California, C, 1933-1988, Undated

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He owned a ranch in the Saint Mary’s story,” the Buite officer said. “She “Can you prove it?” soula at eleven o'clock,” Rice said to

Lake area, seems to be a pretty nice person,” “Bobby can tell you. It was a little Hoover and Johnson. “Someone is
Hicks told the Missoula authorities “Does she know anything that might after eleven, wasn’t it, Bobby?” wrong.”
that he had left Missoula at 10:30 help us?” Johnson said it might have been as The — service-station operator in

Saturday evening and had driven “She says not. She's willing to go to late as 11:15 when they left Miller with Drummond definitely recalled Hicks
straight through to his ranch, He ad- Missoula if you want her.” ‘ Hicks. : being in his station at 11:30 Saturday
mitted knowing Paul Miller and said he “I don’t think we need her right “That's another lie!” Hicks cried. “I. night.

had seen Miller around ten o'clock. now,” Rice replied. “But thanks.” wasn’t even in town then!” ‘ “I was ready to close up when he came
Then he voluntarily agreed to return to The Missoula officers went back to Rice eyed the three men. “This is in,” he said. “I couldn't be mistaken
Missoula for questioning. : questioning Hicks.’ They asked him’ important,” he said. “We know that about the time.”

Hicks arrived Tuesday morning and about the quarrel he supposedly had = Miller was killed before midnight. The No one could have driven the 50
gave the same statement he had given with Miller, rain started then and the ground under miles in 30 minutes, Hicks was re-
to the Helena authorities. ., “I wasn't quarreling with him,” Hicks Miller’s body was dry. You three men __ieased.

“You were seen with Miller going into insisted. “I was only warning him were: the last we’ve found who saw him Hoover and Johnson were held on a
the Garden City Tavern at eleven about those sharpies he was matching alive.” es charge of investigation. Soon, inten-
o'clock,” Rice told him. : coins with.” “Rain!” Hicks cried. “That's it! 1 sive questioning of bartenders and Pa-

“That's a lie,” Hicks declared flatly. Rice asked: “Is there any way you can prove what I've been telling you!” trons who had been near Woody Street
“I saw Paul about ten o’clock. He was can prove you left town at half-past “How?” on Saturday night located several wit-
with two fellows and they were match- ten?” . “The rain began about half-past nesses who Placed Hoover and Johnson
ing quarters. Paul was kind of drunk “I checked out of my hotel.” eleven and the windshield wipersonmy with Miller up until 11:30 that evening.
and I could see that these fellows were “That was at ten o'clock and it car weren't working and I stopped at a Chief Rice announced that he was
taking him. I warned Paul about them, doesn’t prove that you left town.” station in Drummond to have them requesting charges of first-degree mur-
but he wouldn’t listen.” : *“You find those men who were flip-. fixed. That was long before midnight.” der to be placed against the pair.

While the officers were questioning ping coins with Paul. They'll tell you.” “We didn’t get any rain until mid- When the charges were read in a pre-
Hicks, the Butte authorities called. Rice had Gould and Swain brought night,” Rice said. liminary hearing before District Court
They had located Julie. in. Hicks studied the pair closely and “It started out on the highway at Judge Albert Besancon, both men en-

“We traced her by those earrings,” shook. his head. They were not the half-past eleven, I know, because the tered pleas of not guilty,
the Butte officer said. “A cab driver re- two. . : - station in Drummond was ready to Judge Besancon bound both men over
membered picking her up at the bus That left Hoover and Johnson. OM- close. You can call there and see.” to formal hearings on the charges.
depot.” : 3 cers were sent out and soon returned Drummond is about 50 miles from They: were indicted for first-degree

“What does she have to say?” Rice with them, : Missoula on the road to Helena. “This murder but subsequently the indictment
asked. “They're the boys,” Hicks stated could be odd man out,” Chief Rice said, against Johnson was reduced to man-

“She was with Miller, all right, but flatly. as he picked up the telephone. “Hicks, slaughter and he entered a plea of
she claims they had a quarrel, so she Rice turned to Hoover and Johnson. are you sure you were there at half-past guilty. As this issue of OFFICIAL DE-

got on the bus and came back to Butte.” “Is this the man you saw with Miller?” eleven?” TECTIVE STORIES Magazine goes to

“Ask her if she knows a fellow, Lonnie “It looks like him,” Hoover said. “Within a few minutes one way or press, sentencing of Johnson and trial
Hicks, who has a cattle ranch up near. “That's the one,” Johnson declared. the other,” Hicks said. “I left town of Hoover are pending.
Helena,” Rice requested. “What time did you see them to- about half-past ten and I'd taken about

The woman claimed that she did not gether?” Rice asked Hoover. an hour to drive the fifty miles to Drum- The names of Julie, Arthur James °
know Hicks. . : \ “Like I told you before, it was eleven mond.” Gould, Lonnie Hicks and Frederick C.,:

“We figure she’s telling a. straight o'clock or a little after.” “And you claim he was here in Mis- Swain are fictitious in this story.

From the Note Joe Couldn't Write (Continued from. Page 23) opeic, Read lt Fitst.n

Francisco and Daniel in Sacramento. “If you could get a Sample of his The next progress in the case came member, I told you I had two surprises.
“Tom saw it last night in the papers,” writing, we could settle this in a hurry,” Monday when Daniel Banks called Mid- Listen to this.”

Janiel said. “He, called me and we the Sheriff said, “Sherwood Morrill is yett from Sacramento. “I located that The Coroner took a piece of Paper

hought we’d better come up and see one of the best handwriting experts in letter from my brother,” Banks said, from his desk. He explained that in

vhat we could do.” - the country and he’s with the State “and I also found his naturalization -going through Mrs. Banks’ Personal
Newspapers had headlined the story Bureau of Criminal Identification and papers, The handwriting looks the effects they had found a holograph. .,
‘nd stated flatly that Joseph Banks had Investigation in Sacramento.” Same as on the note.” “What's a holograph?” Midyett
illed- his former wife and committed “Wait a minute!” Daniel - cried. “I'd like to have them for an ex- asked. N |
uicide. “You know, we all came over here from _pert’s opinion,” Midyett requested. “A handwritten document. And
“I just can’t figure Joe doing a thing England. I'm pretty sure I have Joe's “Will it be all right to mail them? this one is a will, Here.”
ke that,” Thomas said, shaking his naturalization papers in a safety- I can’t get away.” The will was dated September 1,
ead. “I know he drank quite a bit but deposit box with my own. His signa- “Sure, that will be fine.” 1954. It left Mrs. Banks’ entire estate
e was always a meek, quiet sort of ture will be on them. Except they’re An hour or so later, Coroner Keaton to a person named Bart L. Caritativo
allow. nk ; pretty old.” telephoned. “How about you and the with instructions that Caritativo was to ;
‘How long has it been since you’ve “It might do,” Sellmer said. Sheriff coming over?” Keaton asked. pay her mother, Mrs. Catherine Gavin,
en or heard from your brother?” “T’'ll look it up Monday whenthe bank “I think we have a couple of big sur- $50 a month for the rest of her life, the
All of three years or more, Thomas opens and let you know,” Daniel prom- prises for you.” Stinson Beach Community, Inc., $100 a
nd Daniel said. ised. “And I'll see if I can find that “Like what?” year for five years as her personal con- H
“Joe used to live in Sacramento,” letter. . Maybe Joe did do this thing “They'll wait until you get here,” the tribution to the community, Jack F. |
aniel declared. ,, He sold used cars and te that note, but I'd like to be Coroner answered. Grew, her accountant, any amount due |
lere.' I knew he’d been married but I sure.” and “Grandma” Lawrence, $1,000 for

adn’t heard of the divorce.” WHEN Sellmer and Midyett arrived, return of her motherly love,

_ Are you sure he did this?” Thomas SUNDAY afternoon, Deputy Wood- Keaton told them: “I'll let Doctor ‘Who is Bart L. Caritativo?” Midyett
iked. ington called the office from Stin- Manwaring give you his report first.” asked. :
Midyett handed them the suicide note son Beach. He reported that he had “T had an analysis made of the blood “He's the Filipino houseboy of Mrs.

id the brothers read it. . fouhd a friend of Mrs. Banks who had of Joseph Banks,” the Doctor declared. Ethel Lansburgh, Mrs. Banks’ next-
T guess that proves it,” Thomas said. Seen her with Juarez in a San Fran- “The report shows a four point five door neighbor,” Keaton said. “Mrs.
te must have gone temporarily in- cisco cafe about two months previously. alcohol content.” Lansburgh is a wealthy widow and owns
ne. é “This friend stopped by their table “Is that anything like a drunkome- the estate just above Sea Downs.”
Daniel Banks continued to eye the to talk for a few minutes,”,Woodington ter test?” Midyett asked, “But why leave a couple of hundred
icide note. Finally he said “Tom, do declared. “She asked Juarez where he “No. A blood analysis is much more thousand dollars to a houseboy?”
U see anything strange about this? had been since he left Sea Downs and. accurate.” “Here is the answer,” Keaton said, -
ou mean the way he Says ‘re- he told her that his immigration per- “How drunk was he?” picking up another sheet of Paper, “She
onsible to what you see’ instead of mit had expired and he had been forced “I'd say he was unconscious.” left this letter along with the will.” \
1 what you see’? to return to Mexico. He was in the “Unconscious?” Midyett cried. “And The letter read: . i
No. I mean the way he signed it— country on another permit and was he stabbed himself with a knife?” - ;
seph! I never knew Joe to use the making arrangements to become a “In my opinion,” Doctor Manwaring Bart: Since I have known you I.
me ‘Joseph’ in his whole life. He citizen.” i stated flatly, “he was so drunk he could have been continuously observing
vays signed everything Joe. Woodington’s information would ex- not have lifted his arms, let alone your character because I had the
Midyett leaned forward. “Is it your plain why Juarez had left Sea Downs. thrust a knife into his chest.” feeling that some day I would be
ather’s handwriting? If he had returned to find that Mrs. For a moment Midyett thought it able to do something for you in re- j

Thomas studied the note. “I haven't Banks was leasing the resort and had _ over. He finally said: “And that means turn to what you have been doing
any of Joe’s letters in years, but made plans for an extended visit to he couldn't have written the suicide in helping me.

say it looks like his except it’s a bit Ceylon, what would his reactions be? note, either. I’ll bet we'll find it was Now I come to the conclusion
ater. Joe didn’t have a very good How close had he been to her? forged. Somebody killed Mrs. Banks that you are a very refined boy—
nd. What do you think, Dan?” . Midyett mentally reviewed the sui- and then killed him and made it look honest, sincere, real and true
Tt looks like his writing. But I still cide note. Were the mistakes in gram- like a murder and suicide.” friend, and above all, you are a° "
nder if he’d sign it ‘Joseph’, mar, the phrases “I had been pushed” “I don’t want you to go on my find- Perfect gentleman. !
Midyett: asked: “Do either of you ‘and “Am responsible to what you see ings alone,” the Doctor declared, “so Because of these fine qualities a“

ve any samples of his handwriting? and find”, the type of error that might I've sent additional samples to Doctor you possess I have chosen you to {
: searched through all of his belong- be made by a person not too familiar Douglas Kelly at the University of Cali- be the heir of my estate known as

8 and couldn’t find any.” , . with the English language? The un- fornia. His report should be ready in ~ Sea Downs here in Stinson Beach,
I doubt it,” Thomas said. dersheriff sent a telegram to Officials in a few days.” California, with the four condi-
Janiel thought for several moments, Mexico City asking for any informa- “Your report is plenty good enough: tions attached.

30t a letter from Joe about two years tion they could give him concerning to get us rolling on this,” Midyett said. Bart, I like you a lot. I consider
» and I may have saved it because it Fernando Juarez. He also wired Im- “We've suspected it all along. The - you like a brother. Please be al-
1 his address on it. But I’m not migration officials with & similar re- thing now is—who killed them?” ways a good boy. Don't give me
e, . quest, Coroner Keaton spoke up then. “Re- away. I wish you all the luck and

happiness and may God help yo
and bless you. Your true friend,
Camille Malmgren.

“The will was dated on the first and
the letter on the seventh,” Coroner

‘ FOR a moment the officers were silent.

an idea of what was in that will, he'd
have ‘a two-hundred-thousand-dollar
motive, , Let's get him in here for ques-

Caritativo, a diminutive, shy, 48-
year-old houseboy, came to the Sher-

will and said he had no idea that Mrs.
Banks had intended to leave him any-
thing. She never had spoken to him of
it or even hinted at it, he said.
Caritativo told the officers that. he
had emigrated to California in 1926
and attended the Oakland high school.
Upon his graduation he returned to the

4 Philippine Islands, married and had a

Son and in 1932 sailed back to the
United States, where he had applied for
his citizenship papers. For the past
eight years he had ‘worked as a house-
boy and chauffeur for Mrs, Lansburgh,

“I wanted to learn to write,” Carita-

tivo said, “and I heard Mrs. Banks was -

once a writer so I asked Mrs. Lansburgh
to see if she would read some things I
had written. She was very helpful to
me and I was thankful and respectful
to her.”

“Where were you Thursday night
hg six o'clock on?” Midyett asked

“Thursday night I have off because
Mrs. Lansburgh isn't going anyplace,”
Caritativo declared. “I went to San
Francisco to a gambling joint. It is the
one thing I do bad. I like to gamble,
All Filipino boys like to gamble.”

“Where?” Midyett asked. “We'll
have to prove your alibi.”

Caritativo said that this would be
‘difficult. The game was in a hotel room
and to avoid Police, a different hotel
was selected each night.

“I just go where Filipino boys hang
out and somebody tells me where game
is,” Caritativo explained. -

However, he was able to supply the
names of a number of friends who, he
claimed, were in the gambling room
Thursday. He said he would try to find
out where they lived so Midyett could
question them.

“Do you know a fellow named Fer-
nando Juarez?” Midyett asked.

A cloud passed over the moon-like
face of the houseboy. He nodded his
head ‘seriously.. “Much unhappy fel-
low,” he said. “Very good thing when
he go away.” -

“What do you know about him?”

“I go see Mrs. Banks about what I

He quoted the contents of the suicide
ote purportedly left by Joe Banks and
aritativo made a Copy of it. The Fili-
ino houseboy then was returned to the
tate at Stinson Beach in a cruiser

After he had gone, Midyett and the
mag discussed the latest develop-
ents, :
“The letter and the will and the sui-
le note could all be forgeries,” Mid-
tt said. : :
§ “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket,
Don,” cautioned Sellmer.

“What do you mean?”

tie
,
‘

“Quite possibly the woman actually
did leave her estate to the Filipino

about it. Rich women sometimes do
Peculiar things.”

“Then why was she killed?”

Sellmer shrugged. “If we had the
answer to that, we'd have the case
solved. But a number of motives could
exist. She did a lot of traveling and
we don’t know who she met or what
kind of people she was with. And she
had a lot of business dealings.”

Midyett made a wry face. “How
would one of those Motives involve the

“Here's another point,” Sellmer
said. “You're going on the assumption

Planning a crime use a hammer for the

Weapon? To me, it looks like she was

killed by Someone who was in a rage,

maybe as the result of an argument.”
“How about Joe?”

Banks was in the house at the time he
killed Mrs. Banks, ~Then he discovered

“Maybe,” Midyett replied. “But two
hundred thousand dollars is a good mo-
tive. I'll stick with it until we get a
report from Morrill. And I'm going to
send this stuff up there in a car to-
night so he'll have it the first thing in
the morning.” ~

NEITHER Sellmer nor Midyett had
voiced publicly any suspicion that

thing more than the murder and sui-
cide reported in the newspapers, How-
ever, Tuesday afternoon reporters
learned that Bart Caritativo was the
heir to the property and the story of
the poor Filipino houseboy who would

noon. .
“Do ydu have any leads?” he asked

Midyett as soon as they met.
“Nothing definite,” the undersheriff

Weissich, Sellmer and Midyett sent
him the samples of Mrs. Banks’ writ-
ing and then went into a huddle.

“The forged suicide note, along with

tor Manwaring’s report that Joe
Banks must have been unconscious
from alcohol at the time he died, leave
no doubt) it was a double killing,” the

“And Caritativo’s alibi could leave
us without a Suspect,” Midyett added,
“if it stands up.”

“How about that fellow Juarez?”
Weissich asked, “Didn’t you say a wit-

“A blank wall.”

~weapons and no finger-prints,”
“It wasn't a Prowler,” Midyett said.
“No? Why not?’’

“The suicide note, First, a prowler |

wouldn’t take that much’ trouble to
cover his crime. Second, how would he
know Joe Banks’ name or what to write
in the suicide note? Somebody planned
this crime.”

WEISSICH drummed a pencil on the
table top. “I agree with you that
it must have been a planned crime,
And if that's the case, someone has to
have a motive.”
“Sure. But what?”
“That's what we must find out. Only
two motives are possible. Gain, or
&@ personal hatred. We'll have to-go

’ into Mrs. Banks’ Past life thoroughly.”

“We've been operating on the theory
that the killer was after Mrs. Banks,”
Sellmer declared. “Isn't it possible the
motive was against Joe Banks? The
killer might not even have planned to
Kill Mrs, Banks until she stumbled on
him while he was fixing up the suicide,”

“Anything is possible,” Weissich
agreed. “But guessing in the dark isn't
going to do us any good. We have to
find something to give us a lead.”

Wednesday afternoon, Thursday and
Friday, the officers spent long hours
questioning relatives and friends of the
slain couple. They had one advantage,
for no word had leaked out that the

Small leads seemed to develop as the
officers came up with tips about quar-
rels or business misunderstandings, but
when they followed through, each one
petered out.

Friday afternoon, Sellmer and Mid-
yett visited Weissich’s office,

“Can you get me a search warrant?”
Midyett requested.

“I suppose so. What do you want to
search?”

“I want to look over the quarters of
Bart Caritativo. He lives where he
works at Mrs. Lansburgh’s estate,”

“Why Caritativo?” Weissich ques-
tioned. “What do you expect to find?”

“I want some more samples of his
handwriting.” Midyett pulled out:a
sheet of paper. “Here's a copy of Mrs.
Banks’ will and letter. Let me read you

From a copy of the forged suicide
note, he read: “‘I am responsible to
what you see and find.’ ”

Midyett said: “In both the letter and
the suicide note, the writer’ uses the
75 ‘to’ when it should have been
‘for’.”

“Yes.” . , .

Midyett went on: “Here’s another
bart of the letter: ‘Please be always

‘ood

‘
“Mrs, Banks?” Weissich asked. “But

. She couldn't have! No one could beat

writing a will.”*

Weissich frowned as he considered
Midyett's reasoning. “Then, if the let-
ter and will are forgeries—".

Midyett broke in to finish the sen-

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59

ill
r

tence for him. “One person could have
- Profited from the will—Bart

aeoat Carita-
vo.”

“And you want a search warrant?”

“I’m after some of Caritativo’s hand-
writing—some that he wrote in his
natural hand. And I want Morrill to
compare it with the letter, wil] and sui-
cide note.” -

“We'll get the search warrant right
away.”

at Sacramento. He had his report
ing.

With Ruby Decked Out for Her Wedd;

the killer Picked out Walking x Canyon
to hide the body, Slim? Not Many be-
Sides loca] folks know about it.”

Matthews frowned @nd shook his
head to indicate he h

“But it’s sure aay that Dick Cureton

M.
replied. “First, get outa bulletin with

; “Do you know haro Dinwn ws

submitted by Caritativo were “obvious-

stopped him as
Lansburgh home from San Francisco.
Midyett Placed Caritativo under arrest
and took him to the county jail at San
Raphael while De

rs. Lansburgh and h
estate.

some new dance. You take a Step for-
ward and put your feet together and
aa take a half Step back—stufr like
that.”

The bartender shuffled his ‘feet to
illustrate the dance. ote

“Who was she teaching it to?” Rich-
ards asked.

Richards nodded. “Lemon Head” was
& prospector who occasionally came

kname.
She was teaching the dance to
Lemon Head,” the bartender Said. “It

“Do you know where we can find
Lemon Head now?” Richards asked.
“He's either in o han

Midyett -announced that Caritativo
refused to make any State

constitutional] rights as an American
citizen.”

In a press statement, Midyett de-
Clared: “T have never seen a& suspect so

. Nervous. This man showed nothing.”

District Attorney Weissich filed
charges of first-degree murder against
Caritativo. At the arraignment, a de-

After we left the Blue Moon, we went
up the street to The Nugget and I got

a load, but we weren’t drunk.”
The officers Sat by, listening.

“So?” Richards Prompted.
“So I said okay. | made out pretty
£00d on my last trip into the hills and I

Croft shrugged and indicated the

TY » photograph Johnson was holding. “]

always get all the lousy breaks. “She’s
dead, so I guess I'll go back to the hills.”

“What time was it when you saw her
last?” Richardc acka~-a

‘ Motels in’ the Lo

he turned the
Case over to rney Weissich,
made public his Praise for Undersheriff
Midyett “for his untiring efforts in
Pushing this investigation.”

The names Fernando Juarez and
Mrs. Ruby F
fictitious to protect the identities of
innocent persons who were not in-

of Silver City called Richards’ office in
rdsburg.
“We got a line on Miguel Fierro,”
Matthews Said. “He was working in

with in the Blue Moon Club.

This may be your case when we're

finished, Dick,” Sheriff Matthew said.
“How do. you figure? The body was

found in your county, near Silver City,
wasn’t it?” .
But she wasn’t killed at the
Place where she was buried. If she
was in Lordsbirg last night, she was
Probably killed there.”

atthews Suggested that an immedi-
ate canvass

Sending you down the rug we found in
the grave” ha eaia save .

CARAT!

AIT

7 ake edhe

VO, Bert Luis, His, gas

dies was blood all over the floor and on one wall. There
was the nearly naked body of a woman on the bed with her
head crushed in. The tall, gray-haired woman on the threshold
of the beach cottage saw all this in a single, frantic glance.
Then she turned and ran toward the Stinson Beach home of il
Deputy Sheriff Bill Woodington. All the

Just a hop, skip and picnic lunch north of San Francisco ees
lies the Marin County coast hamlet of Stinson Beach. Stinson, ie
as the natives call it, consists of a general store and some houses
that wander along the beach and look outward over the
Pacific.

On a clear day you can see the Farallones, twenty-one miles
away. Overhead the Pacific Clippers circle, rev up their
powerful four engines and head straight as an arrow for
Hawaii, two thousand miles distant.

It is a town that likes its quiet. On every other night but the
weekend, the sidewalks are figuratively rolled up and stashed
away when the sun dips down into the sea.

On the weekend, things are different. Then it is a rip-
roaring boom town, between sunup and midnight, anyway,
when upwards of ten thousand [Continued on page 74]

‘obviou

dence showing. that-Cazares’ was convicted of second degree murder in Ventura County ii
in 1918, and was sentenced to serve ten years in the state prison at Folsom, He was
paroled in 1916 and discharged from cusfody in 1917, Counselfor Cazares fought hard
against introducing the evidence, but the,court ruled against. him,. The evidence
consisted of a letter from the county clerk of Ventura reproducing the records in the
®#X Cazares case and a letter from the authorities at Folsom prison enclosing a photo
of-Cagaresat the time he was received there, together with a statement of his prison
record, Asked if he had anything to say regarding the previous murder, Cazares

cooly answered that the dist, atty. should try the present case now, and later on if
he wished to take up the Ventura matter he could do so,¥ IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El
Centro, California, March28, 1923 (1:7.) : | .

Alvino Mendez and Mariano Cazares must hang for the murder of Mike ,Fornasero,

‘he jury hearing the case having prought in a verdict of first degree murder against
each defendant shortly after 10 o clock last night, after, being out, almost 7 hours.
The case went to the jury yesterday afternoon at 3:29, and court officials immedia-~
tely settled themselves for a long wait, the general opinion being that no decision
would be reached for several hours.. About 6 o'clock the jury made known they had
reached a verdict and filed into court. They -returned a verdict of guilty,,.but did
not specigy to just what degree the guilt extended, Judge Congling instructed

them they must state speciacally the degree of guilt of both men and ordered them
¢0 return to the jury room. At 6:30. the jury went to dinner and upon their return

at 7%30 once more resumed'their deliberations. Shortly before 10 o clock they made
ynown to the bailiff that they were ready to report and the court wis hastily
summoned. eeBOth condemned men understood enough English to know that the verdict
was dgainst them, but neither made any commenteseEarly in the morning of January )

De C. Church, a rancher living near the Fornasero home in the Meloland district,
found Joe, Paul and Jacinto Fornasero, the small children of Mike Fornasero, lying
beside an trrigation dittch in front of their home, their faces and bodies covered
with blood from ugky wounds on their heads and with the jaws of both boys fractured
as the result of blows from some blunt instrument, Two of the children were uncon-
scious when found, * Paul, the youngest .boy, alone .being able to talk and then

only in a low whisper. Asked where his father was, he ppinted to the west and

there, but a few feet away from the children, lay the dead body of their father
whose kkull had been crushed by a terrific blow. Further investigation iny Mr.

Church resulted in finding Mrs.’ Fornasero nearly dead in a small room in the house,
she also having been beaten and abused and reduced to such a pitiable condition that
4% seemed doubtful she would survive, even for a few hours. ' Mr, Church notified

the sheriff's office and officers were rushed to.the scene, First aid had been given
the Fornasero family at Mr. Church s home and they were later taken to the El Centro
hospital where they remained for several weeks. Mrs. Fornasero was unconscious. and
delirious for over a month, Even yet she ‘is not fully recovered and with both boys
is still under the care of a doctor, When the children could talk, they told a story
of 3 men who had come to their house 2 nights. before Mr. Church found them, and

after killing their father, attacked their mother and later hit them in the head with
a blunt instrument‘ and rendered them unconscious. For 2 nights and a day no one came
near the ranch and it has never been known How the children managed to survive the
cold nights in their weakened condition, nor just when or how they managed. to drag
themselfes from the house to the spot at which they were found by, Mr. Churchese
Shortly after his (Mendez') arrest, he was confronted by Joe Fornasero, who pointed
him-out as the accused man, Mendez had attempted to commit suicide and at the time
was in a county hospital. Here he made 4 confession, charging ‘Jim Ortega, a well
known Holtville rancher, with the crime, Ortega was arrested and held in jail for
nearly a month, Two attempts to have him released on habéas corpus writs proved un-
successful, but tater the district attorney dismissed the charge because of lack of
evidence, After implicating. Ortega, Mendez stopped talking, and for several weeks
refused to eat, Since that day he has not discussed the crime with anyone and only
pis tragic request in court last Friday, that he be killed at once instead of
dragging out the trial,marked a state of absolute indifference which he assumed.ee
The Fornasero children had frequently told the authorities about a man named‘ Mariano,

who was ‘one of the men who had come to their house on the fatal night. They did not
: im b: , « f43 ith Cazares, who Wes
know him by any other name, but the name was finally Linked up wl ae

223 PACIFIC 65 (See)
\ CASAREZ, Mariano, Mexican, hanged at San Quentin (Imperial) on 529 @192h.

Group photograph of Fornasero family, victims, page one, IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El
Centro, California,.Jan, 30, 1923 (page one, columns. 1-3). ,

“Mariano Casseros, for whom Sheriff Gillett has been searching for several weeks in
connection with the Fornasero case, was arrested this morning in Calexico on suspi-
cion and is expected to be brought to Fl Centro this afternoon, Accompanying fasse=
tos at the time of his arrest was Cipriana Carrillo, whom the authorities also took
into custody and will be held until they are satisfied with regard to his connection
with Fornasero's death, Casseros has been known to be in, Mexicali, for several, weeks
past, and this morning Sheriff Charles Gillett and several deputies left to get him,
At Calexico they were joined ‘by Frank Crane, constable of that city, who knows Casse=
tos. Crane went across the line and found his man, asking him if he wished to go to
work on his (Crane's) ranch, Casseros agreed to go to work, and accompanied by
Carrillo and the officer, crossed :the line into the United States, Upon arriving at
First Street and Heffernan Avenue, Sheiff Gillett placed the Mexicans under arrest
and they were taken to the Calexico jail for questioning..." IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS,
El Centro, California, Feb, 2, 1923 (1:2.) : ,

"That Sheriff Gillett made an important capture in the arrest yesterday of Mariano
Cagseros in connection with the Fornasero murder, became eVident shortly after Cass-
eros was brought to this city yesterday. afternoon and confronted by the Fornasero
children, who promptly identified him as one of the murderers of their father, They
claimed it was Casseros who struck them whéle they lay in bed after they father had
been killed and their mother terribly .beaten, Although not confronted with Mrs.
Fornasero, it is thought certain that she too will identify casseros as being one of
her assailants, for from the earliest time she has been able to talk she has saied’
that’ one of the men who assailed her had on a red sweater and a large hate This
answers to the clothes Casseros had on when *aken yesterday...Mrs. Fornasero and the
children have left the El Centro hospital and are now being.cared for by friends in
this city," IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, California, Feb, 2, 1923 (1:8.)

"Alvino Mendez and Mariano Casarez today stand indicted by the ‘grand jury of Imperial
County:for the murder of Mike Fornasero at Meloland on Jan. 2, a joint indictment
against the men having been returned by the grand jury shortly after 5 o'clock last
night after many days deliberation over the evidence and testimony presented to them
by the district’ attorney's office, Mendez, one.of the first bo be arrested in con-
nection with the death of.Fornasero, was to be given a hearing in the superior court
this afternoon on habaes corpus proceedings brought by his. attorney, Wilbur W, Ran-
dall; however, the action of the grand jury in returning an indictment against him
practically nullifies the habeas corpus proceedings. Following his arrest early in
January Mendez attempted suicide by cutting his, throat with a razor blade and for
several days his life was despaired of,..The murder of Fornasero and stbsequent
attack’ on the rest of his family, was one of the most brutal tragedies in the his-
tory of Imperial County, It occurred on the evening of January 2, thought was not
discovered until the evening of the fourth, When the details of the crime became
known, feeling against the murderers was excessive and talk of Lynching them was
frequermtly heardese''! IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, California, Feb.16, 1923 (1:8

| |

| (In earlier testimony, not transcribed here, Mrs, Fornasero and the Fornasero chil-
dren all identified both Mendez ‘and Casarez.) "seelestifying through Richard Cohen,
official.court interpreter, Casares endeavored to prove thatche was not near the scene
of the murder at the time it occurred, He was on the stand at the time of going to.
press this, afternoon, being @m&imined by Dist. Att. Arnest R, Utley, The latter inti-
mated he would introduce‘damaging evidence against Cazares.,.Witnesses for Cazares
were on the stand yesterday and according to their stories had him in-three different
places at the time the murder was committed.*: Mrs, Mendez testified in behalf of her
husband, claiming he was at home on the night of the murder,,," IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS

» 4 ‘EL Centro, Merch 27, 1923 (1:8.)

".,,The district attorney sprung a surprise in court yesterday afternoon shortly be-
} fore the defense closed, when he took the witness stand himself and introduced evi-

4
‘

CAZARES, hanged San Quentin 5-9-192); - CONTINUED,

RAXXEXR

trailed to Mexicali...taken into custody he refused to discuss the case in any manner
and has consistently refrained from saying or doing anything that would establish his
guilt. Positive identification by Mrs. Fornasero and the children failed to faze
him, Officials connected with the case realized Cazares was a "bad man! and went
after his record, District Attorney “tley finally unearthed the fact that Cazares
was convicted of second degree murder in Ventura County in 1910 and was sentenced to
Folsom for 10 yearSeeeeThe other two men said to have been in the crowd which
committed the crime are still at large, but the authorities hope some information re-
garding them may yet be obtained from Cazares or Mendez, once they realize there is
no escape for theme,e' IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, CA, 3-29-1923 (1:1)

(at sentencing) "...Cazares rose languidly to his feet, when told to stand up, and
with arms folded, prepared to hear Cohen repeat the death sentence to hin. His air
of boredom gave way, however, as the solemn words fell from the lips of the inter-
preter, and he started to interrupt. Cohen told him to be still while the sentence
was being repeated, and that his chance to talk would come later, When it was over,
Cazares also claimed to be innocent and asserted his conviction was the result of a
frame-up between the sheriff's office, the distridt attorney and the court. He

said the crime demanded that somebody be punsihed and as he is a poor man, they were
-oing to make him suffer for it. He accused all connected with the crime of having
a 'big head! and a desire to make a name for themselves. At length he stopped his
harrangue at the suggestion of his attorney and the interpreter, and sat down.

Cohen said later that Cazares is just as 'hard boiled' as the day he was arrested
and if allowed to do so, might have continued his tirade against the authorities for
hourse.e!! IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, CA, l-li-1923 (3:1-)

“Not long, Baby.”
“You said that before.”

“I know I did, Honey. But it won’t be .

long now.”

“Why can’t I have my lunch?”

Outside, the lines on Chief Bowers’
face were deepening. The stalemate
could not last much longer. Something
had to happen.

He tried to place himself in the posi-
tion of the gunman inside the house.
What would he be thinking? How would
he try to break through the ring of offi-
cers and guns?

“He'll have to come out using the
woman and the little girl as hostages,”
Bowers reasoned aloud. “That’s his only
chance.”

“If he takes them away in a car,
there’s no telling what might happen,”
Murphy said. “The guy must be a
Psycho.”

“We can’t let him take them.”

“How can we stop him?”

BOWERS did not have an answer. It

would depend upon the kind of de-
mand Carter made. Once he made the
demand, possibly they could circumvent
it; but first they’d have to know.

“Some of the boys want to try to
sneak up to the house,” Murphy told
Bowers. “There are a couple of blind
spots. I think we could come in from
the back corner and get against the side
of the house.”

“Not yet,” Bowers said decisively.

“If the boys got in close to the house,
they could work their way along the
side toward the front. If he should come
out with the woman and little girl, they
might be able to grab him.”

Bowers still vetoed the idea. It wasn’t
the risk involved for the officers. It was
the risk to Mrs. Gorman and her small
daughter. So far, since Bowers had
arrived, there had been no shooting.

“As long as we can keep things quiet,
there is a chance we can work some-
thing out,” Bowers reasoned. “He’s
having time to think it over. We might
even be able to talk him out after a bit.
I don’t want to do anything to stir him
up, unless we are forced to.”

“It’s okay if I get the boys set for it,
just in case?” Murphy asked.

“You can get them ready. But I don’t

want anyone to make a move. You be .

sure they understand that. One shot
might be all that it would take to get
that woman and little girl in there
killed.”

Murphy moved off to talk to the men.
From the cover of a neighboring house,
it would be possible to make a dash to
the corner of the Gorman house. The
person making the run would be ex-
posed to gunfire only for a split second.

arene

"Has anybody been killed?" he asked.

And police lied to save more lives

Carter had been seen at times
through the kitchen window as he
stalked about inside the house. If a sig-
nal could be given by someone watching
the side of the house with the kitchen,
the person making the run surely
would be able to cross the open section
without being seen by the killer.

Murphy had far more volunteers
than he needed, who were willing to ex-
pose themselves to the bullets. He sta-
tioned. the men and told them not to
make a move until the plan was ap-
proved and Chief Bowers gave the okay.

Officers stationed on the opposite side
of the house were told to watch for
Carter. When things were ready and
they saw the man inside, they would
call to him hoping to draw his attention
away from the blind side. ‘

In Stockton, Woehrle’s body had been
picked up where he had been shot
alongside the road. An examination
showed that he first had been slugged
over the head with a gun barrel.

Sergeants Gibson and Dorwart, mak-
ing the investigation; questioned the
witness to the shooting. He told them
of seeing the killer stand over the
fallen victim and deliberately fire two
shots into the man’s body as he lay
sprawled on the road.

“A coldblooded, . senseless crime,”
Gibson declared. “If all he wanted was

the car, he could have taken it after.

knocking George out.”

In Modesto Gorman sought out
Bowers.

“How much longer?” he asked.

“We don’t know,” Bowers answered.
“Everything is all right so far.”

“Has anyone seen my wife and daugh-
ter?”” Gorman asked.

Bowers had to admit that no one had
seen Mrs. Gorman and Jenifer. “But
they must be all right,” he assured Gor-
man. “There haven’t been any shots or
cries. Your wife and daughter are going
to be all right.”

“With that criminal in there with
them?”

“All we can do is wait,” Bowers told
him. ‘We can’t make a move until he
tries something. It’s best that way for
your wife and daughter.”

But waiting was hard for Gorman.

It also was hard for Mrs. Gorman,
huddled in the shower stall with Jeni-

fer. Minutes ticked by so slowly it was
difficult to tell how much time had
Passed.

What was Carter planning to do?

How would he try to break through
the ring of guns holding him a prisoner,
just as he held the hostages prisoners?

Bowers used the bull horn again. He
reasoned with the killer, pointing out
to him that there was no way he could
escape. That the only way out was to
surrender himself.

“Ask him to release the woman and
little girl,” someone suggested.

“I don’t want. to mention them,”
Bowers said. “I don’t know why he
hasn’t tried to use them as a shield be-
fore this. And I certainly don’t want to
suggest it to him.” |

Officer Don Watson talked with Gor-
man. He learned the telephone number
in the house. On a long chance, Watson
used the telephone in a neighboring
home and called the number.

It rang several times.

a wera Watson heard the receiver
“Carter, is this you?” Watson asked.
There was no answer.

“Carter, this is a police officer. You
know we have the house surrounded.
or only chance you have is to surren-

er.” ,

A voice came over the wire to Watson.
It asked: “Has anybody been killed?”

“I don’t think so,"" Watson answered.
It was a lie, for Watson knew that
Woehrle was dead, but under the cir-
cumstances he felt that it was justified.

“Okay, I’ll come out,” the voice said.

“This is you, isn’t it, Carter?” Watson
asked.

“This is me. You tell them I’m com-
ing out.”

“Okay. Wait about a minute and
come out with. your hands held high.”

Watson raced out to inform Bowers
that Carter would surrender.

“Hold fire, everybody!” Bowers
shouted. “But be ready in case any-
thing happens.”

The front door of the house opened.
Carter came out. He walked into the
arms of Police Captain William Coul-
son, who promptly snapped a pair of
handcuffs on his wrists.

Blood was dripping from Carter’s left

$4,600 for The Cat’s Ninth Life (from page 32)

sort out the possible suspects from
those who had legitimate reason to be
there, proved a tremendous task for the
detectives. At first, they gave most of
their attention to the alleys and back
entrances. Then they realized that this
could make them conspicuous and they
decided to stick to the streets, although
near the mouths of alleys where any
movement toward a back door could be
spotted.

“There's one thing in our favor,”
Chief McMahon said. “The red coat
and red cap will stand out like a Christ-
mas tree.”

But would the prowler continue to
wear them?

Lieutenant Neurauter and Sergeant
Uhlir spent many tedious hours with
the modus operandi files. They found
no jockeys, no one known to have
worked as a human fly. Five men, how-
ever, who had been in one phase or an-
other of show business and might have
some skill at acrobatics, had become
burglars.

Three were eliminated quickly; one
was in prison, two were tall and muscu-
lar. The other two were of slight build

and their descriptions fitted in a gen-
eral way that of the burglar. Lieuten-
ant Neurauter ordered copies of mug
shots made up.

Hubert Howard, the racing magnate
who had been victimized twice, ruled
out the likelihood that the prowler was
a jockey who had called at the apart-
ment on business and thus learned the
layout. Howard said that, though he
knew some jockeys, none ever had vis-
ited him at his home.

Te maid who had surprised the bur-

glar as he came in the eighth-floor
window looked at the mug shots of the
two former showmen. She was unable
to identify either.

The Japanese houseboy, too, studied
both carefully, then shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Not him.”

