuables as his victim lay blissfully
asleep.
The burglar’s last efforts were con-
cerned with looting the sleeping man’s
bedroom. He packed two of Shelby’s best
suits into the valise and then dropped in
50. ?
BURGLAR ALARM
a silver picture frame and the expensive
looking alarm clock. What if the last two
items were mementos of love and devo-
tion, the thief was not concerned with
sentimentality,
Half an hour later, as the crowded
southbound local thundered to the Race
Street subway station in downtown
Philadelphia, early morning commuters
were almost startled out of their skins
by a raucous and insistent clangor which
suddenly drowned out the pounding of
the wheels on the rails. A short, heavy-
set man dressed in an army field jacket
was the most startled of all, since the
noise seemed to be coming from an ex-
pensive suitcase which he was holding by
the handle.
-The short man began to sweat. The
train was just pulling up to the Race
Street platform. He kicked the suitcase,
but the noise continued. People stared at
him and edged cautiously away. Nothing
he could think of could relieve his painful
embarrassment.
Desperation gripped the short man and
shook him hard. He kicked the suitcase
again, then dropped it and charged for
the nearest exit. The conductor grabbed
him and whistled for the subway police
when the train door finally opened.
Taken to the nearest Precinct house,
Chester A. Chernovsky stood by sullenly
while officers opened the mysterious suit-
case and sorted through its contents. The
loot in the bag had been well selected
and was obviously worth.almost a thou-
sand dollars. One small article among his
ill-gotten gains had trapped him.
From a name tag in one of the suits,
the police learned the identity of the
burglary victim. Clifton Heights detec-
tives, arriving at Harrison Shelby’s home,
managed to awaken the soundly sleeping
bachelor by dint of much pounding on
both front and rear doors.
Shelby preferred charges against the
confessed thief, known to the police as a
two time loser, and caught the 9:43 to
Philadelphia astounded by the virtues of
his unique clock which had been set to
wake him up, but which had done him
a greater service and caught a thief
instead. —John Misler
a girl. But that didn’t stop him from talk-
ing about them-—-girls, | mean. He was a
great boaster about what:he would do
if he got himself a girl.” Then the tire
dealer remembered something. “When
Eddie wasn’t working, he used to hang out
now and then at night in that gas station
on 79th Street.” :
The detectives thanked their informant
and took their departure. They checked
at the rooming house, to encounter the ex-
pected. Edward Ralph had ducked out of
the place in October, owing rent, and his
present whereabouts were unknown.
But at the 79th Street filling station—
open all night—Clark and May had better
luck. A night attendant knew Ralph and
had seen him pass the place recently at 2
or 3 a.m. Moreover, the attendant was of
the opinion that Ralph was living in a
rooming house in the neighborhood.
Clark and May consulted with Lieu-
tenant Story, who began to see a ray of
encouragement. So far, close to 200 men
had been questioned in connection with
the Terror crimes, but the Edward Ralph
angle looked like the best bet yet. The
lieutenant instructed Clark and May to
frequent the filling station until Ralph was
again sighted.
This the officers did and their vigil met
with success at 1 o’clock the morning of
January 28—more than three months after
the first of the Terror’s twenty-one crimes.
The detectives were concealed in the fill-
ing station office when the attendant, who
had been cooperating with them fully,
hurried in to inform them that Ralph had
just passed.
Clark and May followed at a discreet
distance. A few blocks away they observed
their quarry enter a rooming house on
Wade Park Avenue, and then, a few mo-
ments later, a light went on in a ground
floor window at the rear of the building.
One officer boosted the other up, and
Ralph was seen reading in bed. Clark re-
mained on the scene, while May tele-
phoned Lieutenant Story. The latter ap-
peared in short order, accompanied by
two other detectives. At 1:45, the police
entered the rooming house and took Ralph
into custody. “Where’s the gun?” Story
demanded, after a search had failed to dis-
close it.
“What gun?” asked Ralph. His startled,
then pungnacious expression changing to
one of pained innocence. “And what’s this
all about anyway—breaking into a guy’s
room in the middle of the night?”
“You'll find out,” said Story. “All right,
boys, take him down to headquarters, and
we'll have a few of those women look him
over.”
Between 9 a.m. and noon, Edward Ralph
was paraded before a succession of the
Terror victims. All saw something familiar
about him, although several felt they could
not positively identify him. A number of
the women who had been actually raped
asked to be excused from further par-
ticipation in the proceedings; should they
be required to testify in open court the
experience would embarrass them ter-
ribly.
On the other hand, Miss Gallagher and
Mrs. Pschock, who had been wounded by
the Terror’s gun but not further molested,
were certain that it had been Ralph who
shot them and declared themselves will-
ing to mount the witness stand and swear
to it.
For a minute or so, the prisoner lis-
tened stolidly to these two latter accusers
and said nothing. Then with the utmost
coolness, he began apologizing. “I’m very
sorry, ladies. I really had no desire to
hurt you and wouldn’t have if you hadn't
resisted me. You'll recall that I warned
et -_—
you. | ordered
you insisted o:
choice but to pi
to quiet you.”
The women
Story’s eyebrov
to sign a confe
The prisoner
only in connect
Miss Gallaghe:
nied the other :
resulted in r:
vehemently th:
Blood. ~
For the tim«
took what he co
signed a statem
lagher and Ps
nights I was dr
I’ve had a few
women.”
“Now. what
pressed, once |
obtained. “Whe:
“T threw it in
“Where in th:
“Off the Nint
“When did yx
“The day bef.
“Did it make
“Yes, quite a
body might hea
Story moved
and said coldly,
lake has been
December. Whe
The prisoner {
“T hid it in a f:
want to get hi
named the frie:
added: “It’s und
Lieutenant St
to search the hi
back to Ralph,
you hide the gu
“The day befc
“You’re going
you?”
“Why not? I
was a couple o
Pschock and I d
so I wouldn’t s
shouldn’t I stich
Story sighed
lying again. Yoi
gun the day befo
is well ahead oj
when Janet Bloo
the girl is dead. '
of January 3?”
Ralph listed t!
bars to account fi
ness and midnig}
occurred at 7:30
number of drink
was too pat a st
“Where were °
6?” the lieutenar
The prisoner |
don’t know. Wh:
“Nothing.”
~ “Then why do
Story smiled t
why you recall so
have no recollect
“But the Blood
afraid I might b.
point to think ov.
3rd _ so I’d be ab!
myself.”
Story was di:
killed—not right
more than two w
trying to dodge a
ing to charge you
You appear willin
but you’re scared
I’m going to send
In a vigorous a‘
this avowal, Lie:
cl]
seid,
Beksen
SR eo,
WALK A MURDER MILE
(Continued from page 43)
relentless and continuous interrogation.
He admitted all the recent attacks, save
that on Janet Blood, He admitted steal-
ing tubes, twenty-seven dollars and the
revolver from the tire shop. But the
murder of Janet Blood he flatly would
not concede.
“I couldn’t have done it,” he said. “I
was so sorry about having to shoot Mrs.
Penderhag that I got rid of the gun right
after it happened. Janet Blood was shot
in January. I didn’t have a gun then.”
Prosecutor Miller held a conference
with Story and Chief Matowitz.
“We know very well that Ralph killed
the Blood girl. But we don’t have an
eye witness and he won't talk. We don’t
have a case to take to court. Now, each
of the other charges would have to be
tried separately. We'll take the two
strongest and try him on those.”
It was decided to proceed in the cases
of Margerie Dunnison and Mrs. Pender-
hag. These cases were so air tight that
on February 21st, Ralph, on the advice
of his attorneys, pleaded guilty to two
charges of shooting with attempt to kill
during an assault.
Common Pleas Judge Frank Phillips
let fly with the book. On each count
Ralph drew a maximum sentence, one to
twenty years. That would enable the
Ohio Pardon and Parole Board to keep
him in prison for forty years.
As Ralph was led away to the peni-
tentiary, Lieutenant Story shook his
head and spoke to the prosecutor.
“If I ever saw a killer, it’s Ralph. It’s
a shame we couldn’t get him on the
Blood case.” <
Miller shrugged. “That’s true,” he
said. “But even though he'll never be
electrocuted he'll never commit another
murder, either. At least not for forty
years.”
The only thing as dead wrong as the
prosecutor’s first statement was_ his
second.
Some two years later, word was flash-
ed from the penitentiary that Edward
Ralph had escaped. Story, now a cap-
tain, was in charge of the squad which
searched the Cleveland area for the
fugitive. They didn’t find him. He was
apprehended by Los Angeles officers,
two and a half months after his escape,
He was promptly returned to Ohio,
Captain Story was positive that this
was the last he would ever hear of
Edward Ralph. This notion, like those
of Prosecutor Miller, was a mistaken
one.
T was a warm June night—specifically
that of Thursday, the 3rd—some
eleven years after Edward Ralph’s re-
capture. Three children played in the
back yard of a house at East 52nd
Street. Two of the children were nieces
of the building owner. The third child
was the son of the family who rented
the apartment directly opposite that of
the landlady.
At ten minutes to eleven, three wom-
72
en returned home from a movie to find
One girl fast asleep in an arm chair.
The boarder and a friend remained oc.
cupied in their card game.
“Where's Mary Jane?” her mother
asked. “Have you seen her?”
The boarder looked up from his cards
and shrugged. “I guess she’s in the back-
yard. They were there a little while ago.”
The woman went to the back porch.
There was no sign of Mary Jane.
“Perhaps, she’s in the boy’s apart-
ment,” suggested the owner.
“There are no lights in the windows.
But let’s ring the bell anyway.”
They did so. They also hammiered at
the door. They received no reply.
“Let's call the police.” said the
mother, deeply worried. “Then we can
walk around the neighborhood looking
for her.”
The desk sergeant to whom Mrs.
Brady spoke reassured her. Kids were
invariably late coming home in the
summer, he said. In any event he prom-
ised to have the cruising cars keep an
eye out for the child.
Immediately after the call, a car drove
up to the house, and a little woman
with blonde hair stepped to the curb.