The prowler, now dubbed the cat
burglar because of his unusual agility
and his ability to climb to high places,
continued to elude the detectives. Four
other apartments at different addresses
on Lake Shore Drive, another on Cedar
Street and one on State Parkway were
burglarized and because of the diffi-

culty of access police were sure he was
responsible for all.

Even more men—all that could be
spared—were thrown into the Gold
Coast area. And the burglaries stopped.
A night passed and no theft was re-
ported.

Had the large concentration of dis-
guised police been spotted by the cat
burglar? Was he staying away until
the heat was off?

Nobody knew.

Soon the reason for the lack of bur-
glary reports from the Gold Coast be-
came apparent. The cat had switched
his operations to the far North Side—
the tall apartment buildings of Marine
ree ig in the Summerdale police dis-
trict.

Detectives and patrolmen from the
Summerdale station, all disguised,
poured into the area. But they didn’t
spot the cat, though he climbed either
a fire escape or a wall and entered a
sixth-floor apartment in the midst of
their concentration, stealing $475 in
cash, plus jewelry.

The loot here, of course, was much
less than in the previous burglaries.

arm. One of the shots Campoy, Risen-
hoover and Towle had fired as Carter
ran toward the house had nicked him in
the elbow.

Gorman led a number of police offi-
cers in a race into the house. The sight
of the blood dripped across the living
room and kitchen caused Gorman to
utter a hoarse cry of alarm.

But Mrs. Gorman and Jenifer were
found ‘unharmed, still locked in the
bathroom.

“Is it all over?” Mrs. Gorman asked.
“T’ve been so terrified!”

“It’s all over,” Gorman said, taking
his wife into his arms.

Jenifer had only one question.

“Can we eat our lunch now?”

At headquarters, Bowers said that
Carter first claimed he could remember
nothing. “I just don’t remember any-
thing before I ran into that house,” he
insisted. “If you say I killed a Ppolice-
man, I guess I must have done it. But
I don’t remember nothing about it.”

“You had his gun,” Bowers told him.

“I know I had two guns. But I can’t
remember where I got the other one.”

Carter was taken.to Stockton where
he was questioned the following day by
Captain Garibotto and Chief O'Keefe.
They claimed that Carter gave them a
signed confession to the Slaying of
Woehrle.

They quoted Carter as saying: “I just
lost my head when he told me he was
going to take me to jail. I already told
the district attorney I wasn’t responsi-
ble for that girl having a baby. While I
was getting dressed, I picked up my gun.
All I had in mind was taking his car so
I could get away. He started to fight
with me. I hit him on the head with the
gun. It didn’t knock him out. That
made me mad, so I guess that is why I
shot him. I know it doesn’t make much
sense, but that is the way it happened.”

It didn’t make sense to Gari-
botto and O'Keefe. They had known
Woehrle during the eighteen years he
had been on the force as a gentle man.
He voluntarily had remained in the
juvenile department because he wanted
to work with young people.

“He. may have tried to talk Carter
into surrendering, but I don’t think he
would have fought with him,” Garibotto
declared. “George just wasn’t that kind
of a fellow. He never used force on
anyone.”

Carter was charged with murder and
kidnaping with bodily harm. Convic-
tion on either charge can result in the
death penalty under California law. As
this story was written, Carter was being
held in custody without privilege of
bond, pending further legal proceed -
ings.

“He doesn’t get enough up there,”
said Chief McMahon. ‘“‘He’ll come back
to the Gold Coast.”

The detectives continued to prow]
Marine Drive and the Gold Coast and
still they saw nothing of the cat. He was
busy, nevertheless. The next time he
selected a building on Howard Street
near Sheridan Road. Again, the loot was
much less than he had become accus-
tomed to.

On April 1, Lieutenant Neurauter
was transferred to a new assignment
and Lieutenant Spiotto became chief
of the burglary detail. He ordered the
disguised detectives to continue their
surveillance of the Gold Coast.

The cat seemingly couldn't keep away
from Millionaires’ Row. Shortly before
eight o’clock the next night, April 2,
Detectives Al Faro and Henry Brinker
spotted him.

They heard the slamming of a car
door on Division Street near the inter-
section of Stone Street. A slender man
wearing a red cap and red mackinaw
slipped silently across the street, then
ducked into an alley that runs behind
Stone Street apartment houses.

“There he is!” Faro cried. “Let’s get
him!”

They raced to the alley. The man in
the red coat was nowhere in sight. For

street. He was nearly half a block
ahead of them, but the gap was widen-
ing. Again they yelled a warning to
stop or they would shoot. Welch
ignored the warning.

Each officer fired a shot in the air
over the fugitive’s head. He kept run-
ning. They then took aim at his legs
and fired again. Welch went down,
tumbling forward under the momen-
tum of his own flight.

When Bender and Alexander reached
him, he was cursing and struggling
to rise and continue his attempt to
escape. One bullet had struck him
in the right buttock. The wallet was
still clutched in his hand, and he
continued struggling so violently they
had to put the cuffs on him.

While trying to determine the extent
of his injury as they awaited an am-
bulance, they found that the bullet
which hit him had passed right through
a folded checkbook in his hip pocket.
The checks in it were imprinted with
the name, “Tom Black.”

“Looks like he had good reason to
run,” Officer Alexander observed grim-
ly, still panting from the exertion of
the chase. “Either he beat and robbed
that guy he brought in, or he rolled
him while he was lying there.”

Moments later the area was filled
with police vehicles, as radio cruisers
and detectives, alerted by the hospital
staff when the chase began, responded
to the alarm from headquarters. Even
handcuffs did not deter the muscular
fugitive from struggling and it re-
quired the efforts of four men to
load him into the General Hospital
ambulance.

Patrolmen Bender and Alexander
filled in the detectives on what had
transpired thus far, and the group of
officers returned to the hospital park-
ing lot to examine Welch’s convertible.
They noted immediately that the
chrome grille work on its front end
was newly damaged; it looked like it
had run into a car which stopped
ahead of it.

They found a profusion of blood on
the front floor mat and on the leather
covers of the right front seat, obvious-
ly where Black, the injured man, had
been placed for his journey to the
hospital.

On the floor of the rear seat they
found a bumper jack, the handle of
which ended in a V-shape. Detectives
put the jack and its handle in their
car for delivery to the crime lab, where
it would be examined in detail. Patrol-
man C. E. Myers was assigned to
drive the convertible to headquarters.
The other police vehicles followed him
in.
Before they reached the station, how-
ever, the convertible became mired in
a mudhole, and the other officers
stopped to help Myers free the con-
vertible. Myers went back to the
trunk, to see if it might contain a
shovel, but he had hardly opened. it

when he recoiled. A nauseating odor
rose from the trunk compartment.
Later Myers said, “When we opened
that trunk, we smelled death right
off.”

Another detective who was present
added, “and in view of what had hap-
pened, it smelled like murder.”

The veteran officers had no doubt
about the nature of the sickly-sweet
stench in the trunk. It could only
have been caused by one thing—de-
composing flesh. There was no body
in the compartment now, but there
must have been one there not long
since. At the moment, all they could
see was a wealth of caked and dried
stains in the bottom and sides. It would
require laboratory analysis to make it
official, but they were sure it was
blood. There was also a scattering of
leaves and gravel littering the com-
partment.

Obviously, of course, the dried blood-
stains could not have been made by
Black, the “hit-run” victim brought
to the hospital that night. The same
question, therefore, was in the minds
of every officer on the scene: Had
there been another attack, ending in
murder?

Chief of Detectives Captain William
E. Flor was called at home and awak-
ened to be filled in on the details.
“Looks like we've got hold of a big
one,” one of his men concluded. Flor
dressed hurriedly and came to head-
quarters, where he found Lieutenant
James E. Shumate, head of the crime
laboratory, examining the blood-
stained convertible in the police garage.

While awaiting the results of this ex-
amination, Captain Flor dispatched a
fingerprint team to the hospital. The
team found its work cut out for it;
Welch, still full of fight, had to be
strapped down and subdued with a
sedative before they could get his
prints. They had less trouble with
Black, the “hit-run” victim.

Both sets of prints were run through
the Denver Police Department's Iden-
tification Division, with negative re-
sults. The files contained nothing on
either man. Captain Flor ordered
copies of their prints rushed to the
FBI in Washington for comparison
against the federal bureau’s master
files. He also ordered “a make” on
the convertible’s license number
through Arizona State Police Head-
quarters at Phoenix.

“Let's see what Welch had on him,”
Flor said next. He was handed the
bullet-pierced checkbook belonging to
Tom Black, and the wallet belonging
to Welch. In the latter he found $180
in cash, as well as a U.S. Marine Corps
certificate stating that Master Ser-
geant Ralph Robert Welch was honor-
ably discharged on May 18, 1953. That
was only a few days more than two
months earlier.

An Arizona driver’s license and other
papers all bore Welch’s identification.

Captain Flor shook his head sadly.

“Just out of the Marines and going
haywire like that. He’s got a wife
and kid, too—pictures of ’em here.” He
held out a few snapshots showing a
pretty blonde woman holding an in-
fant.

Captain Flor picked up the telephone
and asked the operator to get him Tuc-
son police headquarters, where he was
connected with Captain James D.
Allaire. Allaire copied down all the
information Flor could give him about
Welch and promised to run an im-
mediate check on the man at the West
Alturas Street address.

Big Mike Cavanaugh, chained to a hos-
pital bed, fought cops, refused to talk

By the time Flor had finished talk-
ing to Tucson, Lieutenant Shumate
was ready with his report on his exam-
ination of the Ford convertible. He
had done a meticulously thorough job,
assembling specimens for analysis,
compiling copious notes, and taking
both black and white and color pic-
tures of the trunk interior and other
parts of the car.

“There’s no doubt that a decompos-
ing body was carried in that car, and
not too long ago,” Shumate informed
Captain Flor. “I’ve collected samples
of dried blood, hair, and shreds of
tissue. There's fresh blood on the
jack handle—also hair, but that prob-
ably came from Tom Black. These
other traces are older.

“And I found these in the back
seat.”

Shumate dropped a couple of objects
on the captain’s desk—a pair of sun-
glasses, with blood-encrusted frame
and cracked green lenses; and a broken
piece of removable gold dental bridge-
work.

“How do you figure it?” the captain
asked,

Lieutenant Shumate shrugged. “It
looks to me like someone was killed
in the back, then put in the trunk,
carried for’some days and later thrown
out. I’ve iaken samples of the gravel
and leaves—they’re from a sort of
evergreen tree, and not very old.

“They might give us a lead to where
it happened. I’m sending all the sam-
ples and data back to the FBI lab. Do
we have any idea who the victim
might have been?”

Captain Flor shook his head nega-
tively. “As yet, we’ve got very little
to go on. Both fellows are still un-
conscious—we had to knock out the
big guy with a shot to get his prints.

“But if Welch’s story is true—that he
drove up here from Tucson and was
just passing through—the murder could
have been committed almost anywhere
in Arizona, Utah, or Colorado—maybe
even in Mexico.

“And as for the victim, it could be
any one of them, or none of them.” He
pointed to a thick sheaf of missing per-
sons circulars on his desk. “We might
get a lead when we hear from Tucson,
or when we can talk to Black and the
big guy.”

A call to Denver General elicited the
information that Tom Black’s condi-
tion was critical, He had a serious
skull fracture, and his left hand was
broken, possibly suffered as he at-
tempted to ward off blows from his
assailant. Black was at that very mo-
ment undergoing an emergency opera-

tion to relieve the pressure on his
brain. If he survived, it would be a
considerable time before he was able
to talk.

But though Black appeared, for the
moment, at least, to be a highly du-
bious source of information, diligent
police work turned up something on

h (r.) leaves court with attorney after not-guilty plea

aaa

his background. By eight o’clock on
Thursday morning, Homicide Detec-
tives Joe Holindrake and Tom O’-
Neill had succeeded in establishing
that Black was a local resident. They
traced him to an address on East 12th
Street, where they learned he had gone
out the previous afternoon. But that
was as much as could be found out; no
one at the address could even hazard
a guess at what might have happened
to him, nor how.

Meanwhile, Captain Flor had made
a discovery of his own. Anxious to
have a personal look at Welch, he had
gone to the hospital. He was admitted
to the room where the big, bellicose
man, still manacled and strapped to
a bed in the prison ward, was sleeping
off the effects of the sedative admin-
istered to him under protest.

Captain Flor’s brow furrowed in a
puzzled frown for a moment as he
stood looking down at the blond giant.
He reached in his pocket, pulled out
Welch’s wallet, and studied the iden-
tification papers it contained. The cap-
tain’s eyes flickered back and forth
from the papers to the man in the bed.

Finally he exclaimed, “This man is
not Welch! He was carrying somebody
else’s papers. He doesn’t come close
to fitting the descriptions here.”

The papers from the wallet bore him
out. They described Ralph Welch as
32, five feet six inches tall, 145 pounds,
with black wavy hair, dark complex-
ion and hazel eyes.

The man in the bed might have been
about 32, but there the resemblance to
the real Welch ended. The sleeping
man was an inch or two over six feet
tall, he had to weigh at least 200
pounds, he had dark blond curly hair,
and his eyes, a hasty check showed,
were light blue.

The questions awaiting recovery of
consciousness by the big blond man
were piling up. But answers to other
questions in Captain Flor’s mind were
soon forthcoming. When he got back
to his desk at headquarters he found
that the Arizona State Police and Cap-
tain Allaire of Tucson had called in
their reports.

The green Ford convertible was reg-
istered to Ralph R. Welch of Tucson.
It had been bought there in June. It
had never been reported stolen. That
much came from the state police.

Captain Allaire had other news. In-
vestigation of the West Alturas Street
address disclosed it was not Welch’s
home, but that of his parents. They
told Tucson detectives that their son
had visited them early in June, shortly
after his discharge from the Marines,
but that he had since gone, with
his wife and two-and-a-half-year-old
daughter, to live in California. They
gave his address as a trailer court in
Chula Vista, a city today of some 45,-
000 population south of San Diego and
only a few miles from the Mexican
border.

Welch had been a Marine for more
than 12 years, served in two wars, and
won decorations for heroism in combat.
He had been discharged recently for
medical reasons. At the time he visited
his family in Tucson, he had $6,000
in mustering-out pay, and he had
spent part of this to buy the second-
hand Ford convertible and a house
trailer. He had been looking forward
to settling in California after his long
career of moving about while in ser-
vice.

“But it looks like he was heading up
your way this week,” Captain Allaire
had reported. “Just the other day,
Monday the 27th, his folks got a tele-
gram from him, from Colorado Springs,
asking them to wire him $75 there.
They sent it, and that’s the last they’ve
heard from him. They thought he’d
gone back to California. They’re
pretty worried right now.”

Allaire’s men had also obtained a
detailed description of young Welch
from his parents. It tallied with that
on Welch’s identification papers, and
confirmed that the big man now in
Denver General could not possibly be
the ex-Marine.

Captain Flor now placed a call to
Chula Vista, California police with a
request for assistance in checking at
that point. He outlined the circum-
stances and spelled out the prisoner’s
fingerprint classification code. Next
he called Colorado Springs, 70 miles
to the south of Denver, and requested
inquiries at Western Union there about
Welch’s wire to his parents.

At this point, police guards at the
hospital reported that the big blond
prisoner seemed to be coming out of
his sedation stupor and was demand-
ing to know why he was chained to his
bed. When they asked him his name,
he said it was Welch. He was very
drowsy, and had gone back to sleep.

Captain Flor now ordered a teletype
bulletin to all points in Colorado, New
Mexico and Arizona. It spelled out the
real Welch’s corroborated description,
and requested any information avail-
able on a man answering it anywhere
in the area. If they were lucky, the ex-
Marine might still be alive, but, said
Flor wryly, “I’m not banking on it.”

In Chula Vista, California, mean-
while, Sergeant Charles L. Woods, chief
of detectives, assigned Detectives Rich-
ard L. Quick and Virgil H. Seiveno ta
conduct a hasty inquiry at the trailer
camp address of Ralph Welch. He as-
signed other men to check out the
fingerprint classifications received from
Denver, and asked the sheriff’s depart-
ment in San Diego to do likewise.

Detectives Quick and Seiveno found
Ralph Welch's pretty blonde wife with-
out difficulty. Not wanting to alarm
her, they told her they were making a
routine check on her husband. She
said she had not seen him for a week.
“He took off in his car one afternoon
and didn’t come home.”

Pressed to be more specific, they
learned from her that Welch drove
away in his convertible around four
o'clock Thursday, July 23rd. He had
been restless all day and said he was
going out for a couple of beers and
a sandwich. He had with him a check
for $48.52, which he planned to cash.

D. A. Don Keller (r.) hands Cavanaugh
paper said to be a confession to Ralph
Welch’s brutal murder as attys. watch

“|

Ae PERETTI AY

Springs and showed it to the officers.

It read, “Need money to come home. -

Either you or bank wire $75 im-
mediately, care Western Union here.
Home soon. Love. Ralph R. Welch.”
His wife had wired the money, but she
had heard nothing since. She assumed
her husband was enroute home.

Back at headquarters, detectives
learned that the Denver mystery man,
the blond giant, had finally been identi-
fied. His fingerprint classification had
done the trick. Sheriff Bert Strand,
at San Diego had pegged him as
Michael Timothy Cavanaugh, 29, of
National City, which is just a few miles
north of Chula Vista. Cavanaugh had
more than a nodding acquaintance with
the police of several states. At the

moment, he was being sought by Sheriff .

Strand himself, because of his escape
from the State Hospital at Patton,
California, where he had been com-

mitted as a mental case after an ar-
rest for forging checks. He had
escaped on July 12th.

Sergeant Woods was reasonably cer-
tain Cavanaugh was the man who
figured also in a recent series of bad-
check complaints in Chula Vista. He
had used several names, the descrip-
tion of the passer in each case was
too close to that of Cavanaugh to be
coincidence.

At Cavanaugh’s home in National
City, his wife told detectives Quick
and Seiveno she had seen her hus-
band twice since he escaped from
Patton. The first time was on July
13th, the day he escaped, but he left
immediately. The second time he ap-
peared just before midnight on July
23rd, arriving in a green convertible
which he claimed he had borrow from
another patient at Patton. He wanted
his wife to pack up and go to Indiana

with him, but she refused, and pleaded
with him to return to the hospital. He
left about one a.m.

July 23rd, the detectives immediate-
ly noted, was the very night when
Welch had disappeared. The convert-
ible Cavanaugh was driving undoubt-
edly was the ex-Marine’s. After a stop
at National City police headquarters,
they left with a complete dossier, as
well as photos of Michael Cavanaugh.

It seemed that Cavanaugh had
started out in life in Greenfield, Mas-
sachusetts, where he was born and
raised as Richard Erwin Thayer. In
1942, at the age of 17, he had lied
about his age and enlisted in the Navy.
But four months later he was ousted
on an undesirable discharge after
trouble with bad checks. The record
showed that checks and the Navy
would continue to figure in the man’s
life.

On Nov. 23, 1942, he was picked up
in San Francisco for fraud and im-
personating a Navy officer, both
offenses committed in San Antonio,
Texas. He drew a three-year sen-
tence to Leavenworth, but because of
his age was transferred to the fed-
eral reformatory at Chillicothe, Ohio,
where he was paroled in 1944. Back
home in Greenfield, Mass., he was con-
victed in September 1945 of deliv-
ering alcohol to a minor. This brought
revocation of his parole and he went
back to Chillicothe. He was released
from there in April, 1947.

Less than a year later, he was up
for check forgery again, this time in
Lincoln, Nebraska, and he drew a 22-
month sentence in the state prison. In-
terestingly enough, he was again im-
personating a Navy officer, at the time
he passed the checks. Within weeks
after his release from this stretch, he
was nailed on a similar check charge
in Lincoln and drew another 18
months in jail.

It was around this time he changed
his name to Cavanaugh. Between jail
terms, Cavanaugh had been very active
matrimonially. In October 1942, he
married at 21-year-old beauty in Lin-
coln. She divorced him while he was
in prison. He married again in Mexi-
co City in 1948, married a third time
in 1949, and wed his fourth and cur-
rent wife in Glenwood, Iowa on April
22, 1950.

Cavanaugh’s record also showed
several divorces, but it did not escape
the alert eyes of Detectives Seiveno
and Quick that the dates of marriages
and divorces did not jibe; Cavanaugh

sometimes got his divorces after he
had already been married bigamously.
His present wife had been in complete
ignorance, both of his prison record
and his checkered marital career, until
the facts came to light when he was
committed to Patton. She knew only
that Cavanaugh drank too much, but
she had been confident she could get
him to mend (Continued on page 76)

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The Smell of
Murder

(Continued from page 57)

his ways, she told the authorities.

They came to California in June 1952.
He held two or three jobs briefly, but
in April 1953, he was arrested after a
bad-check spree in San Diego County,
cashing scores of worthless checks after
convincing his victims he was either a
captain or a lieutenant commander of
the Navy.

Cavanaugh’s long experience as a
con artist, however, helped him to
thwart justice. He was glib, personable
and intelligent. One of his victims
grudgingly paid him tribute as a man
who “could charm a snake.”

In any event, he charmed a judge into
believing he was a sick man, suffering
from headaches and blackouts since he
was a youngster when he had hurt his
head, he claimed. He insisted he couldn't
even remember passing the bad checks.
At his wife’s urging, he had been con-
sulting a neurologist. Now Cavanaugh
begged the judge to commit him to a
state hospital until they found out what
was wrong with him. The sympathetic
judge pigeonholed the charges and sent
him to Patton.

In the three months he was there,
doctors had made a tentative diagnosis
of psychic epilepsy, with chronic brain
syndrome and convulsive tendencies.
The patient’s aggressive, irritable tem-
perament and extreme egotism pointed
to this, and it was thought his crimes
might have been committed in so-called
“epileptic equivalent” states—black-
outs with amnesia, which sometimes
occur instead of epileptic fits.

Before a_- final diagnosis could be
reached, however, Cavanaugh took to
his heels.

Detectives Seiveno and Quick, after
poring through Cavanaugh’s voluminous
file, decided to see if they could pick
up his recent trail in Chula Vista.

“We know he didn’t have a car, but
he sure got around to a lot of places
to cash those checks,” Seiveno said.
“Let's start with the cab companies.

The hunch was a good one. They soon
found a cab driver who recognized
Cavanaugh’s mug shot as the man he
had picked up in front of a cafe on
National Avenue at 5:45 p.m. on the
23rd. He took him to several cafes, and
the officers set out to check the cold
trail. ;

It was at just about this same time
that Captain Flor began to make real
progress in the Denver end of the in-
vestigation. The FBI had confirmed the
ID on Cavanaugh. Flor had photo-
graphs of Cavanaugh and the still un-
conscious Tom Black released to news-
papers and television. The immediate
result of this move was confirmation
of Captain Flor’s suspicion that it had
been Cavanaugh, and not Welch, who
sent the telegraphic appeals for money
from Colorado Springs, then cashed the
checks when the appeals were answered.

Then the manager of a cafe on Colfax
Ave. recognized the pictures of Cava-
naugh and Tom Black and told police
they had been drinking there Wednes-
day evening, just a few hours before
they turned up at St. Luke’s Hospital.
The big guy was loud and belligerent,
the manager said, but Black kept trying

to quiet him and apologizing for him.

Next a prominent Denver business
man reported that Cavanaugh was the
man driving a green convertible which
had bumped him in the rear. He said
Cavanaugh willingly accepted the blame,
showed insurance papers, and assured
him the insurance company would take
care of the damage to his car. Black was
with him at the time, he said. This hap-
pened within an hour of the time the
pair showed up at the hospital.

“Well, it’s pretty clear that Cavanaugh
beat and robbed Black,” Captain Flor
concluded in a conference with his de-
tectives. ‘“He didn't find him lying
on the street. That much is sure. The
big question is, “Why did he bring him
to the hospital, instead of just leaving
him?”

He shook his head wearily. “With a
character like this, you never know. He
could have figured Black would never
recover to identify him as his assailant,
and done it as a nervy grandstand play,
sort of daring us to nail him with
something.”

Still unanswered, of course, was what
had happened to the real Ralph Welch,
but 1,200 miles away, in Chula Vista,
Detectives Seiveno and Quick were
finally putting the two men together.
They had turned up some hot leads on
Cavanaugh’s cold trail. One of them
led to a blonde barmaid who instantly
recognized the big guy’s mug shot, and
a picture of Ralph Welch as well.

“The big one is Curly,” she said. “Used
to drop in here often—he’s a Navy
officer. He and this other fellow—
Ralph—got to talking in here the other
day, about a week ago. She pinpointed
the date as the 23rd. She also said that
Welch had cashed a check in the place
for about $48.

Welch was moody, she recalled. He
ordered a sandwich and beer, and Cava-
naugh joined him at his table. When
Welch complained of a headache, Cava-
naugh said, “I’ll fix your headache. I’m
a Navy doctor, a lieutenant commander.
Just come with me.”

It was about 10 p.m. when they left
together.

Quick and Seiveno were by now rea-
sonably certain that Cavanaugh had
killed Welch sometime between that
time and 11:45, when he showed up at
his wife’s* home in the convertible.
Welch’s body was probably in the trunk
at that time.

“All we need now is the body,” Quick
said dryly.

In Denver, Captain Flor had decided
the time was ripe to start working on
that angle. With a couple of homicide
detectives, he called on Cavanaugh in
Denver General’s prison ward.

“Look, Curly,” Flor began, “we know
all about you. We know you're Cava-
naugh, not Welch. We know you picked
up Welch in Chula Vista and robbed
him of his money, car and papers. You
might as well tell us the whole story.
What did you do with the body?”

The big blond guy in the bed re-
garded the captain oddly for a long mo-
ment, then quietly dropped a bombshell.
“Sure I’m Cavanaugh,” he _ said.
“Michael Timothy Cavanaugh. Who else
would I be? But who’s this Welch
you’re talking about? And who are
you guys? What am I chained to this
bed for? And what’s the matter with
my hip?”

Captain Flor threw up his hands and
shook his head in disgust. “Here we
go,” he said wearily. To Cavanaugh, he
said sarcastically, “You're now going
to tell us you don’t remember a thing,
right?”

“J don’t remember much, What day

is this? Last thing I remember, my
wife was here to see me. That was the
Fourth of July.” .

“Where do you think you are?”

“Why in Patton State Hospital, Cali-
fornia. Where else? What’s going on
here?”

Flor stared hard into the big man's
cold blue eyes. Every ounce of his
instinct and experience convinced him
Cavanaugh was lying, but proving it was
another matter. He was sure that
with the lightning mental agility his
record proved he possessed, Cavanaugh
had pulled his new gambit right out of
the blue sky.

The man professed to be amazed
when he learned he was in Denver, that
he had been driving Welch's car, and
that he had done the things they said
he had. He could remember none of
it, he said.

An FBI report pinpointed the origin
of the leaves and gravel found in the
convertible’s trunk as California. The
leaves were California eucalyptus or
blue gum, and since this species does
not grow inland, they had probably come
from near Chula Vista.

The following morning, Tom Black
had recovered sufficiently to identify
Cavanaugh as the man who attacked him
after a drinking spree. For the moment,
though, no charges were filed, pending

‘outcome of the murder probe. Captain

Flor, meanwhile, worked on some
strategy. He had been calling on Cava-
naugh for long talks for several days
and they had been getting on well. Flor
knew a lie test would be useless on such
a pathological liar, but he had another
ace up his sleeve.

Pretending to be convinced by Cava-
naugh’s blackout yarn, he said, “I’d like
to help you, Curly,” I've seen a lot of
cases like yours before, where men are
accused of something they can’t remem-
ber because they blacked out. Many
times we’ve been able to help them get
back their memory, if they cooperated.”

“What do you want me to do, Cap-
tain?”

“Pd like to give you a truth serum
test—sodium amytal. Of course, we
can’t do it without your consent. We
give you a shot and put you to sleep—
that is, your conscious mind sleeps, and
your unconscious talks to us, like under
hypnosis.”

The big fellow was thoughtful for a
moment, a crafty look appearing in his
blue eyes. “Okay, Cap’n, I’ll go for it.
I got nothing to lose.”

Flor’s ruse had worked, and Cava-
naugh had outsmarted himself. The cap-
tain had no intention of giving him an
actual truth serum test, only pretend
that was what was happening.

The test was administered on August
7th. In the presence of Captain Flor and
several other officials, the doctor in-
jected a very weak solution of the drug,
just enough to make him feel he had
been given something, but not enough
to put him under.

Cavanaugh, promptly closed his eyes,
sighed, and in a little while began to
mutter drowsily, answering Captain
Flor’s questions in slow, mechanical
phrases.

He had taken the wheel of the con-
vertible, Cavanaugh said, while Welch
curled up in the back seat to nap. He
drove across the border to Tijuana and
parked behind a _ restaurant. Welch
stayed in the car, while he went inside
to get some fried chicken.

“When I came back, Welch was lying
dead in the back seat, naked and cov-
ered with blood. He’d been beaten and
stabbed. His wallet was on the floor,

empty. Some tramp must have come
along while I was gone and killed him
for his clothes and money.

“T realized I was on a spot. Who'd be-
lieve me with my record? I finally de-
cided I'd better just take over Welch’s
identification and put distance behind
me. I shoved the body in the trunk and
drove back to the U.S. I went to see my
wife, then headed up through Escondido
and east on Route 66.”

He drove to Arizona, Cavanaugh con-
tinued, pawned his watch in Kingman,
and spent a night at a motel. But by
Sunday the odor from the trunk was so
bad he was afraid to park on the street.
He had to get rid of it. He turned off the
highway in the desert about nine miles
west of Albuquerque, New Mexico,
found a deserted spot on a windswept
mesa and scooped out a shallow grave.

“I put my coat over him, then some
tumbleweeds for flowers, and I knelt
and said a prayer for him—and for my-
self,” Cavanaugh said.

Afterwards he went on to Colorado
Springs and then to Denver, where he
had the drinking bout with Tom Black,
which led to a crazy coincidence. Just as
he had done with Welch, he left Black,
who was not feeling well, asleep in the
back seat when he went into a restau-
rant. When he came out, he found Black
beaten and robbed. He took him to a
hospital and ran from the cops because
he was sure they wouldn't believe him.

That concluded Cavanaugh’s amazing
statement. The officers present, as well
as the doctor, knowing the man had
been fully conscious while making it,
had to concede it was a work of art, a
fiendishly clever blend of fact and fic-
tion. They believed Cavanaugh had told
the truth about verifiable facts, though
studiously avoiding incriminating him-
self as a killer.

When the prisoner “came to,” he said
his memory was restored. He remem-
bered everything he had said under the
truth drug, he said. He even drew a
rough map of the area where he had
buried Welch’s body.

A few hours later, aided by tele-
phoned description of the map, Bernalil-
lo County Sheriff's men at Albuquerque
found Welch in the crude grave. Though
badly decomposed, it could still be seen
that the ex-Marine had been hacked and
mutilated. Technicians were able to get
fingerprints from the corpse, and these
were flown to Washington, where Ma-
rine Corps records confirmed the iden-
tity of Welch.

Confronted with the truth about the
truth serum test, Cavanaugh blithely
went back to his blackout story, claim-
ing he could remember nothing he had
said during the faked test.

It was but one more in a series of sev-
eral turnabouts which followed. Re-
turned to California, he was tried for the
check charges in a couple of wild, ex-
citement packed trials, in the course of
which he fired his lawyer and undertook
his own defense on an insanity plea. He
was found guilty and sentenced to a to-
tal of three to 42 years on three forgery
counts.

On the same day, Chula Vista police
completed their murder case and
charged Cavanaugh with the slaying of
Ralph Welch. He was finally brought to
trial for murder in April, 1954, before
Superior Judge C. M. Monroe.

Once again, Cavanaugh went back to
his blackout story. He claimed he had
made the false confession only to relieve
his harried wife from further police
questioning.

This time, he let his attorney carry the

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on his client’s behalf. Despite his efforts,
however, the jury of eight women and
four men found Michael Cavanaugh, on
April 8th, guilty of first-degree murder,
without recommendation.

The very next day he went on trial
before the same jury on his insanity
plea, contending he had been suffering
from a mental blackout from the time of
his escape from Patton until well after
his arrest in Denver. A board of highly
qualified psychiatrists testified for the
State that in their joint opinion, Cav-
anaugh was legally sane, highly intelli-
gent, but a confirmed liar. The defense
presented its own experts but their plea
on the defendant’s behalf suffered in
cross-examination. The prosecutor won
their admission that they felt it was un-
likely that a man suffering from psychic
epilepsy would be able to write and pass
checks, plan an intelligent flight across
four states and invent detailed stories
while in a confused or amnesic con-
dition.

The jury’s verdict was that Cava-
naugh was sane. On April 30, 1954,
Judge Monroe sentenced him to death
in the gas chamber. The automatic ap-
peal from a capital sentence in the state
of California was but the first of many

legal steps, however, which delayed
Cavanaugh’s day of judgment for nearly
two years. His last hope was shattered
on April 12, 1956, when the United
States Supreme Court refused to review
his petition.

The following morning, at 10 o’clock,
he was led into San Quentin’s gas cham-
ber in the presence of official witnesses
and members of the press. His last
words were exchanged with the warden
after he was strapped into the steel seat.
The warden later said the condemned
man was “quiet and composed” as he
faced death.

At 10:04 the cyanide pellets were
dropped and Michael Cavanaugh
strained convulsively against his re-
straining straps as the swirling fumes of
death rose about him.

At 10:13 he was pronounced dead.

Epttor’s NOTE:

The name, Tom Black, as used in
the foregoing story, is not the real
name of the person concerned. He has
been given a fictitious name to protect
his identity.

Killed for Nothing

(Continued from page 17)

The bereaved grocer apparently had
kept large sums of cash in his house,
hidden away in paper bags. Even more
curious was the fact that though, accord-
ing to the police, some $30,000 had been
stolen from his house, Kramer never had
reported the thefts to the police.

Morris Kramer who, according to
friends, had remained in a dazed state
since the brutal slaying of his wife, ad-
mitted Captain Dave Brown and Ser-
geant McGinley to his living room. The
officers promptly broached the subject
of the money cached in the house.

Kramer shook his head. “I don’t know
anything about that kind of money being
hidden in my house. I’d give my wife
cash from the grocery store from time
to time, but I don’t know what she did
with it. I don’t know anything about
any robberies,” he declared.

“All right,” said Captain Brown,
“We're going to ask you to take a lie
detector test. Of course, it’s voluntary.
Will you agree?”

Morris Kramer thought this over for
a minute. Then he set down one con-
dition. He agreed to take the polygraph
test, police said, provided that no ques-
tions were asked about the $30,000 al-
legedly stolen from his home.

On the following day, according to
Lieutenant John Barron of the police in-
telligence unit, the grocer was ques-
tioned on the polygraph for some four
hours. Reportedly, the police obtained
no new evidence from the test.

Later that same day, Rodney Langnas,
the result of whose lie detector test had
been labeled “inconclusive,” and Steven
Silverman were taken before Judge
Theodore O. Spaulding in the County
Court’s juvenile division. The judge
held the pair, without bail.

While the officers doggedly pursued
their investigation, the residents of
Wynnefield Heights lived with fear and
apprehension. Housewives of the area
were terrified that the killer might strike

again.

One woman told reporters, “The lock-
smiths sure have been busy around here.
Everyone is changing the house locks.”

All of the neighbors spoke highly of
Morris and Claire Kramer. They were
described as an ideal couple who never
bothered anyone. All of them were as-
tonished at the report of the large sums
of money stolen from the Kramer house.

“J thought,” one housewife said, “that
they just had a little grocery store and
were people of modest means. But
when you consider that they worked in
that store 18 hours a day, seven days a
week, you can understand how they
made money.”

By now two weeks had passed since
the brutal slaying of Mrs. Kramer.
Steven Silverman had taken a lie detec-
tor test, and the polygraph reportedly
indicated he was telling the truth
when he admitted the thefts of the
Kramer cash but denied the murder of
Mrs. Kramer. Silverman, who worked
as a counterman in a hoagie shop, was
quoted as saying he had used part of the
stolen cash as down payment on a $4,000
Corvette.

Rodney Langnas was questioned on
several occasions by the detectives. He,
too, persisted in his denials of any
knowledge of the homicide.

Detectives Hammes and Magen
checked thoroughly on the background
of Langnas. They learned the names
of his friends, they learned his habits;
they also learned the addresses of the
places he frequented. Among the latter,
was a cheap lunchroom in downtown
Philadelphia.

After talking to the lunchroom’s pro-
prietor and to habitues of the place, De-
tective Hammes discovered a particular
crony of Langnas, a 24-year-old youth
named Leonard Engler. By diligent
police work, Detectives Hammes and
Magen established that young Engler
had been in Rodney Langnas’ company
on the evening preceding the slaying of
Mrs. Kramer and that the pair had eaten
lunch in the cheap diner on the day
of the murder.

Apprised of these facts, the officers
returned to police headquarters and con-
sulted the files. The records revealed
that, in 1957, Leonard Engler had been
charged by the FBI with the interstate

transportation of a stolen motor vehicle;
he had subsequently been placed on
probation for three years. In 1958,
Engler was discharged in Municipal
Court, following an arrest for receiving
stolen goods and conspiracy.

A year later, Engler was picked up
on a bad check charge. On March 26,
1959, he was committed to an indeter-
minate term at the Federal Correctional
Institution at Ashland, Kentucky. He
was paroled December 15, 1960.

Detectives Hammes and Magen de-
cided to pick up Engler for questioning.
The suspect’s last known address was
on Haverford Avenue, in Philadelphia.
He was not at home when the officers
called. It was not until November Ist
that Detective Magen ran him down.

Engler expressed indignation at his
arrest. He stated he was a house paint-
er, at present unemployed, and he had
been leading an honorable life ever since
he left the Kentucky prison. Engler was
taken to detective headquarters and
questioned by the detectives, who were
joined by Inspectors Harry Fox and
George Kronbar.

Engler reportedly stated that he
couldn’t recall whether or not he had
been with his friend, Rodney Langnas,
on October 11th. But interrogated
closely for several hours, discrepancies
began to appear in his story, police said.

Shortly before midnight, Leonard
Engler was locked in a cell as the offi-
cers took a coffee-break. The inspec-
tors decided that Engler was hiding
something and that he appeared close
to breaking down and telling the truth.

Inspector Fox picked up a telephone
and communicated with Assistant Dis-
trict Attorney Richard A. Sprague.
Sprague eagerly accepted the invita-
tion to help in the interrogation.

The hunch of the inspectors proved
correct. Leonard Engler started to talk
in a low, monotonous voice as his hands
twisted nervously.

According to a later statement issued
by Attorney Sprague, and evidence
given in court by Detective Hammes,
Engler’s story, as disclosed by author-
ities, cleared up the savage slaying of
the Polish refugee:

On the morning of October 11th, the
statement recounted, Engler and Lang-
nas drove in the latter’s Thunderbird car
to the downtown luncheonette where
they picked up an acquaintance named
Loney Johnson. Langnas was said to
have remarked that they could pick
up some cash at the Kramer house, and
he had a key.

As quoted from the statement, Eng-
ler and Johnson considered this an ex-
cellent idea. Langnas swung the car
around and headed for Country Club
Road. Langnas parked the car a short
distance from the house. Johnson, be-
fore getting out of the car, picked up a
20-inch combination tire iron and lug
wrench which he thrust up his sleeve.
Langnas handed the key to the Kramer
house to Engler and said he would re-
main on the sidewalk as a lookout.

Engler was ransacking the dining
room and Johnson was standing by the
front door when Mrs. Kramer came
downstairs, carrying some laundry.

“She screamed,” the police quoted
Engler. “And Johnson hit her on the
head with the tire iron. She fell on
the sofa. Johnson kept hitting her.
He beat her over the head and he kept
beating her. I thought he’d never stop.”

Finally, the pair ran from the house,
joined Langnas and raced to the Thun-
derbird. They drove down town, dropped
Johnson, and stopped at the luncheonette
where Langnas and Engler had steak
and coffee. The rest of the day they

spent at Langnas’ home.

Assistant District Attorney Sprague
sent for a stenographer and Engler’s
confession as quoted above, was trans-
cribed, witnessed and signed.

“Now,” said Inspector Kronbar, “there
is one more matter. What became of
the tire iron? What did you do with
the death weapon?”

“We threw it in a sewer,” Engler said,
“near Overbrook High School at 59th
Street and Lancaster Avenue.”

A squad of detectives was dispatched
to the high school to search for the
tire iron. Assistant District Attorney
Sprague and the inspectors, armed with
Engler’s statement, sent for Rodney
Langnas.

In the meantime, a pickup order was
issued for Loney Johnson. Johnson, who
was 22 years old, had an impressive
police record which began in 1958 when
he was arrested for assault and battery.

Ironically, Johnson had been tried on
charges of burglary and larceny as re-
cently as Wednesday, October 31st. He
had been given a suspended sentence
and ordered to pay a $100 fine.

By dawn of November 2nd, half the
Philadelphia police force was hunting
down Loney Johnson, In the meantime,
Sprague, along with Inspectors Fox
and Kronbar, were talking to Rodney
Langnas. His sullen, defiant air evap-
orated when he was shown the confes-
sion of his pal. He began to talk.

The police officials later said that
Langnas corroborated Engler’s statement
in every detail. According to Detective
Hammes, Langnas wanted to call an am-
bulance and get Mrs. Kramer to the
hospital.

By breakfast time, the officers were
satisfied that they had solved the mur-
der of Mrs. Claire Kramer. Detectives
had returned to headquarters, bringing
a rusted tire iron in a plastic bag. This
was the alleged murder weapon, found
in a sewer near the Overbrook High
School.

It was a formidable weapon. One
detective pointed out that the tool was
flat and also sharp. It could easily
stun a victim with a side swipe, then
kill as the sharp end crashed against
the victim’s skull.

Later in the morning of Friday, No-
vember 2nd, Steven Silverman was
given a hearing in County Court. At
the request of his lawyer, a continuance
was granted until later in the month.

At approximately the same time, Rod-
ney Langnas and Leonard Engler were
arraigned before Judge Theodore
Spaulding. Detective Sam Hammes took
the stand and quoted from the suspect’s
confessions. As Hammes read Engler’s
story of Mrs. Kramer's death, the de-
fendant, who was standing at the bar of
the court, collapsed. His knees buckled
and tears streamed down his cheeks. A
court attendant aided Engler to his feet
and seated him in a chair.

Judge Spaulding ordered both youths
held without bail, for grand jury action,
on charges of homicide, burglary, rob-
bery and conspiracy. The hearing lasted
only fifteen minutes. ;

All day Friday, squads of detectives
combed the city of Philadelphia, search-
ing for Loney Johnson. They met with
no success. Then, on Friday evening,
the door of Assistant District Attorney
Sprague’s office suddenly swung open
and a gangling, goateed man of dark
complexion walked in.

“I’m Loney Johnson,” he said quiet-
ly. “I understand you fellows are look-
ing for me.” He had tried to commit
suicide, he told them, taking 72 bar-
biturate tablets, but he had vomited, and
they had no effect.

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October 2),

The Cleanup Spot

FRONT PAGE

Wallace Millard Wheeler has been sen-
tenced to life imprisonment for the murder
of a young woman in Wiesbaden, ‘Germany,
where he was stationed at the time (The
Fraulein He Forgot; July FRONT PAGE,
| 1958). A court martial board invoked the
mandatory life sentence, but it is probable

that reviewing officers would reduce the
term to 20 years, since the plea of guilty
to premeditated murder was negotiated with
the stipulation that upon final review a sen-
tence would not be approved that was in
excess of 20 years’ confinement with dis-

: honorable discharge and forfeiture of pay

& and allowances. Wheeler’s arrest for the
murder of Feliciteas Georg came after he
had been released from active duty and
’ returned to his home town of Pensacola,

wr.

Fla. His request that the trial be held in
this country was granted, and he went back

5 i Oe cea ee
on active duty for the court martial trial
Id at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida.

4 Bart Caritativo faced death in the San
Quentin, Cal., gas chamber over and over
and over again in the space of an hour—
before the Filipino houseboy finally died
for the murder of Mrs. Camille Malmgren
Banks and her divorced husband Joseph in
Caritativo’s attempt to inherit her $150,000
estate by leaving a forged suicide note and
a forged will (Who Iced The Red Hot
Mama? January FRONT PAGE, 1955). The
hectic round of attempts to save Caritativo
began at 8:59°A.M., just one hour and one
pa before he was originally scheduled
to die.

8:59 A.M.: Defense Attorney George T.
Davis was informed that his petition for a
stay of execution had been denied by Chief
Judge Albert Lee Stephens of the U‘S.
Court of Appeals.

9:14 A.M. Attorney Davis called Justice
Douglas in Washington. He was in con-
ference, and the attorney requested Justice
Douglas’ secretary to present the appeal
to Douglas. :

9:32 A.M. Davis contacted Judge Stephens
and told him he would ask Warden Dick-
son to call him, re a delay.

9:45 A.M. Davis called Warden Dickson
and told him of his appeal to Justice
Douglas.

9:55 A.M. Warden Dickson announced
there would be a delay “for a little while.”
10:02 A.M. Judge Stephens suggested, in
view of Davis’ attempt to contact Justice
Douglas, that there should be a further
delay.

10:20 A.M. Warden Dickson decided to
hold the execution at 11 A.M. stating that
Davis would then have sufficient time to
contact Justice Douglas. The warden’s deci-
sion to grant the postponement may have
been motivated by a previous Davis case,
that of California student Burton W. Ab-
bott. Davis had made a dramatic television
appeal on behalf of Abbott to Governor
Knight, aboard a carrier off the California
coast. The governor responded with a ra-
dioed last-minute stay to the prison. But
the governor’s message was received by the
prison after gas had already been released
in the chamber, and Abbott’s stay could not
be given him. However, for Caritativo, who
had already received five stays of execution
since moving into Death Row in March,
1955, no such last-minute message was sent.
11:00 A.M. Caritativo entered the gas cham-
ber.

11:15 A.M. Bart Caritativo was pronounced

dead. :

William Cummings’ 99-year sentence for
the murder of Lib Tilson (The~Barking
Stopped For Murder, November FRONT
PAGE, 1958) has created an Aiproar in Hou-
ston, Tex. Cummings was arrested when
his then-girlfriend and accomplice walked
into the sheriff’s“office four years after
the “silent-dog” murder had _ occurred
because, she said, “I knew the death
of Tilson would always separate me from
my (present) husband and from God.”
When Cummings was arrested, he immedi-
ately confessed. The subsequently arranged

-tradeout with the district attorney’s office

of a life sentence in exchange for a plea of
guilty eliminated the expense of a jury
trial and aroused the fury of the victim’s
brother. He sent a letter to one of Hous-
ton’s newspapers publicly addressed to DA
Dan Walton, and demanded to know “By
what aborted sense of justice do you justify
such an act?” Cummings’ attorney an-
swered, also via the newspaper, that with
the facts of the case as known to the dis-
trict attorney’s office and to Defense At-
torney Percy Foreman “none of us believed
a jury would be empaneled who would as-
sess the death penalty because . . . all the
evidence . . . showed that Cummings aban-

DETECTIVE, MARCH, 1959.

doned his intent to rob when resistance was
offered, that he attempted to flee, and did
_. . that he was pursued by his intended
victim, that he ran headlong into a tree
and suffered a serious concussion and...
was dazed by the impact. While in this
condition, and repelling an impending as-
sault from his* intended victim, he dis-
charged his pistol and killed . . . In the
light of my trial experience,” the de-
fense attorney continued in his support of
the tradeout, “. . . the state got everything
by agreement that it could have hoped to
get by a week or ten-day trial.”

Caril Fugate—15-year-old girlfriend of -

Charles Starkweather, the Boy On A Mur-

ee et Neshae

der Binge (May FRONT PAGE, 1958)—has
been sentenced to life imprisonment. Leav-
ing the courtroom with tears streaming down
her face and still maintaining that she had
been forced to accompany Starkweather by
his threats to her life, the girl angrily de-
manded why—if she had not been be-
lieved—she had not been given the death
penalty.

David Early has entered a plea of inno-
cent and innocent by reason of insanity in
his trial for the murder of Mrs. Regina
Knight, who was shot in front of her teen-
aged son. Early had also confessed to killing
Merrill Knight and the Knights’ 15-year-old
daughter Karen in his robbery attempt—
despite the fact that Knight had been instru-
mental in securing a parole for Early

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rerer Tere

Camille had arrived at Stinson Beach about ten years be-
fore, a suitcase in her hand and a determined smile on her
lips. Her material possessions included a decree of divorce
from her first husband, robust good health and letters com-
mending her as an energetic cook and cleaning woman.

Before the clannish denizens of Stinson Beach had caught
their breath, Camille was ensconced as housekeeper for wealthy
Old Man Malmgren, the lord of Sea Downs. i

Stinson Beach is a small resort community on Bolinas Bay,
a few miles up the north coast of Marin County from San
Francisco’s Golden Gate. Great slow-rolling breakers crash
along its three-mile crescent strand, and the gulls wheel and
cry incessantly. Swimmers and picnickers and sun-worshipers
and surf fishermen come there the year around. The climate
is so mild that swarms of butterflies arrive in the dead of
winter. : hick

The people at Stinson fall into three main groups: the
weekend and seasonal visitors, who don’t count; the well-
heeled year ‘round dwellers who commute by limousine to
executive jobs in San Francisco, and the resort owners, store-
keepers and real estate dealers.

Old Man Malmgren, as the owner of the largest resort at
Stinson Beach, was the titular head of the trades group. Sea
Downs is 2 ten-acre property with a city block of beach
frontage. It inc'udes a huge beach-house, lockers, a bar and a
dozen guest cottages. It divides two sections of Stinson Beach
State Park. }

As everybody knew she would, Camille quickly became Mrs.
Theodore Malmgren: And as everybody knew he would,
Old Man Malmgren died a few years later. Naturally he left
the $150,000 resort.and all his other possessions to his widow,
Camille.

In 1949, Camille married Joe Banks, an amiable, cadaver-
ous Englishman of no particular occupation. He was a man
three or four years older than Camille, gentle, soft-spoken and
well-liked by the townspeople. Joe worked at odd jobs and
helped keep the peace between Camille and her resident
manager. His serious hours he devoted to gin slings, gin and
tonic and, in a pinch. straight gin.

AMILLE wearied of this in time and packed him off to the

Napa State Hospital for the cure. She did this twice and
each time Joe came back thirstier than ever. Camille divorced
him in June, 1954, but he continued to hang around. Some-
times he slept on a couch at Camille’s cottage; sometimes he
stayed in one of the vacant cabanas.

This was the situation on Friday, September 17, when the
blonde woman picked her way through the willows to Camille
Bank’s cottage 2nd knocked on the door. It was 3:30 in the
afternoon.

The blonde. a real estate broker, had a business matter to
discuss. with Camille. She had just completed negotiations for
a new lease on the resort which would pay Camille $600 a
month. Camille was in a great hurry to wind up the deal. She
was already busy packing her things for an extended trip to
the Orient.

The blonde woman knocked again, impatiently shifting
the bag of apples she had under one arm. She had brought the
apples along as a gift. Camille was fond of Waldorf salad.

When her third knock went unanswered, the blonde woman
decided to leave the apples inside with a note. Doors were
never locked at Sea Downs. She (Continued on page 62)

Daniel Banks, the victim’s brother, looked at the
suicide note, denied that the writing was Joe’s.

His lawyers labeled him a “bewildered little guy,” but

BS ree

Who Iced the
Red Hot Mama?

continued from page 3]

entered, peering about rather near-sightedly.

The living room seemed oddly bare until she
remembered that Camille was in the process
of moving out to make way for the new
lessee.

The woman started across the living room,
then stopped short. i

Joe Banks was lying on the couch next. to
the wall, dressed for work in denims and
tennis shoes. He was on his back, his legs
sprawled out, his hands folded peacefully on
his chest. The woman wrinkled her nose at
the half-empty gin bottle on the wooden

trunk beside the couch. Sleeping it off, she’

decided. Probably supposed to be doing some
carpenter work. There was a small sledge
hammer on the wooden chest.

The woman fished a piece of paper from
her handbag and fumbled for a pen to write
her message. The pen was out of ink. Her
myopic eyes roved the room in search of a
pencil. There was one on the coffee table be-
side Joe, she saw. \

When she stooped to pick it up, she noticed
the note. It was scrawled in pencil:

“I had been pushed long enough. This is
the end. Am responsible to what you see
and find.”

It was signed Joseph Banks,

This sank in slowly. The woman stared
hard at Joe Banks. He was strangely quiet.
Not even breathing, she thought in fright.

She retreated a step at a time. His hands
were clasped
noticed before. They were folded loosely
around the shaft on a Hunting knife. And the
blade was hidden . . . inside Joe Banks’ chest.

The’ woman trotted all the way to the
sheriff’s sub-station, uttering faint little cries
to herself.

William Woodington, the resident deputy
at Stinson Beach, hustled down to the Banks’
cottage after phoning for a coroner’s deputy
in San Rafael.

Joe Banks was dead, all right, with a
seven-inch blade of a Japanese knife plunged
through his heart. Not dead very long, Wood-
ington guessed. His body was still warm. And
he was probably plenty drunk at the time, the
deputy figured. The odor of gin was over-
powering. :

Woodington found Camille when he went in
the bedroom to get a cover for Joe’s body.

She was lying on the bed face down, clad
in her usual costume of halter and brief sun
Skirt. Her skull was caved in behind her right
ear. The weapon, he realized, was the two-
pound sledge hammer he had seen on the
wooden trunk near Banks’ body.

There was no evidence of a struggle. Ca-
mille apparently had been napping about
noontime when , the hammer: struck with
savage violence. The suicide note seemed to tell
the story.

Woodington knew, like everyone else at
Stinson, that Camille and Joe had had their
quarrels. Even since the divorce, Camille had
nagged him about his drinking. It looked like
Joe had got fed up. With his meal ticket
about to leave for distant parts, he’d probably
been brooding. In a drunken moment of rage
he'd decided to end the whole unhappy mess.

Deputy Woodington shook his head. He was

so quietly. She hadn’t'.

prepared to believe his eyes, but it sure was a
surprise. It was hard to think of Joe Banks as
,4 suicide, let alone a murderer, He just wasn’t
the type. Woodington had always thought of
him as a harmlesss, good-natured drunk.

He shrugged and went outside to wait for
the .coroner’s wagon.

The two young coroner’s deputies weren’t
very excited. A murder aif@ a suicide. So
what? It happened every once in a while. So
Joe Banks was a good-hearted guy and you'd
never expect him to do a thing like this?
Hell, that was just the type that did it. They
fooled you with their happy-go-lucky airs.

The coroner’s men hauled the bodies away,
assuring Woodington that autopsies would be
performed that night, After the autopsy sur-
geon had done his work, proving that Camille
had been bludgeoned to death and that Joe
had died ‘by the knife, the coroner’s office
formally pronounced the case a murder and
suicide.

Woodington was uneasy about the verdict
just the same. Stinson Beach was buzzing with
talk. Most people shared Woodington’s view—
that it was no surprise to find Camille slain,
but that Joe Banks wasn’t the kind to hurt a
fly,

WV OoDINcToN checked and re-checked’
the scene. There was nothing to’ point

away from the conclusion of the coroner’s
office. No one, apparently, had seen either
Camille or Joe on Friday. No one was seen
around their cottage that day.

Don Midyett, the Marin County under-
sheriff, was in Las Vegas that day to return
a fugitive. Woodington was camped outside
his office when he returned early the- next
morning. They conferred with Sheriff Walter
Sellmer while Woodington tried to explain why
he didn’t like the findings in the Banks case.

“No particular reason,” he admitted. “It’s
just too pat.”

The sheriff told Midyett, his top criminal
investigator, to hightail out to Stinson Beach.
“Shake it down good,” Sellmer advised.
“There’s dough here. Check the heirs. Check
everybody.” :

Midyett started by reading the autopsy
report. Then he called the coroner’s office,

A deputy answered.

“Listen,” Midyett said. “I see that the
pathology report says something about alco-
-hol in Banks’ blood. Can’t you find out exact-
ly how much? You sealed the blood samples,
didn’t you? Good. Let me know later.”

His next stop was Camille Banks’ cottage.
There, with a fingerprint crew and a photog-
rapher, he satisfied himself that no physical
evidence had been overlooked. There were
only smudges of prints on the sledge hammer.
There was nothing on the knife,

Woodington showed him how the bodies
were lying when he found them.

“Tl have to agree on one thing,” Midyett
said. “It’s a hell of a hard thing to kill your-
self the way he did—and a hell of an awk-
ward way.” aa

“The Japs do it,” Woodington said. “That
was a Jap knife, too.”

“Yeah, but Banks was a Limey and drunk
besides. I’d say it would take quite a man to
ram a big knife blade into his own heart,
slicing through heavy cartilage between the
tibs.” - i apt
They found none of the Papers, letters and
personal documents that are ordinarily seen
in a home. This puzzled Midyett until he
learned that Camille had been packing for a

trip. The blonde real estate dealer said that
Camille had planned to live in the next-door
cottage until she left for the Orient. The new:
lessee was to move into the old cottage.

The next-door cabin, practically a twin of
the one in which the slayings occurred, looked
like a hurricane had struck it. Furniture,
boxes, clothing and bags were stacked here
and there. Camille obviously had not had time
to arrange her temporary quarters for com-
fortable living. \

' Midyett sorted through this material for an
hour until he found what he wanted—a small
tin box containing Camille’s vital documents.
It wasn’t a strongbox; it wasn’t even locked.

Among the papers was a will, written in
pen and ink and signed “Camille Malmgren.”
It was dated September 1, 1954.

The handwritten text read:

“I, Camille Malmgren, of Stinson Beach,
State of California, being of sound and dis-
posing mind and memory and not acting
under duress, menace (sic), fraud or the undue
influence of any person whomsoever, do make,
publish and declare this to be my last Will
and Testament in manner following that is to
say:

“In case of death, I am leaving my entire
estate known as Seadowns here in Stinson
Beach, California to Bart Caritativo of Stinson
Beach, California and I also leave everything
I own to him. My reason is stated in my let-
ter to him. z

“T further declare that no person or persons
can contest this Will. And no court or courts
can deny it.”

Midyett scratched. his head and held the
document out to Woodington. “Who in the
hell is this Bart whatever-his-name-is ?”

Woodington stepped to the window and
pointed to a stately mansion on the bluff above
the beach. “You see that castle up there?
That’s the home of a rich lawyer’s widow.
The husband died. a while back. She lives there
alone with her. servants. . . .”

“Yeah, but Bart? Who’s Bart?”

“I’m coming to that. Bart is her Filipino
houseboy. Been with her for years. He chauf-
feurs her around.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not kidding. Bart Caritativo is a
pudgy little guy, not much more than five
feet tail.”

“What was he to Camille Banks?” :

“Darn if I know. Maybe this was Camille’s
idea of a last laugh on Stinson Beach. The
old timers didn’t get along, with her, you
know.”

“Yeah, and maybe it wasn’t a joke, either.
Look at this.” Midyett handed Woodington a
handful of snapshots from another ‘box. They
were beach scenes, picturing Camille in her
sun ;suit with other people. In several snaps,
a small stocky brown man was standing by her
side. “Is that him?” Midyett asked.

“Sure, that’s Bart. Big as life.”

Midyett dug hurriedly into the tin box
again. “J want to find that letter mentioned in
the: will. Yeah, here it is.” The second docu-
ment was typewritten and dated September 7.
It bore the same “Camille Malmgren” signa-
ture. It was addressed to “Mr. Bart Carita-
tivo,” in care of his employer,

“My dear Bart,” it began. “In case of
death, this letter would become a part of my
last WILL AND TESTAMENT, dated Sep-
tember 1, 1954. Bart, since I have known
you, I have continuously (sic) observing your
character because I had the feeling that some
day .I would be able to do something for you

in return to \
helping me.
“Now, I car
are a very ret
real and true
a perfect gent
qualities you
you to be the
as SEADOWN
fornia with {
from the estat
“1. Pay my
as she lives. (si
you take the «
“2, Pay the
$100.00 a year
personal contri
ginning at the
in your own r
“3. Pay Mr.
my financial ac
service to my
estate is settled

“4. Pay gran
Joe Lawrence
$1,000.00 in re
me, as soon a:
own name.
“PART, I lik

a brother

Don’t give me
and happiness
bless you. Yo
gren,”
Woodington
wait till Stins«
The two of
other papers,
signature and
several literar
mille as a stic
even if her st:
“What now
“Pm going
and tell him
district attorn
attending a
fornia.
“You think
“Tm nota
said. “But tha
you call it, ha
tion. Like ‘in
doing and hel;
Midyett spe
checking Bart
The roly-po
year-old nativ:
came to the S
and son in the
for 22 years. |}
Oakland techn
cently become
Bart led sor
peared. He h
widow at Sti
drawing a sala
and board. Hi
of him that s!
a debt which
$2000. In th
known as a
literary ambit
was attemptin
But in the

munity, no on

the houseboy.

Bart “Strawb:

gambler and !

aid that
ext-door
Che new
tage.

twin of
, looked
arniture,
ed here
iad time
or com-

| for an
~a small
uments.
locked.
itten in
mgren.”

Beach,
ind dis-

acting
e undue
o make,
ist Will
at is to

y entire
Stinson
Stinson
rything
my let-_

persons
- courts

eld the
in the

w and
~ f above
there?
widow.
»s there

Filipino
chauf-

vo is a
in five

imille’s
h. The
r, you

either.
gton a
. They
in her
snaps,
by her

n box
ned in
docu-
iber 7,
signa-
varita-

ise of
of my
1 Sep-
shown
your
some
r you

jn return to what yo

helping me...

“Now, I came to the conclusion that you
are a very refine (sic) boy, honest, sincere,
real and true friend, and above all, you are
a perfect gentleman. Because of these fine
qualities you have possessed I have chosen
you to be the heir of my entire estate known

as SEADOWNS here in Stinson Beach, Cali-

pba with four conditions (sic) ‘attached

from the estate. They are as follows:

“1. Pay my mother $50.00 a month as long
as she lives. (sic) Beginning at the time when
you take the estate over. bh

“2, Pay the Stinson Beach Community
$100.00 a year for five years (sic) for my
personal contribution to the Community. Be-
ginning at the time when the estate is settled
in your own name.

“3, Pay Mr. Jack F. Grew of Mill Valley, °

my financial accountant, in return to his fine
service to my financial affairs, as soon as the

estate is settled in your own name.

“4. Pay grandma Lawrence, mother of Mr.
Joe Lawrence of Stinson Beach, California,
$1,000.00 in return for her motherly love to
me, as soon as the estate is settled in your
own name. .

“BAkt J like you a lot. I consider you like
a brother. Please be always a good boy.

Don’t give me away. I wish you all the luck.

and happiness, and may God help you and
bless you. Your true. friend, Camille Malm-
gren.”

Woodington whistled softly. “Boy, oh boy,
wait till Stinson Beach hears about this.”

The two officers sifted through Camille’s
other papers, keeping a few that bore her
signature and handwriting. They ran across
several literary efforts. These showed Ca-
mille as a stickler for grammar and spelling,
even if her stories were not salable. .

“What now?” Woodington said.

“l’m going to phone the district attorney
and tell him to get home in a: hurry.” The
district attorney, William O. Weissich, was
attending a convention in southern Cali-
fornia.

“You think the will is phony?”

“I’m not a documents expert,” Midyett
said. “But that letter or codicil or whatever
you call it, had some odd sentence construc-
tion. Like ‘in return to what you had been
doing and. helping me.’”

Midyett spent the rest of the weekend
checking Bart Caritativo’s background. —

The roly-poly little houseboy was a 49-
year-old native of the Philippines who first
came to the States in 1926. He had a wife
and son in the islands whom he had not seen
for 22 years. He had studied English at an
Oakland technical. high school.. He had re-
cently become a naturalized American citizen.

Bart led something of a dual life, it ap-
peared. He had worked for the lawyer’s
widow at Stinson Beach for eight years,
drawing a salary of $200 a month plus room
and board. His employer thought so highly
of him that she had once loaned him $4000,
a debt which Bart had paid down to about
$2000. In the beach community, he was
known as a polite, soft-spoken man with
literary ambitions. Like Camille Banks, he
was attempting to write fiction.

But in the San Francisco Filipino com-
munity, no one had heard of Bart Caritativo,
the houseboy. The man they knew there was
Bart “Strawberry” Caritativo, the big-shot
gambler and berry farmer from Marin. This

dressing flashily and making free use
employer’s Cadillac. Bart carried his his bank
book with him, it seemed, and: whenever a -
pal questioned his wealth he would pull out .
a savings pass book showing a six- figure bal- +
. been preparing his own will.

He was able to ‘cultivate this

ance.

Bart was an inveterate gambler. Almost any ff
night of the week, he could be found playing
‘for high stakes at a card club in San Fran-

cisco, And almost every night found + him
losing. Just recently, Midyett learned, Bart
had .borrowed $100 from a grocer in Stinson
Beach and another $100. from a finance
company.

Another thing which. intrigued “Midyett. was
a report that a few days: before, Bart had

sent.a notarized letter to his wife in the
_ questioned documents.

Philippines, saying -he hoped to “close a deal”
soon.

showed an alcoholic count of 4.5.
“What does that mean in plain language?”
“That the man was passed out—uncon-
scious at the time of death,”
“So he cauldn’t very well have killed him-
self.. Thank you very kindly, Doc.” —
Midyett, Sellmer. and District Attorney
Weissich huddled on their. problem. They
decided to invite Bart to appear voluntarily

for questioning. Weissich’s ‘opinion was that.

Camille’s handwritten will bore little resem-
blance to other samples. of her handwriting
they had obtained. He was also suspicious of

‘the numerous errors in syntax in the accom-

panying letter to Bart.

Caritativo came to Weissich’s office with a
San Francisco lawyer, retained by his em-
ployer. Bart was all smiles and cooperation.
He professed surprise at Camille having left
him all her property. He said he couldn’t

imagine what she meant by the words “in

return’to what you had been doing and help-

‘ing me.”

“We were just good friends,” he said, smil-
ing broadly. “Maybe it was because I used to
chauffeur her sometimes.” ©

Bart’s attorney cut off most of the further

questioning. But the houseboy consented to
write out a longhand copy of Camille’s will

for comparisonx purposes.
He wrote it out with what the district at- -

torney and Midyett considered suspicious
care and slowness. They agreed later that it
did not look much ~ the handwriting of the
will. ‘

Midyett’s next move was to track down
Joe Banks’ two brothers, Daniel, of Sacra-
mento, and Thomas, of San Francisco. He
asked them to come to his office with samples
of Joe Banks’ handwriting.

Both brothers emphatically denied that the
suicide note was written by Joe. They
pointed out that the writing did not look like
the writing in previous letters. And they
argued that Joe would not have made a
grammatical .error like “am _ responsible to
what you see and find.” Joe would have writ-
ten “responsible for mbar you see and find,”
they said.

Midyett and Welielch surreptitiously raided
Caritativo’s bachelor quarters on the ground
floor of the Stinson Beach mansion the next
time the suspect went to San Francisco.

The things they found included: two
knives; a loaded and cocked .22 rifle and a
revolver, which Bart later said he used for

of hi is

On Monday morning, “Midyett got a new
report from the autopsy surgeon. The doctor
said a laboratory analysis of Joe Banks’ blood ~

Bart’s . handwriting, mostly works of fiction;

« severalzof Camille’s writing efforts, including
‘an essay on “racial equality;” a bank deposit
‘book, showing a balance of $133,000; law
.books which covered the legal requirements

for wills, and a draft indicating that Bart had

The district attorney noted with keen in-.
terest that Bart’s natural handwriting was
quite different from the samole he had pre-
pared in the DA’s office.

Weissich' bundled up the suicide note,

‘ Camille’s will, the codicil, and several speci-

mens of Bart’s handwriting, and mailed them

-.+ to the State Department of Criminal : Identi-

fication and Investigation in Sacramento.

' There. the handwriting was studied by Sher-

wood Morrill, the state’s chief examiner of

Morrill, a handwriting expert. known for
his conservative judgments, was ready with
a report on September 25. For Morrill, the
language of his report was unusually strong.
He said the ..Joe .Banks’ suicide note, Ca-
mille’s will and hér signature on the type-
written codicil were “definitely” and “posi-
tively” written by Bart Caritativo.

The squat, rotund houseboy was arrested
by Midyett that night, while tooling along
at the wheel of his employer’s Cadillac. He
was booked on a charge of double murder.
. Bart denied everything. During a lengthy

‘interrogation by Weissich, Midyett and Sher-

iff Sellmer, he fenced and hedged with great
agility. To somewhat more than 100 ques-
tions he ‘gave such replies as: “I can’t an-
swer that .. . I won’t answer on the advice
of my attorney .. . I stand on my constitu-
tional rights as an American citizen.”

Bart’s composure was ruffled only once.
That was when Weissich told him he had
called the Pismo Beach branch of the Bank
of America, where Bart’s passbopk showed a
balance of $133,000. The bank reported that
Bart’s correct balance was $2.85.

, CARITATIVO sheepishly admitted that he

had doctored the passbook himself to im-
press friends. He had forged more than 20
entries, some for as much as $30,000, complete
even to the teller’s initials.

Bart offered what-the district attorney
later termed “an uncheckable alibi” for the
day of the slayings.

“He said he was playing cards in ga

Francisco but he didn’t know the names of
the other players,” Weissich said.
‘ Caritativo had numerous cousins, uncles
and aunts in San Francisco and Oakland.
Some of them proved balky when Marin Coun-
ty authorities tried to check out Bart’s story
of his activities on September 17. They had
to be summoned before the county grand
jury before they would talk.

The grand jury considered the case at two
separate sessions. Caritativo was formally ac-
cused of the murders of Camille and Joe
Banks in an indictment returned before
Superior Judge Thomas F. Keating at San
Rafael on October 6 and five days later was
arraigned. His pleading was set for October
25.

In the. preliminary out-of-court skirmish-

. ing, Bart’s lawyers have billed their client as

“a bewildered little guy;” labeled the district
attorney “a frustrated mystery fiction writer,”
and denounced the DA. and the sheriff as
“highwaymen” for snatching evidence from
Bart’s room.

The suspect, confronted with murder weapon.

his right hand hung loosely around the
hilt.

‘*There’s what killed the woman,”’ said
Seibert, pointing.

A small, blood-smeared sledge
hammer lay on the chest beside the body,
along with an empty liquor bottle, a pack-
age of cigarettes, and an abalone shell
used as an ashtray. Another empty whis-
key bottle was on the floor beside the
chest.

Midyett touched the body.

“Cold,’’ he announced.

After Seibert called the sheriff's office,
he and Midyett waited outside the cottage
for the arrival of Sheriff Walter Sellmer
and the laboratory men.

They talked with the friend who had
found the body and other women, as well
as the operator of the Sea Downs Resort.

‘*I lease it from Mrs. Banks,’’ he
explained. ‘‘My lease is up October Ist,

. and some people from Colorado are com-

ing in. Mrs. Banks and I got along fine.
She was the perfect landlady, but I’m
leaving because I have other interests to
attend to.”’

‘‘When did you see her last?’’ asked
Undersheriff Midyett. .

“Yesterday afternoon; she arranged
with me about storing her goods in a

Continued on page 47)
27

’ She had circled the globe searching for

interesting material for magazine articles.
’She had gone into the jungles of Mexico

looking for hidden lore of the Aztecs.

The inner fire which kept her ever mov-
ing was sending her toward the Orient

when suddenly she met one thing she had
. not known before — murder.

The manner of her death, and what fol-
lowed afterward, brought about the most
sensational murder case in the California
Bay area in three decades. Could Camille
have known the excitement it would
cause, she would have boomed out one

- of the hearty laughs for which she was
known in the far corners of the globe.
Camille Malmgren Banks was quite a gal,
that was sure.

The case opened on Friday, Sept. 17,
with a neighborly visit. That morning at
9:30 o’clock, a long-time friend of Mrs.
Banks drove from San Rafael to exclusive
Stinson Beach.

Mrs. Banks lived in one of the many
cottages on the grounds of her beach

hotel, Sea Downs. She was leaving in two

weeks for a trip to Ceylon, a combined
pleasure and business jaunt on which she
hoped to gather material for magazine
articles on the Orient. The past few days,
the world traveller had been packing her
furniture and her many souvenirs from
foreign lands.

This day, the friend expected to help
her with the final packing.

She drove past the resort and knocked
at the front door of Mrs. Banks’ cottage.
No one answered, so the friend drove
back to San Rafael, did some shopping,
and returned to Sea Downs at 3:30 0’c-
lock.

She still received no answer to her
knock. This time, she noted that the front
lights were on. She tried the door; it was
locked.

*‘Curious,’’ the friend murmured. She
followed a gravelled path to the kitchen
door and knocked there. Still no answer,
so she tried the knob. The door was
unlocked, and the woman entered.

The kitchen was in perfect order,

although stripped of much of its furniture

and the Mexican plaques which had _ :

-graced its walls. The visitor walked ~ ‘
through into the bedroom — and a scream Be.

tore from her throat.

The body of Camille Malmgren Banks,
dressed in summer shorts and bra, lay
face downward atop the bed. Her skull
had been terribly crushed.

The startled woman gulped for air. _.

Then she wheeled and dashed from the

murder cottage. Had she glanced into the

front room ...

In the lobby of the main building at
Sea Downs, she whispered to the day
clerk.

‘‘Camille’s dead in her cottage. It looks |

like she’s been killed. Call the sheriff's
office, quickly!”’

The quick-witted woman then ran back
to the cottage. She stood outside the
kitchen door to keep anyone out until the
law should arrive. Within minutes, hand-

_some young Undersheriff Don Midyett

of Marin county and other officers sped
in from San Rafael.

They entered the house, and Midyett
surveyed the scene in the bedroom.

“It looks like she dropped off to sleep;
there’s a newspaper beside her on the
bed,’’ Midyett remarked. ‘‘But where’s
the murder weapon?”’

None was to be seen. The room was
nearly bare of furnishings. Mrs. Banks’
beach sandals were neatly placed beside
an Oriental taboret. On this were two
pairs of glasses, an ash tray, carved to
stand on tiny elephant legs, and an expen-
sive short-wave radio set.

**The radio is setting on a piece of
newspaper,’ Midyett observed. ‘‘Looks
as if she was spending her last night in
this place, with nearly everything
packed,”’

“It was her last night,’’ remarked
Deputy Sheriff Ellis Seibert.

“‘Go call the sheriff and tell him what’s
happened,”’ Midyett directed. ‘‘Ask him
to come out and bring the fingerprint boys
with him. We won’t touch a thing until
they get here.”’

As Seibert started outside, he glanced
from the kitchen into the livingroom.

‘“‘There’s another one in here!’’ he
yelled.

That room, too, was almost bare of
furnishings. A cot, and a bed frame on
which blankets were laid, some travel
magazines and a small shelf of books:
Rugs and other furniture had been
removed. :

The body of a middle-aged man with
a tiny, dapper moustache lay at the foot
of the cot, his feet supporting his body
on the floor. His open eyes stared at the
ceiling. He wore a western shirt, Levis,
and high rubber-soled sneakers.

A knife was plunged into his chest and,

One body en route to the morgue.

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More evidence against her came in the
form of a report from the FBI laboratories
in Washington which showed that the hair
strands found in the helmet had the same
characteristics as Cheryl Jolls’ hair. Also
discovered at the girl’s home was a pen-
scratched map on a piece of blue paper.
It showed the route she took to go to
the park on the same day as Andrew
Ashley’s kidnap-murder.

Later, when Cheryl stood in County
Court, she denied having admitted any-
thing to the police and her lawyer entered
a plea of innocent. On July 27, she was
held for grand jury action in the kidnapp-
ing of Richard Edgington.

She was ordered returned to Meyer
Memorial Hospital for further mental
examinations since earlier examinations
indicated she might be mentally incapable
of standing trial if indicted.

On Dec. 20, 1961, Drs. Leonard Lang
and Samuel Feinstein, court-appointed
psychiatrists; testified that Cheryl Jolls
was mentally unfit to the extent of being
unable to help in her defense on charges
of kidnapping and murder.

Several weeks later, Cheryl was
admitted to the Matteawan State Hospital
for the Criminally Insane. There, she
underwent a series of mental and physical
examinations to determine the course of
treatment.

If treatment was successful, Cheryl
would be returned to the custody of the
Erie County Sheriff when she was cer-
tified as mentally competent.

In April of 1964 Cheryl, now 18, on
her way to being arraigned before County
Court on a first-degree murder charge,
was taken ill. She suffered a convulsive
seizure and was taken to Meyer Memor-
ial.

Once again, in November of 1964,
Cheryl was ordered committed to a state
hospital on the basis of a psychiatric
report that she was incapable of standing
trial.

‘*The psychiatrists have reported,”’
said Judge Charles Gaughan, ‘‘that she
is mentally ill to the extent she cannot
understand the charges against her and
aid in her own defense.”’

Judge Gaughan was forced to declare
mistrial after five days of testimony. She
was returned to Matteawan State Hospi-
tal with the provision that ‘‘she would
be returned to court as soon as she
became sane.”’

On Dec. 17, 1969, County Judge Frank
Bayger dismissed charges of kidnapping
and murder against Cheryl, now 23. He
also ordered her release from Matteawan
State Hospital and transferal to a state
mental hospital.

In Jan., 1970, she was transferred to
St. Lawrence State Hospital from which
she was released ‘‘as cured’’ on January
29, 1971. So, eleven years after the
homicide Cheryl has vanished.

She is free from further prosecution
because all charges were dismissed
against her in 1969. However, a 1962
ruling had ordered that she be confined,

at Matteawan ‘‘until she shall become

sane,’’ at which time she would have
been returned to the jurisdiction of Erie
County Court to stand trial.

The evidence against her was fairly
conclusive: There was her hair; the map
showing the way through the park. Also
a positive identification by the two other
children she allegedly kidnapped as well

as other witmesses who testified they saw
her.

Perhaps her ten years in mental institu-
tions has caused her enough torment,
enough suffering to allow her to go free.
But who will relieve the suffering and
anguish of Andrew Ashley’s parents who
visit their child in his quiet grave at St.
Francis Cemetery?

Where There's A Will...

: (Continued from page 27)

smaller cottage while she was in
Ceylon.”’

The operator explained that the slain
woman had planned to leave for the far
east in October. j

**She was going to leave her goods
stored in one of our smaller units, and
live there — ‘camp there’, she said —
until she left. This cottage goes with the
lease to the new management, which
takes over in October.”’

‘*That was well-known to people
around here?’’ Midyett queried.

“Oh, yes,”’ the man replied. ‘‘She had
nearly everything moved. Just the things
in her bedroom are left in this place, and
a cot in the livingroom for Joe.”’

“Joe? A middle-aged man? He could
be the dead man in there?’’

“It sounds like it.”’

Deputy Sheriff William Woodington,
whose beat was Stinson Beach, arrived
just then. He had known Mrs. Banks.
With his aid, and that of the others in
the group, Undersheriff Midyett pieced
together the story of Mrs. Banks’ life.
It was almost as tragic as her death.