“That's the boy’s mother now. We'd
better talk to her.”
She listened to the two other women
with an odd expression on her face.
“I’m sure my son’s asleep at this hour,”
she said. “I'll go in and check.”
“If he's in bed,” said Mrs. Brady,
“please wake him up and ask him if he
knows anything about Mary Jane.”
She turned her key in the lock and
entered the darkened apartment. She
spoke over her shoulder in a slurred
voice. “Do you have a match? The
company’s turned off our lights. We got
behind in the bill.”
Mrs. Brady struck a match and at that
moment the dark figure of a man Jum-
bered into the room. He shouted in a
loud, hoarse voice, “What's going on
here?”
“It's nothing, honey.
missing. Is Sonny in bed?”
“Of course, he’s in bed. Will you
people get out of here and let me go
to bed, too.”
“In just a minute. | want to see
Sonny!”
She left the room, returned a minute
later to report that Sonny had been
asleep. She had awakened him and
asked about the missing child. He said
he had left Mary Jane on the porch
when he had come into his own house.
Mrs. Brady and her sister left the
apartment. As the door closed behind
them they heard the hoarse voice of the
Mary Jane’s
man upbraiding his wife. It was then
that Mrs. Brady called the Police a
second time.
It was Cruiser Patrolman Thomas
Osborn who found the body. He had
arrived on the scene in response to the
phone call a few minutes before in
company with Patrolman Thomas Ellis.
Using flashlights the pair had climbed
the back yard fence and worked their
way through tangled shrubbery which
stood between the house and Gordon
Park.
Osborn’s flashlight suddenly revealed
the tiny corpse of the 5-year-old girl.
Her dress was ripped to ribbons. Her
arms and legs were black with bruises,
red with scratches and cuts. And she was
dead.
A call was sent back to police head-
quarters, At two o'clock in the morning,
Lieutenants George Smyth and Frank
Mernaugh arrived along with Sergeant
Thomas White and several other detec-
tives.
a TER hearing Mrs. Brady’s tearful
Story of the evening's events,
Smyth, Mernaugh and White decided to
talk to young Sonny. They knocked
loudly on the door of the apartment and
received no answer. They tried the knob
and found the door was securely locked.
Sergeant White reconnoitered and re.
ported, “The front window, the one
facing the porch, is open. Maybe, we
could get in there.”
Smyth went to the front porch. He
lifted the partly opened window and
flung one leg across the sill. He put his
head inside and was painfully aware of
a tremendous blow on his ear. An in-
stant later, he was struck again, this
time on the arm.
Smyth lost his balance and tumbled
into the dark room. As he did so, he
threw out his arms and grappled with
his unseen assailant. The Pair of them
fell to the floor together,
They were Struggling bitterly when
White and Mernaugh came through the
window, holding flashlights, and sepa-
rated them. An angry unshaven man
stood up and glared at the officers.
“What are you doing here?” he roared.
“Get out of my apartment.”
“We're officers,” said Smyth. “We
want to talk to your son.”
woman walked into the room.
There were two bruises on her face and
a cut on her cheek.
“Sonny’s not his son,” she said. “He’s
mine. But at splay cops take him away.
He’s no good. He just beat me up. He's
an all around bum.”
The man glared at her, then rushed
across the room with his arm upraised.
Sergeant White intervened, seizing him.
“Take him out,” said Smyth. “Take
him to the station.”
As White took the angry man outside,
a car drove up and Frank W. Story, now
a full inspector, climbed out, As White
began to explain the events of the eve-
ning, Story stared in utter and complete
amazement at the prisoner.
“My God,” he said, “where did you
find him?”
“Inside. In the apartment.
know him?”
“Like the back of my own hand,”
said Story. “That's Edward Ralph.”
So the man who couldn't possibly
commit another crime for forty years
was taken into custody, charged with
Suspicion of murder less than fourteen
years after his original sentence.
Mary Jane Brady had been beaten and
ravished to such an extent that the de-
tails of her injuries were unprintable. A
thorough search of the apartment
brought to light blood stains on the
DETECTIVE CASES
Do you
rug, a pair of trousers and shirt, thor-
oughly saturated with blood as well.
Ralph, contrary to the intention of the
court which sentenced him, had_ been
paroled on January 7th, 1941, without
the knowledge of any Cleveland official.
Since that time Ralph had married and
sired a nine-months-old son. :
However, he had tired of his wife
some five months before, left her and
moved to the apartment.
On the following morning, Story and
Lieutenant Smyth questioned Sonny. At
first he wouldn't talk. He said, “If I
tell you the truth, that man will hurt
mommy. He told me he would.”
The officers finally convinced the
child that his mother was quite safe
from any violence of Ralph’s.
“All right,” said the boy. “He brought
Mary Jane into my room just before |
went to sleep. Then he took her into the
living room. I heard her yell out a few
times and I got frightened. Later he
came back and woke me up. He told me
not to say that Mary Jane had been
there. He said he’d beat up my mother
if I did.”
Confronted with this testimony, Ralph
shook his head ruefully and burst into
tears. “If I did it, I'm sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t really mean it.”
A little later he conceded that he
had killed the girl to prevent her
screams from raising an alarm. But no
sooner had he signed the confession
than he repudiated it.
Story carried the confession and all
the bulky papers on the Ralph affair to
the office of Prosecutor Frank Cullitan.
“This,” said Story, “is his second
. hands of a brilliant assistant, John J.
murder. He killed Janet Blood fourteen
years ago and we couldn't pin it on
him. He’s shot several women and as-
saulted scores. This time they've got to
send him to the chair.”
Cullitan scrutinized the damning doc-
uments and nodded his head gravely.
“If ever a man deserved the chair, it's
Ralph,” he said. “I promise you we'll do
our best.” g
He did. He put the prosecution in the
Mahon. Ralph's attorneys waived a jury
trial and the case proceeded before a
panel of three judges. :
On June 22nd, a verdict of guilty of
first-degree murder was returned, with
no recommendation for mercy. Ralph
was sentenced to die in the electric chair.
Judge Samuel Silbert, one of the
judges, said that this was the first time
in his thirty-one years of experience
that he had even concurred in a death
sentence. Judge Frank Day stated that
the crime was “one of the worst ever
committed.” Judge Stanley Orr gave it
as his opinion that Ralph's life was a
menace to the lives of others.
On October 4th, 1943, Edward Ralph
was executed in the electric chair at the
State naphentare at Columbus, Ohio.
Frank Story, at that time administrative
head of Cleveland's Police Department.
said, “Now, Edward Ralph is beyond
parole. He has not only paid for the
murder of Mary Jane Brady but also
for the killing of Janet Blood.
Editor's Note: The names of all victims
except Janet Blood and Marvy Jane
Brady are fictitious.
SEX FIEND HAD A GIMMICK
(Continued from page 33)
at him. All I can tell you is that the
car had California license plates.”
Prompted by this revelation, Chief
Thurman had more of the circulars
printed up and distributed on the West
Coast. More tips poured in reporting
Avis Woolery in every large city on
were
the West Coast. These leads
checked and found to be false.
“The twelfth!” Mrs. Trowbridge ex-
claimed. “That’s not possible. My va-
cation started on the twenty-third and
I remember that Kauffman was arrest-
ed the day before.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” :
Mrs. Trowbridge contacted Chief
Deputy Sheriff Benjamin Nordberg and
asked him to check the records. A half
hour later Nordberg called back and
informed the woman detective that
somehow the head jailer at the county
iockup had made a mistake. Mfrs.
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Trowbridge was correct; Kauffman had
been jailed on the 22nd of August. :
“What do you know about that?
Thurman groaned. “All that wasted
leg-work, and we've probably had the
criminal behind bars all this time. Fill
me in on the case for which Kauffman
was arrested.”
“Well, this Kauffman put a want-ad,
similar to the ‘Mrs. Kane’ advertise-
ment, in the paper. He got one of the
girls who answered the ad to his room-
ing house—a cheap dive,” the Police-
woman explained. “He tied the girl to
his bed, gagged her and then attacked
her. Kauffman kept the girl prisoner
for seventy-two hours. Finally, when
In the middle of September, Police-
woman Trowbridge returned from her
vacation and Thurman summoned her
to his office immediately.
“You handled the Paul Kauffman
case, didn’t you?” the chief asked.
“Yes.” 7
“We've got a similar case now,
Thurman said, and he went on to out-
line the Avis Woolery disappearance,
“It certainly sounds like Kauffman’s
‘M.O.’,” the woman sleuth said. “Are
you sure he’s in the clear.” —
“I've checked with the jailer over
at the county jail and he says that
Kauffman was admitted on the twelfth
of August—almost two weeks before the
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Woolery girl even left home.” Kauffman was out, the captive man-
DETECTIVE CASES
Accredited Member NATIONAL HOME STUDY COUNCIL
ee ee eee
73
lk ig ARS
Terror s
when a
The boy and g
* THE POLICE DEPARTMENT of Cleveland, Ohio,
was face to face with a Serious situation. A series of major
crimes had thrown the entire community on Lake Erie
into panic. Investigators working day and night to bring
an end to the crime wave believed the answer would be
found in a single individual.
During that period he had attacked five young and attractive
women, some most seriously, some less so.
His fourth victim, 9-year-old Leona Horstan, was not as
and Ashbury Avenue, a shadowy figure loomed before her,
seized her in a pair of powerful arms.
Five days before Christmas, 23-year-old Margerie Dunni-
son entered the grounds of the home where she worked as
a domestic. A dark, menacing figure emerged from the foli-
age, aimed a revolver at her with one hand and seized her
with the other.
Margerie shrieked and struggled desperately. She felt hot
breath against her ear and a hoarse voice said. “You little
fool. You'll be sorry you yelled.”
. That could well have been true, for a moment later the
revolver cracked and five bullets hammered into the girl’s
body. Her employers, aroused by the shooting, drove the
bleeding girl to the Huron Road Hospital.