Camille Malmgren Banks had been
born in Wisconsin. She had fallen in love
and married while she and her first mate
— his name was unknown to any in the
group — had been students at Marquett
University.
_ “Camille said her first husband died
while they were still students at Mar-
quette,’’ one woman recalled. ‘‘After
graduation, she made a good living for
some years as a magazine writer and
artist. She still wrote some magazine
pieces. Later, she operated restaurants
along the Pacific coast, and did very well
at it,”

‘*‘When did she come to Stinson
Beach?”’’ Midyett asked.

**In 1943,’’ the woman said. ‘‘With her
reputation as a business woman, Ted
Malmgren hired her to be head house-
keeper at Sea Downs. They married a
few months later.”’

‘*T remember him,’’ said Undersheriff
Midyett. ‘‘He was from an old-time Corte
Madera family, pioneers from away back.
Didn’t he die a few years ago?”’

‘**That’s right. In 1948. The next year,
Camille married Joe Banks. He had been
aused-car salesman in Sacremento, some
years earlier.”

‘*Joe was a friendly, easy-going fellow,
but Mrs. Banks thought he drank too
much,’’ Deputy Woodington told the
undersheriff. ‘“Twice, she got my help
in sending him up to the Napa State Hos-
pital for alcoholism. He was sprung both
times.”’ -

‘*They were still married?’ Midyett
asked. ee . :

‘‘No, I guess she decided he couldn’t
settle down,’’ the woman said.

Another woman related that Mrs.
Banks, a wealthy woman after
Malmgren’s death, liked to travel and had
wanted someone she could trust to run
her properties while she was away. So
she had leased out Sea Downs before tak-
ing a round-the-world tour. When she got
to Tyler, Texas, on the way home, she
divorced Joe Banks.

The undersheriff was puzzled. ‘‘But
Banks was still around?”’

Deputy Woodington nodded. ‘*Mrs.
Banks had a heart as big as a redwood
tree.”*

A neighbor spoke up. ‘‘Although she
had divorced Joe, and kept all her money
— I’ve heard it rumored as being as much
as half a million — she couldn’t stand
to see anyone suffer, from a man to a
lost yearling. So she let him stay around
Sea Downs, as a handy man.”’

‘‘How about her people?”’

‘‘Her mother and a sister live in San
Francisco and two other sisters live in
the Midwest. Wisconsin, I’m told.”

‘*And Joe’s relatives?”’

No one knew much about Banks. One
man remembered he had heard Banks
mention a brother in San Francisco.

Sheriff Sellmer arrived just then. He
was a veteran of 24 years as a peace
officer in Marin County and famous for
the horse-and-jeep posse he used in man-
hunts when the occasion demanded. With
the sheriff came Coroner Frank Keaton’
and laboratory men with cameras and
fingerprint outfits.

The sheriff and his group entered the
house, bringing a neighbor to identify the
body of the man in the livingroom.

‘*That’s Joe Banks,’’ the neighbor
said. ‘‘Poor old Joe.”’

’ As Undersheriff Midyett walked

(Continued on next page)

Where There's A Will...

through the kitchen, he noticed a square
of scratch paper, lying on the otherwise
bare kitchen table. He bent over it.
“*Say, this looks like a suicide note!’’
The note was written in pencil. With-
out touching it, the officers read the

(Continued from page 47)

neatly written words:

I have been hushed long enough. This
is the end. I am responsible to what you
see and find. Joseph Banks.

Sheriff Sellmer sighed. ‘‘So it’s a mur-
der and suicide. That probably clears the

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whole thing up. I guess Joe didn’t want ue

her to take that trip to Ceylon.”

The proprietor of Sea Downs, standing 3 Me

by, was puzzled. ‘‘That’s odd, he never

appeared to care about that. In fact, he

seemed proud that she was able to get "i dl

around and see foreign countries.”’

The officers studied the scene. Appar-

ently Banks had been drinking heavily,
for two empty whiskey bottles were
beside the cot on which his body lay.

“It looks as if he got stiff, killed her,
then came in and lay down and stabbed
himself,’’ mused Sheriff Sellmer. ‘“The
poor devil, he must have gone off his
rocker.”’

Fingerprint men went about their

- work. They found no prints except those

of Mrs. Banks and her ex-husband in the
house. There were none on the suicide
note, and only smudges on the bottles.

The handle of the 14-inch knife in
Bank’s chest was. made of corrugated
rings which would not take a print that
could be ‘‘lifted’’. There were none at
all on the sledge hammer.

Coroner Keaton carried out his duty
of protecting the slain woman’s property

until Heis could arrive. He found little‘

money in the house, only a few dollars.
A folder held tickets and travel informa-
tion for the trip to Ceylon, which was
scheduled for Oct. 15th, but which now
would never be taken.

There was one interesting find: a holog-
raph will, one written out in longhand.
It bore Mrs. Banks’ signature.

**That’s legal in California, even if not
witnessed,’’ remarked Sheriff Sellmer.
**Who’s the heir?”’ ;

The coroner read the document.
‘‘Except for four minor bequests to rela-
tives, she leaves everything to some fel-
low named—”’ he squinted over the
document— ‘‘Bart Caritativo. Anyone
know him?”’

The other officers shook their heads.

When the lab men had finished their
work, the bodies were removed, and
taken to the morgue in San Rafael. The
house was to be locked up, and the case,
apparently, was closed.

San Francisco and San Rafael news-
papers told of the double tragedy in
screaming headlines, referring to it as a
murder and suicide.

The value of Mrs. Banks’ Sea Downs
property alone was listed at $150,000.

It looked as if only tag ends of the
tragedy needed to be cleared up. Among
these details was the autopsy. This
showed that Mrs. Banks had died of
traumic skull fracture.

“There was no sign of any struggle,

(Continued on page 50)

At A eI i iy

“I knelt beside the grave and said &
@ prayer for him—and for myself,”

it The
nish

Innocent—It took the
ind 35 minutes to free
f Chicago, of charges of
try Lynn Bell (Don’t
n Murder, April INSIDE,
eld before Judge Mat-

in Chicago Criminal
four days. Martin had
‘days after Mrs. Bell’s

a ditch near Hinsdale,
e Assistant State’s At-
ence a confession pur-
Martin after he was
This confession was not
id to ‘have been made.
Martin took the stand
and vehemently denied
was a true one, charging
orced to make it.
2»cret — Judge Bennett
va District Court, sen-

Henderson, 36, and.

Ish, 39, to life imprison-
Rary-slaying of/ William
Mondamin, Ia. (The
ver. June INSIDE, 1954).
ailty to murder charges
third man, David Kee-
jid the actual shooting.
was killed in his home
fand a strong box con-
ige Cullison said
wder committed
teu robbery . requires
malty or-life imprison-
ould like to see a lesser
vases.”

Sugor Sharer—Charles Vannoy, 30, re-

ceived .a life sentence for the slaying of
Joe Carr, 38, last New Year’s Eve in -Lin-

coln, Ill. (You Can’t Share.My Sugar,

April instE, 1954). Illinois Circuit Court

Judge Frank S. Bevan was reported as say-
ing “this defendant took: the law into his
own. hands and that cannot be condoned.”
He also gave Vannoy a one year term for

assault with a deadly weapon. e*

oa ee ed if -

_ :The Bald Faced One — Michael Timo-
thy Cavanaugh, 30,’ was convicted of killing
Ralph Robert Welch, 31, by a California
Superior Court jury in San Diego “(Just
‘a Bald Faced Liar, July inswe, 1954).
Welch’s* body was discovered near Albu-
-querque, N. M., three months after the
slaying. When ‘arrested, Cavanaugh was
driving the dead man’s car and he later

-admitted that he had carried the body from
‘San Diego to Albuquerque in the trunk.

The jury did not recommend a life sentence
which placed the court under.an: obligation
to deliver the death sentence.

INSIDE DETECTIVE
August, 1954

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were soldiers stationed at Fort Bliss, Tex.
They had been given the death penalty
which was later set aside by the Fifth Cir-
.cuit Court of Appeals. Gonzales was found
dead and robbed of $4.66.

A Girl's Worst Friend—Ruth Maco-
hen, 28, accused of smuggling $104,635
worth of diamonds into the country, (A
Girls Worst Friend, May INSIDE REPORT,
1954) was sentenced to one year and a day
in jail by Federal Judge. Matthew T.
Abruzzo in New York City, However Judge
Abruzzo said that he would consider re:
ducing the sentence if, within 60 days, she
could produce evidence that she could and
would leave the country.

__ Tattoo—Frank Pedrini, 46, and Leroy
Linden, 34, on trial for the Nevada desert
slaying of Clarence. Morgan’ Dodd, were
convicted of first-degree. murder. by a
Reno, Nev., jury (Case of the Too-Gabby
Tattoo, April. inswe, 1954). The state
claimed that the pair murdered Dodd, a 39-
year-old California carpenter, after he had
given. them a ride in his automobile. The

jury ordered that they die‘in Nevada State ~
: Prison’s lethal gas chamber. ys ;

-, Shoot Anything—Robert B. Smith, 25,
who was taken, into custody after shooting
at streetlights and policemen in Casper,
Wyo., (Shoot Anything Man, June nse,
1954) has been declared insane by a Wy-
oming District Court which ordered that
he be committed to the State Hospital at
* Pueblo, Wyo.:

‘A Pocketful—James Willie Morgan, 18,
and his brother Clarence Leon Morgan, 16,.
confessed killers of cab driver Eugene T.
Bryant in. Augusta, Ga., were found guilty
@ of first-degree murder (A Pocketful. of

_ Death, July nse, 1954). The Georgia

Superior court sentenced Clarence to life

imprisonment, while James was sentenced
, to die in the electric chair on June 18 at

‘ a oi ee
isd Mo Ma cae SS a Rd ey
Boson he PE: EOE | TMM SAT PRS OS ge

For the Money—Marvin Lee Austin and ’

‘Raymond Leslie Button, convicted in the
murder of taxicab driver Jefus Gonzales,
(One for the Money, March rinsing, 1953)
were sentenced to life imprisonment. Aus-
. tin and Button, at the time of the slaying,

the Georgia State Prison at Reidsville.
However Judge Grover Anderson of the
Superior Court has accepted the motion for
a new trial and has fixed the date for the
hearing at June 22. Clarence did not appeal
his. case.

CAVANAUGH, M ]
AWS > / r mm }
» Michael T ., white,

aon rrr

ch:

Suspect based his confession on cellmate’s intimate

OST MURDER _CASES start

with a corpse. This one didn’t.

In fact its whole fantastic

course was backward. It was a bat-

tle of wits, rather than a manhunt, ©

yet just as baffling a mystery.; ;

It: almost - started with a body..
When 31-year-old Jack P. Jones was
wheeled into the emergency room of
St. Luke’s Hospital in Denver, Col-
orado, an apparent hit-run victim,
shortly before midnight on the stormy
Wednesday night of July 29th, 1953,
he was as good, a candidate for the
morgue as the medicos had seen in
some time.

ing to the routine hospital call,
reached the desk they were con-
fronted by a tall, husky, blondish,
curly-haired young man in a sleeve-
less T-shirt spattered with rain and
blood. . :

“Say, officers, can’t I leave now?”
he burst out. “I just brought this fel-

ESERT TOMBE

by EDWARD S. SULLIVAN

knowledge of Tij

low here. I found him in the street.
They told me I had to wait, but I
don’t know a thing about. him, and
I’m in a hurry.”

The rain-coated officers, unim-
pressed by the rush act, looked curi-
ously at the hatless blond giant with
the bulging biceps. His face was
twisted with a grimace of impatience. |

“This is Mr. Welch, who brought

‘the injured man in,” Nurse Mary.

Wittig supplied.
“You'll just have to wait a few
minutes more, till we see what

tg all about, Mr. Welch,” Patrolman

Alexander told the big fellow polite-
ly but firmly. “We'll have to get your
story for our report. We won't keep
you long.”

The two policemen stepped into
the brilliantly lighted receiving room,
and cast experienced eyes over the
figure on the emergency examining
table. |

Dr. Robert J. Shearer described
the man’s injuries. “This man may .
die without regaining consciousness,”
he concluded, “and I don’t like the.
looks ‘of it. Besides, this isn’t a case
for a private hospital. This is for Gen-
eral, and for you fellows. We don’t

know anything about this man, or the .

circumstances. Just this ID. card in

sphyx. Calif. (San Diego) 4/13/1956

vana. (Above) Jai-alai center and auto court

his shirt pocket, indicating his name
is Jack P. Jones.”

“His pants pockets are turned in-.
side-out,” Patrolman Bender com-
mented. “Is that the way he was
brought in?”

“That's right,” the doctor said. “No
wallet, no money, nothing but this
card. And here’s another thing you:
might note—this V mark. cut into the
flesh where his left hand is broken.
As though he was hit with a steel bar
of some kind, maybe a jack-handle.
This doesn’t look like a hit-run case
to me. Looks like he was beaten,
maybe thrown from a car.” :

After. putting in a rush call for a
city ambulance to take the injured
man to Denver General Hospital, the
two patrolmen, Alexander with note-
book in hand, returned to the impa-
tient blond giant pacing the corridor.

“My name’s Ralph Welch, Ralph R.
Welch,” he told them, his hard fea-
tures cracking in a nervous grin. “I’m
from Tucson, Arizona. Just - passing
through here—I’m on my way back
East, to Columbia University. I saw
this fellow lying in the street- and
I thought it was my duty to pick him
up.and bring him here.”

“What street? Where did you find
him?” the officers asked.

71 GEEEnanaeEanee

Sp ee

“J don’t know . what street. I’m

a stranger, I told you. I thought the
important thing was to get him here
before he bled to death—he:. was
bleeding like a pig, all over my car,
and look at my shirt here, the blood—”
' Alexander asked, “How did you
happen to find this hospital?”
". “Why—why—there was a little
boy passing by—I asked him where
the nearest hospital was. He directed
me here.”

A policeman’s sixth sense told
Alexander there was something

wrong. The big man had hesitated __

over his last ~answer. And what
would a little boy be doing: on the
street, near midnight on a stormy

“night? It could be a robbery case.

Perhaps Welch wasn’t the Good Sa-
maritan that he seemed. Perhaps he
had turned out the injured man’s

. \
Wife and baby daughter of Master Sg
‘from Marines after 12 years’ service,

t. Ralph Welch,

pockets before he brought him in.
“Let’s see your identification.”
The husky man in the T-shirt pro-
duced’ a wallet. He showed the of-
ficers an automobile insurance card
bearing the name of Ralph Robert
Welch, with an address on West Al-
turas Street in Tucson, Arizona, and

an automobile registration card in)

the same name for a 1951 Ford con-

vertible sedan.
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
Alexander asked, as he took down

the data. :

“Say, what is this?” the big blond
exploded. “I was just trying to help
out, and you fellows treat me like a

criminal! I haven’t got all night to—” |

At that moment the ambulance ar-
rived. The officers told Welch to wait
while they helped the attendants load
the unconscious Jones on a stretcher

ose bh okey se RD &

tee a Rai Oot
tS ‘7 i.
= ,
pe et
US Sete
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6 %
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honorably discharged
did not know he had been murdered

- for his journey to General Hospital.

.’ Then, they turned back to Welch,
who was lingering near the door.
“Let’s take a look at your car.”

“What sort of a deal is this?” he de-

- manded. “Here I try to do a favor—”
“We'd just like to take a look at it,

for the record.” ;

As the three stepped out the am-
bulance entrance, Welch started to
stride away. Bender grabbed him by
one muscular arm. “What’s coming
off here?” Welch protested. “Are you
guys arresting me? What for?” .

“We just want you to stick around.
The detectives might want to talk to
you. Let’s see that car, now.”

The light green convertible with
Arizona plates, canvas top up,
gleamed in the pelting rain at the
curb. Alexander yanked a door open,
pulled out his flashlight. At the same
instant the husky suspect wrenched
himself loose from Bender’s grasp.

“To hell with you guys! I’m not
sticking around while you search my

* car!” He sprinted off down the street.
The two policemen, hampered by

, their raincoats, took after him, draw-
ing their guns and shouting to him to
halt. j 3 ;

With the patrolmen close behind
him; Welch whipped around the cor-
ner and ran up Twentieth Avenue.
They saw him pull out his wallet as
he ran. ,

“Stop or we'll shoot!” the officers
shouted.

A group of young nurses just com-
ing home screamed as the chase
swept past them in the rain. Brakes
screeched as the hatless, coatless fu-
gitive ran recklessly across the street
and around another corner.

He was half a block ahead of the
officers and the gap was widening.
Alexander and Bender fired their .38
police positives in the air over
Welch’s head. He only ran the faster.
Then they shot at his legs.

The man collapsed, rolled on the
ground. When the panting officers
reached the cursing, struggling fig-
ure, they found Welch was shot in
the right buttock. Grabbing the. wal-
let, which he still clutched in. one
outstretched hand, they handcuffed
and - subdued _him.. Examining his
wound, they found that the bullet had
gone right through a folded check-
book in his right hip pocket—a book
bearing the name of Jack P. Jones.

“Well, looks like he had reason to
run away! Either he beat and robbed
that guy, or he rolled him while he
was lying there,” Alexander com-
mented. .

Called by the hospital staff, another
prowl car, an ambulance and a car-
load of detectives arrived. The pow-
erful prisoner, cursing viciously,
struggled so that first aid could not
be'administered. It took four men to
force him into the ambulance, which
took him to General. Hospital.

(2) meer wma

e 9°

1 Sun gencd

‘MURDERED—Search for the
wpist ‘slayer of pretty” Connie
avarro, 30, above, continued
woughout: the Colusa district
4 | ‘ay.: Connie .was attacked
\ | ‘ eher, bed at 4:a. m. Sunday
J j : a Mexican ‘national who

HE KILLER—This is a
ure of Felix Chavez, Jr.,
Mexican national, for whom
far-flung manhunt was
ched yesterday after he
dered Connie Navarro. It
one of two pictures. of
elf found in a wallet
h he dropped next to: the
‘of Mrs. Navarro...’

elights On *

ler Manhunt

unction koa

‘SEB

PRETTY GAFE OWNER
ATTACKED IN BED AT
4AQ, KENFED 17 TIMES

- Felix: Chavez, 25,° Mexican national, suspected
rapist-killer of Connie Navarro, is believed to be in
hiding in.the Junction Road ‘area west of Colusa;
possibly trying to get back to his cabin. . Sheriff Max

Mayfield said that Mrs. Rogers, a Colusa Memorial .

Hospital employe, saw a man answering to the de-
scription of Chavez run across.a road. and leap over

a fence’ at: 11 o’clock last. night. Mrs. Rogers lives) °°:
beyond the J. L. O’Rourke place. She’ said the

man’. disappeared in the area between the E. C.

Garrette and Henry Weast ranches. This area:is_

being closely watched today.

Sheriff. Max Mayfield, his; Gloria related to Sheriff May- : .

deputies and ‘city police con-jfield. “I heard Connie. moan
tinued their search today for|louder and I knew something
Felix’. -Chavez,, 25, a Mexican] was wrong, so I opened the door
national:*tim’\ the shocking rape}and walked into the, hallway.
slaying ‘of pretty Connie. Na-]; . . There-was a man in Con-
varro, -30, operator of The Mic-|nie’s room and he was attack-
hoacan Cafe and. pool hall at{in her. ... There was a knife
559 Main Street: « o. ‘¢.* Jin his outstretched right hand.

“Stabbed. 17. times - with _.“I leaped upon the man and
; pulled ‘him away from Connie.
He swore at me and flung me
out into: the hall against the
wall, Connie got up, slipped
into her shoes, ran across the
hallway into her bedroom and
grabbed ‘a dress. . She was pull-
ing it over’ her jhead and we
kept arguing: with this man,
Chavez, asking him to please
leave: We got him out into the
frorit room and he was just
abaut to leave when Connie said
something and with that he
lunged upward at her with a
knife. I saw the blade had
struck her in the lower abdo-
men. Then I ran down the
hallway, out the back door and
over to. the sheriff's office.” ~;
WENT BERSERK ;

Gloria. related to Sheriff May-
field that Connie had. struggled
with Chavez and that once,
when he seemed to quiet down,

wound. “directly“‘into the heart
causing death, Confiié’s. . body
was found near the front door
of her living quarters at 635
Main Street-—;where a Japanese
woman barber had her shop for
many years—at 4:10 a. m. Sun-
day.. , ONS 1a
GIRL SAW KNIFING
City Patrolman Dave. (Sam-
son) McKasson was the first of-
ficer at the murder scene. He
had been on duty when Gloria
Urebi, who witnessed the first
slashing knife blow struck Con-
nie, ran out the back door of
Mrs. Navarro’s reconverted
apartments, into the alley over
to’ Sixth. Street and thence to
the sheriff's office. She scream-
ed that a man was attacking
Connie with a knife. Ay AN ean
Connie had died in a matter
of minutes, if not seconds. . By

Mende Wo a aa

ig qe Ye,

the. time McKasson reached 635/Connie said if he didn’t leave
Main Street,’ Connie was.dead| ine was going to call the police.
and the lustful rapist-slayer had }-ppat apparently is when Chavez
fled. \ a
“City and county officers were |describea by the witness, Gloria,
quickly on the job. Sheriff Max|/as a lIong-bladed, flip-out type
Mayfield, Deputy Sheriffs Her-| pocket ‘knife. Hage. 8 ‘

man Schroeder, L. R. Stites and} wren Connie's ‘body was
John Shearin, and Patrolmen Jour on tha Poor Noor ahs Ascot
Voice '

ete bi *aernkd)

went berserk. with the knife, .

fen:

en. Ce ea eet

«ee DS cena

—
a3

IR WR TAR Mig iPM a etic ly

# RS Dene ogeestagy et Ut MPO Sin

Dein BON ng TE ABR ALIN yf

HE ADMITS
© MURDER

(Continued from Page er -

ture several times before he got).
at 11:06 a. m.

NGHT ALL OUT a. a
, Chavez made no ae we
- tack the officers on * conan
} from Stockton to ager _
\; arrival at the sherif S\ pA
: “guspect immediately was ga
‘upstairs above the jail, on Pei
terrogation was —— 4 i
sistant District Attorney

Littlejohn.

HAD KNIFE WITH -_. ate
Sheriff Mayfield sai Rg
ie Chavez had in his ig sneeen s
- knife, presumably the —
with which he ‘stabbed connie.
This, however, is yet to
eg nae talked freely to = *
‘the way home,” partes =
the Sun-Herald. “He on oe
‘tain admissions about. ‘oo
-, . he admits he kille )
ee nied. that he was
i sineoed is spr ig attacked

‘ ie “Aiscounting -@ theory

# Ler oecontiy he, was driven hn
_ ‘der because of insane : ol
ped “It was known that oe
ez had paid more ane i
: pare attentions -. to oper Fy 2
also -that.. she continually "re

ousy.

"Connie, - btained
‘s: "that she’ might have obialiwe' |e

here that Chavez . was a. wld 4
HOY. ek ee
| Sheritf Mayfield, Deputy Sher- {i 4."

Stockton and there they got

-{men and photographers. The

eres ots MERAY,

As soon as they ¢ould, Stock- ay Tt
ton officers. notified authorities © =.

é Deputy
ff Herman Schroeder, ept
Sheritt Alvah Leverett and ore
Chavez, interpreter, drove

havez..- 9) *)*s: +e.
aN officers ‘and their cap-

in Woodland at 7:30
ag etl for breakfast and
were besieged: by mnewspaper-

i f
heriff had to, tell the story o
the slayiig, tnanhunt and cap-

“amanMtied of Pade Four)

oS butted: him. sons Pe

IPN, MCR fod hers AREAL Ga 8

A Jand. He had made g00d his
jae escape from Colusa County—
A after four days of hiding—bu t

bed epeiel the suspect, that
' was the beginning of the ot

for Felix Chavez.
+ Chavez said he was

. and saw local

was wearing.
HAD CORRECT TIP

out during the day and

on foot at night. Late

wea yesterday he was able to make
bates . his way to Zamora, Yolo County, |
‘ty - without being detected, and there
b}

hiding
west of Colusa after the murder
officers: going
back and forth hunting for him.
He was smart enough to know
that he would be captured if
he returned to his cabin on the
Al Zaniboni tract. And he
never went back to the cabin, 4
although he knew it was dan- | dt__
laoudaieiené stothioan Siw’ 0 was the same one which he used

* It now appears that local of-
ficers had the correct tip Mon- tacki
Gitay wilh’ kare Rennes. ct. Ca. prevent Chavez from at acking
‘usa Memorial Hospital staff said
she saw a man leap over a
fence between the Garrette and
Weast ranches Sunday evening
about 11 o'clock. Chavez was
in that area, heading west to- ; ifi :
ward Highway 99W. He deneab- She identified the knife, too.
ently hid in tall weeds during
the day and had no food. He

Seth RISA Sheena ele

1 Wabineian loc! wae pita

~~~ 8

in stabbing Connie tc death.

1D BY GLORIA.
Gloria Urebi, the waitress at

Connie’s cafe, who sought to

Connie, positively - identified
Chavez as the man who at 4
a.m.‘ last Sunday hurled her
into the hallway after she grab-
bed him by the shoulders and
vulled him away from Connie

Chavez wilt be closely guard-
ed while in custody at the
sheriff's office.

field will see to that. After

MeN :.- "told Sheriff Maytield that whe, - Sheriff " May-

ARRAIGNED TODAY

, Claude Houchins, . _
,‘. The interrogation ‘ of Chave:

‘He had

A, MMO Tat the gheriff snd his deputies
he had $20—a greenback tuck- }haa very little sleep since early
me! * nig in a pocket under his

vy Chavez was arraigned on a
3murder charge at 1;30 p. m. to-|,: ;
day. before Justice of the Peace bear cond — lnm d eanaatan:

Smpleted at 12:50 p. m. er, although it required four
been‘. questioned’ for more days, can go’ down in the’
hour and q_ half and it RS cis

- |CoLUSA
‘ —-THEATRE—

ENDS TONIGHT

FRED ASTAIRE
_GINGER ROGERS

in
“THE BARKLEYS OF

BROADWAY”
Color by Technicolor

2ND HIT
AUDREY TOTTER in

Sunday morning. The manhunt
has been:a very trying ordeal.

“Tm going to bed and sleep
for at least three. days,” the

sheriff said. :
SPLENDID. JOB . : :
The apprehension of the kill-

ords as a model of cooperation.
between county and city officers
in tracking down a dangerous
criminal. ; ;

There were times when the
sheriff, the police chief, and all
others connected with the man-
hunt were about ready to give
up, feeling that the killer had
made good his escape from this
area. But they never relaxed
their vigilance and search, Once
they got the correct lead, they
moved in swiftly and surely,
Chavez had no chance to escape
after that. ; :

GAVE OTHER NAME

When Chavez was arrested- in
Stockton, the United Press said,
he gave the name of Yenatcio
Montanya of Colusa. .

The United Press said’ the
Stockton police used night sticks
in subduing the ferocious Cha-
vez, and that they took him to

“TENSION”

Gunns ft

Witttams, cats,

LAST TIMES TONIGHT
DAN DAILEY in

“WHEN WILLIE
COMES MARCHING
HOME”

FRIDAY-SATURDAY
ABBOTT AND COSTELLO

a hospital for treatment after-
wards. ‘

Chavez’ arraignment was de-
layed until 1:50 o'clock _ this
afternoon, when he was taken
out of the sheriff's: office and
led to the office of Justice of
the Peace: Claude Houchins. He
was closely guarded, still man-
acied.

Mabel Allread of Marysville
acted as. interpreter at the ar-
raignment proceedings,

WITHOUT DIETING

| “AFRICA SCREAMS”

Simply eat this delicious Vita: ~

min and Minaral Cande

a ee
Em

wen

t'XMax Mayfield" and dep-
apiies “$n Woodland; ‘en: route
¢§me.: from . Stockton, » where
havez was captured., He had
attled'‘ four Stockton police
fficers at the police station,
td they were forced to beat

last Sunday in her apartments at 635 Main Street. °°;

him’ over the head to subdue
him... Note his ‘blood-stained
face. Sheriff Mayfield’ said’
Chavez “really put up a, bat-'
tle” . with the ‘Stockton : offi-,
cers. ‘ oy :

~ BULLETINS

United Press
The South Korean First Divi-
*n—counter-attacking north of
imchang on the central front
has driven the reds back five

seven miles, And along the
uthern coast, American infan-
y units. hurled back a_ red
mnnking column near Hadong.
However, the latest word from
%kyo says Korean front dis-
itches report a supreme effort
y massed communist forces to
ack the center of the United
ations line is expected within
+ hours.

MAC VISITS FRONT

TOKYO — General Douglas
facArthur has returned to
okyo from a 12-hour visit to
le fighting front in Korea with
“feeling of optimism’. Mac-
rthur forecasts a difficult
‘ruggle ahead. But he adds—
I was never more confident in
ictory—ultimate victory--in my
fe than I am now.”

. PLANES IN BIG DRIVE

sTOKYO—A spokesman for,

rencral MacArthur says Allied
‘arplanes are in their fifth day
{ a hie drive to cut the North

") bey etppyryte Vinve Why

ae PORE wero “WorndQ

\Great Drive |
Upon Yanks
ls Starting

TOKYO, July 27 (.P)}—The
-reds have launched an attack
against the 25th Infantry Di-
vision which vppears to herald
_a supreme effort to crack the
Allied central defense line.
Front line dispatches say the
expected communist attempt
to drive down the road from
Yongdong to Pusan, our sup-
ply port, may be the biggest
battle of the war, Pressure is
steadily on the increase all
along the front, é

By United Preas

There’s evidence the North
Koreans are getting sct for an-
other big push. i

United Press. Correspondent
Gene Symons says perhaps it’s
their “supreme effort”. - . - i

Within 24 hours, it’s expected
fo come at the eenter of the
All net ' "1 repo

a dey

Cheng, FOE

Bus Trip ‘Vip by:

Man Who Came
Here Ends Hunt

The rapist killer of Connie Navarro was captured
at 12:38 a. m. today in Stockton. He is now in the
Colusa County Jail. And he has admitted the crime,
one of the most brutal and shocking in the county’s
history.

Felix Chavez, 25, Mexican national, was led into
‘the sheriff's office at 11:06 a. m.—manacled, beaten

up and bloody. There was a sickly grin on his face.
His eyes were bloodshot.
rumpled and blood-caked. His head was bandaged,
too. -evidence that he had put up a terrific fight with

His coal black hair was .

Stockton police who were forced to club him into ,.:

submission. °
‘WEARING SAME CLOTHING

"Hig face was bloody, too... and Chavez was if

savagely knifed Connie Navarro to death at 4 a. m.—

| wearing the same. clothing that he wore when he *':

f events that led to the apprehension -' »
Stockton started early last night?" #.\s
s Office received ‘a's,*

- Officers’. went over t

line :on the car.’

every summer,

Arena had been in Colusa-only a f¢w ‘minutes

shown a picture of Chavez.

this evening at the bus depot in Woodland,” Arena
was quoted as saying to his friends here.” “> 3:

sheriff’s office. Re ae ee

Arena’ told the officers that
Chavez was to board a bus in
Woodland at 9 p. m. and that
the killer had purchased a ticket
for Stockton.’ It was about 11
p. m. when the officers here
obtained this vital information,

Chavez had been able to get
through Sacramento, changing
buses there for Stockton.
Sheriff
Woodland officers
quickly were able to identify
Chavez as the man who had
purchased a
Stockton:
were alerted,

Sacramento
and they found

SRS SSE SS a
ii

THIS PICTURE DID IT
This is the picture of Felix
Chavez, published first in the
Sun-Herald, which led to the
capture of the slayer of Con-
nie Navarro early today in
Stockton. » It was shown to
Louis Arena when he arrived
in Colusa last. night. Arena
.immediately said it was ‘the

“I|then on the bus en route to

Stockton.

FIGHTS, IS CLUBBED ;
When the bus arrived in

rounded it. They moved -in

custody without troubf%—no

to—and knew—in the ‘Wood-

\ bun dea
pS 21-1950

Navarro, He battled four Stotk-

ton gate at an hye
» oe

case—in a totally-unexpected way” Sister 88

Louis Arena, who resides in Texas but comes here 3

arrived. in. Colusa~ via” bus ‘from PS
Wocdland to visit with the.. son-in-law of Bob 73
Franco, operator of the’ 44 Glub on Main Street... j

}

when he“Heard about Connié’s murderi' He was..:

“Why. | know him—I saw and talked with him: *

quickly and took Chav into :

~~~“ 4 Franco and ‘his son-in-law im- ‘.
mediately got in touch with thee

iy e-
+ ww Sips ona cdtibeiimen jdt

They figured, and correctly, that |,

Mayfield .notified ©
and they».

ticket there for, 4
police ~

that Chavez had been at: the ;
depot in Sacramento, snd was.) ;

Stockton a cordon of police sur- FA

trouble, that is, until théy got -:
the killer to the police Station.” |’
Then Chavez displayed. some of- :

‘picture of the man he’'talked '|the savage instincta., that caus
ed him to rape and kill Connie °

‘in the
o leave
>» down
iks had
.usband,
ne new
1 period

Camille!
wrong?”
surf, the

‘ound to
hope of
yeach. It
or open,
a living
ie house

Samille,”
ireshold,
ie gazed
For an
she ran
lephone.
yned at
sonse to
e. Hilda
d shock.
why the
-r would
| though

he was to scenes of violence and bloodshed, Deputy Wood-
ington was shocked by the scene in the bedroom of the
little cottage.

Camille Banks lay on the rumpled bed, clad in gaily
colored beach bra and shorts, curled up on one side, her
head pillowed on an arm. At first glance one might have
thought she was asleep. But on the exposed side of her
head, just back of the temple, was a raw wound crusted
with blood. Blood matted her lush brown hair. The sheets
were stained dark reddish-brown. On the rug beside the
bed was a small but heavy sledge hammer, one of its strik-
ing faces gummed with blood and hair.

But that was not all the horror. Sprawled on a couch in
the living room lay Camille’s gray-haired ex-husband, Jos-
eph Banks. A long hunting knife was plunged deep into his
abdomen. His right hand still curled about its handle, dried
blood caking the ragged wound and the couch-cover be-
neath him.

Accentuating the bareness of the rooms, which seemed
to have been stripped of most of their furniture and orna-
ments, and adding a bizarre touch to the gruesome scene
were two large flamboyant travel posters on the walls—
“Visit Egypt”—with brightly colored scenes of pyramids,
palms, camels, desert sands and butterfly-sailed boats on
the Nile.

Bill Woodington’s practised eyes roved over the scene.
On a table beside Banks’ cot was an empty whiskey fifth,
another one lay overturned on the floor. The beach deputy
had known the couple well, knew Joe Banks’ unfortunate
weakness. The sequence leading to the tragedy appeared
one of murder and suicide, perhaps inspired by alcohol.

There was no disorder, no sign of any struggle. The place

LUrrichws 4 : oe

eee

- Ss / $i
Smiling houseboy (l.) with Attorney Hoffman tells Sheriff
Midyett (r.) $150,000 bequest was complete surprise to him

CARLTATIVO 9 ve rt P

Se a eee

= ence

Se i ey

THE HOUSEB OY #
AND THE :
LADY Last wit

Camille Banks expected to spend the next ten years in
interfered with her plans

exotic Ceylon. Two murders
by EDWARD S. SULLIVAN”

ILDA GRUNERT shi
H of fog from the oc

ie
i
Swept across her fa L
closer about her, knocked ”
little seaside cottage. Still h
sound other than the drum tl
the cries of wheeling gulls. by
“Camille!” Mrs, Grunert called, w
She waited in vain for an ans w
nition: seized her. This was her be
her old friend, Camille Malmgre in
t. morning she had knocked a
there was no answer, she had w: ~ th
of the resort. It, too, was desert ep
tage, at
bl
ne
ght still burned—and still -
knocking. . to
*, Only. a few weeks earlier the place had e stopped, frozen, on the threshold, me
with vacationers and tourists. Sea. Downs been for one hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream as she Sazed > - we
many years the most popular resort along the Marin County through the open door into the bedroom beyond. For an “3 ed
Coast at Stinson Beach on Bolinas Bay, some 25 miles north _ instant she stood as if paralyzed. Then, trembling, she ran /* ‘pal
across the Golden Gate from San Francisco. ,

But this was the

wees do.cloa Cire st
Ade — _
Teh (4 6

was neat and clean, except for the whiskey bottles and a
couple of unwashed highball glasses, holding the dregs of
drinks, on the living room floor. As Woodington walked
slowly out through the kitchen he spotted a piece of paper
on the table. He picked it up carefully. It was a note
scrawled in pencil. He read:

“I had been hushed long enough. This is the end. I am
responsible to what you see and find.
; Joseph Banks”

Holding the note carefully by its edges to preserve pos-
sible fingerprints, the deputy walked outside and showed
it to Mrs. Grunert, who now had been joined by a sober-
faced group of men and women, the skeleton staff of Sea
Downs employees and its few remaining guests.

“Well, looks like Joe’s finally done it,” Woodington
sighed. “Looks like he killed her and then himself. Must’ve
gone berserk over something. Don’t go in there. I’ll call
San Rafael.”

When Chief Deputy Sheriff Bill Seibert, Deputy Coroner
Gerry Gooch and other officers and technicians arrived,
followed by newspapermen, from the county seat 12 miles
away on the other side of Mount Tamalpais, they found
beach residents, friends of the dead couple, talking in
hushed whispers. All assumed that Joe Banks had killed
his ex-wife and himself in a drunken frenzy, perhaps when
she spurned a reconciliation.

“They used to fight all the time,” Bill Woodington com-
mented. “She was always after him for his drinking. She
had him put away a couple of times, you know. People
called me up here every few weeks to quiet them down.
Guess something like this was overdue. Don’t know what
we could’ve done to prevent it. It was her own idea, to
keep him on here after the divorce.”

From Mrs. Grunert, Mrs. Ethel Lansburgh, who lived
across the road, and other friends and the employees, Sei-
bert and Gooch pieced together the history of the dead
couple and the background of the tragedy.

Camille sought houseboy’s help in packing for her journey

i Fs
They learned that Joe Banks, 5% i > third husband
52-vear-old Camille had lost to death rn in Wisconsin,
Camille was married in her teens, but her youthful husband
died while both were still attending Marquette University.

An artist of some talent, with a flair for writing, the beau-
tiful young widow made a modest living for some time in
these pursuits. But she was innately restless. She took up
the profession of restaurant hostess, working in cafes that
catered to the artistic trade in several Midwest cities. In
this line of work she displayed an unexpectedly good head
for business. Shortly she was managing, then owning and
operating resturants, never keeping one very long, selling
each for a profit.

In 1943 she came for a vacation at Sea Downs, then a
swank resort operated by Theodore Malmgren, wealthy
scion of a socialite family. Sea Downs was the center of a
beach colony of rich art dilettantes and patrons.

Camille was entranced by the atmosphere of the place
as well as its natural surroundings, the lonely sheltered
beach, nestled under the shoulder of Mount Tamalpais—
the “Sleeping Maiden” of Indian lore—and the calm blue
Bolinas lagoon up the beach behind the long sandbar. It
was the western edge of the world and it exactly suited
Camille’s taste for combining solitude and company. -

Soon romance developed between her and Ted Malm-
gren, and they were married. Camille joined him in the
operation of Sea Downs. The big rambling building in
which they lived has a snack restaurant, long bar and
dance floor. Grouped around it are small guest cottages.

Theodore Malmgren died in September, 1948, leaving
everything to his attractive widow. Less than a year later
Camille married Joseph Banks, then 53 to her 47. No one
seemed to know much about him. He had turned up rather
suddenly at the beach resort; he didn’t seem to have to
work, and was rumored to have a little money of his own.
He spoke with a trace of British accent.