Two days later, at nine o'clock in the evening, Bella
Penderhag, a bride of three months, walked down Utica
Avenue on her way to the Lexington Theatre. Suddenly, a
dark figure with an unshaven face materialized beside her. A
An entire community paid its respects at the slain girl’s funeral.
pread throughout the countryside
sex beast walked at night
bringing violent death to innocent girls
itl (1.) were central figures in Ohio’s
gun muzzle was thrust in her side.
A voice, harsh and menacing, said, “Let’s go for a walk
where it isn’t so crowded,”
Bella, having read of the shooting of the Dunnison girl,
was panic stricken. Desperately, she tried to buy off her
assailant.
She held out her purse. She said, “Here’s everything I
have. It’s all yours.”
The stranger opened the handbag, extracted three dollars,
then threw the Purse in the gutter.
“That's fine,” he said. “But I want something beside money.
Come along with me.”
But Bella Penderhag had no intention of going along, no
matter what her fate might be. She lifted her voice and cried
shrilly for help.
The hoarse voice said, “I warned you—damn you!” and
Pressed the trigger of his revolver,
The girl fell with a bullet in her abdomen and another
in her back. The cashier of the Lexington Theatre, hearing
the shots, rushed from the box office, saw what had occurred
The chairman of the American Legion’s Community
Council called upon €x-service men to patrol the streets in
order that Cleveland might “be safe for our wives,
mothers and daughters.”
Spurred and nettled by this criticism, Safety Director
to seven days a week, twelve hour duty.
On the day after New Years, both Bella Penderhag and
Margerie Dunnison were reported out of danger. In addition,
the ballistics experts announced that both women had been
DETECTIVE CASES
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DETECTIVE CASES ~
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March,
1963
an failed to identify any of them.
ublic indignation grew to tremendous proportio:
safety director, Chief Matowitz, and the ph Pagel
At half past seven on the evenin
g of January 3rd, J:
Blood left her home at West 108th Street for the pirpen
of returning a book she had borrowed from a friend who
The night was dark and cold. A thin layer of snow sleeted
A hoarse voice said, “You're the best looki irl I’
this month. I want everything you've got.” eli —
The muscles of her throat tightened with fear and her
mouth was suddenly dry. She said, “I don’t have anything.
€ stranger smiled without mirth “You've got h
for me. Let’s take a walk. And don’t Ti rs
we fede ae on’t do any yelling or [II
2 He lifted his right hand and the street lights were reflected
vifanel Bloods mentee OLS tevoWver,
creamer ik arn ee. broke the py ber eto iat
Clifton Boul ae, & power and ran at top speed along
ing ee. Shee he pra aa Janet's scream shrilled
the bloody, usecieecinae FF pase ed ere ‘Shorea
a dark gray cap.
7 es = intensified. Chief Matowitz selected ten
i ; Instructed them to dress as women and
the isolated sections of the city to act as lures for the
During the next two days, as Janet BI
2 Ys, ood fought i
attle for her life, the attacker did not Pi nd er
ag Officers. He did, however, attack two other women
: € first he dragged into a garage on the night of January
th, assaulted her and let her go, i
On the next evening, he attem i i
n the fi : pted to pull Miss Sy}
Sas into a driveway. He threatened hee with the piieg
which she tried to knock from his hand. During the Struggle
harming eet apparently frightened him. He fled without
bane rade girl who stagggered to a nearby service station
On the morning of Januar i
: inuary 19th, Janet Blood died.
that date the police had Interrogated no less than wo fa
dred suspects, Now, the editorial writers unleashed their most
condemnatory adjectives. Civic Societies lifted indignant
voices. Action was demanded On all sides; no one, however.
further notice, and ordered th i
; ; at Lieutenant Stor » aided b
Detective Sergeant Koryta, assume command of a specie!
I sure do. I think it was a guy who recently worked for
guy O Conny
me. The cash register was short so often I fired him. He
Pm Said, “What’s his name and address?”
Is name, it appeared, was Edward Ralph. His address
“Well,” said Story, “at least we k h ’ :
for, And . fai “e <nOw whom we're looking
righ away.” have a fair description. Get everybody on it
Another day of dogged, tire] i i
| : Ff €ss_ interrogation resulted
finally in the discovery of a service Station attendant who
Edward Ralph.
He told Detectives Clark and Orley May that Ralph often
DETECTIVE CASES
passed the gas station which was at 79th Street and Wade
Park Avenue in the early hours of the morning.
“I’m pretty sure he lives around here somewhere,” he
added. “I figure he’s on the way home when I see him about
two or three o’clock in the morning.” .
On Lieutenant Story’s orders, Clark and May waited at the
station. Shortly after three a.M. their vigilance was rewarded.
A shabbily dressed young man with a round face strode by.
The attendant nodded to Clark.
“That’s him,” he said. “That’s Ed Ralph.”
Clark and May left the station, followed the shabbily
dressed young man. He turned into a house at Wade Park
Avenue. A moment later a light flashed on in a rear second
story window.
May stood by while Clark, obeying orders, telephoned
Story. A squad was dispatched under the command of
Sergeant Emil Ziegler. At three-thirty the raiders burst into
Ralph’s room. :
The youth lay on his bed reading. He looked up in-
quiringly as the officers entered. Clark said, “Get up.
You're under arrest. We're going to headquarters.”
Ralph looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged
his shoulders. He got off the bed and reached for his coat.
In the meantime, Sergeant Ziegler and his men thoroughly
searched the room. They found neither the nickel plated
gun nor anything else which pointed to Edward Ralph as
the man they wanted.
At headquarters, Ralph, who said he was but 18 years
old, was: questioned by Story, Chief Matowitz and County
Prosecutor Ray T. Miller. He answered all their questions
with apparent wide-eyed frankness. He swore he'd never
owned a revolver in his life. Certainly he had never attacked
a woman, he kept insisting to the officers.
His manner was so open, so ingenuous, that the officers
4
were more than half convinced that they were in error.
“But,” said Miller, “you'd better hold him until morning
anyway. Have some of the victims take a look at him, just
to make sure.”
On the following day Margerie Dunnison and Bella
Penderhag were sent for. They were ushered into Ralph’s
presence. Before they could speak, however, Ralph shook his
head, smiled at them and said, “I’m terribly sorry that I hurt
you ladies. I meant no harm. But you shouldn't have yelled
and struggled with me.” :
' The officers, remembering the flat denials of the previous
evening, stood by in amazement at this confession. The two
women positively identified Ralph as the man who had
attacked them.
“It must have been the liquor,” he told the officers. “I
wouldn’t hurt a fly when I’m sober. After I take a few
drinks I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Where,” asked Story, “is the gun?”
“TI hid it in a friend’s house, under a pile of boards in the
basement.” Ralph willingly gave the name and address of
his friend. Detective Clark was dispatched to look for the
weapon.
He found it, rather to the surprise of Ralph’s friend who
had not known it was there.
“I recall distinctly,” Ralph told Story, “that I hid it the
day before Christmas.”
Story exchanged a glance with Matowitz. If. this last
statement were true, it absolved Ralph as the killer of Janet
Blood, a crime which the officers were now certain he had
committed. It was a most unfortunate circumstance that the
ballistics experts had reported that the bullet extracted from
Janet Blood’s body was too misshapen and battered for
identification.
Ralph was subjected to skillful, (Continued on page 72)
Second corpse was hidden in underbrush in this stand of trees.
DETECTIVE CASES
by KEN CARPENTER
I he shadows of crime,
g lustful and sadistic, that
Ot
|
id.
had fallen over Cleve-
land, Ohio, engulfed the city
in fear. There was fear for any
woman, especially if she
were young and pretty, or
walked the streets alone lest
she be the next victim of the
sex-hungry monster who
emerged from his lair to
strike and strike, and strike
again.
Beginning in October, 1929, these
fears gripped Cleveland for four solid
months, and they were to have their
ramifications first after a couple of
years, and then more than a decade later.
On the night of October 22, 1929,
Mrs. Florence Alvins, 34, was on her
way home to Vineyard Avenue. Her
route took her down a dimly lit street
and past a vacant lot, and the tempo
of her heels clicking along the sidewalk
involuntarily quickened as she entered
the darkened area. A man sprang from
nowhere, a heavy hand fell on Mrs.
Alvins’ arm, and a voice growled:
“Gosh, you’re a good-looking num-
O
BLOODY TRAIL OF THE
"CLEVELAND TERROR
Janet Blood, Pourguet ictio. Eddie Ralph, the Cleveland killing machine.
ber. Come with me, baby. Keep quiet
and I won’t hurt you.”
The man’s grip tightened on Mrs.
Alvins’ arm, he jerked her toward the
vacant lot, and there was no mistaking
his intentions. Mrs. Alvins screamed,
but the scream only earned her a blow
that knocked her flat. The man dragged
her. Mrs. Alvins kicked and somehow
got free and to her feet, and started
running. The man ran, too, but in the
opposite direction.
Experiences similar to Mrs. Alvins’
befell Miss Hilda Kilmer, 22, while
she walked along Pratt Avenue on the
night of November 11, and Miss Es-
ther Atkinson, 26, as she was on her
way home to East Eleventh Street on
the night of November 14.
In both instances, the young women
were knocked down, and yet both suc-
ceeded in breaking away from their
assailant and ran screaming so loudly
that the attacker did not pursue.
Mrs. Alvins, Miss Kilmer and Miss
Atkinson were, relatively speaking
among the fortunate. There were oth-
ers less lucky. In a few weeks, fifteen
women had suffered night-time at-
tacks on the streets of Cleveland, and
in a number of instances their as-
sailant succeeded in subduing them by
blows or terrifying them into submis-
sion.
That this roving demon was in all
cases the same man soon became ob-
vious. Because of the dark and their
fright, none of his victims could de-
scribe him in detail, but what infor-
mation they could give matched up.
| . At 55
THE PLAIN DEALER
Last Ohio execution was 25 y
By RICHARD ELLERS
STAFF WRITER
COLUMBUS — When he was strapped into
the electric chair 25 years ago today, Donald.
L. Reinbolt, 29, was to become the last per-
son to be executed in Ohio for at least a
quarter of a century.