From the beginning, as Bill Woodington reported and
Camille’s friends confirmed, the couple had quarreled over
Joseph’s addiction to the bottle. He was supposed to help

her in the operation of the resort, but most of the duties -

devolved upon her. It turned out that he had no money at
all, and looked to his bride to support him.

But with a comfortable income from Sea Downs, Camille
perhaps regretted the unfortunate marriage into which she
had plunged too hastily in her widowhood. She took up
her painting and writing again. Also she decided to indulge

her long-cherished dream of world travel.

Leasing the resort to Mr. and Mrs. Sanford Wheeler, who
took over the operation, Camille traveled alone to South
America, to the hinterlands of Mexico.

Under her agreement with the Wheelers, she retained
quarters for herself and her husband in the big house. But
when she returned home she was unable to persuade her
husband to change his ways. .Twice Camille had him com-
mitted to Napa State Hospital as an alcoholic.

Early in 1954 she left again for an extended trip around
the world. On her way home in July she stopped off to
divorce Joe Banks in Tyler, Texas. When she returned to
Sea Downs, she let him live in the little cottage in which
their bodies had been found, working as an occasional
handyman for the Wheelers. She continued to supply him
with spending money.

Seemingly rejuvenated by her world trip, Camille an-
nounced to her friends. that the real purpose of her trip
abroad had been to find the ideal place in which to live,
one that combined beautiful surroundings and gracious
living with low cost. She had found it, she said, on the
exotic island of Ceylon in the Indian Ocean. She had leased
a bungalow there, on a 10-year term, at $20 a month.

She planned to live luxuriously in Ceylon on the revenue
from the California resort. With the Wheeler lease expir-
ing, she now made a lucrative deal, leasing Sea Downs
for $600 a month for the next 10 years to Thomas Larry
Wold, former Colorado health resort operator. Wold was
to take over-on October 1st, and Mrs. Malmgren Banks

p
hi

rd husband

Wisconsin,
‘ul husband
University.
‘, the beau-
»me time in
She took up
n cafes that
‘st cities. In
y good head
owning and
long, selling

wns, then a
en, wealthy
center of a

1S,
of the place
‘ly sheltered
Tamalpais—
.e calm blue
sandbar. It
actly suited
mpany.
Ted Malm-
. him in the
building in
yng bar and
t cottages.
948, leaving
a vear tater
47. inw one
ed up rather
to have to
of his own.

‘eported and
iarreled over
osed to help
if the duties
no money at

»wns, Camille
ito which she
She took up
ed to indulge

NVheeler, who
one to South

she retained
ig house. But
persuade her
,ad him com-

.d trip around
stopped off to
ie returned to
tage in which
an occasional
to supply him

», Camille an-
se of her trip
which to live,
and gracious
» said, on the
she had leased
a month.

n the revenue
r lease expir-
g Sea Downs
Thomas Larry
or. Wold was
imgren Banks

babe
Sheriff Sellmer (l.), D.A. Weissich, study hammer used to
kill Camille and 12-inch hunting knife that slew ex-husband

promised to vacate the big house as soon as possible so that
he could go ahead with renovations.

So toward mid-September she had begun to pack her
curios, books, art objects, personal furniture, the accumu-
lation of a lifetime, to be shipped to the tropical island.
She entertained her friends as she fluttered about the
place, packing bags, suitcases and trunks, giving to each
some small item of her treasures. :

To help her pack, she hired wealthy Mrs. Lansburgh’s
accommodating little Filipino houseboy-chauffeur, Bart
Caritativo. Bart, in addition to being an efficient servant,
was also an aspiring writer. He sometimes discussed art,
literature and philosophy with Mrs. Banks as he did chores
for her.

She had already shipped two large trunks to Ceylon.
Others were strapped and ready to go. With the big house
emptied of most of her belongings, which were stored in
vacant cabins for sorting, she told Hilda Grunert that she
was moving on September 16th into the cottage with her
former husband, with whom she still remained on amicable
terms, till she sailed on October 15th for Ceylon.

To the investigating officers the roots of the tragedy
seemed plain. Joseph Banks, his masculine vanity wounded
by her divorcing him, found her blithe preparations to
leave for Ceylon and go out of his life forever the last
straw. Also, he stood to lose his soft berth. Perhaps he
knew the new operator of Sea Downs wou'd eject him
when soft-hearted Camille wasn’t around t: ercede. In-
flamed by liquor, he apparently had decided that if he
couldn’t have Camille, the Far East couldn’t.

Condition of the bodies and the fact that the dishes were
washed and neatly stacked on the kitchen sink suggested
that the murder-suicide had taken place after supper
Thursday night.

Absence of any signs of struggle indicated to ihe officers

7 Baenras &
LLL

Faithful servant does not recognize knife Sheriff Sellmer
shows him and which helped explode murder-suicide theory

that Mrs. Banks had been bludgeoned to death with a sin-
gle blow as she slept. She never knew what hit her. Then
Banks staggered into the living room and plunged the knife
into his own stomach.

Nevertheless it was necessary to go ahead with the
regulation procedure of the law to verify everything. At
Seibert’s direction the scéne was carefully photographed
from different angles, and the sledge hammer, the 12-inch
hunting knife and the penciled suicide note preserved for
laboratory scrutiny. The bodies were removed to San
Rafael for routine autopsy.

To County Coroner Frank Keaton, who also was public
administrator, fell the duty of informing the dead couple’s
relatives and searching for their wills. The new lessee of
Sea Downs would be anxious to know who was to inherit
the resort. Going through Camille’s personal papers and
talking to her friends, Keaton located and informed Mrs.
Banks’ mother, Mrs. Catherine Gavin, of San Francisco.
The slain woman also had three sisters, one in San Fran-
cisco and two back in Wisconsin.

It took a little further digging to trace the relatives of
Joseph Banks, but the coroner finally turned up the names
and addresses of his brothers, Thomas Banks, of San Fran-
cisco, and Daniel, a Sacramento businessman. They rushed
to San. Rafael at the news, their shock at the death of their
brother topped by their unwillingness to believe that he
had killed himself and his wife.

“Joe wouldn't do a thing like that,’ Daniel declared.
“There’s something wrong here. Joe used to drink, sure,
but he was a good man. And this doesn’t sound like a note
Joe would write.” Daniel Banks frowned over the suicide
document. “It looks like his handwriting, but it’s sort of—
well—illiterate.”’ The coroner: gently reminded them that
Joe had probably been very drunk when he wrote it.

The brothers had known that (Continued on page 94)

REE REET SEEM LOE SLL COLE LOES

CALDWELL, William Johnson, white, asphyx Calif.

THE MAN WH

5-6-1955.
By John Byron

WORLD WIDE

DETECTIVE .
JUNE, 195.

Mira Loma, Calif., January 29, 1954:

N EIGHBORS of the William Johnson Caldwells, the
bride and groom who’d recently moved into the pleasant
ranch type house at 64 Street and Wineville Road in Mira
Loma, California, were given to wondering about the
oddly-assorted couple. Lillie Pearl, as Caldwell called his
wife, was scarcely the romantic picture of a bride, al-
though the marriage was less than a month old. In fact,
they’d been wed on January 6, 1954; when the neighbors
began to notice them, it was somewhere in the last week
of the same month.

Lillie was a short, heavy woman. She may have been
5’2” tall and she probably weighed around 175 pounds,
perhaps, more. And she was, comparatively, an aging
woman. Not old as years go, but old beside her husband.
She probably was in her fifties (later, it was learned she

was 52), whereas her husband could have passed for any-

where from 28 to 35. Actually, he was 32. And just as
Lillie was short and fat, Johnny, as she adoringly ad-
dressed him, was tall and lanky. He had a simple, pixie

sort of face with a short, upturned nose, a small, some- .

what querulous mouth and water blue, almost. frightened
eyes that had no ability to look straight at either stranger
or friend.

He was narrow of shoulder and long of arm, with bony
joints, large feet and inconsistently small hands. His beard
grew sparingly, even though he was not given to shaving
frequently. Such hair as appeared on his boyish face was
an indifferent, dishwater blonde. He affected a careless

(Riverside)

slouch and the slightly-bowlegged, weight-on-the-heels walk
of the Texas cowpoke, which he claimed to have been.

It was a matter of some note to the neighbors that the
pair seemed almost stupidly in love. Johnny’s ‘colorless
eyes seemed to light up in the presence of Lillie Pearl
like a Turk beholding Kate Smith in a bathing suit. On
her part, Lillie fairly beamed as she waddled from the
house to greet Johnny when he drove up in the family car.
They had the juvenile habit of kissing frequently in
public and it required no especially accurate barometer
to record these kisses as extremely moist. Despite the
fact that Johnny’s meager body was almost absorbed in
the capacious folds of Lillie Pearl’s charms it was obvious
to all beholders that the cowpoke Romeo was well re-*
warded for his exertions.

In time, the neighbors got to know the couple and
found them charming. Johnny Caldwell didn’t work and
it was generally understood he didn’t have to. The couple
had, as-they say in Texas, property. Or at any rate, Lillie
Pearl had property, including the substantial house in
which they were living. She had no intention‘ of permit-
ting her prize to soil his hands further with toil. What
they planned to do, it was understood, was to travel. This
fact having been established, there was little concern
manifested on January 29, 1954, when the Caldwell place
suddenly appeared deserted. The windows were tightly
closed, the doors locked, the shades drawn, the car os-
tensibly gone from the garage and the garage itself
tightly bolted. Newspapers shortly began to pile up on
the front terrace; the milk bottles and mail started to
accumulate. (Continued on Page 68)

'Z
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em pcp .

TRUGGLE PRECEDED

DEATH STRUCK IN THIS HOUSE, OBVIOUSLY, SOME SORT OF S

WOMAN'S DEMISE

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‘*‘He won’t,’’ the undersheriff said con-
fidently. ‘‘We’ve kept the news on all
this bottled up. The newspaper boys and
the prosecutor’s office have done won-
derful work in keeping it under wraps.
Our boy will come driving back across
the bridge.”’

The Marin County officers waited for
hours at the foot of Waldo grade, where
the car would have to pass enroute to
Stinson Beach. At 5:30 o’clock, they saw
a large automobile approaching. A
woman was in the back, a man in the
driver’s seat.

‘Here he comes,’’ said Midyett.

The deputies waved down the car, and
told Caritativo he was under arrest. The
man took it calmly. Deputy Seibert drove
the woman in her car on to her Stinson
Beach home. Undersheriff Midyett
rushed Caritativo to the Mill Valley City
Hall, where the man was questioned

before being removed to the Marin ©

County jail.

The little man remained cool and
poker-faced during the hours of question-

(Continued from page 51)

ing. He denied any culpability in the case,
but refused to answer most questions,
repeating stonily, again and again, ‘‘I
can’t answer that. On advice of my
attorney, I stand on my rights as an
American citizen.”’ ; :

Bart Caritativo talked freely about his
background. He said he had been born
in San Jose, Phillipine Islands, 48 years
earlier. He came to California for a short
time in 1926, then went back to the islands
where he married and had a son. He then
returned to the United States, leaving his
family behind.

“I hope to go back there again, some
day,’’ he told the questioners.

Caritativo repeated that he had spent
the hours during which the crime had
been committed in a Filipino gambling
house. Again he refused to give its loca-
tion.

**That guy wouldn’t give you the time
of day if he carried 48 watches,”’ a dis-
gusted deputy told newsmen, when the
questioning was over.

District Attorney Weissich praised
Sheriff Sellmer’s men, particularly

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Undersheriff Midyett, for “‘untiring ‘2

efforts’’ in solving the case.
‘**T will ask the death penalty for
Caritativo,’’ the D. A. announced.

Caritativo was arraigned on September

27th, charged with murder. He pleaded
innocent. Tried during the month of
March, 1955, the Filipino was found
guilty and sentenced to death in the gas
chamber.

Appeals were made to the California
State Supreme Court, the federal district
court, and the U. S. Supreme Court.
When all those failed the convicted man’s
lawyer appealed to Governor Goodwin
Knight for a stay of execution. This was
refused on the grounds the case had been
extensively reviewed since Caritativo’s
conviction. The governor ruled, ‘‘The
defendant has been given every oppor-
tunity in the courts.”’

The Filipino houseboy who killed Mrs.
Camille Malmgren Banks in order to
inherit her large fortune died in the gas
chamber at San Quentin Prison on
October 24th, 1959. OK

“I'm Just.
A Maniac!”

(Continued from page 23)

While the chief questioned the grief-
stricken husband, Detectives Lawrence
Weiser and Earl Thise talked with other
occupants of three-family house. The
Reades’ upstairs neighbor and her 18-
year-old son told the detectives that they
had not left the house since early on Mon-
day night. Neither had heard anything
suspicious from the apartment below.

“*I saw Mr. Reade and his brother leave
last night,’’ the neighbor offered. ‘‘Later,
I happened to glance out my back window
which is over the entrance to their apart-
ment. I saw a man walking away from
the entrance to the Reades’ apartment.”’

‘“*What did he look like?’’ Weiser
asked.

*‘He was short and heavy-set. In his
late twenties, I’d say. It was dark so I
couldn’t see if it was anyone I knew.”’

**And you say you saw this man walk-
ing away from the Reades’ apartment?’’
Thies asked.

(Continued on next page)

mes:

Where There's A Will...

and the blow may have been struck while
she was asleep,’’ Deputy Coroner Gerry
Gooch told reporters.

Banks had died of a knife thrust
through the heart.

The source of the sledge hammer, the
knife and the suicide note paper was not
learned.

‘‘Apparently, the murder-suicide took

‘place Thursday evening,’’ Coroner
Keaton announced. That was a few hours
after the man who had the lease on Sea
Downs had seen the pair.

No one could be located who had
noticed that Banks had been moody, or
had made any threats recently toward his
former wife. The couple, due to take over
the property October Ist were contacted
in Colorado. They could throw no light
on the tragedy. ;

(Continued from page 48)

No one had heard Mrs. Banks express
fear of physical violence — let alone mur-
der — at the hands of her former spouse.

The body of Mrs. Banks was released
to her mother and sister in San Francisco.
That of Banks was held for call by rela-
tives.

- The latter insisted that. Banks had not
committed the murder and suicide and
were quick to point out reasons why.

First, he never would have signed the
suicide note ‘Joseph’. Although that was
his legal name, for years he had insisted
upon being called ‘Joe’, believing it was
more in keeping with his informal nature.

Furthermore, the note, although gener-

ally resembling Joe’s handwriting, was
far too neat and precise; a carefully
copied forgery, his family told Sheriff
Sellmer.

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**But if Joe Banks didn’t write it, who
did?’’ asked Undersheriff Midyett, Sel-
Imer’s deputy.

‘“That’s the jackpot question,”’ said
Sellmer. “In fact, it might be the $150,000
jackpot. There is one person who would 4
benefit most from her death; some fellow a
named—”’ he glanced at the notes onhis ™
desk—.‘‘Here it is, some fellow named
Bart Caritativo. She left him most of her q
fortune, including SeaDowns, inahand-
written will, dated September Ist.”’

_ ._ Daniel Banks whistled. ‘‘That’s less
than three weeks ago. Who is this fel-
low?’’ :

‘‘We’re not sure yet,’’ said 4
Undersheriff Midyett. ‘‘But he should be
in today or tomorrow; the papers have
carried the story of the will. If he comes
to the coroner’s office, we’ll have a talk
with him.”’

The sheriff had been reading a typed
copy of the handwritten will, and a note
which had been attached to it firmly with
a paper staple. 5

‘‘Here’s another suspicious angle,”’ i
Sellmer said. ‘‘I can tell you two in confi- 3
dence. There are grammatical errors in j
the handwritten will — mistakes in syntax .
— and Mrs. Banks was a professional ;
writer; she wouldn’t have made such mis-
takes. That will may be a forgery. Of
course, we don’t know yet that either the Y |
will or the note aren’t the clear McCoy.”

At the sheriff's request, members of .
the Banks’ family attempted to locate 7
copies of the murdered man’s handwrit- q
ing and his signature.

That day, a San Rafael attorney called F|
the sheriff. |

*‘I read in the papers about that will,”’ ¥
he told Sellmer. ‘“Two years ago, when z
Mrs. Banks was about to leave for Mex-
ico, she had me draft a will for her,”’
Bagshaw told Sellmer. ‘‘She probably
was afraid she might die or be killed while
exploring down there.”’

““Who were her principal heirs then?’’
the sheriff asked.

*“‘Her mother. The draft left her Sea
Downs resort and some family heirlooms
to her mother.”’ :

‘And now she’s changed iit, without
any sign of trouble between her and her
family,’’ mused Sellmer. ‘“Thanks very
much. We’ll look into it.”’

Rumors that there might be something
odd about the Banks case had been sifting
through Marin County. Sunday night the
sheriff received an anonymous call.

“*Look for a Mexican in the case,”’ said
a woman’s voice.

‘*What Mexican?”’ asked Sellmer.

The caller hung up without replying.

.
Ca kee lee aS Nad Ssh

(Continued on next page)

ee ee Bike tea

se
D2 ue eee

gitar te ed

Mexican? That was a new angle. The
next morning, the sheriff put deputies out
to find out if any Mexican had been
associated with Mrs. Banks. He consi-
dered her trip to Mexico, two years
earlier. Had someone followed her home
from that country — some person with
a motive for murder?

The heir to the Sea Downs resort
appeared at the sheriff's office on Mon-
day. He had seen his name in the papers,
he explained.

Bart Caritativo was a dapper little
Filipino houseboy and chauffeur, who
worked for a wealthy widow who lived
only a short distance from Sea Downs.

‘**T read that I am Mrs. Banks’ heir,”’
he said, with only the trace of an accent.

‘*That’s right. — according to the will
we have,’’ answered Undersheriff
Midyett. ‘‘Maybe you can tell us why
you are the lucky one.”’

“I don’t know why she left it all to

e,’’ the tiny man said. ‘‘However, she
took an interest in me. I am trying to
be a writer, and she helped me. In fact,
she loaned me some of her manuscripts.”’

‘*She gives sort of a reason in this docu-
ment,’’ Midyett drawled. ‘‘She writes
you are an honest, sincere, real and true
friend, and above all, you are a perfect
gentleman.”

Caritativo nodded. ‘‘I always try to be
a gentleman. I guess that explains it.’

‘*We’d like you to write out some of’

the words from the will, and copy the
suicide note, if you don’t mind,’’ the
undersheriff went on.

Caritativo smiled. ‘‘You think I forged
the will? How silly. I’ll gladly give you
a speciment of my handwriting.”’

He used a pen to copy portions of the
will; a pencil to do the same with the
suicide note. The writing was entirely dis-
similar in both cases.

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‘*Where were you the night of the mur-
der?’’ Midyett asked.

‘‘T was in a Filipino gambling house,”’
was the reply.

‘*Where is it?”’

Caritativo drew back. ‘‘I am nota stool
pigeon,”’ he said coldly. ‘‘I will not put
the law on my former countrymen.’’

He explained he had received Ameri-
can citizenship about a year earlier.

There was no legal reason to hold the
man and he was allowed to go back to
the job he had held for eight years.

“I?ll be around in case you want to
talk to me further,”’ he promised.

Later that Monday, a member of the
Banks family arrived at the courthouse
with legal documents signed by the mur-
dered man. In every case, the signature
was ‘Joe Banks’.

Sheriff Sellmer and Midyett looked
these over.

‘It appears to me as if the will and
note were written by somebody who
worked from your brother’s handwrit-
ing,’’ the sheriff told Daniel Banks. ‘*The
writing is somewhat similar, but it doesn’t
look as if the same hand did all these
documents. I’m going to send all this stuff
to the CID for comparison.”’

He referred to the California State
Criminal Identification Bureau in Sac-
ramento.

The sheriff next turned to Midyett.
‘‘Don, get hold of some papers with
Caritativo’s handwriting on it. He may
have disguised it when he gave us those
samples.’

A “rabahell burst that afternoon,
when Dr. John Manwaring completed his
analysis of Joe Banks’ blood.

‘*Sheriff, somebody else stabbed that
man,’’ the doctor announced.

**You sure?’’ asked Sellmer.

‘*Absolutely. He was so drunk at the
time, he must have been unconscious.
‘Passed out’ is the phrase, I believe. His
blood showed the alcohol content of 4.5.
I don’t see how he could have stuck that
knife into himself. I doubt if he could
have lifted an arm.”’

**So that makes it double murder,’’ the
sheriff said softly.

None of these developments were |

printed in the papers until later; in fact,

as far as the public was concerned, the.

Banks case was a closed issue.

But District Attorney William Weis-
sich hurried back from a California Bar
Association meeting at Coronado to work
with the sheriff.

The next two days, Undersheriff
Midyett and two deputies watched Bart
Caritativo’s every move. The man went
about his duties with perfect calm. When
he was away, they entered his quarters
at the widow’s home.

““We’ve samples of his handwriting, as
well as short stories written by Mrs.
Banks,’’ Midyett told Sheriff Sellmer.

“Enough of his writing for comparison
purposes?”’

“Ill say,’’ replied the undersheriff.
‘‘Nearly 100 written sheets. Speeches
and short stories he’s written.”’

‘‘“Good,”’ grunted Sellmer. ‘‘Shoot
them on to Sacramento.”’

The sheriffs men finally learned of the
mysterious Mexican mentioned by the
anonymous caller. The man had managed
Mrs. Banks’ properties for her some
years earlier. His present whereabouts
were unknown; it was presumed he had
returned to Mexico.

‘*‘He'd have no motive for killing her;
at this late date,’’ Sellmer remarked to
Midyett. ‘‘He’d have nothing to gain.”’

On Friday, September 26th, one week
after the crime had been discovered,
Sellmer received a detailed report on the
suspect papers. The study had been made
by Sherwood Morrill, Documents
Examiner for the state bureau in Sac-
ramento, and a well-known handwriting
expert. He had compared the handwriting
of Caritativo, as found in the man’s room,
with that of the holograph will and the
suicide note.

A digest of the report, later released
by the sheriff's office, gave it as Mor rill’s
belief that:

1. The handwritten will had been
for ee by Caritativo.

The suicide note was also a forgery
by. the houseboy.

3. A typed note attached to the will
had a signature, supposedly by the slain
woman, which also, in the opinion of the
state expert, was a forgery by Caritativo.

‘*This is the most cold-blooded crime
in my 24 years in office,’’ Sellmer
growled to the undersheriff. ‘‘Go get him,
Don.”’

Midyett and Deputy Ellis Seibert raced
out that noon to the Stinson beach home
of the widow for whom the suspect
worked. They were told he had driven
his employer to San Francisco for the
afternoon.

‘‘They’ll have to come home by the
Golden Gate Bridge,’’ Midyett told the
deputy.

**‘Unless he gets scared and takes a
powder,’’ Seibert remarked.

(Continued on next page)

s all it is.”
ll you show

-e your plant

face became
said nothing;
vith a shrug,
vcked a door,
and ushered
xed with en-
i looked
nlow made a

large engrav~
equipped for
tools of the
rner, beneath
zinc plates—
Five of them
-aham Lincoln
vas of the re-

ownlow hauled
once had con-
med the boxes
ed, Jammed in
stacks of crisp.

ere were 14,708
representing a

bills had been
sides. Aylward,
ited the reverse
eking to make a

wnlow said, ex-
isely. ih
little. “Oh,” he
ould have done
raner.”

. Brownlow

3; and equip-

otos, obscene
> photos showing
ne of his illegal
r, in later talks
.d himself a su-
hotographed him-
would be caught.
he told the agent

was really good.

r of creating art.
erts. in Washington
the Aylward hand-
department’s i
” And they adde
“superb workman-

t
d, “Aylward spen
iose plates. He was

d
trict Court Aylwar

cing and pomeann’
deral Judge R. 7
1im to ten years :
ird, who had neve

at night and pio
ner husband’s illega
exonerated. In due

" Leav-
>d to leave for

re paid, perhaps =
iment to his nemis S.
1 “were you investi-

ine months.”
id Counterfeiter Ayl-
x Service was tailing

o¢¢

5 NOTE: ;
ick Howard, Louis
loney, as used én $
e not the real bomen
-erned. These person
itiaus names to pro~

Desert Tomb

(Continued from page 37)

Tucson to here, Could be any of these
missing . persons—” he pointed to a thick
file on his desk. “Or somebody else entirely.
Well, we ought to know more when we
hear from Tucson, and when we can talk
to these two men.”

The hospital reported that Jack Jones
was in critical condition with a badly
fractured skull. His left hand had been
broken, perhaps when he raised it to ward
off blows on the head. This possibly saved
his life. He was undergoing an emergency
operation to relieve the pressure on his
brain, and he wouldn’t be able to talk for
some time, if ever, .

Pressing their inquiries in the small
hours of the morning, Homicide Detectives
Joe Holindrake and Tom O'Neill, from
meager data on the frayed ID card, estab-
lished that Jack Payton Jones was a Den-
ver man. They succeeded in tracing him
to.an address on Fast 12th Street, but no
one there could shed any light on what
had happened to him. He had gone out

.the previous afternoon, no one knew where.

“IT want to have a look at this man,
Welch,” Captain Flor said,

It was still dark when Flor and the two
homicide men arrived at the hospital.
Guarded by two deputies and manacled to
his cot in the prison ward, the blond giant
was still sleeping under the sedative.

Captain Flor, staring at the man in the
bed, suddenly uttered an exclamation. He
fumbled in his pocket, pulled out Welch’s
wallet. doesn’t fit the
He’s not Welch.”

complexion and
The man on the hospital cot,
while about that age, was well over six
feet tall and would weigh at least 190 or
200 pounds. He had light brown curly
hair and—they pulled up his lids—light
blue eyes,

‘The contradiction. opened sinister ave-
nues of speculation. Going back to head-
quarters, the detectives now received re-
plies to their Arizona inquiries,

‘ The green Ford convertible was regis-
tered to Ralph R. Welch of Tucson, where
it had been ‘purchased in June. It hadn't
‘been reported stolen. But Captain Allaire
explained that the address given was not
that of young Welch himself but of his
parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ora R. Welch. They
said their son had visited them early in
June, shortly after his discharge, but had
since gone with his wife, Sarah Josephine,

Discharged from the Marines for medi-
cal reasons after 12 years’ service, includ-
ing combat in two wars, Welch, on rejoin-
ing his family in Tucson, had bought the
second-hand Ford and a trailer out of his
$6,000 accumulated mustering-out Pay.
Somewhat at loose ends after giving up his
long service career, he had looked forward
to settling in California.

“But it looks like he was heading up
your way this week,” the Tucson officer
reported. “Just the other day, Monday,
the 27th, the old folks got a telegram from
him, from Colorado Springs, asking them
to wire him $75 there. They sent it, and
that’s the last they’ve heard of him. They
thought he’d gone home to California.”

the lanky man identified as Jones,

the Rocky
miles south
eran Chief
inquiries at
that city.

Then he ¢

Mountain resort city some 70
of Denver, ‘and requested vet-
W. I. “Dad” Bruce to make
the Western Union office in

Just before dawn came word from Gen-
eral that the big prisoner was waking up.
The weary detectives sped to his bedside.

“What’s the matter? What do you guys

want? I tri
shot up for

ed to be a good Joe, and got
it! What am I chained here

for?” he complained.
“Just routine, just checking up,” the
homicide men assured. him,

Back at he
a teletype a
all points in

New Mexico and Arizona, with

adquarters again, Flor ordered
nd radio bulletin sent out to
Southern Colorado, Northern

lum, the first thing in the morning, passed
the Denver request and information on to
Sergeant Charles L,. Woods, chief of detec-

Woods assigned Detectives Richard

L. Quick and Virgil H. Seiveno to go out

Trailer Camp. Men in the
Bureau checked the finger-

print classification Flor had given, and a

similiar requ

larger bureau at San Diego.

est was sent to the sheriff's

At the trailer court, pretty blond Sarah

Welch, Preparing breakfast for little Mary
Jo, shook her head when the detectives

told her they

up on her husband.

for a week,” she said.
car one afternoon and
back. I hope he isn’t in any trouble.”

She said W

green convertible about 4 P.M. on Thurs-
day, July 23rd. He’d been. restless all day,
and said he was going out for a couple of
beers and a sandwich. He had a check for
$48.52 which he planned to cash.
When he didn’t come home, she had..

been worried,

said, had been unsettled and moody since

his discharge.

selling cutlery,

in accounting

the baby, waiting for him to settle down
in civilian life,
dutifully when he disappeared.

When he didn’t come home for several
days, she concluded he must have driven
back to see his parents in Tucson.
I got this telegram from Colorado Springs,

last Monday.”
yellow sheet.

“Need money to come home,” it read.

“Either you o
diately, care
soon. Love.
had wired the

ing further, she said.

Sarah’s desc
identical with
and she gave

Western Union here. Home

were making a routine check-
“I haven’t seen him
“He took off in his.

just didn’t come

elch had driven away in his

but Ralph, as his parents had

He had tried his hand at
and was taking a course
» his wife said, Busy with

she had waited just as

ruiser in the
Neither could he be

hief' telephoned Chula
desk sergeant promised
check the trailer court
e the two’ variant de-
€ prisoner’s fingerprint
sketched the circum-
alled Colorado Springs,

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“Then
She handed the officers the

r bank wire me $75 imme-

Ralph R. Welch.” Sarah
money and had heard noth-

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the officers a recent . snap-

a ee er

- reer erage held ~~.

‘ral Hospital.

out of the Marines, and going hay- '
ck to Welch, wire like that! Has a wife and kid, |
ar the door. too—pictures of ’em here.” The snap- 4
our car.” ots showed a pretty blond woman |
this?” he de- holding a smiling infan
do a favor— Flor picked up the telephone and
2 a look at it, called the police in cson. Captain
James D, Allaire of the Arizona city
out the am- took down the data on Welch and
ch started to Promised to investigate the West Al-
ibbed him by turas Street address at once
hat’s coming Meanwhile Lieutenant Shumate
ted. “Are you ad gone carefully over the convertj-
iat for? ble collecting spec ens, making {
stick around. notes and taking color Photos for the
ant to talk to record. “There’s no doubt that car
now.’ Carried a decomposing human body, ‘
vertible with and not long ago,” Shumate told Flor 4
ras top up, in the captain’s Office. “I’ve collected {
z rain at the samples of dried blood, hair and §
i a door open, shreds of tissue. There’s fresh blood Bl
At the shed and hair on the jack-handle but that
rect wrent ed. Probably came from Jack Jones—
nder’s lagna these other traces are older,
guys! I’m n “And I found these in the back
you po pre Seat.” He laid on the desk a pair of
own
hampered by

er him, draw-
iting to him to

close behind

%
cant tae anes days and later thrown out. I’ve taken

#4 samples of. the sravel and the leaves
itieth menor tas —they’re from some sort of ever-'
: his walle Legge ; Breen tree, and not very old. Maybe

— = a Bade. — wath S. i
1” the officers Dets. Quick (I.) and Seiveno solved

ody and suspect with passion for na

hak cols Leaves found in trunk of Welch’s stolen car (below), its front grille
irses J ”

as the chase

e rain. Brakes The officers went back to the Ford Closed dried brown bloodstains all
3s, coatless fu- convertible, stil] Parked by- the hospi- over the back Seat_and floor, quite
ross the street tal entrance, Its chromium grille was Plainly not the fresh blood of Jones,
corner. bashed in, apparently from a recent “Looks like we've got hold of a big
< ahead of the accident. There was fresh blood on One,” the officers muttered, 4G.
was widening. the front floor mat and on the leather | Roused from bed, Captain William
- fired their .38 covers of the right Seat, obviously E. Flor, veteran Denver chief of de-
the air over where Jones had lain. And on the tectives, hurried down to headquar-
ran the faster. floor of the tonneau lay a bumper- ters. Lieutenant James E, Shumate,
legs. jack, its handle ending in a V-bar, head of the Crime Laboratory, ‘was
rolled on the é The detectives took charge of the examining the death-laden converti-
anting officers jack and handle. Patrolman C. E. ble in the police garage. Flor sent a
struggling fig- Myers got behind the wheel to drive fingerprint team to the hospital, They
h was shot in the car to the Station. On the way, Succeeded in getting Welch’s prints
bbing the wal-. the other police cars following, he only after the blond giant had been
utched in. one Sot stuck in a mud-hole. As the others forcibly Strapped down and put to
ey handcuffed joined him around the stalled car, Sleep with a sedative,
sxamining _ his Myers opened the Ford’s trunk to The local identification bureau had
t the bullet had see if he could find a shovel, He nothing cn either Welch or Jones,
folded check- Jumped back as a Sickening ‘odor as- They rushed Prints of both men to
pocket—a book Sailed him, ; the FBI in Washington and wired the
Jack P. Jones. As Myers put it later: “When we _Ford’s license number, C-2663 to
: had reason to opened that trunk, we smelled death Arizona State Police at Phoenix for they'll give us a lead to where it hap-
‘eat and robbed Tight off!” checking. Captain Flor examined the Pened. I’m Sending all the samples I
{ him while he There was no mistaking the sick- Papers in Welch’s wallet, which con- and data back to the FBI lab. Any
lexander com- _ ly-sweet reek of decomposed flesh tained about $180 in cash There was idea who the victim could have |
that rose from the trunk compart- a United States Marine Corps: certi- een?” ;
al staff, another ment, although it obviously was emp- ficate, Stating that Master Sergeant Flor shrugged. “Not much to go on
nce and a car- ty. Had there been another attack, Ralph Robert Welch had been hon- yet. Both fellows are still uncon-
ived. The pow- | ending in a murder? Bottom and orably discharged on May 18th, 1953 scious. If Welch drove up here from
sing viciously, - Sides of the compartment were re- —little more than two months earlier, ‘Tucson, was just passing through as
t aid could not vealed in the- flashlight glow to be n Arizona driver’s license and € says, the murder could’
ok four men to caked with dried blood. There were other papers all bore the name of committe
ibulance, which § leaves ang Bravel in it. Slee Welch and the usual personal data. zona,
{ospital. Closer examination of the car dis- Captain Flor shook his head. “Just where fro

STU emcees

shot of him. Quick and Seiveno next
planned to visit the cutlery company that
had given Welch the $48 check, to deter-
mine where it had been cashed. But
when they stopped at headquarters they
found more urgent business. Sheriff Bert
Strand at San Diego already had identified
the Denver mystery man from the print
classification formula.

The blond giant was Michael Timothy
Cavanaugh, 29, of National City, up the
Coast Highway a few miles north of Chula

‘Vista, a man with a lengthy police record

covering several states. Committed to the
State Hospital at Patton, California, as a
mental case after an arrest for forging
checks, he had escaped on July 12th, 1953,
and was being sought by the sheriff.

“And it turns out we’ve been looking
for him ourselves, without knowing it,”
Sergeant Woods told the detectives. ‘“Peo-
ple have been coming in here for the
last couple of days with bum check beefs,
but.all we had was the description of the
man who passed them, under different
names. It tallies exactly with the descrip-
tion and modus of this fellow Cavanaugh.
San Diego is sending pictures down. Mean-
while, here’s his address.”

At the Cavanaugh apartment at 1630 Mc-
Kinley Avenue in National City they found
slim, dark-haired, 38-year-old Mrs. Evelyn
Cavanaugh just getting ready to leave for
work. Alarmed by their visit, she said
she had seen her husband only once since
the day after he walked out of Patton.
She already had told the sheriff about his
previous visit home, on July 13th. But
that second visit was a jackpot for the
Chula Vista detectives—for it was on July
23rd, the night Ralph Welch disappeared,
and Cavanaugh had been driving a green
Ford convertible.

“It was just about midnight when Mich-
ael drove up in his green car,” the dis-
traught wife related. “He said he’d been
back to the hospital and they let him out
on leave and he borrowed the car from
another patient. He wanted me to pack
up and leave for Indiana with him.”

She refused, she said, and pleaded with
him to go back to the hospital. Then,
he urged her to come with him for a cou-
ple of farewell drinks at a favorite ren-
dezvous of his on West 13th Street in Na-
tional City. She relented, and they drove
to the club. After vainly trying to talk
her into going East with him, Cavanaugh
finally took her home about 1 a.m. and
drove off. That was the last she saw of
him. Accustomed to her mate’s wild talk,
Evelyn believed that he had gone back to
the hospital.

Quick and Seiveno left her with the im-
pression that they were seeking her hus-
band merely as an escaped mental patient.
They visited the National City police head-
quarters and between that and the infor-
mation from San Diego that was waiting
on their return to’ Chula Vista, they soon
had a complete dossier and pictures of
Michael Timothy Cavanaugh.

Born in' Massachusetts, he had grown
up in Greenfield under his real name of
Richard Erwin Thayer. In 1942, at 17,

the husky youth lied about his age and

enlisted in the U.S. Navy. Sent to the
University of Missouri for a_ training
course, he got into trouble over bad checks
and, four months after his enlistment, he
received an undesirable discharge. This
first experience with the navy and with
hot checks apparently set the pattern of
the big fellow’s life. He couldn’t leave
either alone.

On November 23rd, 1942, he was ‘picked
up in San Francisco for impersonating ‘a
navy officer and fraud, both perpetrated in
San Antonio, Texas. Sentenced to three
years in Leavenworth, he was transferred,
because of his age, to the Federal reforma-

tory at Chillicothe, Ohio, and paroled in
June, 1944.

Going home to Greenfield, he was con-
victed in September, 1945, of delivering
alcohol to a minor. His parole was re-
voked and he was sent back to Chillicothe,
to be discharged April 21st, 1947.

In February, 1948, he was sentenced on
check forgery’ charges in Lincoln, Nebras-
ka, to 22 months in the Nebraska State
Penitentiary, Again he had impersonated
a navy officer to pass the checks, but this
charge was not pressed. Shortly after his
release, he was picked up again in Lin-
coln on the same charge and drew another
18 months in prison.

During this time, the record showed, the
ruggedly attractive youth was almost as
active maritally as criminally. He married
a 21-year-old girl in Lincoln in October,
1942, shortly before his first federal arrest.
She divorced him while he was in Chilli-
cothe. In 1948 he was married again in
Mexico City. In 1949 he was wed a third
time, and on April 22nd, 1950, he married
his present wife, Evelyn, at Glenwood,
Iowa.

Though several interlocutory divorce de-
crees were in the record, the dates indi-
cated that some of the rnarriages must have
overlapped. Apparently, no one had seen
fit to press a bigamy charge. Thayer first
adopted the name Michael Timothy Cava-
naugh when he met and married Evelyn.
She knew nothing of his criminal history
or prior marriages until his recent confine-
ment to Patton brought out the record. She
knew only that he drank too much, but
she had hoped to reform him.

Coming to California with his trusting
wife in June, 1952, the husky blond fellow
worked as foreman of a swimming pool
construction crew and as a plumber’s help-
er. He also had picked up some training as
a cost accountant. ‘

But in April, 1953, he was picked up after
a spree on which he cashed scores of forged
checks throughout San Diego County, each
time passing himself off as a’ navy com-
mander or captain in civvies.

Cavanaugh’s forceful personality and
glib tongue stood him in good stead. He
had a very high IQ and the affable manner
of the born con man. He convinced the
judge that he was a sick man, suffering
from headaches and blackouts ever since
he injured his head as a boy. He claimed
he didn’t even remember passing the
checks. He actually had been under treat-
ment by a neurologist, at his wife’s urging,
and now he asked that he be corhmitted to
a state hospital till they found out what
was wrong with him. The judge accom-
modatingly pigeonholed the check charges
and sent the big fellow to Patton.

There the busy doctors, listening to Cava-
naugh’s story, made a tentative diagnosis
of psychic epilepsy, with chronic brain syn-
drome and convulsive tendencies. The pa-
tient’s aggressive, irritable temperament
and extreme egotism pointed to this, and
it was felt that his crimes might have been
committed in so-called “epileptic equiva-
lent” states—blackouts with amnesia, which
sometimes take the place of epileptic fits.