On Aug. 28, 1961, Reinbolt robbed and
fatally shot a 69-year-old man inside the gro-
cery store the man operated in west
Columbus. \
After Reinbolt’s execution, death sen-
tences in Ohio and other states were
deferred while the issue of capital punish- .
ment was reviewed in slale and federal
courts. .
The U.S. Supreme Court began in 1972 to
abolish death penalty laws in Ohio and other
states. The high court ruled the laws were
cruel and unusual puinishment because they
were administered unevenly.
The Ohio Legislature passed a new death
e babes . , a \
77 men, women on death row today
penalty law in 1981 that, so far, has met
court tests for fairness.
Today, 76 men and one woman remain
under death sentences in Ohio.David Steb-
bens, chief death-penalty lawyer for the Ohio
Public Defender’s Office, said that Ohio’s
resumption of executions was at least two
years off, maybe four years, because of pris-
oners’ appeals.
“I hope’ it will be at least 25 years before
we have another execution, or, better yet,
never,” Stebbens said.
Among the witnesses at Reinbolt’s execu-
tion was Associated Press staffer Alvin Otron
Jr, who later recalled in a Plain Dealer
interview, “Reinbolt whimpered a little as he
approached the chair, escorted by a Catholic
riest.”
: “He was strapped into the chair... a rub-
j
ber hood was placed over his head ... the
warden nodded ... there was a hum. Rein-
bolt’s body lurched forward ... then he was
pronounced dead.”
Rosena Maynard, chairwoman of the Ohio
Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, said
the group had no plans to observe the 25th
anniversary of Reinbolt’s execution.
“We celebrate the positive things, like the
anniversaries of court decisions that struck
down the old death penalty laws,” she said.
In Columbus, Reinbolt and his victim,
Edgar Weaver, are remembered by Angelo
Dallas, who knew both of them. Dallas was a
friend of Weaver's and still runs an auto
repair shop a block away from where
Weaver's grocery store once operated.
“How would you feel if one of your friends
had been killed like that — shot in the back
; t
Larkin/2 c
Ohio Briefs/12 .
—
TUESDAY, MARCH 15, 1988 -
; Cc
S
_
oF
in a $60 robbery?” Dallas asked. =
Weaver was shot once in the cheek and -
three times in the back, apparently while a
trying to flee from his killer, according to <
newspaper accounts, ry
Reinbolt had stolen the gun he used to kill
Weaver from Dallas’ repair shop. Reinbolt m
lived with his mother in a trailer park 4
next to the repair shop. Dallas also owns the iP
trailer park. oO
Reinbolt’s mother, Meriam, a restaurant e
cook, moved away some years later and has
since died, he said. CO
Dallas said he had hired Reinbolt occa- ry
sionally for odd jobs at the trailer park and | =
repair shop. oO
Dallas refused to say whether he was for
or against the death penalty. U
But Dallas’ wife, Ann, said she favored foe" 5 oe v *
it. “They (the law) should catch them and get -
rid of them.” DONALD REINBOLT: Electro-.
SEE EXECUTION/3-B cuted 25 years ago today.
; A ll inher,
ss
a
fs
ise
rs
©
©
~~
Q
j—
\ yi
te!
\O
Seo
@
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now trying to run him down. The line-
men identified him from a.mug shot as
the one man they saw coming out of Mar-
gulis’ office.”
fea CAVANAUGH, _ accom-
panied .by Patrolmen William Spellacy
and Jerry Gilmore, arrived at LaDuca’s
most recently listed address, a rooming
house on East 83rd Street, a few minutes
before six o’clock in the evening. A nerv-
ous landlady told the investigators that
her tenant had been there only 20 min-
‘utes before. He had left in a hurry.
“He came in here looking like a ghost,”
she said. “A friend of his—some fellow he
calls Jim—was waiting for him outside in
a car.”
“Yes.”
“Dented fender?”
“Why, yes—there was a pretty bad dent
in it.”
The information was immediately tele-
phoned to headquarters and relayed from
there to all radio-equipped squad cars.
Police cruisers converged on the area in
another attempt to bottle up the phantom
getaway car which, up to now, had so
completely eluded them.
Cavanaugh and his aides returned to
their car and began a slow patrol of the
area.
“He can’t be too far away,” Cava-
naugh said. “Every lead takes us back to
this section.”
The police radio signalled twice. The
announcer intoned: “Attention all cars
. .. Attention all cars . . . Prowler be-
lieved to be fugitive Sam LaDuca seen in
back yard on East 81st Street near Euclid
. .. He may be armed .. . Proceed with
caution...”
‘Gilmore whipped the car around, cut
over two blocks to 81st Street, then raced
toward Euclid. As they approached the
corner Cavanaugh suddenly placed a re-
straining hand on the driver’s arm.
“Pull up!” he ordered.
A stocky figure darted from behind a
kedge and ran across the street. A _ sec-
“A light-blue car?” Cavanaugh asked.
ond man, slighter in build, followed him, °
then halted abruptly as he caught sight of
the squad car. He turned and made a dive
for the barren shrubbery.
“The cops!” he cried. “Sam, the cops!”
The three officers got out, crouched
alongside the car and drew their weapons.
“LaDuca!” the sergeant called out. “Bet-
ter stop where you are!”
The dark man who had crossed the
street poked his head slowly from behind
a tree trunk. He pointed a gun in the di-
rection of the police car. Then, suddenly,
he sucked in his breath, let the weapon
clatter to the pavement and slowly put up
his hands.
Gilmore, meanwhile, took advantage of
the sudden surrender and its effect on the
second man. The patrolman bounded
towards the hedge and leveled his service
automatic at the thug’s back. He quickly
raised his hands over his head.
ITHIN twenty minutes the disarmed,
cringing hoodlums were led into head-
quarters. They were subjected to a
determined grilling by Kerr and his aides,
George Ballard and Robert Shottke.
‘Frightened, trembling visibly, they
would admit nothing. ,
LaDuca denied any knowledge of the ,
Margulis murder or the attempted robbery
of the Reliable Steel Plate Company.
“You're just picking on me,” he whined,
“because I’ve got a record.” ’
Kerr smiled. He toyed with the heavy
38 caliber revolver La Duca had sur-
rendered.
“What about this?” he asked.
“I needed it for self defense,” LaDuca
said. “Two guys were trying to get me.”
“Who were they?”
The hoodlum shrugged and refused to
answer.
In the other prisoner’s shirt pocket was
a greeting-card envelope addressed to
“James Esson.”
Kerr read the name aloud, then faced
the suspect. “Are you Esson?” he asked. -
“ ”
Yes.
Kerr handed the envelope to a_ uni-
formed officer with instructions to check
the name for aliases and any previous
criminal record. Then he turned back to
the prisoners.
“Where is the blue Chevrolet?” he
snapped. :
The Duke shrugged. “I don’t know what
you're talking about,” he said.
Kerr faced Esson. “Maybe you know,”
he said.
Esson shook his head. “I don’t know
about any car.”
The homicide chief smiled. “All right,”
he said, “then what do you know about
Conners?”
Both men shook their heads and said
nothing.
Ten minutes later Vanta and Potapas ar-
rived. From the police lineup they prompt-
ly picked out the third man from the left
as the bandit whose handkerchief had fall-
en down as he ran from the office of the
Reliable Steel Plate Company.
The third man from the left was Sam
LaDuca.
Confronted with the identification by
the two telephone linemen, LaDuca cursed
them.
“I never saw them before!” he shouted.
“What kind of a trick are you trying to
pull on me? I’m no punk.”
Emmanuel Margulis and three of his
office employees were called to head-
quarters. They, too, promptly identified
Sam LaDuca as one of the men involved
in the robbery attempt. .
“That’s the man whose handkerchief
fell down,” Margulis said. “He was one
of the men in the office.”
“Did he shoot your son?”
Margulis staréd at the suspect bitterly.
“No,” he said, “he wasn’t the one who
fired the shot. He was just one of the
group.”
James Esson, the second suspect, wasn’t
so positively identified. The victims of
the attempted robbery had seen only La-
Duca’s features. The faces of the others
had remained well-covered.
“Put a handkerchief over that man’s
nose and mouth,” Margulis ordered. “I'll
know whether he was one of them.”
Esson paled as the request was granted.
He glowered at Margulis and his em-
ployees as they studied him solemnly.
After a brief consultation with one an-
other they agreed that Esson had been
one of the four.
An attempt was made to link the two
prisoners to the stolen car. Muncy and
Reed were given a chance to pick the two
men out of a lineup.
The effort, however, failed.
“It just wouldn’t be fair,” Muncy ex-
plained. “We just didn’t get a clear look
at any of the men who stole the car.”
“Would you recognize the voice of the
man who shouted a warning to the driver?”
Kerr asked.
Muncy shrugged. “I don’t know,” he
said. “Maybe.”
LaDuca and Esson were taken to the
homicide chief’s office, where they were
‘ brought face to face with Muncy and
Reed. The prisoners stared at-the two men
defiantly.
Kerr introduced them, made certain the
two hoodlums spoke a few words. Then
he glanced inquiringly at the witnesses.
Muncy shook his head. “I can’t tell,”
he said.
ee eee ae. ee ee er
Reed wasn’t so
ter, however. H
“Ever hear of
he asked.
“No,” LaDuc:
of him.”
Reed tur
this guy C
get you ten you
two birds.”
The homicide
you, gentlemen,”
all.”
t
ERR next con,
ber and Ins;
ballistics exp:
lice Department.
Gerber stated ”
gulis had died ir
of a bullet ente
piercing his kidn
“I extracted tt
turned it over t
“A .38 caliber
we get hold of
we shouldn't ha’
it up.”
Kerr reached i
desk and remove
been taken from
“This could be
over to Inspector
we know, LaDu
shooting.”
While Cowles
laboratory anal;
weapon and the
tying together tI
vestigation.
First—and mo:
plete disappearan
which LaDuca a:
had been seen dr
their capture.
Kerr talked it «
“It’s not the firs
“that that car ha
plete blockade.”
He shook his |
“That's what ge
mouse could h:
network of poli
area.”
“Maybe
witz sugge
He flick.e . .
nication system,
issued an order fi
plete search for
yard and garage
of East 81st St:
A squad of h
tailed to bring in
ters bearing the
similar to it. A s+
lums now filed
By nightfall, ;
suspects had tk
leased. And the
the identity of tl
been before the
The hunt for
thief and possib
Meanwhile, a
criminal backgro
Matowitz’s desk.
had served a str
formatory at. the
Sam LaDuca—a'
crime.
“Twin souls,”
and Esson—grac
tution.”
“Chief,” Kerr
“you’ve given me
somebody by the
graduate of that
Kerr sent for
a complete listir
formatory inmat:
LaDuca and E%s
ell semana isatimsAses eS 2 socegutt
to get me.” Reed wasn’t so ready to dismiss the mat-
ter, however. He turned to LaDuca.
| refused to “Ever hear of a guy named Conners?”
he asked.
pocket was “No,” LaDuca snarled, “never heard
idressed to of him.”
Reed turned to Lieutenant Kerr. “Find
then faced this guy Conners,” he said, “and five will
he asked. - get you ten you can tie him up to these
: two birds.”
to a uni- The homicide chief nodded. “Thank
ns to check you, gentlemen,” he said. “That will be
ny previous all.”
ned back to
vrolet?” he
: know what
|
you know,”
don’t know
“AIL right,”
know about
ds and said
Potapas ar-
hey prompt-
‘om the left
ief had fall-
office of the
ft was Sam
tion by
a cursed
uc shouted.
ou trying to
hree of his
d to head-
ly identified
ven involved
vandkerchief
He was one
ect bitterly.
Ye one who
one of the
spect, wasn’t
victims of
en only La-
f the others
that man’s
rdered. “VII
them.”
was granted.
nd his em-
»lemnly.
with one an-
n had been
ink the two
Muncy and
pick the two
f Muncy ex-
wa clear look
the car.”
voice of the
the driver?”
.
know,” he
aken to the
e they were
Muncy and
{wo men
ttain the
vords. Then
witnesses.
[ can’t tell,”
ERR next conferred with Coroner Ger-
ber and Inspector David E. Cowles,
ballistics expert of the Cleveland Po-
lice Department.
Gerber stated flatly that George Mar-
gulis had died instantaneously as a result
of a bullet entering his right side and
piercing his kidney.
“I extracted the slug,” he added, “and
turned it over to Inspector Cowles.”
“A .38 caliber bullet,” Cowles said. “If
we get hold of the weapon that fired it
we shouldn't have any trouble matching
it up.’
Kerr reached into the top drawer of his
desk and removed the revolver that had
been taken from Sam LaDuca.
“This could be it,” he said, handing it
over to Inspector Cowles. “But, as far as
we know, LaDuca didn’t do the actual
shooting.”
While Cowles busied himself with his
laboratory analysis of the confiscated
weapon and the lethal slug, Kerr began
tying together the loose ends of the in-
vestigation.
First—and most puzzling—was the com-
plete disappearance of the blue Chevrolet
which LaDuca and his companion, Esson,
had been seen driving only an hour before
their capture.
Kerr talked it over with Chief Matowitz.
“It’s not the first time,’ he pointed out,
“that that car has slipped through a com-
plete blockade.”
He shook his head ruefully as he added,
“That's what gets me. I'd swear not a
mouse could have crawled through the
network of police cars surrounding the
area.”
“Maybe it didn’t crawl through,” Mato-
witz suggested.
He flicked a button on the intercommu-
nication system, waited a moment, then
issued an order for an immediate and com-
plete search for the missing car in every.
yard and garage with a half-mile radius
of East 81st Street and Euclid Avenue.
A squad of homicide officers was de-
tailed to bring in all known police charac-
ters bearing the name Conners or one
similar to it. A steady flow of local hood-
lums now filed into Kerr’s office.
By nightfall, a total of more than 30
suspects had been questioned and _ re-
leased. And the police were no nearer to
the identity of the fugitive than they had:
been before the search started.
The hunt for Conners, suspected car
thief and possible killer, continued.
Meanwhile, a full report on Esson’s
criminal background was placed on Chief
Matowitz’s desk. The suspect, Kerr noted,
had served a stretch in the Mansfield Re-
formatory at.the same time as his friend,
Sam LaDuca—and for the same type of
crime.
“Twin souls,” Matowitz said. “LaDuca
and Esson—graduates of the same insti-
tution.” ;
“Chief,” Kerr said, suddenly excited,
“you’ve given me an idea. It could be that
somebody by the name of Conners was a
graduate of that same class!”
Kerr sent for Detective Sullivan. “Get
a complete listing on the Mansfield Re-
formatory inmates during the period that
LaDuca and Esson served time there. Let
me knew immediately if a Conners is
listed.”
ARLY the following morning three dis-
closures, breaking one after the other,
finally ended the routine research,
paper work and watchful waiting in the
Margulis case.
First, Cowles reported that the .38 cali-
ber revolver taken from LaDuca hadn’t
fired the lethal shell. “It was an identical
weapon,” the ballistics chief told Kerr,
“but not the same one.”
The second disclosure was more ‘start-
ling.
Shortly after eight o’clock that morning
Kerr received a telephone call from Mun-
cy. A friend of Charles Batts reported
that someone had driven the stolen blue
Chevrolet car into his driveway sometime
during the night and had abandoned it
there. :
“It’s in good shape,’ Muncy told the
homicide chief, “and I didn’t touch any-
thing. Figured you might want to check
it for prints.”
Kerr commended Muncy for his alert-
ness in not marring any possible evidence.
He felt sure, however, that criminals
clever enough to get the car through a
solid police cordon after having kept it
hidden for more than 24 hours would cer-
tainly have taken pains to wipe off any
fingerprints.
The car was towed into the police garage
for a thorough examination. There: wasn’t
a trace of a fingerprint on any part of its
gleaming surface.
The third disclosure was like a bomb-
shell.
Sullivan had completed his listing of
Mansfield Reformatory inmates. He gave
the results of his research to Lieutenant
Kerr over the phone: “There’s no Conners
anywhere on that list,” he said.
Kerr bit his lip. “You checked them
all?” he ‘asked wearily. “Perhaps——”
“Just a minute,” Sullivan interrupted.
“We can forget about Conners. We've
been taken—but good!”
Kerr leaned forward as Sullivan spoke
again. “I found two names on that list,
Lieutenant, that are a lot more interesting
than Conners.”
He paused, then added, “Ever hear of
Edsel Muncy and Ralph Reed?”
“What!” Kerr straightened up. “Muncy
and Reed? The guys who claimed’ they
saw the car disappear?”
“That’s right,” Sullivan said. “The
same birds who toid you they had never
seen The Duke and Esson before. Why,
they were in the same cell block!”
Kerr hung up. Suddenly, completely,
the jigsaw pieces of the Margulis murder
were falling into place.
Muncy and Reed, brains of the killer
quartet, had cunningly plotted the crime
from beginning to send. They had stolen
Batts’ car, led police along a red herring
trail named Conners.
Now the “mystery” of the machine get-
ting past the police cordon was explained.
Matowitz had been right. It had never
slipped through.
Instead, Muncy had simply driven the
car into his garage in the very heart of
the surrounded area. And when the car
got too hot—when every garage was
being searched on a direct order from
Matowitz—Muncy had “found” the car
abandoned in his own driveway.
Late that afternoon, carrying an arrest
warrant, Detective Sullivan, aided by
Dunch and Gilmore, rapped sharply on the
door of Muncy’s apartment.
Muncy opened the door, stared at him
in surprise.
“Detective Sullivan,” he said, smiling.
“Come in. What can I do for you?”
Ralph Reed, seated on the couch, got
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up, glanced around nervously, sat down.
“We've finished playing cops and rob-
bers!” Sullivan said. “You'd better come
along with us.”
HE arrest of the brains of the gang
broke LaDuca and Reed.
“ll talk,” LaDuca said. “If I don’t,
those wise guys will pin a murder rap on
me.”
He described the crime in the presence
of Matowitz, Kerr and Sullivan, while a
stenographer prepared a transcript of his
words. P
“We went there after casing Margulis’
place for a week,” he confessed. “We
didn’t want to kill anybody. We carried
guns, but just to scare them.
“When young Margulis reached in his
pocket Reed figured he was reaching for
a gun. And so,” LaDuca’s voice cracked
at the finish, “Ralph shot him.”
Edsel Muncy signed’ a similar con-
fession.
Confronted with the two signed state-
ments, Reed made no further effort to
deny his guilt.
He studied his hands as Muncy picked
up the story.
“Ralph: and I,” he said, “figured we'd
better start doing something to throw the
cops off the trail of the stolen car. We had
already told Batts we had seen the thieves
drive it away, so we decided to go along
with the same story. Ralph and I decided
on the name of Conners.”
“And,” Kerr added, “when you finally
got a chance to look in on your partners
you decided to use the same angle to
keep them quiet. Right?”
“Right,” Muncy said.
The four Mansfield’ Reformatory grad-
uates were tried on first-degree murder
charges early in March. LaDuca, Esson
and Muncy were found guilty but won
recommendations of mercy. They were
sentenced to spend the remainder of their
natural lives behind the walls of the Ohio
State Penitentiary in Columbus.
Ralph Reed, who thought he could beat
the game of murder, was sentenced to
death. He died in the electric chair on
April Fool’s Day, 1948.
Epiror’s Note: The name Charles N.
Batts is fictitious in order to protect the
identity of an innocent person involved in
this case.
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WHO THROTTLED THE PLAYGIRL WIFE?
(Continued from page 43)
and lower in the west, but the search con-
tinued.
Then it came to a hideous, nightmarish
end. Parker Sutton was the first to see
the vultures swooping down over a clump
of greasewood. The men ran toward the
area crashing recklessly through the
jungle-like brush.
When they got there they saw the body.
It was sprawled in a twisted position on
the sand in front of them.
There weren't many clothes left on
Alma Gilmer’s slender body. They had
been torn off in strips. The half-naked
body showed the marks of a savage beat-
ing. No part of the body was free from
lacerations. There were two deep cuts
on the upper lips and a gash under the
right eye.