‘But after three months’ confinement, be-
fore proper electroencephalograms and
other tests could be completed, Cavanaugh
went for a walk on the night of July 12th.
He didn’t come back.

“Looks like our cue is to backtrack this
fellow’s movements around here,” Quick
told Seiveno when they had finished per-
using the voluminous record. “The last
checks we’ve heard about were cashed on
the 23rd—the day both men were last seen
here. Let’s find out what Cavanaugh was
doing that day, and we may run into a
link with Welch.” °

Seiveno nodded. “Cavanaugh didn’t have
a car of his own, as far as we know, but

he got around to‘a lot of places to cash
checks. Let's check the cab companies.”
It didn’t ‘take the two detectives long to
locate a Chula Vista cab driver who
promptly recognized the picture of Cava-
naugh as a man he had picked up in front
of a cafe on National Avenue at 5:45 p.m.
on the 23rd. He supplied a list of the sev-
eral places he had taken his big, smiling.
talkative fare, and Quick and Sciveno sct

‘out to pick up the cold trail.

At the same time the other end of the
investigation was progressing in Denver.
There the FBI confirmed the identification
of Cavanaugh. Captain Flor had pictures
taken of him and the still unconscious
Jones in the hospital, and released them
to newspapers and television stations.

It was swiftly established that it had
been Cavanaugh, and not Welch, who had
sent the two telegraphic appeals for money
in Welch’s name from Colorado Springs on
the 27th, and who had received and cashed
the two money orders, one at the Springs
and one forwarded to Denver on the 28th.

The woman who was night manager of
a cafe on Colfax Avenue, recognized pic-
tures of Cavanaugh and Jones and told de-
tectives they had been drinking there Wed-
nesday evening, a few hours before they
turned up at St. Luke’s Hospital. The big
fellow was loud and belligerent, she re-
called, and his companion kept telling him
to be quiet, and apologizing for him.

And finally a prominent Denver citizen
came forward with the information that
Cavanaugh, driving the green convertible,
had bumped into the rear of his car
Wednesday night on East Colfax. The blond
giant affably assumed blame, displayed
Welch’s license and insurance card, and
promised that the damage would be taken
care of. Jones was riding with him at the
time. Apparently it was just after they
left the cafe, and shortly before the mur-
derous attack on Jones.

“Well, it’s pretty clear that Cavanaugh
beat and robbed Jones,” Flor summed up.
“He didn’t find him lying in the street, we
know for sure. Why did he bring him to
the hospital? Probably thought Jones was
dying and we could never identify him—
and he wanted to be on the safe side, after
showing Welch’s ID in that auto accident.
Maybe, too, he thought he could cover the
old bloodstains with fresh ones, with a
legitimate explanation.

“But this doesn’t help us trace Ralph
Welch—except that we know Cavanaugh
had his car and ID as far back as Colorado
Springs on Monday. That leaves 1200 miles
between there and California.”

Back in Chula Vista, meanwhile, Quick
and Seiveno were narrowing things down.
They visited a storage firm and a super-
market where Cavanaugh had passed
phony checks. A florist had become leery
when the big man wanted to give him a
check for some flowers for his wife. But
a jeweler had sold him a gold-filled wrist
watch for a $78 check, swallowing Cava-
naugh’s story that he was a lieutenant com-
mander and the watch a present for his
son, who was graduating from Annapolis.

Then the cab driver had taken him to
another cafe, and there the plodding work
of the detective team paid off. Red-haired
Peggy, operator of the food concession,
and the blonde barmaid, instantly recog-
nized the picture of Cavanaugh. They also
recognized that of Welch, as well.

“Sure, we know him,” Peggy said. “That's
Curly. I don’t know his last name. He's a
navy officer. He used to drop in here quite
a bit. He was in just the other day, about
a week ago. This other fellow, Ralph, was
here too, and they got talking.”

The two women stated definitely that it
was Thursday, the 23rd. Cavanaugh was in
late in the afternoon, drank several high-
balls, called a cab, left about 5:45 and came

clared he knew nothing about Jack Jones,
sh whom they haq seen once or twice before, The officers left him. This round clearly
aces to cea Came in! He cashed his $48 check at the belonged to Curly,
v companies. t bar, had a beer and sat down to eat. Back at headquarters, they got a
tectives long _ Welch seemed moody and Preoccupied, news that further narrowed the hunt for
ib driver who the girls recalled, Spotting him, the jovial Welch’s body. The FBI laboratory in Wash-
icture of — Curly sat down at his table, insisted on ington reported that the leaf specimens
‘ked up in fron Welch having a highbal] with him, told him taken from Welch’s car, mingled with blood
jue at 5:45 P.M. to cheer up. They had more drinks, and and body tissue, were California eucalyp-
list of pol aii the barmaid heard Welch Complain of a tus or blue gum. Since this species doesn’t
is big, sm 4
nat ‘Seiveno pe headache

‘ grow inland, this further indicated that
“Tl fix your headache.” his new-found
ail.

i elch had been slain near Chula Vista
" friend told him. “Don’t forget I’m a navy And identification of the missing corpse : ‘
ther end of the doctor, a lieutenant commander, Just come Was clinched when th weeping Sarah ~ a :
sing in — with me,” Welch identifieg the blood-caked sun- SSS
he identificatio They left together about 10 p,q. Welch glasses and broken denture found in the AT HOME!
or had amp seemed reluctant to 80. He hesitated atthe car as belonging to her husband LAW LL.B. DEGREE
till unco door, turned and started to Say something, The next Morning in Denver, the hos- ; ° .
| released them “Peggy—” he began, With a worried look, Pital reported Jones off the critical list, encom manna Ea Libracy tee a
ion stations. d but Cavanaugh laughed anq Pushed the and lor was able to interview him, Ema- 48 enabled thousands te aster Law sur-
ied that it ha d Smaller man oyt the door ahead of him. ciated, with two black eyes and other Prisingly fast, in spare hours at home, for busi-
Welch, who ha The time element was further Pinpointed bruises making his face a grotesque mask | nesg and professional advancement, ‘
»peals for money ‘ when Quick ang Seiveno visited another under the shaven skull, he was able to tell hese 14 remarkable volumes, compiled by
vrado Springs a cafe, where the barmaid Confirmed Evelyn little that the Police didn’t know already. ding Professors and la ers, 1 ony ne whole
‘ived and cashe Cavanaugh’s Story and added details. “Tt e identified Cavanaugh, who was wheeled baal eld of Law in con ensed, orderly, sim-
e at the Springs seemed Curly was in the cafe twice on the into the room. He said he'd met him at a 7 ig wapnaed ap as li
28th. A x 7 : ou advance rapidly with this great library,
iver on the t night in question. He came in alone about tavern and gone on a drinking round with plug special lectures furnished, W. guide you
ight manager o 11:45. The barmaid saiq he had driven up him. He remembered nothing after the | 5 ep-by-step with Personalized Problem Meth-
recognized oa ina green Ford convertible, He cashed a bumper accident on East Colfax, . Of instruction ., - you learn —han-
nes and told 1. $40 check, paid a bill, and asked her to - Prosecution for the attack on Jones was 28 legal problems—not by memorizing rules,
iking there We dance with him. When’ st refused, he left, held up, stints developments in the faur~ | op Send for oF TER EE 48-page sets, Day
urs before t bia to return in about 15 minutes with his wife. der investigation Evidence in the Jones ome ll ni ‘ebook — and Ne tena
‘ospital. The big He and Evelyn sipped Grinks and talked case wie may 02 Strong, legally, and the | Seyon, am ling how LaSalle Law grado?
ligerent, she him till 1 a.m, when they left. slick con man might worm out ‘of it. winning rapid advancement in business and
kept telling hi It appeared certain now that Cavanaugh Flor, studying the situation decided on a ic life. Mail coupon below. No obligation,
ing for him. | must have killed Welch between 19 P.M., finesse Play. A lie detector test was out, : ‘
t Denver Se when they left the bar together, ang 11:45, since Such a test js not effective with a LA SALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY
information a. when Cavanaugh showed up alone in the Pathologica] liar, who remains a glib liar Orrespondence Institution
reen convertib e, mawertible—undoubtedly with the Slain on all levels, Conscious and unconscious, i ILL
‘ear of his ot man’s body in the trunk. But they still But there was another Possibility, For sey. | 4175, Pearborn St., Dept, 7306LC, Chicago 5, ILL,
“olfax. The blon d needed a body,: eral days Flor visited the big fellow and Send me your two FREE booklets described above,
lame, displaye q Back in Denver, Studying the new infor- talked to im in friendly fashion, Pretend- | without obligation
rance card, se in mation from California, Captain Flor de- Ing to go along with the black story. Name.
: would be ta the cided it was time to lower the boom on T’d like to help yo
with him at Rs Cavanaugh, He and the homicide men went
just after they -to the prison ward where the husky giant
Sefore the mur- was still manacled ‘to his bed,
h “Look, Curly,” Flor told him, “we know
““-* Cavanaug all about you. We know you’re Cavanaugh,
summed up. not Welch, so there’s no use kidding us, Famous SPEEDWRITING shorthand, 120
le street, bees We know you picked up Welch in a bar in me to do, Cap?” Machines yee, Easiest to learn
.-~ oring conga Chula Vista, and r obbed him of his money, hy, I'd like to 8ive you a truth serum tougnenne mai ee: business tnd cine
‘ought Jones car and papers, So you might as well test—sodium am tal Of Wee, Typing avalivee 31st year.
: ify him— ‘ : p ytal, you know Course, Write tor PRng booklet to:
r identify fter come clean With us. What did you do with we ave to have your consent. We give
ie safe ptr the body?” i You a shot and put you to sleep—that is,
‘at auto acci tek The veteran detective was due for a sur- your conscious mind ‘sleeps, and your un. SPCC WT] é
» could rete a Prise. The suspect regarded him with & conscious talks to us, like under hypnosis.” Dept.5109-4, 55 W.428t., NewYork3g
sh ones, wit Puzzled frown as more than a minute Cavanaugh considered for @ minute. A
ticked by. Then he Said, “Sure I’m Cava- ; ; - rr
us trace Ralph naugh, Michael] Timothy Cavanaugh. Who jihad oar came anto his i dg Okay, o PORTABLE GARAGE
‘now Cavanaugh else would I be? But who's this Welch, 80 for it. _ ve 80t nothing to lose. Nisei Heavy Gauge
back as Colorado and who are yoy guys? What am J chained Flor ‘was quietly Jubilant. His ruse had EW iy Rie, Vinyl Plastic
leaves 1200 miles like this for?” Anq What's the matter with Worked, This time the wily Cavanaugh had Ba Me a Ra ae $2775
nia.” » my hip?” outsmarted himself. For Flor’s real inten. ei az.
yeanwhile, Quick “Don’t you remember?” Flor’s Voice was__ tion was not to give Curly a truth serum FORM
‘ing things vratobi heey: a Hsia ‘ of amnesia 2tmytal Ie for artes antes h Folds Pn wren
rm and a super- The risoner frowned again. “No, I can’t , Mmories ac ually | . Goes Wierover your car goes » figies °
gh had. passed remember much Wied day is tree cam‘ conve, and Flor was mie! Ae cent sina na Sta ei Sun et
° e. leery : : Convinced that the blond glant was faking, models » Enclose payment for $6.75 plus 35¢ bostage, or
iad becom : thing I remember, My wife was here to , . sent C.0.p.
‘d to give him a See me. That was the Fourth of July.” 50 Flor planned = Pretend 10 give him a MARDO SALES Copp. Dept. G-466
or his wife. — “Where do you think you are, Cava- truth Serum shot, and trick him into fabri- 480 Lexington Avenue © New York 17, N.Y.
\ gold-filled wris naugh?” Flor asked, Would at henge nat might the black and ee
wallowing 2 “Why, in Patton State Hospital, Cajj- ; hn UFFERERS py ® 4
a lieutenant nag fornia. Where else? Unless You moved me Nd give the homicide men ae lead. nOM é :
: present for his while I was asleep or drugged or some Dr. John McDonald administereg the oy
from eter thing. What's going on here?” phony test fugust 7th at Colorado State , n a? 4 e
iad taken him Flor stared hard into the cold blue eyes. Hospital, in the Presence of Flor and other how fit yourself no matter
ne plodding a His every instinct told him that the te Officials and a shorthand reporter. He gave 46 bendat yee hee tice
ei eet a fellow was lying, had seed his story Cavanaugh a gh to Weak solution of the asia “and, Dermal) eet
food poncensiee with lightning mental agility. But Cava- drug, Just enough to make him feel he had EEDHIS proof or results
instantly pe : naugh had pulled it off Perfectly, without been given Something, but not enough to > Sy \ Sent FREE. Write tor it
inaugh. They als the slightest quiver to betray him. Put him under. The prisoner dutifully for” tnel"istake ay aangis D FOR
as well. , When they told hi h ; closed his eyes sighed, and short yY began aso peg, fealy akin Laer te
: id. “That's bivntlong MBe ent eg Was in Denver to mutter drowsil answering Flor’s ues i aataining Der no
eggy said. tee he expressed amazement, declaring he re- tione in at ff foal pine q Realy DRewsands “ao for REA
last name. nes called nothing since Evelyn’s visit to him “ns in slow mec anical phrase efter Years ygtsers, often
els Slay ag: base few ly 4th at Patton, till he woke up a Now he d membered everything. He fold | Beier the, Seat eradUally dy a
other day, abou few minutes ago to find hinhselg chained how he had met Welch in the Chula Vista seni ad tesa yimany rl of ela via backed. bya
ellow, Ralph, was to the hospita] bed. cafe, how he thought a breath of fresh honey’ yqaeenement weve fetesito: benent 8,3 Larens OF T
alking.” hat it He shook his head in baMed disbelief air would be 800d for the €x-Marine’s Shak Mirena Uate tts D
| definitely t ves in when they told him he had been driving headache. namen Zour test ‘hottie.
ok verey eee Welch’s car and Posing as Welch, He de- He
an

took the wheel of the convertible, he

4 ‘Ame
out §:45 and can

ever, the number of stab wounds indi-
cated a long-standing personal hatred.
The room itself showed few signs of a
struggle and more as if the killer had

knife at once.

“Did Connie bring any of the money
from the cafe upstairs with her?” May-
field asked Gloria.

“No. They have a safe down there.
I was with her when she put it all in.”

“Did she ever bring money upstairs
with her?”

“I don’t think so.”

Anyone planning a robbery would
have watched and made sure where
Connie put the money. And if he had
planned to force her to go back down-
stairs and open the safe, he wouldn’t
have waited until she was undressed.

“repeated that he had gone to Sacra-
mento to the hospital. Summoning
Stites, the Sheriff told him: “Get Joe
Lopez, Connie’s brother. Do you know
where he lives?”

Stites did. ‘6

“Break the news as gently as you can
that his sister has been murdered—but
get him back here in a hurry. He may
know something.”

As Stites left, Schroeder came out

taking the photographs. Mayfield in-
structed him to dust for prints, espe-
cially around the window where the
screen had been cut,

the room and sent to the Sullivan
Brothers Funeral Home,
Mayfield went back to questioning

leaped out and slashed home with the ~

Mayfield asked about Vince. Gloria -

and announced’ that he was finished -

Connie’s body then was taken from’

| cneemeneuntaunineeee

Gloria again. “Do you know if Connie
was having trouble with any fellow?”

But the girl shook her head. “I don’t
know hardly anything about her per-
sonal life. I've only been here a week.”

“What were you talking about when
you were sitting around in your room?”

“Nothing special. She just asked me
how I liked my job and we talked about
some of the customers. Connie seemed
to know everyone who came in.”

“Did she mention anyone she was
afraid of, or did she seem nervous or
ae '

“ 0. ”

EAVING the girl, Mayfield located
Sampson. “Were you around the
joint downstairs last night?”
-—-‘“Yeah, A couple of times.”
’ “Any trouble?”

“Nope. Just the usual crowd. Except
I did put one fellow out. He wasn’t
drunk; Connie just said she wanted him
to leave, so I put him out.”

“What. did he say about it?”

“Nothing. He squirted a string of
Spanish at Connie, but he went out
peacefully enough. He was young,
maybe twenty-five, and I haven’t seen
him around town before.”

Gloria recalled this man. “He came
in and for awhile he and Connie talked.
I don’t know what they said because
they talked low. Then Connie told him
to leave.” .

Downstairs, Mayfield knew, the
Michoacan had pool tables and a small
‘dance floor, with a juke box providing
the music.: When the bar was running

heavy, the atmosphere sometimes got’

a little rugged, although no serious
trouble ever had occurred. The patrons
themselves took care of that.

It was well known that a man always

* could get a stake for a few days from

the Navarros. Five or ten bucks didn’t
even require leaving a name. Connie
boasted that she never had lost a dime
from the small loans she made.

_., She was especially considerate of the
braceros—the Mexican nationals who
come in under special work permits for
the harvests. They usually arrive broke
and Connie would stake them until
their first payday.

After a few minutes Schroeder came

man, and whose name brought fear to his country

Schroeder said,

* too.

The man who had too much money to spend and too many clothes for a common work-

y until Cc

Navarro defied him

out from the bedroom and Mayfield
asked him what he had uncovered.

“You get the killer, I'll send him to
the gas chambér at San Quentin,”
“Inside the bedroom
door I picked off two good bloody
prints. They’re nice and clear.”

“Enough to search the record?”

Schroeder shook his head. “I picked
up some other prints that may be his,
It’s hard to tell who they belong
to, but we can be pretty sure those
bloody ones were left by him.”

In the bedroom, the Sheriff looked
around closely. It was nicely furnished
and in good taste. In the closet was a
rack holding 20 pairs of shoes and
scores of dresses hung there. The
Michoacan Cafe was as good as a small
mint; Connie and.Vince had done.all
right with it.

Stites came up ‘on the landing with
Joe Lopez. The curly haired youth
showed traces of a family resemblance
to his beautiful sister, He was visibly
shaken by the news.

“Do you have any idea who killed
her?” Mayfield asked.

“Nobody would

Joe shook his head..
hurt Connie.”

“Somebody did. What's this about
Vince going to the hospital?”

Joe said Vince had been having
stomach trouble and a doctor advised
an operation, Vince had gone to Sacra-
mento.

“Which hospital?”

Joe didn’t know,

Mayfield told Stites: “Go over to the
office and teletype Sacramento. Have

them call the hospitals for Vince. He’ll:. in his native land.

want .to know about Connie, and be-
sides I’d like to find out where he was
this morning.”

Joe mumbled:
about her.”

“But somebody did use a knife on
her,” Mayfield said harshly. “Are you
sure you haven’t any ideas?”

T= tall, husky Sheriff looked down
at the slender youth. Somehow, he
sensed the fear hidden behind the dark
eyes—a fear that might keep his
tongue silent.

“Do you know something, Joe?” he
demanded again.

“Vince was crazy

...somebody from the Immigration

Joe still did not speak. He ran his#
palm over his glistening forehead. He
tried to pull his glance away from the
Sheriff's but couldn’t make the grade,

“Come on, Joe, speak up! She was
your sister. You want to see her killer
caught, don’t you? ‘You want to see
ae, what he’s got coming?” :
“Well, speak up then. What’s on you

mind?” Mayfield was certain now th
the youth was withholding somethin

“El Verdugo, maybe.” The word
were a croak, :

“Who?”

“Y/ don’t know his name,” Joe wh
pered. “He calls himself El Verdug
In English, it means something like al
executioner—only it’s a little differen

too, .. It’s somebody who's mean an
hurts people.”

Mayfield ‘scowled, trying to under
stand what the youth was sayin
“Where is this El Verdugo, or whatever
his name is?”

“In Mexico, I think.’ No one knows.

“In Mexico? Then, what would he
be doing up here stabbing Connie?”

Joe Lopez tried to explain. Much of'
what he said concerning the braceros,
Mayfield knew to be true. These labor-
ers are hired by an agent for the big
ranches, brought across the _ border
under bond and are returned when the
harvest is over.

The seasonal work is sought by ms
for, with the higher wages and the high
rate of exchange, a bracero can earn}
more in a few months in the field in
the States than in a year of hard work

“El Verdugo, he tells who will b
hired,” Joe went on. “He tells who th
man. from the ranch Will pick. He send
his men up here to collect from tho
he says can come.”

Mayfield asked: “What does th
have to do with Connie?”

Joe said that he and his sister we
born in Los Angeles but their fath
had migrated from Mexico. “Conn
felt.sorry for the braceros. Some
them told her how this El Verd
sometimes takes as much as half of
money they earn, They are afraid
to pay because they must return
Mexico and when they do, El Verd
will torture and kill them. Connie si
ae was going to do something
t.”

. “What?” ;

“I don’t know. I think she pl
to go to the Immigration people
the Farm Labor Bureau. She was
ing to find some of the braceros
would not be afraid to tell their sto

“Was she threatened?”

“Yes, .El Verdugo sent word if
interfered it would be too bad.” -
know who carried

arm. Gripping it firmly, he
manded: “Are you sure? You
afraid to tell, are you?” ;
“TI am afraid,” Joe said simply.
Verdugo has many men working
him. They could kill me easily.
am not so afraid that.I would not
if I know who killed my sister.”
Mayfield called to Shearin.
Joe down to the office,” he instru
“It’s Sunday, but see if you can’t }

about it.
with the fellow at that. She was
ways giving the down-and-ou
break.”

Shearin started away with Joe
Mayfield called them back. “Do
“know the combination to the
downstairs?” he asked the boy.

(Continued on Page 46)

Sheriff Max Mayfield: "Stay ¢

that bus, you measly murderer!

thing wrong. What's the big

eld approached the foot of the
1 eyed the dark-haired youth.
won’t tell us where you were,
| tell you where you were. You
ning down the Michoacan Cafe
hive of o’clock this morning.”

r a ”

connie Navarro was murdered

o’clock this morning.”
dered? And you think I done

on your clothes,” Mayfield or-
“We can tell soon enough.
‘ot finger-prints over at Head-

n’t murder anybody! You cops
ang every bum rap on me.” :
get on your clothes, Eddie,”
i told him evenly. “And do it

eyed the brawny Sheriff and
of bed.

wrt time after’ they arrived at
arters, Schroeder took Eddie’s
rints and compared them with
bloody prints from the door.
were not the same.

re in the clear, Eddie,” May-
d the youth. “Now, how about
along with us? Did you or did

t go down that alley at four -

this morning?” A
| not,” Eddie said. “I got home
alf-past two. Icame down Fifth
.nd in the front door.” .
Ortiga left, Mayfield told the
“Mrs. DeLeonard saw some-
wasn’t Eddie, but it was some-
) looked like him.” He paused a
t. “Eddie resembles the fellow
n and the Urebi girl saw in the
t night.”
ent to the door and called out
s: “Have Sampson come in and
4S soon as you can locate him.”
son and Deputy Leverett re-
to the office in about an hour
2 Lopez. Another man was with
Sampson introduced the new
Alfredo Hernandez.
1andez knows who the man is
lects for El Verdugo,” Sampson
‘Hernandez is here on a work
d the man has been trying to
noney from him.”
>is it?” Mayfield asked.
andez looked very pale and grim.
is afraid,” Joé said. “He will
» go back to Mexico when the
is over. If El Verdugo knows it
who told—”

“Nobody will know,” Mayfield prom-
ised. “It is possible this El Verdugo
hasn't anything to do with the murder
anyway.”

Hernandez spoke up. “I am afraid,”
he said. “But Connie was my friend.
Two years ago I came here and had no
money. She gave me money. If some-
body is kill her, I am no afraid to die.
The man who takes money for El Ver-
dugo is Felix Chavez.” :

“Where do we find him?”

“He is work for the Zaniboni Ranch.
He comes with permit to work but he is
man for El Verdugo.”

HE officers knew the Zaniboni Ranch.
It was located about five miles out
of town. oe :

“Want us to go out and see if he is
there?” Leverett asked. _

“In just a minute,” Mayfield said. He
went to the door and called to Stites.
“Go get that kid, Eddie Ortiga. Hurry
me along because we've got things to

a ’ «
When Stites returned with Ortiga,
Mayfield brought the youth into the of-

fice. and asked Hernandez: “Does ©

Chavez look anything like this fellow?”
Hernandez studied Eddie closely. “He
looks like him, only differently.”
“I know what he means,” Sampson
said. “Eddie looks like the guy I kicked
out of Connie’s place last night. I'll

‘bet he’s the one, this Chavez.”

“Let’s go,” Mayfield said. ° '
At the Zaniboni Ranch, the officer:

located the foreman and he told them .

that Chavez bunked in a cabin near the
irrigation plant with another man
named Mendive.. He hadn’t seen
Chavez around during the day but this
wasn’t unusual, since they did no work
on Sunday.

Easily located, Mendive told them
that Chavez had not been in the cabin
during the night. He had come in about
seven o’clock in the morning and had
left within a short time. * .

Mendive took them to the cabin, went
through it and announced that Chavez
a taken all of his personal belong-

gs.

“That just about tags him for the
killing,” Mayfield announced. “The
next thing is, how do we find him?”

Mendive knew only that Chavez had
come in on a work permit through
Mexicali and was from somewhere near
Tabutama in Sonora. “He is bad man
and have more money than he work
for,” Mendive declared, adding to the

mounting evidence that Chavez was
probably the agent for El Verdugo.

Back at Headquarters an all-points

bulletin was put out for Felix Chavez
with special attention for the border
guards. The officers felt that Chavez
would try to make his way back into
Mexico.

The officers were able to establish
that Chavez was unable to speak Eng-

, lish and could not drive an automobile.

This meant that he would have to either
hitch-hike or travel by bus.
At the depot in Colusa, the agent was
: positive that Chavez had not been there.
Mayfield called all neighboring towns
and asked that a constant watch be
kept on all terminals.
During the day scores of persons came

to the Sheriff’s office and formed vol- —

untary posses to search the back roads.
Friends of the popular Connie Navarro
were incensed by the brutal slaying and
eager to help in any way.

Posses were sent along the banks of
the Sacramento River in the event that
Chavez might try to hide in the high
weeds there.

Deputy Shearin covered the country
in a plane, swooping low over the fields
and using glasses to try to spot the
fugitive.

Sacramento called in that Vincent
Navarro, informed of his wife’s death,
was returning at once to Colusa.

Later in the afternoon, officers dug
up a snapshot of Chavez at the ranch
where he had worked.

Mayfield gave the picture to the
Colusa Sun-Herald newspaper. The
editor promised to publish the photo-
graph and a request that anyone who
saw the man call police at once. The
picture was sent out to be used in other
papers throughout California.

Throughout the night the search con-
tinued. Calls poured into Headquar-
ters from persons spotting suspicious
characters. Police cars and volunteer
searchers worked the night through
without finding any lead to the missing
Chavez.

THE following morning at eleven
o’clock, Bob Franco, owner of the
Forty-Four Club on Main Street, called
Mayfield.

“Hey, a man named Louis Arena who
just came in from Texas says he saw
Chavez in Woodland less than an hour
ago and was talking to him.”

“Is he sure it was Chavez?” ;

“Yeah. He spotted the picture in the

A year out of their lives was

the price thal loot and Elden
Hansen paid for the peace of
their home. Story on Page 14

paper when he came in here. He says
he knew the guy well down in Texas.
He's sure it’s the same fellow.”

“Does he know where Chavez is
heading?”

“Yeah. He was waiting for a bus to
go south.”

“Keep the fellow there and I'll be
over in a few minutes.”

Mayfield telephoned Woodland and
asked the agent at the depot if a bus
had left there in the past hour heading
south,

One had, a half hour before, bound
for Sacramento and Stockton.

Mayfield called both Sacramento and
Stockton, giving police the bus number
and asking that they search it and hold
Chavez. ’

T THE Forty-Four Club, Mayfield
talked to Arena. The man was
positive he had seen Chavez.

“I know him because I worked with
him in Texas. We talked about work-
ing there and I asked him what he was
doing up here. He said he had quit his
job and was going south. I knew he
lost his job when he worked in Texas
because of some racket he pulled on the
braceros. He forced them to pay him
money and the foreman found out and
sent him back to Mexico.”

Back at his office, the Sheriff learned
that Sacramento officers had missed the
bus by a few minutes. They had
searched the depot but had been unable
to locate Chavez.

Mayfield crossed his fingers and said,
“Stay on that bus, you measly murderer.
Stay on it until you get to Stockton.”

He did. Chavez was on the bus when
it reached Stockton. Four city police
officers placed him under arrest. He
went peaceably with them until they
reached Headquarters and then tried to
make a break. ,

In-the brief but violent struggle that
ensued, one of the officers and Chavez
were knocked out.

Chavez was returned to Colusa.
Through an interpreter, he denied the
killing of Connie. He would say only
that he admired Connie very much but
he had not killed her.

Neither would he say anything about
his connections with El Verdugo.

The officers were unable to determine
whether El Verdugo was something
Chavez had dreamed up by himself to
extort money from his fellow country-
men, or whether an organization ex-
isted and he was only a collector for it.

Also, without a confession they were
unable to determine whether the mo-
tive for the murder had been because
Connie threatened to exrose him for
the extortion of the braceros, or wheth-
er he had learned that her husband was
away and had hidden in the room to
attack her.

District Attorney Weyand prepared
the case against Chavez and a jury
found him guilty and sentenced him to
death in the gas chamber at San
Quentin.

On November 30, 1951, with only five
hours to go before he was scheduled to
walk into the “green room”, Chavez was
granted a stay of execution while
Judge Walter L, Pope studied an appeal
prepared by a fellow inmate claiming
Chavez did not have a fair trial.

However, after a thorough investiga-
tion of the facts, Judge Pope ordered
ota to take place as sched-
uled.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, the
cyanide pellet was dropped into the
bowl.of acid and Chavez paid with his
life for the killing of pretty Connie
Navarro. :

To protect him from possible ven-

geance, the name Alfredo Hernandez in:

this story is not the real name of the
man involved. The name Eddie Ortiga.
is fictitious.

‘

what she did,” John
ht it was kind of

“That’s exactly

They searched the rest of th
and finally Chw
coming with us to the place that’s pad-
the back steps.” :

d he had no key for the
padlock on the door."

“Then break it open,”

said impatiently. ‘You're going in.

FTER some argument, John pulled °
out his keys and found the right
one. When the door swung back, Dad
and the officers could see a spade lying
on the earth inside.
“Pick up that shovel
wistek said curtly.
word of what was going on
had reached newspaper reporters and
They clustered around
soft-earth. In their
ey said that he
ins of Harriet, .

‘and start dig-

photographers.
as:John dug in the
stories the next day th
soon dug up the rema:
clad in a light nightgown, her skin

Dad wes not present when the offi-
cers questioned John again
tion but this
d . Stillwagon said”

Racine Avenue Sta’
story Chwistek an
His real name was Robert James and
under this name he had married a wo-
‘man in Oakland, California, in 1939.
Under the name of John Steward he
had married another one in 1950. He
had not divorced either of these women
but in 1952 he had married Harriet.
He and Harriet. had argued con-
the training of
September 19 when he
came home for lunch Harriet was in
bed. He asked her to fix lunch and she
told him she didn’t feel good. They
quarreled and, . losing his temper,

Richard. On

nie may have collec
on this El Verdugo an

“It’s written. on a slip of paper
pasted under the bar,” Joe
nie showed it to me,
stayed late and closed up the

They went do
Stale smoke.an
like a fog inside.
tered with the di

Mayfield foun
where Joe had sa
and found a cash
hundred dollars in it.
artment held books and license re-
Still another had pa
apparently pers
thumbed throug!
what he was searching for.

“we'll take these along and go .
” he announced.- if you can find out who was treating
nie may have dug Vince.
ipst this El

lked back up the
street to the courthouse. California
State Highway Police Captain E. J.
Bradley, Patrolman Elton Lee and Dis-
trict Attorney Daniel E. Weyand were

them the details 0}
Connie’s murder and Joe’s theory a!

d the safe combination
id. He opened the safe Sacramento on Vince?”
drawer with several
Another .com-

pers and message and said:
Mayfield all of the hospitals and they can’t find
h.them without finding

through them later,
“Tt’s jusce possible Con
up some epidence aga

The officers wa

Mayfield gave
t him off. When

to me about a month
tory,” Weyand said.
fellow was extorting criminally attacked.”

“Connie came
ago with that s
“She told me some
most of the wages of the bracero:
she wanted me to do something
it but I told her it was a Fede

“Then it could have been a
* Mayfield said.
Next, Mayfield told
Leverett: “I want you fellows
He’ll. know some of the
See if you can
u who has been shak-

Sampson and

to go with Joe.
braceros around here.
get them to tell yo
ing them down. It’
we'll locate this El Verdugo,

s about the only way

James rushed over, knelt on her stom-
ach and choked her with both hands,
He kept his hands at her throat for
fifteen minutes while little Richard
cried in his crib. Then he dragged the
body to the place under the porch, hid
it under some boards and went back to

work,
That night he took the body from
- under the porch and placed it in-a big
trunk in the kitchen. Three days later
he took it out again and buried it in the
crude grave under the back stairs.

The officers asked James about letters
they had found in his place from
women, particularly one from a girl in
St. Louis who wrote that at seventeen
she didn’t feel old enough to marry
him. James shrugged these off by say-
ing they came from his efforts to get a
baby-sitter “after Harriet was gone.”
However. he admitted that he had
answered ads placed by baby-sitters
even before Harriet was slain because
ie had a feeling she was going to leave

THAT was a terrible day, the day we
knew Harriet was dead. We couldn't
talk about it; we couldn't eat. We just

sat around the: table until Detectives ~

Chwistek and Stillwagon came to get
us for the trip to the morgue. The sight
was one I have been trying to forget.

All through that week, Detectives
Stillwagon and Chwistek were wonder-
ful to us. They did everything they
could to help. us. And they solved the
case, too—we never can thank them
enough for that. They were our sup-
ports at the inquest on Wednesday,
October 8.

John, or rather Robert James, put on
quite a show at the inquest. Before it
opened he told crude stories, blew
big smoke rings and once when
photographers. were taking his picture

ted some evidence he might have got to do the job for
d kept it there.” ‘a

him.”
Joe said: “They will not talk. They
would be too much afraid. They know

etimes, I what will happen when they get back
place for - to Mexico.”

“Maybe,” Mayfield said. “Again, I

The officers found keys to the cafe hear Connie treated most of them pret-.
the murdered girl’s room.

wn and let themselves in.”
d the odor of liquor hung.__..““we will try,” Joe said. _
The place was lit-

régs of the evening

ty good. The fact that she was mur-
dered may cause some of them to talk.”

“Mayfield went back to his office with
eyand and Captain Bradley. After

a few minutes he came to the door and
called to Stites: “Any report in from

“t's coming in now.”
.a few minutes until the teletype ma-
chine hammered out the last of the
“They’ve canvassed

anyone registered under the name of
Vincent Navarro.” ' ‘
“Call the doctors around town. See

I want to know whether he was
actually in Sacramento last night and
early this morning.”

ACK in his office, Mayfield said to
the other officers, “Whoever killed

Connie must have known Vince was
going away so he climbed through the
window and waited for her.”

A telephone call from the coroner cut
he finished the’ call,
_ Mayfield told the others: “Now I don’t
know what to think. The autopsy
examination shows that Connie was

Weyand lighted a cigar and exhaled

about acloud of smoke, “The killer could be

any of the gang that hung around the

killing to cafe. ‘Vince might have told them he

was going away to the hospital and any
one of them would know that Connie
would be alone in the room upstairs.”
“It’s going to make it a lot tougher if
that’s the motive,” Mayfield said. “I
was hoping there might be something
in this El Verdugo business. We'd at
least have a line to follow with that.”

we buried Harriet.
condition of the body the casket was
not open at the wake.”

type was

Dad Rose.”

Stites waited °

he shoved his false teeth out and asked,
“How do you like this, stot?”

‘The coroner's Jury Yelurned a verdict

of murder and recommended that

James be held to the Cook County

grand jury.

The next day was the hardest of all—
Because of the

On October 9, 1952, James was in-

dicted on a charge of murder by the
grand jury.

We thought we were
through with him. But we weren’t. On

October 13 we received a letter from

him, At the top in red, rubber-stamp
“Censored—Cook County

ail”.
After all that he had done he had the
nerve to begin the letter “Dear Mom &
Here it is:

“please I am sending this letter
to you. Didn’t the law get my small
cedar chest. I don’t know whether
the policies are in it or not.

If they were not get the 2 men
who arrested me to go look up in
that same spot again. They many
be laying just south of where the
cedar chest was at. 1%

Dad and mom I am awfully
terrible sorry about all this.
Please forgive me. I have been
praying to God. our maker to for-
give me for the wrong I did you
folks. I am sorry.

“Dad my eyes are sort of going
bad on me to. I can’t see as well as
I did before all this happened.
Please dad I am trying to figure all
this out where did Hattie go
Thursday night if she wasn’t with
you ‘then where was she. :

You know mom I have prayed
many times for Harriett when she
was drinking. I would pray that

"Please! Somebody's Killed Connie!" (Continued

Stites came into the office. “I got
ahold of the doctor who has been treat-
ing Vince. He says Vince is due to go
into the hospital in Sacramento on
Monday but he went to Sacramento on
Saturday to attend to some business.
He doesn’t know where Vince would-be
staying.”

“Give the dope to Sacramento,” May-
os ordered. “Ask them. to try the

otels.”

The Sheriff paced back and forth
across his office.

“Relax,” Weyand told him. “The
county commissioners will be suing you
for wearing out the floor.”

“J feel like I ought to be doing some-
thing,” Mayfield replied. “Sitting
around when a case is hot like this
drives me nuts.” ,

“T don't see there is anything more
you can do,” Weyand said.

Captain Bradley agreed. “Nobody
saw the fellow. It’s just a matter of
getting some kind of a break now. You ..
have his finger-prints to convict him
when you find him. In a case like this,
it’s just the breaks.” —

“And if you don’t get a break?”

Weyand and Bradley shrugged.

THE men were about to leave the office
for some breakfast when City Pa-
trolman Leonard.Bruffett came in with
a woman.

“This is Mrs. Marie DeLeonard,” he
said, introducing the woman to May-
field. “She lives on Fifth Street and
the back of her house is on the alley.
rer the street from the Michoacan

afe.”

“yes,” Mayfield said.

“Last night, or father early this
morning, her dog started barking. She
looked out the window and saw some-
‘one run down the alley.”

“what time was it?” Mayfield asked
the woman. ,

“y don’t know, but it was light out. I
think maybe it was about four o’clock.”

orn you recognize the person you
saw?” :

God would take that drinking habit
away but I guess it didn’t do no

good,

Well I will see you folks on the
17th maybe for the last time.
Yours respectfully

Robert James

write a power of
and we did find
‘d taken out on

He'd also tried to
attorney in the letter,
one insurance policy he

at it meant anything to us.

Nothing can mean mu
Harriet’s gone... The baby,
to its real mother,
can never come back to

ch any more.

stand. Harriet

young, Dad and I. a
ny years left. ..
to be happy =:
r we go, what- “5
tever happens to us,

der: Could we have”
d we have per-

us.