The sand was churned up, showing the
victim had put up a last, desperate battle
before death had beaten her. Her clothes
were scattered over a large area.
Detective O’Clair got to the nearest
farmhouse as fast as he could. He. called
McGrath and said, “Chief, we’ve just
found Alma Gilmer. She’s dead—brutally
murdered on the salt bottoms out of
Coldwater.”
McGrath, Lieutenant Daniel Lucey,
County Coroner Doctor Fred Bing and
Detective Frank Hogan got to the scene
in record time. '
“You ran into a murder case after all,”
the chief told O’Clair. “And it looks as if
it'll be a hot one.”
McGrath and his veteran detectives
took over the investigation. O’Clair was
pretty much forgotten.
The ground around where the body lay
was thoroughly searched, but nothing of
importance was found. The mud was too
moist to retain a clear outline of a foot-
,print. Tire tracks were visible where a
car had driven down the narrow lane.
Plaster casts were faken.
Doctor Bing made his preliminary ex-
amination of the body and reported that
Alma Gilmer had died from compound
| fractures of the skull. He estimated that
she had been dead for about 24 hours,
which -placed the time of her murder at
around six o’clock the night before, two
hours after she had gotten into the car
outside the cafe. The doctor said he had
found, on his preliminary examination,
‘ no indication that Alma Gilmer had been
criminally attacked.
HIEF McGRATH put every available
detective on the case. They questioned
employees at the A-B-O Restaurant.
They grilled the family. Charles Gilmer
was put through hours of questioning. His
story was that he had been at the mine
looking for a job; it was checked and
verified.
Pretty Alma Gilmer’s background soon
began to unfold. It wasn’t long before
McGrath and his men began to get
stories that indicated she wasn’t averse to
going out on dates with other men.
.One man told McGrath about seeing
Alma Gilmer in another cafe two nights
before she disappeared.
“There was a terrible thunderstorm
that night,” he said. “I was at the
Chinese restaurant. Alma Gilmer came
in with two men and a woman. They sat
at a table near the door. The lights were
red and low. I was at another table, and
I happened to look over and see some-
thing: very peculiar. Alma Gilmer was
seated with her back to the door that
leads out into the Chinese garden. It was
empty that night because of the rain. I
saw the shadow of a man in that door-
way, and I'll swear his hands were reach-
ing out for either Alma Gilmer or her
escort. But just then they got up to dance.
The hand and the shadow disappeared.”
At the A-B-O Restaurant McGrath
gleaned another valuable detail about that
evening. Ethel Bryson, the waitress, told
him that Alma had worked until mid-
night that same night and another wait-
ress had asked Alma to drive her home.
There was a man with the two women
when they left. Ethel Bryson had no idea
when the fourth man had joined the
party.
“IT was on the sidewalk when the three
of them drove away,” Miss Bryson ex-
plained. “I saw a man lurking in the
darkness, watching the car. When he saw
them leave he ran to his car, a coupe.
I saw him get in and follow Alma and
her friends. I didn’t get a look at him; it
Antes oasis elo
i ATMO
ee
was too dar}
Then, fr«
Alma Gilm:
for ten yeai
came a stor’
mystery. A
to Phoen
little befc
came to
‘I have to zg
thing terrib
help me. Y
pend on.’”
“And dic
questioned.
“YT had mn
replied. “S}
feel like as:
Gilmer had
was a fine v
for her agi
Charles (¢
quarters. H
his composi
Grath had 1
“Alma
said. “I d
quaintances
the cafe, bi
faithfulness
“But wha
chief wante
your neight
to die.”
“If I kne
Gilmer rep!
she meant.
bothered hy
His name's
think he’s s
me that he
go out wit!
angry when
else. I thin!
didn’t think
her bodily
HE ques!
news th
had bee
and Robert
Phoenix. |!
a filling st
Jooked insix
on the
long str:
The c
where teen
The usual
found, too
strands of
compared
found to n
The licen
9-133—was
R. L. Smot!
a traveling
in a parkin;
Denver. T
the parking
disappearan
The tech
of blue her
spots of b
didn’t pay
picked up
car and tur
The chie
tioning Star
bothered h
gaunt man,
sockets. H
copper min
thority in t
His face
questions a
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“T knew
ly, with an
cafe where
and I was i
Marcy 5, 1963
HonorRaABLE JaneS A. RxyHODES
GovERNOR OF OHIO
STATE House
CoLtumBus, OHIO
Ree Donato L. FRErwBour
# 414-314, OP.
Dear GovERNOR RyopEes?
DonaLD L. REINBOLT WAS RECEIVED AT THIS INSTITUTION
on FepRuaRY 28, 1962 From FRANKLIN COUNTY ON THE CHARGE
oF iiuRDER In THE Frrst DEGREE. HIS DECREE BY THE CouRTr
WAS DEATH AND THE DATE OF EXECUTION WAS SET FOR JUNE 15,
1962. On June 15, 1962, Governor DISALLE GRANTED A RE-
Prgesve untirL Juuy 13, 1962. Ow Jusy 11, 1962, Governor
CrSALLE AGAIN GRANTED A REPRIEVE UNTIL AucusT 17, 1962.
THIS WAS FOLLOWED on AucusT 5, 1962 BY AN INDEFINITE STAY
OF EXECUTION GRANTED BY THE OHIO SUPREME CouRT, AND, ON
FeaavaRy €1, 1965, rear Cour? SET THE NEW DATE OF EXECU-
ror For Hance 15, 19635.
THE RECORDS OF THE OHIO PENITENTIARY SHOW THAT REIN-
BOLT, oN orn aBour Aucusf 28, 1961 xn FRanKLiIn Coourry,
DID PURPOSELY AND WHILE IN THE PERPETRATION OF A ROBBERY,
KILL Epcarn L, WEAVER. IT WAS FURTHER FOUND THAT REINBOLT
DID PURPOSELY AND OF DELIBERATE AND PREMEDITATED MALICE
KILL WEAVER. THE JURY TRIAL IN THIS CASE BEGAN ON FEBRU-
ARY 9, 1962 and on FEBRUARY 16, 1962, REINBOLT WAS FOUND
GUILTY AS CHARGED. THE SENTENCE OF DEATH WAS PRONOUNCED
on Fespruary 23, 1962.
In HIS STATEMENT UPON ENTERING THE INSTITUTION,
REINBOLT ADVESED THAT HE WAS LiIvxrnco a? 3237 Hekrwuey Ave.
Lor 55, Conumsus, Onro. On SepremBer 7, 1961 HE WAS AReo
RESTED BY THE FrRanwxtrn Country SHERIFF, PLACED rn Counry
JAIL AND LATER CHARGED WITH MURDER IN THE Frrst DEGREE.»
Tor POLICE CLAIMED THAT ON THE AFTERNOON OF AuGUST 28,
1961 AND DURING AN ATTEMPTED HOLDeUP OF A GROCERY STORE
tin mie 1700 arocx or N, Hague Avenugr, CoLtumsBus, AEINBOLT
SHO? AND KILLED EDGAR WEAVER, OWNER OF THE STORE. HE PLE
a
D
70
Sergeant Mann and Lieutenant Beck took
Reinbolt out of his cell and the group went
to the garage on McKinley Avenue.
As the authorities and officers looked on,
Reinbolt went to the mechanic’s tool chest. and
showed where he had gotten the pistol and a
holster. He also pointed out a place where he
said he had hidden the pistol for five days
after the slaying. The spot was in weeds inside
a fence around the trailer village sewage dis-
posal plant, about 100 yards from the garage.
“Why did you go back for the gun and put
it in your car?” he was asked.
He said he wanted the gun and was: afraid
it would rust.
Reinbolt also led the officials to a spot
where he said he had tossed the holster from
his car window, but a search failed to recover
it. The suspect then pointed to the spot where
he had tossed his victim’s billfold and it was
the same area where the billfold was found.
Taken to Weaver’s Market, Reinbolt de-
scribed the shooting in detail.
“I’ve never heard a statement so freely giv-
en,” Prosecutor Alison commented.
Asked at one point why he decided. to com-
‘mit the robbery, Reinbolt said he wanted some
money to get out of town as he did not like
Columbus. Booked for murder, he seemed des-
tined, however, to spend the remainder of his
life in that area.
The trial was held in February, 1962. It
lasted two weeks, during which Prosecutor .
Allison asked for the death penalty in both
his opening and closing statements. A jury of
nine men and three women deliberated for nine
hours, then returned a verdict. They found
Donald Reinbolt guilty of first-degree murder,
and did not recommend mercy.
County Criminal Court Judge Kenneth L.
Sater said the verdict made the death penalty
mandatory. He thanked the jurors for “con-
scientious service in doing a task that was
entirely new to them.”
Reinbolt listened to the verdict, and the
judge’s remarks without outward emotion. His
head was cocked, his hands clasped. The trial
over, he was returned to the county jail, where
jailers said he immediately went to sleep.
The jury’s decision was the first such death
penalty verdict in Columbus since 1948. In
1952, a Franklin County trial ended in a death
penalty verdict, but that decision was returned
by three Common Pleas Court judges.
Reinbolt’s attorney said the conviction
would be appealed. But no new trial was
forthcoming. Reinbolt was sentenced to die on
June 15, 1962. He was, however, granted two
reprieves by Governor Michael V. DiSalle and
a stay by the Ohio Supreme Court.
Finally, there came a hearing in the office
of the state’s pardon board, Officials and police
testified. One quoted Reinbolt as saying that
if he had not been arrested, he intended to rob
again and might possibly kill again. The execu-
tion date was set for March 15, 1963. A last-
minute plea for clemency was denied by the
then Governor Rhodes.
On March 15, 1963, Donald L. Reinbolt
strode calmly to the death chamber. He
clutched a small crucifix in his right hand as
he quietly recited prayers with a chaplain.
At 8:10 p.m., Reinbolt was pronounced dead.
He was the 315th person to die in the Ohio
Penitentiary electric chair. a
SO THAT’S WHAT BECAME OF GETTIS continued from page 19
at the Lee store, then bordered the Seaboard
Airline Railroad tracks. A creek ran along the
south side of this road, in a ravine about ten .
feet deep, bordered by heavy underbrush. The ~
creek could not be seen from the road, but
the construction foreman was peering care-
fully. along both sides of. the road, looking for
tire tracks that might not have been washed
out by the heavy rains. He noticed several
queer dark blotches that could have been oil.
He stopped for a closer look, picked up a blob
of the discolored sand and sifted it between
his fingers. The residue was a dark red. It
wasn’t. oil!
The man clambered down the ravine bank
and parted the brush on the creek bank. Mrs.
Merrill Lee was huddled, motionless, in two
or three feet of water. She was fully clothed
in a sweater, stockings, dark skirt and red
slippers. One hand, with fire-engine red finger-
nail polish, moved slowly back and forth in
the current. .
The man scrambled back up the bank and
drove into Parrish to report his find to officers.
Residents of Parrish, several dozen of them,
were already on their way to the creek when
the officers’ car, with Sheriff Roy Baden in the
lead along with Bradenton Police Chief Mack
Britt, sped past. FBI Agents McVay and
Byers came along to assist and Manatee
County deputies followed.
Already on his way down from Tallahassee
was State’s Attorney W. Mack Smiley, in-
tensely interested in the case that was to put
the little town of Parrish in the headlines for
weeks—and off and on for several years to
come, Wardens from the Florida State Game
and Fresh Water Commission, including their
pilot, soon joined the group standing along
the ravine bank as the body of Merrill Lee
was lifted up to the road.
There were severe bruises on her face, as if
she had been beaten before she was shot, and
the cursory inspection revealed three bullet
holes in her body, one through her heart, one
through her skull and a third in the neck, all
fired at close range.
Shocked, saddened, but curious people from
Parrish and its environs continued to stream
down the road from town, but the late-comers
had to be satisfied with the outlines of the
body under the sheet, while those who had
come early. described in hushed tones how
Merrill Lee “had looked.” Brusque deputies
kept them away from the part 9! the road
and the bank where the blood spots had been
seen first. Other officers poked up and down
the road and ravine looking for any other
clues. They found several $1 bills within 100
yards of the body and the dead woman’s
glasses. It appeared as if Mrs. Lee had been
shot immediately after she was dragged from
the car, as a profusion of other blood spots
and trails were found at the ravine’s edge and
all the way down to the creek. There must
have been much more before the deluge of
-rain on the murder night washed them away.
The downpour had obliterated any tire tracks.
After the ambulance took the corpse to
town, deputies, police, state and county game
wardens and local volunteers began to spread
out through the palmettoes and brush in a
widening circle, looking for the body of Gettis
Lee. It was logical to assume that the couple
had died together and that his corpse would
be in the same area.
The pilot returned with his plane and
circled low over the tops of the loblollies,
while an observer studied the ground for a
body or signs that a body had been dragged
along the ground. Due to the rains, blood-
hounds would be useless. The ravine and
creek were searched for miles on each side of
the spot where Mrs. Lee had been found;
little ponds in the area were waded by men
with probing poles and others kicked at the
tough palmetto fronds to see what was under-
neath. The pilot, from the air, described the
moving circle of men fanning out from the
starting point as a widening ripple on water,
with the little group of townsmen on the
ravine bank as the spot where the imaginary
pebble had been dropped.
The dogged search continued all day Satur-
day, until a vast area had been covered, far
wider than it seemed that the killers would
. have carried a 150-pound deadweight. State’s
Attorney Smiley met reporters later in the
afternoon and told them that Mrs. Gettis Lee
had met death in only one way. “Murder,” he
stated emphatically. “I am going to continue
the investigation. We have a lot of work to
do. She was murdered, there is no doubt about
that!”
The all-day search had not found the body.
of Gettis Lee and Smiley added that the
matter can now be “investigated at several
angles.” He had no idea if Lee were dead or
alive. An autopsy, just completed, established
the time of Mrs. Lee’s death at between 9
and 10:30 Thursday night. A fourth bullet
hole had been found in her leg, although any
of the other three would have caused her.
death. She had been beaten on the face and
there was a three-inch cut on her back, which —™
might have been caused by a sharp stone or
shell as she was dragged down the ravine
bank.
The point between the location of Mrs.
1 el ss :
Cid SRE
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eet
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Lee’s body and the market where Lee’s car ee
was found could be traveled entirely along
back roads, he said, and was the logical route ~~ 3
from the Lee home to Palmetto to be taken
by anyone who wanted to. stay off the well-
patrolled main highway, 301. A search would
be continued along those backroads on the
chance that Lee’s corpse had been tossed out ~
after his wife had been dragged into the ditch.
The townspeople, all of whom had known
the Lees well, joined in the search without
official sanction, reminding one officer that it
was an ordinary citizen who had found Mrs.
Lee.
During the search of the house, neighbors
stood sadly outside, many admiring the bounti-
ful garden of flowers that Mrs. Lee had put
in in her front yard. Two guns were found ~
in the house, both belonging to Gettis, but a
.32-caliber pistol he owned was missing. Did
that have any significance? Had he taken the
gun, as he often did when he went out at
night, carrying large sums of money? His
watch was on the bureau. Why hadn’t he
taken that? He never took it: off except to go
to bed at night. ese
On Monday, Smiley announced that he ex-
pected some arrests to be made within the
next 24 hours. One “hot” suspect in Tampa
had already been questioned and_ released,
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Hon, James. A. Rxoves Res Donan Le. REr#B0LT
GOVERNOR OF OHIO + 114-314, O.P.
od
-Ce
NOT GUILTY AND WAS BOUND OVER TO THE GRAND JURY, REMAINING
IN THE CounTy JAILe =
_ REINBOLT'S RECORD SHOWS THREE PREVIOUS FELONY CON-
vicrrons. On Fresruary 11, 1952 we WAS COMMITTED TO THE
FEDERAL REFORMATORY, CHILLICOTHE, OHIO TO SERVE EIGHTEEN
MONTHS FOR VIOLATION OF THE DyeR Act. PaRoLeD rw OcroBER
1952, HE WAS LATER DECLARED A PAROLE VIOLATOR AND RETURNED
TO THAT INSTITUTION WHERE HE SERVED HIS MAXIMUM SENTENCE
WHICH EXPIRED DecemBer 11, 1953. Ow Avcusr 11, 1954, Rern-
BOLT AGAIN WAS SENTENCED T0 THE FEDERAL REFORMATORY AT
CHILLICOTHE FOR VIOLATION OF THE Dyer ACT WITH A SENTENCE
OF EIGHTEEN MONTHS. HE WAS TRANSFERRED TO THE FEDERAL Core
RecTionaL Insrrrurron av? Nruan, MICHIGAN WHERE HIS SENTENCE
EXPIRED ON OcToBER 12, 1955. Ow Novemsper 29, 1956, Rrrne
BOLT ENTERED THE OnIO PENITENTIARY TO SERVE ONE T0 TWENTY
YEARS ON THREE CONCURRENT SENTENCES FOR FORGERY. HE WAS
PAROLED iiAY 11, 1961 AND WAS STILL ON PAROLE WHEN HE COMe
MITTED HIS PRESENT OFFENSE.
Sonn Aucust 31, 1933, REINBOLT IS TRE OLDEST OF THREE
CHILDREN BORN TO LAWRENCE AND MeRIAN REINBOLT. THE CHILD-
REN WERE BROUGHT UP BY THEIR NATURAL PARENTS ON A SMALL
FARM IN KaxnsaS, Onto. In 1949 at THE aGE OF SIXTEEN, REIN-
BOLT LEFT SCHOOL AFTER COMPLETING THE TENTH GRADE AT JACKe
son Townsuyrp Hxr¢oH ScyooL. Two YEARS LATER HE ENTERED THE
ARMY AND RECEIVED AN UNDESIRABLE Discnarce In 1952 wHILE
INCARCERATED AT CHILLICOTHE. HIS FATHER, LAWRENCE REIN-
BOLT, DIED IN 1952 aS THE RESULT OF A TRUCK ACCIDENT. AP
THE TIME OF HIS DEATH, THE ELDER REINBOLT WAS ON PROBATION
TO THE COMMON PLEAS CournT, FREEMONT, OHIO FOR LARCENY.
On June 8, 1962, REINBOLT WAS EXAMINED BY Dr. Jed.
ALPERS OF THE PENITENTIARY PSYCHIATRIC VEPARTMENT. A COPY
ox Dr. ALPERS' REPORT YS ATTACHED HEREWITH.
At THE TIME OF THIS WRITING, PENITENTIARY RECORDS
SHOW THE FOLLOWING RELATIVES?
NorwerR Merram Rerneour 3237 McXrnugy Ave., CoLumsus
SISTER JorcE DENUNE
Gr/ifo Bessie REDNER
SISTER Dororuy Ray AppRESS UNKNOWN
7] td id "
work on in the case, I’d like to go back there
again tomorrow and do some more looking.”
“Good luck,” the sheriff said.
On Saturday, Mann was back at the garage
to resume the search. He carefully picked his
way through the grassy and wooded area, sift-
ing dirt and rocks through his hands, looking
for metal. He dug into the ground, and sifted
through sand.
He was a tired man that night, but Clyde
Mann was determined. With no additional im-
portant leads coming in, the missing .25-caliber
automatic pistol remained the only lead to
follow and he meant to follow it. Mann learned
determination while serving in the Marines in
the South Pacific in World War II. He also
had worked for a private detective agency and
as a railroad detective before joining the
sheriff’s staff. On Sunday, he was back at the
garage. Another day of searching produced
nothing.
The next day, Monday, September 4, was
Labor Day. It had been a week since Edgar
L. Weaver was shot to death in his grocery
store. Labor Day meant a holiday for most
of Columbus, but Sergeant Mann was back at
work, searching around the garage.
“Any luck?” an employee of the garage
asked him.
“No,” Mann said. “And I’ve gone over every
inch of ground around there. I'll look inside.