We're not very
We don’t have very ma
And they’re not going

ever we do, ,wha
we'll always won
helped Harriet? Coul
suaded her to leave Jo
have saved her life if we
to go to the polic
I don’t know.
I miss Harriet

'd been willing

All I do-know is that"
so very much.
the one who was closest
time the phone rings now
cond that maybe she’s

I feel for just a se
d then I realize she'll

calling again—an
never telephone us any

As I write this story, John is still in
t brought him to
e police. But they’re go-
g like this ever comes
% hesitate about the
ight away. They’re
ful and they'll help you all they
% be left like Dad and I have
d the rest of our

ing to. If anythin
up in your life, don

been left—to spen
lives wondering.

from Page 36)

Mrs. DeLeonard bit her lower lip. “I

‘ ink you know who it was?” ~
“yes, I think it was Eddie
to say for sure becaus;
he boy for a long time
bout that awful thin:

have known t
when I heard a
well, I had to te

I A
“You did exactly right,
“And you needn

11 the policeman what

»” Mayfield told ~ :
t worry about

e identification.
ints of the man who
We will know for

making a positiv:
have the finger-pr
killed Mrs. Navarro.

re.”
“You will not tell him that I told
you?” Mrs. DeLeonard pleaded
“Tf he is not the right perso
never know who told us,”
“tf he is the right person,
then of course you will have to be a
SF af
“rt would be all right then,
DeLeonard said.

YFIELD, Bradley and Weyand
urried out of the courthouse and
Eddie Ortiga, they
of the boys who had
in the city and at various
in trouble on minor

down the street

times had been

inutes they reached |
a home and an elderly woman
She told them that
“J will get him

Within a few m

came to the door.
Eddie was still in bed.
up for you,” she said

“No, we'll go into
he ‘is,” Mayfield sa

the bedroom where
id, exhibiting his
to look at his
Eddie bounced up in bed rubbing his
eyes as the officers came in.
the idea?” he dema
Mayfield picked up
over a chair, looking
“Where were you earl

the clothes laid
for blood spots.
y this morning,

“Who wants to

“We do. You know who I am,
field answered.

“Yeah, I know who you are.

One

————e me

CHAVEZ, Felix, His., asphyx. Calif.

assion

in the
Morning

WALTER R. HECOX

HEN Miguel Ortega awoke on that
suffocating July morning he was
distinctly confused. The first
thing he wondered was where he
was. The other thoughts followed

in an orderly, although somewhat fright-

ening, procession. Why was ‘he ‘here?

When had he left the Michoacan? Who

had taken him from the Main Street beer

joint? Why? Had there been trouble?

Was he in trouble? His brain whirled

dizzily while he struggled for orientation.

His surroundings came into focus
slowly. The dim light of a hall lamp
filtered through the open doorway of the
room he had been sleeping in. He was
lying across a bed which was otherwise
undisturbed. Judging from the appearance
of the room it was normally occupied by
a woman. And in another part
of the building he could hear
voices.

The voices were low, almost
hushed, but ominous’ neverthe-
less. There were one woman
and several men. The woman
seemed frightened and the men
grim, dead serious. He caught snatches of
conversation. An occasional word. Knife

. Stabbing . . . murder . . . how did

he get in. ,

It was enough to frighten any man.
Miguel Ortega sat up. His head ached and
waves of nausea washed through his body.
It had been a big Saturday night—too big.
At the moment he wished he had taken
it a little easy. He particularly wished he
could remember what had happened.

Ortega stood up in spite of his
throbbing head. He moved unsteadily into
the hall. The voices were coming from an-
other bedroom. It was next to the one in
which. he had been sleeping. The bewild-
ered man moved off in the other direction.

He found himself in a living room which

bas teas

was vaguely familiar. He was trying to
place it when his eyes focused on the dark
splotch on the floor by the window. He
knelt down and examined it. Damp, warm,
and sticky. Blood! He could not see the
color in that dim light, but he could smell
it. He looked around him. That whole
end of the room was soaked with the
stuff. What had happened? The voices
were coming closer. Whoever was in the
other bedroom was walking toward the
living room slowly. Miguel Ortega was
frightened. Whatever had happened was
very bad from the looks of things. He had
to get out of there. -

Be «MAX MAYFIELD Seles

a r
County Sheriff who caught the killer.

He tried the front door. It opened and
he slipped out into the street. The night
was almost gone. The eastern sky was
bright gray and the light of early dawn

was creeping across it. Ortega moved -

down Main Street of Colusa, California,
shaking his head in bewilderment. He still
wanted to know what had happened and
why he had been there. But it did not
seem advisable to stay around and ask
what was up. He disappeared into: the
shadows just as the officers opened the

(Colusa) 11/30/1951...

ect nine rae Nal i ibaa UY tC as LN eu A ii anit:

front door of the place on Main Street
and stepped onto the sidewalk.

‘Now where did that crazy ranch-hand
go?” one of them asked.

His ‘companion, a rugged, well-built
man, shrugged his powerful shoulders. “It
doesn’t matter,” he said. “He’s not going

‘to do us any good. He slept through the

whole thing. Can you imagine that?”

The first man grinned. No, he could
not imagine that.

“He sure must have tied one on,” his
companion continued. “I'll bet he’s got an
awful harfgover and is scared to death.
Imagine passing through that bloody living
room and not even knowing how you got
in the place.”

“Let him worry,” the other advised.
“Maybe he'll stay sober next Saturday
night. Meanwhile we've got other prob-
lems.”

The-big man nodded. “Ill say we have.
Let’s get at it.”

At three-thirty in the .morning of July

23, 1950 Consuelo Navarro and Rita
Valdez were dead tired. Saturday
night at the Michoacan, the com-
bination bar, restaurant, and pool
hall which Connie operated
during the absence of her hus-
$ band, was always exhausting.
¢/ Now the two women had an ad-
ditionaf problem on their hands
in the person of Miguel Ortega.

The problem was asleep.
*Throughout the night Ortega had
been too good a customer. Now the floor
had been swept and mopped and the
chairs were stacked on the tables. It was
time to lock up. All except for one chair
and one table. They were thoroughly
occupied by the slumbering form of
the completely (Continued on page 9)

FELIX CHAVEZ— .
Who warned the pretty woman that it
would be dangerous to laugh at him.

4
is rights. Sent

District Attorney Weissich knew

five men in to try pants on Caritativo.

The press heard spectators ask same question every day,
“How’s Bart making out?” The answer, “Pretty good.”

Once he bequeathed thousands for libraries,

Oh, they don’t have any doubts, except Davis, perhaps.
None at all. They’d just like to hear it from the man’s
own lips. Call it curiosity. Call it anything, but don’t
call it doubt.

It’s just that hard-to-define unsatisfied feeling that lin-
gers after a circumstantial murder case when the guilty
man stubbornly and contrarily insists he’s innocent.

So they keep the bug turned on, hoping he’ll make a
slip that will erase that vague unsatisfied feeling. Maybe
he'll give himself away with a chance remark. Maybe
he’ll talk in his sleep.

He won’t, though. Not this inscrutable little man who
wears a crucifix and carries a rosary and crosses himself
every time he steps out of his cell. He will chat and smile
and proclaim his innocence, but he will not talk.

This has been Bart “Strawberry” Caritativo’s policy
since last September 24, when police clapped him in jail
on their deep suspicion that he had committed a pair of
hideous murders. (“Who Iced the Red Hot Mama?”
Front Page Detective, January, 1955).

It is a tremendous burden for a man only five feet one
inch tall in his polished oxfords. Bart has shown signs
of the strain.

He was a roly-poly, moon-faced fellow with jet black
hair last September. Today he is twenty pounds lighter
and his bristly hair is streaked with gray. His face is
sallow and pinched and he blinks constantly. Sometimes
when he is sitting on his bunk with his knees drawn up
or crouching over the mess table, he looks like a fright-
ened child.

But he will not tell what he knows about the strange
deaths of Camille Malmgren Banks and her divorced hus-
band, Joseph, at the resort community of Stinson Beach.

; Aeiate ek oceroneie |
4

i. = ote atte gy 2 tie

Bart (left) was brought back in for verdict. He said
later: “I have not lost faith in my Lord or my lawyer.”

dispensaries and clinics in his native Philippines. His bank balance was $2.85

Mrs. Banks, 50, a faded adventuress with young ideas
about romance, was found dead last September 17 in a
bedroom in a cottage at Sea Downs, her $100,000 resort
at Stinson Beach on Bolinas Bay. She had been killed
with a two-pound sledge-hammer which was found in the
adjacent living room.

Sprawled on a cot in the living room was her cadaverous,
hard-drinking ex-husband, Joe, 56. He was on his back,
his right hand clasped loosely about the hilt of a twelve-
inch hunting knife. The blade was buried in his heart.

An empty whisky bottle and a half-empty gin bottle lay
on a low chest beside the cot, together with the sledge-
hammer. Nearby, on a table, lay a pencil and a sheet of
paper bearing a note signed “Joseph Banks.” The scrawled
message read: : :

“T had been pushed long enough. This is the end. I am
responsible to what you see and find.”

This was enough for Marin County Coroner Frank
Keaton and a couple of bored sheriff’s deputies. They
added up two bodies and the suicide note and reached an
official conclusion: murder and suicide committed by
Joseph Banks. -

Their theory held up for two days, until District Attor-
ney Weissich, Undersheriff Midyett and Deputy Bill
Woodington began to poke into the case. They unearthed
among Camille’s belongings a handwritten will, dated
September 1, 1954, and signed in her name. It read:

“I, Camille Malmgren, of Stimson Beach, State of Cali-
fornia, being of sound and disposing mind and memory
and not acting under duress, manace (sic), fraud or the
undue influence of any person whomsoever, do make, pub-
lish and declare this to be my last Will and Testament in
manner following this is to say:

ELA TE SEE Re
Spt ge | af

Jury was out for four hours; came back with a verdict

of guilty, brought in nor dation for leniency.

“In case of death, I am leaving my entire estate known
as Seadowns here in Stinson Beach, California to Bart
Caritativo of Stinson Beach, California, and also I leave
everything I own to him. My reason is stated in my letter
to him. ; :

“T further declare that no person or persons can contest
this Will. And no court or courts can deny it.”

With this startling document was a typewritten letter.
or codicil, addressed to Bart and reading in part:

“Bart, since I have known you, I have been continously
(sic) observing your character because I had the feeling
that some day I would be able to do something for you
in return to what you had been doing and helping me.
Now, I came to the conclusion that you are a very refine
(sic) boy, honest, sincere, real and true friend, and above
all; you are a perfect gentleman. Because of these fine

_ Qualities you possessed I have chosen you to be the heir

of my entire estate . . . Bart, I like you a lot. I consider
you like a brother. Please be always a good boy. Don’t
give me away.”

ART, who was 48, had been working for eight years as a
houseboy, chauffeur, cook and gardener in the nearby
mansion of a widow of a wealthy San Francisco lawyer.

Although Bart knew Camille Banks, did odd jobs for her
and was welcomed in the‘Banks’ home on social occasions—
there were even a couple of snapshots showing Bart with
his arm around the dowdy Camille’s waist—it was too
much for the DA to believe that the will was genuine.

Bart was arrested on charges of murdering Camille and
Joe Banks in order to inherit Camille’s fortune through a
forged will.

Even with the trial ended, there are many questions that
the enigmatic little houseboy could answer. Did he do
the job alone? Or did he have an accomplice, as many
persons believe and even the district attorney publicly
concedes as a possibility? If there was an accomplice—
if Bart only masterminded the crimes and someone else
carried them out—why does Bart shield him? Where did
he get the idea for these almost-perfectly-concealed mur-
ders? How long did he plan them, and how long did the
advance preparations take? And how, exactly, were the
actual killings carried out?

Bart won't tell. He'll probably go to the grave with
the secret locked in his breast.

There’s another possibility, too, suggested by the ama-
teur psychologists who are always around to second-guess
a puzzling situation. Could Bart have “forgotten” that he
bludgeoned his wealthy benefactress, “forgotten” that he
plunged a knife through Joe Banks’ heart?

The human mind is capable of such strange tricks. Fac-
ing an unbearable memory—such as a terrible crime—the
mind sometimes tucks the recollection away in the sub-
conscious, “forgets” it, in order to protect its sanity.

Did that happen to Bart Caritativo? Probably not. The

question may not be answered, however. Bart’s lawyer

has asked the courts to look into the question of the house-
boy’s present sanity. If Attorney Davis has his way,
Bart will get a thorough going- (Continued on page 64)

Once he was a ralppoly fellow with jet black ree and a big white-toothed grin, ee that | was before the trial.

MAYBE HE’LL TALK
IN HIS SLEEP ........

He'll chat, he’ll smile, he’ll protest his innocence. But he won’t talk. That’s
why they keep him in a cell that’s wired for sound and wired for sleep-talkers

SAN RAFAEL, CAL., FEBRUARY 28, 1955

m It’s all over now. The big question has been decided, the
case proved to a moral certainty and beyond a reasonable doubt,
the verdict returned and duly recorded. But they still keep him
in a bugged cell at the Marin County jail in San Rafael, Cal.

Why?

Because they’re all dying to know, every last one of them.
Bill Weissich, the clever young district attorney who put him
there. Don Midyett, the chief criminal deputy who spent months
collecting the evidence. Malcolm Piper, the foreman of the
jury which agreed on the second ballot. Maybe even George T.
Davis, the defense attorney who fought and loét.

continued on next page

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, June, 1955.

°9S561 “Hz zeqoqo9 UO (AqUNOD UTAH) ETUAOZTTED poyetTxAydse ‘Sout ddrtrud **1 y4eq “OAILVLIUVO

ing they would agree with the prosecution
experts.

Bart did not take the witness stand. Davis
tried to convey the impression that Bart
wanted to testify, but that his lawyers consid-
ered it unnecessary “in the light of the weak
prosecution case.”

Davis argued before the jury for three and
one-half days, stressing the doctrine of “rea
sonable doubt” and warning of the danger of
circumstantial evidence. He closed with a
prayer composed by Bart:

“Heavenly Father and almighty God and
Lord Jesus, my protector and savior, I ask
Thee to affirm my faith and to give me cour-
age and strength and a clear mind. As you
know, O Lord and God, Lord Jesus, my free-

- dom and my life are being pcan an By and

through Thy divine power I ask and pray O
God and Lord Jesus, please let the judge and
jury who are presiding over this case know
and feel that I am an innocent man.”

Weissich spent a day on final argument,
staking his case on the testimony that Bart
forged the will, codicil and particularly, the
suicide note.

“The only reason anyone would ever have
for forging a suicide note would be to cover
up a murder,” he said. “Who would be inter-
ested in covering up a murder but the mur-
derer? This is the case of a man who because
of greed and lust for money, power and
grandeur, deliberately and with premeditation,
coldly and cunningly formulated a plan to take
the lives of two people. “I’d be remiss in my
duty if I asked for less than the death penalty.”

The jury saw it Weissich’s way. They re-
turned at 11 p.M., February 28, after four
hours of deliberation, and decreed Bart guilty
of two counts of first degree murder without
recommendation for leniency. This is a man-
datory death penalty.

Bart had to be awakened when the jury
came in. He took the verdict without break-
ing. His lips tightened, he blinked, rapidly and
his tan features took on a visible pallor. But

he managed a smile, shook hands with Law- _ #

yer Davis and announced: “I have not lost my
faith in my Lord or my lawyer.” He was then
led back to his cell.

At this writing, Davis is attempting to ar-—
range a sanity trial for: the houseboy. The ~

hearing—and_ sentencing—were acnetuled sd
court officials for March 24.

Fit to Die

continued from page 61

participation in it; not even religious faith, for
Dopirak, whose father was Russian-born, had
been reared in the Greek Orthodox Church;
certainly not intellectual interests, for the
authors who were Ballem’s idols were not even
names to John Dopirak, merchant sailor and
dishwasher. But for months they were seen
together often, and it is likely that Dopirak
was a good listener in exchange for free liquor.

On Saturday, April 24, 1954, the two of
them made the rounds in the tenderloin, and
then Ballem for the first time invited Dopirak
to his home in Bywood.

He has given two versions of his reason for
the invitation.

One is that he intended to play a joke on
Dopirak—get him very drunk, then take him
to New York and leave him stranded in a
room somewhere without shoes or money.
That is fantastic and utterly out of character.

The other reason is equally fantastic: that
he thought Dopirak had lots of money and he
took him to Bywood to rob him of it.

OPIRAK and Ballem went to the stone
house—no longer bearing the marks of
Rosalie Ballems careful housekeeping. They—
or, rather, Dopirak—drank sherry and whisky.
The house did not contain a suitable glass, and
he used one he’d “borrowed” from a Phila-
delphia bar.

Then Dopirak went upstairs, leaving Ballem
in the cluttered living-room. Soon he came
down again, and—Ballem has said—he saw on
Dopirak’s finger a ring which had belonged to
his mother.

In another version, Dopirak also caught Bal-
lem in the act of going through his coat pocket,
left on a chair—each robbing the other.

In Jan Dopirak’s other hand, said Ballem,
was a white-handled automatic, also stolen.
He aimed it at his host, but it wasn’t cocked,
so he couldn’t fire it. So Ballem immediately
seized one of his revolvers, a .38, and shot Do-
pirak in the abdomen. Another bullet went
wild. Dopirak died at once.

This was -Ballem’s story, and it was full of
holes, as the prosecution proved. For one
thing, he said the wild bullet entered the wall,
but no bullet-hole was found there. A flat-
tened bullet found in a clock may have been
extracted from Dopirak’s body.

But what Ballem did next was not open to

question. He slept for ten solid hours. Then
he decided to dispose of the corpse. There was
a grisly suggestion during the trial that Do-
pirak was not dead when Ballem began his
operations.

First, Ballem tried unsuccessfully to burn
the body with a blow-torch. Finally, he
took it to the basement and sawed it into
pieces, and sprinkled the pieces with lime. He

wrapped the head, arms, and hands neatly in.

half a plastic raincoat, the upper torso in the
other half, tied the parcels with tape, and put
them in a soldier’s foot-locker, smothered in
camphor to disguise the scent. There was no
room for the legs, so he put them in another
smaller locker and left them in the attic while
he got rid of the larger case. The feet were
never found except for one small fragment of
burned bone. The abdomen section he threw
away on the banks of a creek near Upper
Darby Park.

He felt He was doing everything in a very
systematic and clever manner. . .

One of the symbols of Francis Ballem’s re-
bellion against his father was the clothes he
affected. Henry Ballem had always dressed
soberly and conservatively; so his son reveled
in loud sport suits and conspicuous hats. When
Ballem went out to arrange for the dumping
of the big foot-locker, he wore a blue Alpine
hat with a ten- es feather. It proved to
be his undoing.

What he did was to go, very early in the
morning of April 27, to the Red Star Line
station in Sharon Hill, pick out a taxi from
the rank (“I want one without a radio”), and
have the driver take him home to Bywood.
There they picked up the foot-locker with its
ghastly contents—(“This is kind of heavy,”
said the driver. “Yes,” said Ballem)—and went
back to the station, where he asked the driver
to leave the foot-locker inside. He paid off
the man, gave him a 35-cent tip, then stopped
to light a cigaret and lingered for a while,
smoking and reading, before ambling away to
his usual restaurant for breakfast.

The waitress there testified that he didn’t
seem hungry—he had only two eggs instead
of his usual six with six pieces of toast and
four buns. Perhaps the strenuous day behind
him had tired him, or perhaps his appetite was
dulled, for he had already stopped for a stay-

ing snack of eggs and five cups of tea at a~

diner en route. (Here, as usual, he nearly fell

asleep.)

All these people noticed his bizarre clothes,

and particularly the Alpine hat. When he
either read in the newspaper or heard on the
radio that a man with this kind of hat was
being hunted, he burned it in the fireplace.
But by this time it was too late.

The foot-locker had stood undisturbed in

.the waiting-room for over 24 hours, on the

supposition that it had been left there by some
serviceman who would be back for it. Then a
motorman noticed it and spoke about it to the
Red Star dispatcher, who called the police. It
was taken to the Sharon Hill police station
and opened.

A day or two later the cab driver, who had _
been on his day off and hadn’t seen the first »

newspaper story, told the police about his trip
to Bywood and back.
That was the pay-off.

W HEN the police got to the Ballem house
on the night of April 29, it seemed empty. ~

They broke in and went through it. It was
in utter disorder—furniture overturned, papers

scattered about, blood everywhere, a fire *
smouldering in the fireplace smelling as if —
cloth were burning in it. Six months’ mail was_

still under the front door. In the garage was

an expensive 1953 car, apparently undriven ~
since August. Bottles and a glass were on a ©
table; they bore Dopirak’s fingerprints. -On ~~
the first floor they found the body of Ballem’s ~

pet dog. He had shot the dog—in one of er ;

“panic reactions’—a week before.

Ballem, dressed only in shorts, had been
down in the basement when he heard the
police arrive. (“I was going to clean up this

filthy house—I knew you’d be here soon.”) ~

He flitted from room to room ahead of them
until he reached a sort of closet in the attic.
There they found him crouched. Although the
house was full of firearms, he was unarmed,
and he surrendered meekly. In fact, he con-
fessed almost immediately, showed them the
legs in the small foot-locker. Then he dressed —
and led them to the creek, where they found —

the abdomen. Ballem, very pale, pointed out |

the bullet-hole.

For a long time Ballem pretended that Do-_
pirak was a stranger to him. Then he accident- ~
ally referred to him as Jan. Finally, after Do- —

Maybe He'll Talk
- in His Sleep

continued from page 29

over by a brace of prominent psychiatrists.

There is some reason to believe that Bart
may have unburdened himself to one man—
Attorney James Martin MacInnis. MacInnis
represented Bart in the early part of his trial,
then bowed out under peculiar circumstances.
But if MacInnis knows the truth, he cannot
reveal it. His lips are sealed, at least until the
final disposition of the case, by the confiden-
tial pledge which exists by law between at-
torney and client.

Though Bart professes to be deeply reli-
gious, he has steadfastly refused to see a
preacher—any preacher—since the day he was
jailed. This comfort has been offered to him
many times. Bart only shakes his head.

“I don’t need a priest,” he said once. “I
never go to confession anyway.”

“Why not?” a deputy asked.

“Because,” Bart said, not turning a_ hair,
“T have never committed a sin.”

Bart went on trial January 4 in a small,
sun-lit courtroom overlooking the square in
San Rafael. The drama continued for two
months and played to a packed audience from
the “very first day. As many as 75 persons
stood along the courtroom walls, unable to
find a seat, during some spectacular sessions.

Bart’s name became a household word in
Marin County. His case and his personality
were discussed heatedly and at length in tav-
erns, drugstores, soda fountains, beauty and
barber shops and on the street corners.

No one called him by his last name. Cari-
tativo was unpronounceable for the average
citizen. Bart fitted perfectly in newspaper
headlines. Prosecutor Weissich called him Bart
throughout the trial. So did his own lawyers,
except for George T. Davis, who seemed to
have the idea that his client’s name was
“Bert.”

Only the good-natured Superior Judge Ben
V. Curler made an effort to keep on formal
terms with Bart. He habitually affixed a
“mister” to the defendant’s last name, but in-
variably mispronounced it as “Carikativo.”

THE trial was not taken too seriously by

the people who attended the sessions. They
regarded the case as a whodunit, a complex
mental exercise for the prosecution, which had
no direct evidence to pin on the wily house-
boy. The typical attitude among spectators

was reflected in such conversations as this,’

overheard repeatedly throughout the trial:

“How’s Bart makin’ out today?”

“Oh, pretty good, it looks like. They’ve got
that will and the suicide note against him, but
nothing to tie him to the murder.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure. The DA’s prov-
ing a good case of forgery, all right. Do. you
figure Bart did it?”

“Sure he did it. But provin’ it’s something
else.”

“T'll say. I wouldn’t want to be on that jury.”

The jury was a conservative, middle-class
cross-section of Marin County, a so-called
“bedroom county” of small towns, most of
whose employed residents commute across the
Golden Gate Bridge to offices in San Fran-
cisco. The jury consisted of nine women, eight

of them housewives, and three skilled work-
men. One of the women—strangely, fora mur-
der trial—was the wife of a San Rafael police
lieutenant. She was seated after sharply in-

forming both prosecution and defense that she

had a mind of her own.

Even selection of the jury had comic as-
pects. A panel of 100 persons was summoned.
The last person chosen for duty—the second
alternate juror—was also the 100th person on
the panel. But this juror, a socially prominent
shipping executive, complained so bitterly that
both sides agreed to excuse him.

Since the original panel was exhausted,

. Sheriff Dave Menary empaneled a_ special

eight-person venire in cow country style.
Armed with a court order, he served jury
summonses on the first eight passersby he met
on the main street of San Rafael. From this
group of surprised citizens, a new alternate
juror was chosen.

District Attorney Weissich, a short, sandy-
haired man who wears rimless glasses, got
down to business with his opening address on
the third day of the trial. He is a good speaker
and a formidable prosecutor, although only 34
and serving his first term in office.

Weissich demanded the death penalty at the
outset, promising to prove that Bart was an
inveterate gambler, heavily in debt and ridden
by an overwhelming desire to be a big shot.
He promised to prove Bart the author of the
will and suicide note, and further prove that
Joe Banks could not possibly have killed
himself. .

Then he sprang his first surprise, adding
several gray hairs to Bart’s head and bringing
worried frowns to the faces of his lawyers.

The surprise was a sheet of paper from a
calendar memo pad, which Don Midyett had
found in Bart's room while riffling the pages
of a book. On this scrap of paper was a
curious inscription, penciled in Bart’s hand-
writing:

“To be opened by Bart Caritativo, upon the
death of Camille Malmgren.”

Weissich said this document showed that
Bart had been practising handwriting, prepar-
ing for the death of Camille.

“Every murderer always slips up and leaves
something around that he lives to regret,”
Weissich said. “In this case it was the calen-
dar memo. Bart was thinking about the death
of the neighbor who befriended him.”

The introduction of this damaging piece of
evidence set off a chain reaction, which did
not reach its ultimate explosion until several
days later.

At this stage, Bart was represented in court
by James Martin MacInnis—one of the best
criminal lawyers in San Francisco—and George
Hoffman, the family lawyer of Bart’s em-
ployer. She had retained Hoffman for Bart,
and Hoffman had brought MacInnis into the

case with him.

MacInnis is a barrel-chested man of great
wit and polish. He fascinated the women
jurors on the day of opening arguments by
appearing in striped trousers, a morning coat
and glistening black shoes which were not
mates.

The liquor which Joe Banks had been guz- -

zling just before his death was Millshire gin,
a common brand, and Fiscal Agent whisky, a
decidedly uncommon product. Fiscal Agent
was a special-label brand sold exclusively by
one financial district canal store in San
Francisco.

And the only Stinson heeds customers for

Fiscal Agent, it developed, were members of
the family that employed Caritativo.

Since the widowed socialite was anything
but friendly with the Bankses, it was a pretty
good bet that Bart had brought the whisky
to the Banks’ cottage. Weissich guessed he’d
brought the gin, too, because the liquor cab-
inet in the house where he was employed con-
tained several bottles of Millshire.

The bottles were slightly charred around
the necks. Weissich explained that: the day
after the bodies were found, when the deaths
seemed a murder and suicide, deputies had
allowed neighbors to clean up the cottage.
Out to the dump had gone all the bed-linen,
clothing and the liquor bottles.

Fortunately, photographs had been taken of
the bodies before this housecleaning began.
From tke photos, Weissich said, his men later

were able to identify the bottles and retrieve

them from the dump.

Weissich had no more than offered the bot-
tles in evidence when the No. 7 juror raised
his hand. “Your Honor,” he said when recog-
nized by the court, “may I look at those
bottles ?”

Judge Curler, who likes an attentive jury,
agreed. The juror looked closely at the gin
bottle, then bent over a blown up photograph
of the death scene. He whispered to his fellow
juror, and she nodded.

GENSING trouble, the prosecutor took a
good look at the bottle and the photo-
graph. “Your Honor,” he said at last, “the
juror has called my attention to something
which I must call to the court’s attention.”

That “something” was the fact that the gin
bottle in evidence and the gin bottle in the
death scene picture bore different revenue tax
stamp numbers.

“It is obviously not the same bottle,” Weis-
sich said sadly, conceding that deputies ap-
parently had retrieved the wrong bottle from
the Stinson Beach dump.

This slip-up might have been enough | to
turn the case, had Bart let well enough alone.

But he didn’t. He dynamited his own de-
fense the next Monday morning, the fifth day

.of the trial, apparently after a weekend of

brooding in his cell. .

Court had just convened when Bart stood
up to his full five feet one inch and let fly.
Daniel Banks, a brother of Joe, was just being
sworn as a witness. Dan closely resembled his
late brother, and many observers thought the
sight of him was too much for Bart.

“Bart thought he’d seen a ghost,” one of the
reporters cracked.

The houseboy rose suddenly between Law-
yers MacInnis and Hoffman, trembling visibly.

“Your Honor,” he said loudly, “may I have
a word? I would like to get a new lawyer in
behalf of my case.”

MacInnis and Hoffman stared at him, open-
mouthed, and Judge Curler hastily adjourned
court to his chambers, with the jury excused.
There Bart made a little speech.

“Honorable judge, gentlemen and _ ladies,”
he began, including the women reporters in
his salutation. Bart, who places great em-
phasis on formality, had learned to make
speeches while attending Oakland Technical
High School and addressing pow-wows of
the San Francisco Filipino community.

“I have made up my mind to get another
lawyer to protect. my rights,” he continued.
“TI feel I don’t trust my lawyers. In my inner
heart I know I am innocent. I feel something

is going on, something is going wrong with

-my case. I want someone to take my case

without prejudice.”

Judge Curler, mystified, attempted to per-
suade Bart that MacInnis and Hoffman were,
as he said, “high class men . . . defending
your rights every foot of the way.”

Bart would have none of it. The court de-
clared a recess until the next day to give Bart
a chance to contact friends “outside.”

In the background were some weird circum-
stances, apparently related to the prosecution
disclosure of the calendar memo. It can be re-
vealed now—with the trial ended—that Mac-
Innis had decided it was in the houseboy’s
best interests to plead guilty. Accordingly,
MacInnis and the DA had agreed secretly to
let Bart plead guilty to one count of first de-
gree murder, with a recommendation for life
imprisonrhent.

Bart wouldn’t buy it. He wanted a whole
hog or nothing. But there was more to it than
that. MacInnis has said as much since then.
What the other factor was, one can only spec-
ulate. The best guess is that Bart inadvertently
admitted his guilt to MacInnis. After that,
fearing MacInnis was prejudiced, he wanted a
fresh start with a new lawyer.

VERNIGHT some strong and mysterious

forces went into action in behalf of Bart
Caritativo. Calling themselves “friends and
countrymen” of the defendant, they included
a number of shadowy figures from the Bay
area Filipino community. Their nominal Jead-
er was a dapper gambler who operated a pai
gow den in San Francisco, but professed to be
the president of a Filipino religious society.

There were several whispered conferences
with Bart in his jail cell, some midnight phone
calls—and presto, a new lawyer appeared for
Bart. He was George T. Davis, a flamboyant
courtroom genius who had used truth serum,
psychiatry and stage dressing to rack up an
amazing succession of aquittals for accused
murderers.

Davis is a reputed millionaire, as a result of
a legal coup by which he recovered the muni-
tions properties for the Krupp family in post-
war Germany. It is still a mystery why he
decided to undertake Bart’s. defense in mid-
trial, unless you accept his own explanation:
“I wanted the publicity.”

Two days later, MacInnis and Hoffman
bade Bart farewell, and Davis took over amid
the popping of flashbulbs and the grinding of
television cameras. But this did not come
about before Bart had made a disastrous slip
of the tongue—fortunately not in the presence
of the jury.

The scene was Judge Curler’s chambers, and
the judge was pressing Bart once again for a
valid reason for changing attorneys. Said Bart:

“Honorable Judge, it is hard for me to
make a decision, but I have to make a deci-
sion because I have lost my confidence, my
trust and my faith to my lawyers.”

This peculiar ungrammatical substitution of
the preposition “to” for the preposition “for”
was identical with two phrases in the Joe
Banks suicide note and the Camille Banks will
codicil.

The suicide note included the sentence, “Am
responsible to what you see and find.” The
codicil contained the phrase, “I had the feel-

ing that some day I would be able to do some- .

thing for you in return to what you had been
doing and helping me.”
Judge Curler granted a ten-day recess for

defense preparations by Davis and Marin
County Public Defender Leonard Thomas,
who agreed to join Davis in the case.

It was during this hiatus that the famous
pants-fitting episode occurred.

Deputy Don Midyett had found a pair of
freshly-laundered khaki trousers in Bart’s
room at Stinson Beach. Laboratory tests
showed that the pants bore bloodstains in
spite of their scrubbing.

DA Weissich decided to make certain the
pants belonged to Bart before introducing
them. “Take them down to the jail,” he or-
dered Midyett, “and try “em on Bart.”

When Midyett appeared in the cell, pants in
hand, Bart let out a shrill scream. “Those
aren’t my pants!’’ he cried. “I never saw ‘em
before! This is a frame-up!”

“Well,” Midyett said, “just stand up so I
can hold them alongside you.”

Bart hurled himself into a corner of his
bunk, pulling his knees tight against his chest.
“TI won't! I won't! You’re framing me!”

No amount of wheedling could persuade
Bart to leave his bunk. Midyett reported back
to Weissich, who consulted lawbooks and con-
cluded he had the same right to try the pants
on Bart as he did to take fingerprints.

“Get some other deputies and put them on
him whether he likes it or not,” Weissich
ordered.

It took five six-footers to do it. Four men
held Bart's hands and feet while Midyett slid
on the trousers “and buttoned them up,” as
Weissich later reported to the court. “And they
fit, too,” he added.

Bart kept up a constant squealing during
the pants-fitting, interspersed with shouted
prayers for Divine assistance. His screams
were heard on Fourth Street at the edge of the
Courthouse Square.

The trial finally resumed January 24, after.

a special hearing at which Attorney Davis pro-
tested this episode and made innumerable mo-
tions for a mistrial, all denied. It was during
this hearing that the prosecutor revealed that
Bart's cell was wired for tape recording. Dep-
uty Midyett, in charge of recording instru-
ments in the sheriff's office, was labeled by
Davis as “the chief bugger” of Marin County.

Events proceeded with some order after
that. Weissich called a total of 30 witnesses,
the chief ones being handwriting experts and
pathologists.

OHN L. Harris, president of the American
Society of Questioned Document Examin-

ers, gave his “definite and positive opinion”
that Bart wrote the suicide note in Joe Banks’
name, the Camille Banks will and the signa-
ture on the typewritten will codicil.

Sherwood Morrill, documents expert for the
State Department of Justice, backed him up.
Morrill added the ultimate humiliation for
Bart. The forgeries, he said, were “not even
a good attempted copy” of the handwriting
of the murder victims.

Dr. John Manwaring, the young pathologist
who performed autopsies on the bodies of Ca-
mille and Joe Banks, swore that Joe’s blood
contained so much alcohol at the time of
death that he was “comatose, dead drunk,
passed out, anesthetized.” A person that drunk
could not have thrust a knife into his own
heart, he added.

- Dr. Henry Moon, San Francisco city pathol-
ogist, mercilessly dissected the defense theory
that Joe Banks might have committed suicide.
He likened the chances of Joe killing himself

to filling six consecutive inside straight flushes
in an honest poker game. For non-poker
players on the jury, he rephrased his opinion
in mathematical terms.

“To get some idea of the improbability of
this particular individual committing suicide,
I would calculate it out to one chance in
300,000,000,” he said. He based this conclu-
sion on the “laws of probability,” after ana-
lyzing six factors in Joe’s death.

He said that a knife was used, whereas only
one suicide in sixty uses a knife; that Joe was
clothed, while only one in ten persons would
stab themselves through garments; that Joe’s
body bore no “hesitation marks,” as 90 per
cent of knife suicides do; that the wound was
in the right breast instead of the left, as in

nine out of ten ordinary cases; that the blade -

cut through three ribs instead of slipping be-
tween the ribs, as in 99 per cent of such self-
inflicted wounds, and that only one person in
fifty would be conscious with the amount of
alcohol Joe had in his bloodstream.

The last major witness—a prosecution se-
cret weapon—was a blonde manicurist whose
pretty, dark-haired daughter had once been
engaged to Bart. She made it clear the family
was unaware that Bart already had a wife in
the Philippines.

She swore that the knife which killed Joe
Banks was “no different” from one used by
Bart on a fishing trip in May, 1953.

HE identified a will which she once typed
for Bart, in which he bequeathed non-
existent riches to libraries, hospitals and clinics
in the Philippines. This ludicrous document,
partly typed and partly in Bart’s handwriting,
directed the disposition of fabulous wealth in
cash, stock, bonds and real estate.

It included bequests of “one twentieth a
my estate to the City of San Jose, Philippines
Islands, for a free library; one-twentieth to
the City of San Jose, for a free public dis-
pensary; one twentieth to the Philippines Re-
public, for a memorial clinic in Manila.”

She told how Bart met her daughter; drove
around in his employer’s Cadillac, claiming it
as his own; bought the daughter a $1500 dia-
mond ring, and posed as a millionaire straw-
berry rancher, nurseryman and _ oil tycoon.

To prove his wealth, the woman said, Bart
flashed a bank book showing deposits of
$133,000, which he had doctored to conceal
the true balance of $2.85. She described visits
to the horse races when Bart bet as much as
$200 on a single race and never less than $50.

Until the family realized he was a faker, the
witness said, they used to put Bart up in the
best bedroom of their house when he visited.

There was more . . . much more. There was
testimony that Bart had borrowed almost $5-
500 in the past three years and still owed
more than $3000; evidence that paper and
inks found in his room matched that used
for the suicide note; testimony that he had
access to legal forms such as that used for the
holographic will;
and a home-made blackjack in his room... .

The defense got underway, promising to call
15 to 20 witnesses. Only five were called and
the defense rested after one day. The only
important evidence was designed to show that
the knife seen by the woman witness might
not have been the one which killed Joe Banks.

No attempt was made to establish an alibi;
no opposing handwriting experts or patholo-
gists appeared. In fact, the defense declined to
call two experts appointed by the court, know-

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Goodhue, who owned a dark-blue Buick
sedan. The Los Angeles police checked
the home address and located Mr. and
Mrs. Goodhue.

The couple readily admitted being in

Fremont Park on Saturday. They also .

told the officers that a small girl had
been with them in Monterey. She was
their granddaughter. They had visited
their son and daughter-in-law in Mon-
terey on their way home.

It required only a couple of hours to
check out their story. The Goodhues
were completejy cleared of any sus-
picion of havihg abducted Angie May.

“Which leaves us what?” Rowe asked,
as the report came in to the Merced
sheriff's office.

Grim-faced and tired from nearly a
week with only a few hours’ sleep each
night, Latorraca answered: “It leaves
us the job of finding a corpse. I don’t
think the child is still alive. If she was,
somebody would have seen her by now.”

But where to look?

The area all around Fremont Park
had been covered a dozen times by
dozens of volunteer searchers. And the
fact that Cone’s bloodhounds had been
unable to pick up any kind of a trail,
led Latorraca to believe that the little
girl must have been taken away in a

car. :

Helicopters had scoured the area
from Fremont to Yosemite. But in the
dense underbrush along the mountain
roads, it would be easy to overlook a
small grave.

“Our only chance is finding out who
took her,” Latorraca said. ‘‘Have you
got anything at all on that old man with
the pickup truck?”

Rowe shook his head. “He was seen
in Gustine on Saturday. After that,
nothing.”

“Nobody recognized him?”

Rowe shook his head again. “It is a
cinch he wasn’t from around the Gus-
tine area, or somebody would have
known him.”

BY, MONDAY, August 15, a week after
Angie May disappeared, most of
the volunteer searchers had given up
the fruitless task. Ashley had left
Merced and reported to Army Head-
quarters in Oakland.

It appeared the mystery of the dis-
appearance of Angie May would remain
unsolved, unless something came along
to give the investigators a break.

Then on Monday afternoon, Charlie
Hill, an elderly miner, stopped by the
ranch home of Sid Billings, near Mari-
posa. Julius “Doc” Gordon was there
visiting.

“You lost ‘any animals lately?” Hill
asked.