Maybe something fell out or got kicked in.”
The sergeant searched inside the garage and
close to its exterior. He moved some oil drums
aside and dug into oil dirt and sand. Finally,
he turned up a shell casing. He could tell it
was from a .25-caliber automatic pistol.
That night, the shell was taken to the labora-
tory of the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Identi-
fication and Investigation at London. And,
next morning, the jubilant Sergeant Mann had
the report back from London. State techni-
cians said the same firing pin had struck the
shell Mann found as the shells picked up at
the murder scene.
“Well, Clyde,” a deputy said, “you found
one needle in a haystack. Now, all you have
to do is find another.”
Mann was at the garage early that day talk-
ing to the owner and two of his supervisory
employees. They told him they had no idea
who might have taken the gun, so the ser-
geant asked for a list of everyone who came
into the garage.
“That’s a big list,” he was told. “We have a
lot of people working here. And there are 25
or 30 fellows in that hot rod club who meet
here, as well as the members of the volunteer
Gre department.”
Determined, Mann took down the lengthy
list of names. As he did, he asked questions
about the men—how often they came into the
garage, what business they had in the garage,
where they lived, what they did, their reputa-
tions, and, especially, their whereabouts the
previous Monday, if known. Then, the ser-
geant began to seek out the men on the list
and question them, at the same time having
the names run through the record files in Co-
lumbus and London.
Four men on the list had felony records and
had served prison sentences, he was informed.
That afternoon, Mann made specific in-
quiries at the garage about the men with
criminal records.
“None of them has been causing any trouble
around here, or anyplace else I know of,”
Mann was told by one of the garage super-
visors. “And this one here,” the man said,
pointing to one name, “he worked that day.”
“Every time I think of it! Bigamy!!.. .”
Mann moved that man’s name near the bot-
tom of his check list, then resumed question-
ing employees and other persons who had
access to the garage, asking if they knew of
anyone who might have taken the gun and
about their whereabouts for the afternoon of
August 28.
The next day, Wednesday, he weat on down
the list of names, questioning men and check-
ing their alibis. He did not find anyone who
appeared suspicious and the men’s stories
checked out. That night, Sergeant Mann sighed
heavily as he entered the sheriff’s office and
gave a progress report. He told the sheriff and
Lieutenant Beck that he had eliminated most
of the men on the list as possible suspects.
“But there are a few things that I still have
to work on,” Mann said. “I'll be back out there
tomorrow.”
ON Thursday, September 5, Sergeant Mann
returned to the garage, seeing more people.
In the afternoon, he got around to a name
near the bottom of his list: Donald Reinbolt.
Reinbolt, 28, was a studious-looking young
man. He lived in the nearby trailer area and
worked as a general laborer around the trail-
ers and in the garage. He knew a number of
men already had been questioned about the
Weaver murder and showed no emotion when
the sergeant asked him about it.
“What were you doing that afternoon?”
Mann asked. “It was a week ago Monday.”
They were outside the garage. The air was
hot and sticky. Reinbolt appeared to think for
a few moments, then said:
“I remember .. . I went to a doctor. I got
treated for poison ivy.” .
“Then you didn’t work that afternoon?”
“No. I was off that day.”
The officer observed the young man as he
told of the visit to the doctor. Reinbolt said
he had walked to the doctor’s office in Colum-
bus, was examined, then given a prescription
for medicine. He said he walked to a drug-
store, got the prescription filled, then walked
home.
“J didn’t get back here until late Monday,”
Reinbolt concluded. :
“What was the doctor’s name?” Mann
asked.
Reinbolt said he did not remember, that
he just kept walking until he saw a sign for
a doctor’s office and then went in there.
“The doctor’s address?”
Reinbolt didn’t recall that, either.
“How about the drugstore where you got
the medicine?”
“Sorry, I can’t remember that,” Reinbolt
said again.
To more questions as to his activities that
day, Reinbolt could only add that he had visit-
ed several stores in Columbus, but he could
not give any specific names.
“You did a lot of walking that day,” Mann
said. “And you say after walking into town
and doing all that walking around, you walked
back home?”
“Well, I caught a ride back most of the
way,” Reinbolt said.
“Don’t you have a car?”
Reinbolt said he did not.
More queries brought only the same re-
sponse. Reinbolt still could not give anything
specific about his movements or the routes he
took in his extensive walking. Several times,
he changed his story regarding the streets he
had covered.
“Where’s your trailer?” Mann asked.
PPB RANG
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Reinbolt led him to his home and invited
him inside. The sergeant found nothing in-
criminating there, but asked more questions
and finally took Reinbolt downtown to the
sheriff’s office and had him held for further
investigation.
“I’ve caught this fellow in a number of lies,”
Mann told the sheriff and Lieutenant Beck.
“He was near the bottom of my list because
they thought at the garage he was working
that Monday, but he took the day off. He’s
given me several stories about his movements,
but he can’t back up a thing. He can’t even
give me the name of the doctor or the drug-
store he said he visited. The more he talks,
the more suspicious I become.”
“Has he got much of a record?” -
“He did two federal prison terms for auto
theft, 18 months each time,” Mann said. “And
he just got out of the prison here last May.
The record showed he did about six years on
a forgery conviction. He lives in that trailer
court and works for the boss there and around
the garage.
“But he can keep telling all kinds of stories
and, unless we can come up with some evi-
dence, we might be just spinning our wheels.
If we had a witness at the grocery store, things
might be different. But, the way it stands, we
have to get some evidence. Nobody at the
garage saw the gun being taken. And it’s not
in Reinbolt’s trailer.”
“Maybe if he took it, he threw it away,”
was a suggestion.
All agreed that was possible. “But there’s
something else here that seems to stick out,”
Mann said. “This Reinbolt said he doesn’t
have a car. And as far as anyone around the
garage knows, he doesn’t have one. But I
think this is the kind of a guy who has to have
a car. He did two stretches for car theft. He’s
got a car somewhere, I’m sure. Maybe even
one he’s stolen and stashed away.
“He’d want to keep it secret, even if he
didn’t steal the car. He’s on parole and he
can’t own a car without permission and they
probably wouldn’t give it to him now .. . I’m
going back to the trailer court.”
"THE suspect was kept locked up while Mann
returned to the court and garage. It was
late Thursday. Mann asked more questions.
“Tf Reinbolt does have a car, he sure has
been keeping it a secret,” Mann was told by
several of the workmen there.
“Yeah,” another at the garage agreed. “I
never saw him with a car and he said he
doesn’t have one. I’m sorry I gave you the
information that he was working that day. I
thought he was working that Monday. He was
supposed to be on the job and a lot of his
work takes him into and around the trailer
camp. He must just have taken off on his
own.”
“Well, anyway he didn’t know I’d been
told he was working,” Mann said. “So when
I started talking to him, he right off admitted
he wasn’t working that day. I’m going to
check the cars around here and see who owns
them.”
“A lot of cars here, Sergeant,” he was told.
“More than 100.”
“Any around the garage I ought to look
into?” Mann asked.
“No, sir. I know the owner of all of these
cars,” he was told by one of his informants.
Mann went to the trailer area, where num-
erous cars were parked alongside trailers. After
some brief questioning, Mann was able to
establish who owned them, so he went on to
a parking lot nearby. There, another large
group of cars were parked and Mann was told
some of the occupants of the trailer court
parked cars there, but mostly the lot was
for the convenience of visitors to the trailer
court.
The sergeant took down descriptions and
license numbers of the cars as he went through
the trailer court again, asking questions about
the cars én the lot. He finally was able to pin
down the ownership of all the cars except one,
a 1956 black Plymouth with an Ohio license.
Mann radioed in the license number and
description. A few minutes later, the dispatcher
radioed the answer the sergeant had hoped for
during the tedious hours behind him.
“The car is registered to a Donald L.
Reinbolt,” the dispatcher reported. He gave
the sergeant the address Reinbolt had used,
the trailer court where Mann had just visited.
Sergeant Mann returned to the black Plym-
outh. The car was unlocked. He opened the
doors and looked inside. In the glove compart-
ment, he found a .25-caliber automatic pistol
and a box of shells.
The sergeant showed the gun to the garage
owner. He looked the weapon over, noted the
nick in the handle, and identified it as his
missing gun.
“Where did you find it?” he asked.
Mann told him. The garage proprietor was
surprised. Neither he, nor anyone else around
the garage, knew Reinbolt had a car.
Sergeant Mann, spurred on by his success,
took the gun to the Columbus police depart-
ment’s crime laboratory. There, test shots were
fired, and slugs from the test shots were com-
pared with the slugs that had struck the mur-
der victim.
Soon, technicians told Mann that micro-
scopic examinations established the bullets were
fired from the same gun.
There was excitement that night in the
sheriff’s office, as Sergeant Mann outlined the
web of evidence he had gathered against Don-
old L. Reinbolt. And when the sergeant went
over the evidence again with the suspect him-
self, Reinbolt said simply, “Get me a cup of
coffee and I'll tell you the whole story.”
Reinbolt settled back with his coffee and be-
gan talking. On the day of the killing, he said,
he took off work and parked his car near
Weaver’s Market. Walking by, he noticed cus-
tomers in the store, so he walked on. He said
he walked by the market again, observed the
customers inside for a second time and con-
tinued walking. He walked by the market for
a third time, saw the grocer finally was alone
in the store, and went inside at shortly after
3 P.M.
He leveled the revolver over the meat
counter at the grocer, Reinbolt said. Weaver
turned away and Reinbolt thought it was “to
pick up something,” so he fired one shot which
hit Weaver in the back, knocking him to the
floor,
The suspect said the grocer began scream-
ing from the floor, so he fired three more shots
into his body “to keep him quiet.”
He took the victim’s wallet, Reinbolt said,
and left the store. He took about $60 from
the wallet, then threw it out of the car on El
Paso Drive.
It was early Friday morning when Reinbolt’s
statement was completed and taken to the
county prosecutor’s office. That afternoon,
Prosecutor Earl W. Allison and his assistant,
Richard Brentlinger, went to the county jail.
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