“Nope,” Billings answered. “What .

makes you ask?”

“I was coming down the trail, up
there near where those city folks have a
summer cabin. It sure smells like
there must be something dead up that
way.”

The cabin Hill referred to is owned
by Russel Bryson of Merced. It is about
two miles from Billings’ ranch, on the
Agita Fria Road, off Highway 140. The
road is scarcely more than a trail that
winds through the wooded mountain
area and ends in Mt. Bullion.

“Anybody up there at the cabin?”
Gordon asked.

“Didn’t see nobody around. They
only use it once in awhile.”

“What do you suppose it could be?”

“I dunno. But if you fellows got
nothing to do we could take a walk up
and see.’

They found Angie May’ 's body.

The tiny corpse was nude.

It had been flung into the forked
trunk of a small tree. A heavy growth
of manzanita had hid it from the view
of the airmen who had flown over the
area in helicopters.

The white dress the child had worn
over the pajamas was crumpled under
the body. The red-and-white-striped
pajamas were on the ground.

Notified by Sheriff Whitley from
Mariposa that the missing child’s body
had been located, Sheriff Latorraca,

Rowe, Doctor Fluss and deputies sped
to the scene.

The Doctor estimated that the young-
ster must have been killed, possibly
from a blow on the head by a rock,
shortly after she was abducted. He
promised an immediate autopsy to
determine the exact cause of death and
whether or not she had been molested.

“The killer must have come up on the
Agua Fria Road and turned into the
cabin clearing,” Rowe pointed out. “He
must have parked back there and then
carried the body into the thick under-
brush here.”

a few miles farther on the Agua Fria
Road. Later that day he had been lo-
cated alongside a creek, toward Yo-
semite.

But Ashley had shown no signs of
being disturbed when he had breakfast.
Latorraca and Rowe had questioned
the waitress and her daughter. They
said that Ashley had eaten the ham and
eggs with gusto and had talked casu-

ally about hunting for rocks in the

area.

Ashley had passed the long and se-
vere lie-detector tests. He had main-
tained his innocence from the start and

home following the slaying.

of 1959.

for Death,” February, 1960).

Up to the Minute

be be too young to die,” protested handsome seventeen-year-old

Gerald Nemke after a Chicago jury had found him guilty of
murder and Criminal Court Judge David A. Canel had signed his
forma] execution order. But the girl he was convicted of killing was
too young to die too.. Marilyn Rae Duncan, found near a lonely rail-
way embankment, the victim of a savage kicking, battering with
house bricks and rape, was only sixteen.

The story of the detective investigation of the case appeared
in the: August, 1960, issue of OrriciaAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine,
under the title, “Clue of the aetgnarse. ss Tattoo.”

sentenced to die for the kidnaping and fatal shooting of Police
Officer George Woehrle. Elbert Linden Carter, an Air Force
veteran whom Woehrle was sent to arrest on a charge of statu-
tory rape, held a mother and child hostage as he hid in their
“My Family MUST Come Out
Alive!” in the September, 1960, issue described the police work

ihn eventually brought about the arrest of Carter. Tt
' —

- SOE ag se
Dar trial of another accused slayer was called off when the super-
intendent of St. Elizabeth's Hospital, a government mental insti-
tution in Washington, D.C., certified that he is not mentally compe-_
tent to stand trial. Bobby R. Van Over, 21, an itinerant carnival
worker, also was declared to have been of unsound mind at the time
- of the slaying, in a hotel room, of David B. Owen, former president
of Bradley University in Ohio and more recently prominent in
California civic affairs. Van Over’s trial has been postponed in-
definitely (“Homicide by Appointment,” September 1960).

DENVER, Colorado, District Court Jury has decided that
Paul Lee Edwards, 22, was the bludgeon killer of 30-year-
old George Eaton, a Denver service-station waste ahs in March

Edwards, who throughout his trial showed little emotion,
collapsed when he heard the jury’s verdict. The court has
sentenced him to life imprisonment for the crime (“A Holiday

om iP omees.*
a —,
N CALIFORNIA, a 23- ponacatdl alibi son, himself a ay
/- leading candidate for the Stockton police force, has been

Latorraca and his deputies began an
inch-by-inch search around the scene
where the body had been found, hoping
to locate something that might be use-
ful as physical evidence. Near the fence
around the clearing one of the depu-
ties found what appeared to be a small
footprint. It might have been made
by Angie May.

“Which would indicate the child was
brought here alive,” Latorraca said.
“She must have been killed near this
spot. I want every rock in this area
picked up and examined to see if we
can find the one which was used for a
bludgeon.”

The thoughts of Latorraca and Rowe
immediately turned to Ashley. The
Army man had eaten breakfast last
Monday in Mt. Bullion, which was only.

had shown every indication of cooperat-
ing with the investigators. He had ap-
peared to exhibit genuine compassion
for the parents of the little girl. Could
such a man be guilty of this crime?

“Man, I don’t know what to think,”
Rowe said. “It sure looks bad for him,
but actually we haven’t any real evi-
dence.”

“And that is what we have to
get,” Latorraca said. “Suspicion doesn’t
mean a thing, unless we can find some
physical evidence.”

Latorraca and Rowe walked to the
clearing, hoping to find tire tracks or
other evidence to give them a positive
clue to the slaying. But the ground
was baked hard and did not hold tire
impressions.

“Look here!” Latorraca suddenly

called to Rowe. He pointed to a black-
ened mark, where oi] had soaked into
the ground, at a spot where a car could
have been parked near the edge of the
clearing. ““That’s about where he would
have driven in here.”

Rowe nodded agreement. “And you
can see a line where oi] dripped all the
way across the opening. The car must
have been leaking oil badly.”

HE officers followed the trail of
crankcase oi] out to the Agua Fria
Road. Close examination of the dirt
surface showed the car had been driven
out of the clearing and returned to the
main highway by the same route it had
come in.

“That oil could be the clue we need
to break this case,” Latorraca said,

“The old man in the pickup truck?”
Rowe asked. He added: “They said it
was an old wreck he was driving. We
can check where he was parked near
the playground in Gustine and see if it
leaked oil there.”

Latorraca shook his head.

Rowe waited for him to speak.

Latorraca : said: “When we had
Ashley’s car in the garage, while the
lab fellows were checking it out, it
leaked oil all over the floor. They told
him he must have hit a rut and
loosened the pan. They warned him
he would have to have it repaired or
keep adding oil. He told them he was
only going to drive it as far as Oakland,
so he didn’t have it repaired.”

The oil drippings were vitally im-
portant. The officers gathered boards
from around the cabin and made a
shelter to protect them until they could
be photographed and samples taken for
vidence.
eturning to Merced, Latorraca im-

murdér. Within a short time, they an-
swered that Ashley was on leave from
the Army base and was believed to be
soméwhere in San Francisco.

“The San Francisco police were

alerted. An intensive search was un-
derway for the Army man, when he
called Police Headquarters in San
Francisco and told them he had heard
over the radio that he was wanted.

Patrolman Charles McLaughlin was
sent to the State Building, where
7 a voluntarily surrendered him-
self.

“All I can say is I didn’t do it,” Ashley
claimed.

A chartered plane returned Ashley
to Merced, where he was arraigned be-
fore Judge J. H. Mahoney.

In a statement to reporters, Ashley
said calmly: “I could not expect my
truthfulness to be accepted and I could
be executed if there is a miscarriage of
justice. Finding the body up there, so
close to where I was, makes it look
awfully bad for me. There is nothing
I can say, except I did not kidnap the
little girl and I-did not harm her.”

On August 25, 1960, however, a Grand
Jury listened to the evidence and
handed up an indictment charging
Clarence Ashley with the kidnaping and
murder of Angie May Stewart.

Then, at a subsequent arraignment
on Setember 6, 1960, Ashley stunned the
court by announcing that he had “died
about seven days ago.” He also offered
to explain the “way creation is created,”
in fifteen minutes to anyone who would
listen to him.

Promising him listeners for an even
longer period, Judge Gregory P. Mau-
shart assigned two psychiatrists to
examine the defendant and ordered the
arraignment continued.

On ,September 13, following the psy-
chiatrists’ report that Ashley is “seri-
Qusly mentally ill,” Judge Maushart
postponed the arraignment indefi-
nitely.

The names Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin
Joseph and’ Mr. and Mrs. Charles
Goodhue are fictitious to prevent
unnecessary embarrassment to inno-
cent persons.

| $ fs : a ne eh i eye ke PNA sy hain, ¥ ae ‘gi
: = A cate pry ae oe + err? iat Wy Weta; pep se ae CR Ya em Oa, Fae
Ce ee STOO” PAGS SHaT at mae « tear lornia's Oaly _

Jas. SE SSN ae Te Derrantihlel Seer (7
me ‘Sixtytseventh Yeas ay ee « Single Copy 10¢ ao ‘STOCKTON, SAN JOAQUIN 3 :
: } foe i f ; EGER ‘ Mone - 84 yam

Carter Executed. forf
Murder of Policeman
lawyer Mele Fastest

fe SiC ee :
SiR les 3-5 bas ale t ris
TES Tew * a ee ve
‘% a mS ¥
° * bot es dl
.

The Slayer's entrance into the Kas chamber was delayed |
os Several minutes as attorneys

for Carter made a series of: §
CA JER WANTED frantic telephone calls In al
last-ditch effert to win A stay)
of execution. .
Carter, calm throughout the
! Ordeal. was Strapped into the

execution chalrand the Polson.

Ous pellets were dropped at B
10:14', am. He was Pro- '§

nounced dead at 10:22h4,
Only hours before he entered REMAINED CALM ae
the San Quentin kas chamber

Prison offictals Sald Carter ae é bins
this morning, Convicted mur- was aware of the last-minute DEATH PLUNGE—The car shown here bein
derer Elbert L. Carter told a,efforts to win him a reprieve Smith's Canal carried Mrs. Jane C. Crawfor
Prison affictal he preferred to but he remained calm through-, Ryde, to her death late yesterday. Officials

ENR Siior tas ‘wale Meme penne as RR Oprah

ax :
5
»
3
Mo]
»
> ¢
pial

ae tee ae

than jout the delay, ' Ing an investigation to determine wheth
eet egies deed Minutes before being. ‘sae A Suicide i a traffic fatality.
Of his life behind bars. trapped into the execution = eS ; acy

‘stra
-“He told me several times chair, Carter thanked the war.

he did not Teally want help den for kindnesses extended Folsom Canal Nixon ("

from the governor,” comment. 4m during his Stay In

: prison. . .

rd Dr. David G. Schmidt, chief APEEAL REJECTER Authorization i be
ocala inlet cen ee The U.S_ District Court a) R ted Knight :

repea day rejected petitions by Car.
this morning. He did not want ter's ie ee L. Mc.: s eques e

to serve life imprisonment.” Gheen. for » stay of execution Interlor Secretary Steward L. By MORRIE |

= Dr: Schmidt described Car- and writs of habeas corpus. Udall urged Congress today to SACRA ME?
fet as a “very Co-operative’ Yesterday the State Supreme authorize construction of a ie eh
prepara Urine his 15% Court denied similar 11th-hour 257 pee mn thet

s 1 an uentin’s r “MIllton-doltar Folsom tightened y Ca
meno = 8 attempts to reprieve the "OF" South. Canal-a is rn Dam, vy ee
Death Row. demned slayer Hi seN UNd ROUTE. provide fe ste ar
ae ae ‘ foe J eo ae ae ey Me RIAL (0) Itica eade
WAS DEPRESSED The execution was deiayed on and San Joaquin the eventsa: ef(f =

“He was very amiable, and several Minutes this morvtng County With most of the SUP. 4

he was also remorseftil and as the State Supreme Court plementa! water they need. a tide eee
depressed about what he nad turned down a final Appeal. Udall sent Congress a feasi. hae oe ee w
done,” the Psychiatrist said. McGheen appealed to U.S. Su- bility: report on the Project. to . e re)
Describding Carter's com: preme Court Justice William be part-of the Central Vailey eee Kio es
ments to htm about the day he O. Douglas last night, but the Project saying: : : ae : Ea
Shot Stockton Police Officer plea was denied. i broad objective look at eee et eo
George Woehrle to death, Dr. FINAL MOMENTS - this entire Proposal makes it Tete ec
Schmidt said: in the final moments the at clear that tt Should be built as by infectious h
“He said he panicked when torney for Carter was MAKING soon ac Possible and should be ° s he
the officer came for him, and frantic efforts to Win a dela 5 er disease. His d

Yiconstruct by the federal gov. <" %
wished that he had not taken from Federal District Mudge iment. Parra! ROY advised against

Ht Paign.
up arms.” | Alfonso J. Ztrpoli and from & UPPED 67 MILLIONS cam
. is iwa : P
TOOK TEST , Judge in the US. Court of Ap. The report prepared ‘sy Udall a jee

~Woehrle went to Carter's Peals. = ‘adds 67 million-to the Profect-... Beas
home to arrest him on a war. The attorney had Claimed approved earlier this month by pect Of aes “Sas
rant for statutory rape, and that Carter, a Negro, was de-lene Budget Bureau. The extra between Nixon @
Carter felt the charge was un. Prived of his rights because funds would provide HONCY who had pledged af
just, Dr, Schmidt said. Negroes are excluded from efor Underwriting a distribution off fight.”
Like all other death-row. San Joaquin County Grand svcrem and for enlarging the It Installed a he
prisoners, Carter was offered, JUrY which Indicted him and Folsom South Canal ‘0 take :
and took, an electroencephalo. because there Ere 10 Negroes i.cca as the future Est Side Shistl 45. of tne
kraph (brain-wave) test to On the trial Jury that found Canal water, et

; Nixon's chief l
help determine whether or. him wulity, « The Budget Bureau has ap- Replica, eee
Ranic brain damage contrib. NEW ARGUMENT proved the additions, no. ac. Shai an a
uted to his crime, the doctor In today's appeals, however, cording to Rep. John } McFall tive has been
said. McGheen raised a new argu. (D-Manteca), » Nas ma

The test findings were “wel] Ment. He Claimed that Carter Udalt's Presentation clears

within normal limits, pr. had been deprived of due proc. the way for Congress to con. wealthy oie eat

‘ Schmidt concluded. “He did'ess because Dist. Atty, LAU: sider authorizing the canal’ : ee
Show some emotional instabi]. rence Drivon had argued be.

ity, but this is quite common fore the jury that Capital pun.|'

among younger offenders.’ ishment has a deter-ent effect
eRAgel 31g ee on others. He asserted that

¢ h t W nd el in V0 7 A third pus

ay uNSnO yOuN Nuernberg Fire In UIZZES Powers, “imager

“in flead |s-Fatal ts ratat noon" Admit Perjury Fitts at
acne dhanton. 24, of Long, | NUERNBERG, Nese! NEW YORK. Jan, 17cm) — AMEN governor at

A eR Seep natn Ian IZ MBN. Menen

we KNIGHT
and his supporters ...
{ .to add that, al-

(—Continued From Page 1)
aguer’s seven-man civilian
council of state quit with him

fae

Peery ae .
Quentin: Gas Cel
_(—Continued pein

_— ef i= i i hi et Say i
rOosom: Candi

OK: Is: Urged’ .

(—Continued From Page 1)

House Interior Committee to
hold hearings this spring. Sen.

‘Kenne

Tariff

- WASH)

(AP)—Pre:

night’s fllness is a|~-Vice-President. Rafael Bon-
chez, .Nicolas Pichardo;- and
Eduardo Read Barreras. Un-
confirmed reports ‘said they
were promptly arrested.

Balaguer himself was seen
leaving the Dominican “White;

Clair Engle of California also,
has -asked-the-Senate-Interlor,£4n_his_t)
Committee to begin its consid-itional . Jot
‘eration. Iwith Dem:
Sen. Thomas H. Kuchel of Kennedy
rog legs,'California called the depart- Democrats
barbecu ibs, and fried|ment’s report a significant for- the White
chickén. - Pere

ay ward step and said lso will
House” and so far as was! r was comforted during . wep iad on Democrat

' Carter urge the Senate Interior Com-
known he was not under ar-inis jast night in the cell by aimittee to consider the project|House in f
rest. | ments late

go iprison chap las soon as possible.
Sgovcnwic Er a ty 9 Carter's execution was thel4.cOUNTY AREA After éad
and I've always likedinerg inst m ay Vice - Presi.

without proof, constituted pre-
yadicialmiscouduct.—__—_—————4

value of the free and
imary system to which
la “Republicans sub-
in, which there aré
other prominent and
Egpublican candidates
_ v@mannounced for this

During: the flurry of legal
;maneuverings, Carter prepared
‘himself last night to die. He
ate a big meal'of f

| atic Party, Roger Kent,
night is a delightful

iel’s counterpart in the
|
|

nal act in a-series of events; The uni :
acini t involves additional
that began-with—his murder development of the American

ee mae aiate wee and Biliof Woehrie, 2 : ‘River basin to provide supple-
men stood guard at the “White! The Stockton police officer| ental water tf lia ‘tear
House. Most of the military)naq gone to arter’s home count ares f Sar 7a sy 7
and Civilian leaders taking Partihere with a warrant to arrest|cacramenta Siiker 3 gh pea
in the conferences which pre-'him on a statutory rapelia, a volta Sed ‘ert

- ceded the government shakeup charge, Carter, an applicant},io, wiiee fer po 000 Rciee or

EGRETS ‘were carrying arms. ‘for a police department job,:
farmland.
oe got permission from Woehrle
rrets. < versity: here were staging a!

ae ; The principal features are a
to enter another room for ‘a! :

sorry that Gov. Knight’ hunger strike, with antigov-'coat He’ also picked up a pis-\oo mite canal from the Ameri-
ered so serious an ill-‘ernment professional men ; -

tol can River to Lone Tree Creek
ie" --1d_ ‘backing: their demands—the' White en rote t tne Coun: in southeastern San Joaquin
ar I’m concerned,'same ones that

County and a 515-foot-high
precipitatedity Jail, Carter killed Woehrle: :
ca bME Knlsht's\yesterday's clash. and drove off in the officer's/@2™ &t Auburn that would
it of course does not Although Balaguer's resigna-

form a million-acre-foot reser-
| ‘police car, He was captured)
ny political position. tion satisfied the opposition’s that same day in a hail of bul-| “°!" On the North Fork of the

‘lave said on many oc-iprincipal demand, yesterday’s lets as he attempted to barri-*™erican River.
and will continue to;demonstrators also demanded cade himself ‘in a Modesto,|FOR LARGE CANAL
hever the question isithe resignation of Gen. Esha-|/home. ' Udall's report suggests bulld-
am in the race for the/varria from the key post of Carter was the first person ing a larger canal than is
an nomination for armed forces secretary. - :from this county to be exe-/meeded to take care of local
‘to stay." —— — HEAVILY ARMED ->-———~-—‘cuted since April 10, 1942. Atineeds. This would enable tying
3 SORRY | Although not a member ofithat time Dewey Clark andithe project to the 700-million-
s sald he was very/the new junta, he appeared to/Henry E. Jones were put to/dollar East Side Canal project! McFall in
ulght had to drop out!be in charge of operations at.death for the murders of that is designed to carry wa- expectec.
ace, and: “I do hopejthe presidential palace lastiNathan Chirichiolo and Don farther south in the Sanjabout one
_ people who were sup-/night. He was very much inithy Woofter. \Joaquin Valley. |amount.
Mr. Knight will see fitievidence during the evening,; ' Udall estimated it would be!— oon
rt me because he and/carrying a tommy gun and; Though waves move across cheaper to expand the canal
Saw eye to eye andiwearing a .45 automatic andjthe surface of a lake or sea, when it is built. McFall said FALS
_losophies were very two hand grenades on his belt./the water itself: merely rises;he has been assured by the|

ere last night, and heavily:
n when we sometimes’ |
unpleasantries. It is
iat he has been obliged
out-of the race which

._ve meant so much to

Johnson re
ship's prog
tors. Ther
about his 7
er tariff cu
for U.S. p
Nations bo
Sen. Hu!
|(D-Minn.)

‘backed up
imendations
lustrate ho
merce affec
areas withc
tion distric’
tricts wish —
funds to pa
. The proje
pete with

reclamation
114 billion «
fore Congre

and Powers also sent Leftist students at the uni-i;

| : The members of the newjand falls. A given volume of:Reclamation Bureau that local That L
‘atic State Vice-Chair- junta are Rear Adm. Enrique water sinks back into almost water users will not have to. Need?
‘ene Wyman said: Valdes Vidaurre, the chief of'the same place. pay for the expansion. Many wears
again Richard Nixon navy staff; Air Force Col. Neit ~~~ ~~ FARM DISTRIBUTION euorad rests

their plate di
bled at Just t
live in fear of

_a clear field. He has R. Nivar Sejas, Army Maj. Wil--only holdovers from the Bal
‘ore had opposition in fredo Medina Natal, Armando a

The report also adds 44 mil-'
guer junta, were active par- lion dollars for local distribu-!

; Just rinkle
ican primary and the'O. Pacheco, Huberto Bogaert, ticipants in the conspiracy tion ‘systems to carry water! the alkaline |
of Shell and Powers Luis Amiama,Tio and Antonio that-led to the assassination from the canal to farms. Mc- Rrmiy, 20 th:
_@. around poses no Imbert Barrera. Jast year of ex-President Rafael: Fall’said this money would be au aca

him at all.”

available to finance work in ¢rug counter

ary

' Imbert and Amiama, the L. Trujillo.

‘he mena

“Go away!. I know my rights! To
Hell with you!”

And Jones, with a diagnosed fracture
of the skull, wasn’t talking, either. He
couldn’t.

Captain Flor called the Tucson,
Arizona, police. He talked to Captain
James D. Allaire of that department,
quickly sketched the Denver case and
asked that the address on West Alturas
Street, which the big man had given as
his own, be investigated. Shortly after
two in the morning Captain Allaire.
called back. He informed the Denver
authorities that Ora Welch, father of
Ralph Robert Welch, had been found at
that address and had informed the
Tucson detectives that his son was sup-
posed to be living with his wife and
jaughter at the Oasis Trailer Court on
H Street, Chula Vista, California. His
son, he said, was definitely a short, slen-
jer man. m

“But here’s a funny thing,” said Cap-
‘ain Allaire. “The elder Mister Welch
states he received a telegram from
Ralph from Colorado Springs, Colo-
‘ado, late on the’ evening of July
‘wenty-seventh, requesting him to send
ieventy-five dollars at once, which
Mister Welch did.”

“We have a telegram from one
Josephine we found in our man’s
‘ffects,” said Flor. “It also mentions
noney being sent.”

“That is probably from Welch’s
vife,” replied the Tucson official.

Captain.Flor lost no time. He called
thief of Police I. B—Dad—Bruce in
tolorado Springs, 70 miles south of
Yenver, asking for an investigation of
he telegram and-the activities of the
sseudo Welch there.

“We'll work on it right away,” said
thief Bruce. “And I guess we better
tart looking fora body here!”

A HURRY call was put in for the
Chula Vista, California, Police De-
vartment. A little after three o’clock
a the morning the Chula Vista police
alled back. Mrs. Welch'said that her
\usband had left on Thursday, July 23,
953, his destination unknown to her.
she added that an unknown, large man,
‘road-shouldered, had. visited their
‘ome with Welch on two different,

4 |

occasions and that he might have left
Chula Vista with Welch. She said that
she had. received a telegram, from her
husband, she supposed, asking for $75
with which to return home. She sent
the money but heard no more.

Welch, she said, was wearing brown
trousers, a light yellow T shirt and
Mexican sandals when he left home in
his convertible,

At dawn on the morning of July 30,
the perspiring Denver detectives had
learned only one thing more. Jack
Jones’ home address was on East
Twelfth Avenue in Denver. He was 31
years old. No one at that address could
tell anything about his activities the
previous evening. No one knew any
acquaintance of Jones answering the
description of the phony Mr. Welch in
the Denver General Hospital.

“Well,” drawled Detective Holin-

drake, after an early breakfast, “O’Neill
and I will go out and sit with that bozo
until he loosens up. Even if we have
to sit there until next year!”

“Go ahead,” said Captain Flor.

At the hospital the two ace detectives
found “Mr. Welch” under close guard
of two Denver deputy sheriffs. He was
securely shackled to the bed. The dep-
uty sheriffs were taking no chances
with him. One of them ‘beckoned to
es to step out into the corri-

or.

“Funny thing,” whispered the dep-
uty. “When I came on duty awhile ago,
relieving a night man, I smiled at this
fellow and said to him, ‘Hello, Welch’,
and he looked at me and answered, ‘My
name isn’t Welch—my name’s Cava-
naugh!’”

“Good enough!” replied Holindrake.

Back in the room, Holindrake opened
up quickly. :

“You're not badly hurt, Cavanaugh,”

The crude map that showed
where the body was buried

he said. “The doctors say -you’ve got
only a flesh wound. Tom and I here
want to have your story of what hap-
pened last night.” . .

“Search me!” answered the wounded
man. “What did happen?”

“What about Welch?” demanded
Holindrake. .

“Welch? Who is he?”

“What about Jones?” persisted the
detective.

“Jones? Who is Jones?”

“What's your full name?” .

“Michael Timothy Cavanaugh.”

“And your home?”

“National City, California,” replied
the big man, “but just now I’m here in
the hospital. I don’t remember a thing
about last night. I just remember July
— because my wife visited me

ere.”

Holindrake’s eyes narrowed.

" San Diego's District Attorney James Don Keller, at right, and Michael
Cavanaugh read the note Cavanaugh thought would clear up the mystery

“What hospital is this?” he asked.

“Patton State Mental Hospital, Pat-
ton, California,” recited Cavanaugh,
readily. His face was a mask. “What
did happen last night?”

“If you're Cavanaugh,” stated Holin-
drake, “where are your papers?”

“Here in the hospital, I guess,” an-
swered the patient, wearily. ‘What is
all the ruckus about?”

“You're in a Denver hospital,” said
Holindrake. “You claimed last night
you were Ralph: Robert Welch. You
had that identification on you. You had
a car listed to such a person.” Holin-
drake paused. “How are we to know
you’re really Michael Timothy Cava-
naugh? Will you let us get a photo-
graph of you to make sure?”

“Sure; shoot!”

A team from the Denver Identifica-
tion Bureau sped to the hospital. The
prisoner posed graciously. He submit-
ted meekly when another set of prints

Detective Joe Holindrake: "We'll
sit there all year if necessary”

The beaten man, the Samaritan,
in chains, and Detective Nelson

vig taken. He was quite courteous to
all.
“Tell me, what is all this fuss?”

They told him. They retold him. He
simply shook his head. He remembered
nothing since July Fourth in Patton
Hospital. He knew nothing of Welch
...or Jones... ora shooting. He de-
nied sending or receiving any tele-
grams. All the way he was polite and
appeared sincere.

The quiz ended up with results zero.

“Nutty, maybe,” Holindrake and
O'Neill reported back to Captain Flor.
“But probably nutty like a fox. But the
picture he posed for should tell us
something pretty quick.”

Acopy of the picture had been rushed
-to the Chula Vista police, to the Fed-
eral Bureau of Investigation, to Chief
Bruce in Colorado Springs and to all
Denver newspapers and television sta-
tions.

Also released was a picture of the
badly beaten Jones.

And results did come quickly,

Detective Holindrake received a tele-
phong-call at Headquarters.

“About those two fellows you've got
pictures out on,” a voice said. “Well,

. they were drinking out at the tavern on
East Colfax Avenue Wednesday night,
July twenty-ninth, I’m pretty sure.”
~<“wWho are you?” asked Holindrake.

“Well, this is just a tip,” faltered the
voice. “I just can’t get into this because
—well, ’m married and I was out there
with another gal.”

“Okay,” said Holindrake, “but what
tavern, Brother?”

“You'll find it,” said the voice and
there was a click as the man hung up
the telephone. But Holindrake was not
too disappointed.

Captain Flor, with this information,
sent detective teams scurrying into the
East Colfax area with pictures of the
two men.

And then, to Captain Flor, came
‘Walter W.. Dieter, president of a big

Denver bookbinding firm and a prom- ~

inent Denver citizen, who had recog-
nized Cavanaugh’s picture as that of
the driver of a car that had rammed
into the rear of his automobile early
Wednesday evening at East- Colfax
Avenue and Quebec Street

There was slight damage done to
either car, Dieter explained, but he
said Cavanaugh got out of his car,

Detective Tom O'Neill: He had
to tell a man where he was

apologized for the mishap and showed
him identification papers, car registra-
tion and insurance papers all in the
name of Ralph Robert Welch. Mr.
Dieter took the number of the insur-
ance card.

eg with Dieter, Cavanaugh stood
pa

pat. ;

“Don’t know anything about an acci-
dent,” he declared. “I never saw. this
man before!”

Then came H. L. Smith, night man-
ager of the Western Union office at
Colorado Springs, who identified
Michael Cavanaugh as the man who
had sent two telegrams there the night

of July 27.
One, to O. R. Welch, collect, in

Tucson, Arizona, read: Need $75. Wire
at once care Western Union. Will ex-
plain later. Love. Ralph R. Welch. .

The other telegram to Mrs. Ralph R.
Welch, Chula Vista, California, read:
Need funds to return. Either you or
bank wire $75 immediately, care West-
ern Union here. Home soon. Love.
Ralph R. Welch. oe

The wire to Mrs. Welch brought a
return $75, which Cavanaugh collected,
Smith said. He then requested any
answer to the first wire be forwarded
to Denver. oe

“well,” said Captain Flor, “I guess
that settles any doubt whether Welch
got as far as Colorado Springs with
Cavanaugh, He didn’t.”

A call to the Denver Western Union .

office revealed that Cavanaugh
collected the second $75 in De

- July 29. :

Wires to Captain Flor from (
fornia then revealed that Mrs. W
had not identified Cavanaugh’s
ture as that of the man she had
with her husband. And word came
that Cavanaugh had escaped from
Patton Mental Hospital the nigt

July 12.

Bot there was bitter news from :

ver General Hospital.

“Jones is critically ill with a :
tured skull. .We are going to op
immediately.”

“T¢ Jones dies,” said Holindrake.

(Continued on|Page 58)

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24-year-old wife, Geraldine, and her
three sons by a former marriage.

“He could be on the Coast,” an Akron
officer told Bowers. “We had a rumble
that his wife was picked up in San
Diego in January of this year but be-
fore we could make connections, she
had disappeared.” ’ .

But where-was Barr’ now?“

“It’s our job -to find him,” Bowers

told his.men. .- /
But how? He wasn’t listed in the
telephone book or on the records: of

any of the public-utility firms. Mail-
men didn’t know his name. ° :

“Do you think we ought to give the
identification and picture to the news-
papers?” Rosenberg asked. “Somebody
might spot him from his mug.”

Bowers shook his head. “Not yet.
The minute he knows we've got him

~ pegged, he’ll run. We can’t take that

chance.”

for a short time, One of the employes
told them he had helped Barr move,

He gave them the new address, on
East Rosecrans Boulevard in Norwalk—
only.a short distance from the spot .
where Kmiec had been killed.

“I think we're getting close,” Bowers
told his men as they headed for the
house. “We’ll surround the place and
move in quick. Try to take him without
gunplay, if you can.”

But only two women, three children
and a baby were in the house. The
younger woman identified herself as’
Mrs. Barr and the older woman was
her mother, Mrs. Mary Grubaugh.
Mrs. Barr hadn’t seen her. husband
since: November 25, the day before
Thanksgiving, she said. That had been
four days after Kmiec had been killed.
“He lost his job and couldn't find
work,” Mrs. Barr told the officers. “He

. gaid he was going. to the desert and try

NEXT: Bowers called San Diego. Mrs.
Geraldine. Barr, who had given
police her name first as Marie Yates and
then as Mrs. Anthony Bauer, had been
arrested on a charge of stealing towels
from a motel.

“But she was expecting a child and
the motel owner felt sorry for her,” a
San Diego officer reported. “We let
her go. Then we found out that her
husband was wanted in Ohio, but they'd
already skipped.

“Our investigation shows his real
name is Gilbauer, although he used the
name of Bauer when he married the
woman in Las Vegas. He was driving a
‘forty-nine Lincoln coupe, which Ohio
tells us they think was stolen back
there.”

“Can you go over the birth records
and see if she had the baby there and
what address she gave?” Bowers asked.

When the San Diego officers agreed,
Bowers called in Etzel and Hamilton.
“T want you to go over the birth records
for Los Angeles County. If you don’t,
find anything there, I want all of
Southern California covered.”

An all-points bulletin went out on
the license number of the Lincoln coupe
Barr was known to have been driving
when he was in San Diego. Then Ham-
ilton found birth records in Los Angeles
showing that Mrs. Geraldine Barr, wife
of Anthony Barr, had given birth to a
baby. daughter on August 27, 1953. A
home address on South Catalina Street
in Los Angeles was listed.

The detectives raced to the address.
They found the house occupied by a
man named Bill Watkins. “We moved
in only about two weeks ago, but a
fellow by the name of Barr lived here
before us,” Miller said. “I guess he
clipped the landlady for his back rent
and moved out with a lot of furniture.
And the telephone has been ringing
. with people asking for him ever since
we moved in. They all say he owes them
money. I guess he was @ dead-beat.”

The landlady, Mrs. L. R. Pierson, told
the officers that Barr had moved out of
the house owing her $54 in rent and had
taken furniture and light fixtures.

“Do you know where he went?” Etzel

asked. :

“No. If I did, I'd go.to the district
attorney and have him arrested.”
- But Mrs. Pierson had one lead for
the detectives. She had noticed that
when Barr moved, he had used a truck
from a furniture company. She re-
membered the name of the firm. The
officers learned that Barr had worked
for the company as a maintenance man

to get a job there on a, project at
Trona.”- . .
After lengthy questioning in which

_ she agreed to let the officers search the

house, they found a letter pinned to a
window drape. It was addressed to Mrs.
Marie Clark and postmarked Saint
Louis, Missouri. The writer, who had
signed the letter only as ‘T’, said that
he was in Oklahoma City but had “left
for the original place and will wait for
some word from you there.”

Sunday night, Bowers telephoned the
Saint Louis police. He gave Lieutenant
Nicholas Kube a description of Barr and
asked for a stake-out on the general
delivery window at the post office.

“We're putting his picture and finger-
prints on the plane to you tonight,”
Bowers said. “Tell your men to use
caution.”

A stake-out also was placed on the
Barr home.

As the Los Angeles County officers
waited, Mrs. Belle Brooks of Burbank
came into a Sheriff's substation.

She reported that a month previously
she had advertised a mink coat and a
Russian sable stole for sale. A man had
phoned and said he would bring his
wife to see the articles. However, he
had arrived alone and produced a gun.
Binding Mrs. Brooks with friction tape,
he took the two furs, a jeweled cigaret
case and some luggage. Subsequently
the Las Vegas police had recovered the
fur coat in a pawnshop but had been
unable to find the man who pledged it.

“I'm sure he’s the man who was
sketched in the papers,” Mrs. Brooks
declared. * .

She was shown a photograph of Barr
and police claimed, positively identified
him. Officers also said that Barr’s home
was searched and the sable stole and
cigaret case were found there. .

Chief Bowers told Rosenberg: “Barr
is an ex-con. He may have been pulling
want-ad burglaries and planned to rob
Kmiec but when the girl escaped he
got rattled and left without taking
Kmiec’s money.”

Next, the owner of a sporting-goods
store in Huntington Park reported that
he had sold a .38 antomatic to.a man
named Anthony Barr on February 24,

1953. The signature “Anthony Barr”
on the permit was compared with Barr's

handwriting and experts said it was

identical.

A coroner's inquest was being held
into the slaying of Kmiec. Bowers went
to Sheriff Biscailuz. .

“Should we give out the information
that we want Barr?” he asked. “He

They -Shot the Good Samaritan

grave will seal up a lot of evidence for
good—information we must have!”

Meantime, in view of the Western
Union man’s revelations from Colorado
Springs, the search for Welch’s body
was shifted southward into Southern
Colorado and Northern New Mexico.

And the detectives canvassing East
Colfax taverns scored. 5

At the Zephyr Bar they talked to
Mrs. Alice Wacob, who quickly identi-
fied the Cavanaugh and Jones pictures.

She stated that the pair had arrived
there about 6:45 the evening of July 29
ro three or four drinks of whisky
each,

The big man, she said, acted very
nervous.

may show up in Saint Louis and then
he may not.”

Sheriff Biscailuz decided that it
would be best to let the newspapers
and television stations circularize the
picture of Barr.

“But don't reveal why we're after
him or that we've located his wife,”
Biscailuz advised. “This case is being
carried in the papers all over the
country. An incomplete story may
drive Barr to go to the post office to
see if his wife has any information
for him.”

As soon as Barr was named in the
inquest, pictures. of the wanted man
appeared on all the Los Angeles front
pages and were carried on the television
news broadcasts. This started an
avalanche of telephone calls to all
police agencies. Barr was seen every-
where. A dozen persons who resembled
him were picked up but finger-prints
soon cleared them.

Tuesday was a hectic day. Four
operators were placed on the Sheriff's
central switchboard to handle the tips
that came pouring in. They received
more than 50 calls an hour throughout
the day and night.

ye on Wednesday morning, @ man
walked up to the general delivery
window of the Saint Louis post office.
Waiting detectives identified him, from
the photographs they had, as Barr.

Apparently sensing that he was being
watched, Barr turned away from the
window without inquiring for mail.
Sergeant Gus Ernst placed him under
arrest

Barr admitted his identity but denied ’

killing Kmiec. He claimed that he had
not been in California at the time of
the slaying. He told a confused story,
Lieutenant Kube said, of leaving his
home in Norwalk in his Lincoln _con-
veitible and of stealing a car in Texas
with another ex-convict.

In California a charge of first-degree
murder’ was placed against him and
Judge Edward J. Gallardo issued a
warrant for his arrest.

‘Hamilton and Lovretovitch were

_ designated as state agents and sent to

Saint Louis to bring Barr to Los
Angeles when he waived extradition.
On December 10, 1953, Sheriff Bis-
cailuz announced that he had received
a telephone call from Hamilton in
which Hamilton claimed that Barr had
admitted the slaying. On Saturday,
December 12, the ex-convict was back
in Los Angeles ‘and was arraigned in

Whittier Municipal Court on a charge |

of murder. Further action is pending
as this issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE
STORIES Magazine goes to press.

His motive? Los Angeles officers have

been quoted as saying that it might have °

been robbery or that it might have been
based on sex. They made this state-
ment, they said, after considering his
actions in Mrs. Brooks’ apartment,
where he had been frightened away
before he'd had a chance to harm her.

Also, Chief Bowers wondered about
this same motive. Had Miss McCor-

‘ mick’s belt been ripped off by the car

door when she fled after Kmiec had
been shot—or had it been pulled off by
the killer making a lunge for her to
keep her in the convertible?

“From the way the dress is torn,”
Miss McCormick said, “I'm inclined to
think that he grabbed for me. He could
have shot me; I was as close to the gun
as Andy was. Maybe he had other plans
for me.”

(Continued from Page 23)

“He seemed itching for a beef,” she
told Detectives C. Moody and C. Kirk-
patrick. “The little man offered apolo-
gies for the other's actions. When they
left about thirty minutes later, neither
appeared drunk.”

Cavanaugh, confronted with that in-
formation by Captain Flor, brushed it
aside hastily.

Tice

Hac. !

mow

Rees Aree Ver

ouis and then

ided that it
e newspapers
ircularize the

’ we're after
ed his wife,”
case is being
all over the
story may
post office to
information

1amed in the
wanted man
Angeles front
the television
started an
calls to all
3 seen every-
ho resembled
finger-prints

> day. Four
the Sheriff's
ndle the tips
‘hey received
r throughout

ning, @ man
eral delivery
is post office.
ed him, from
, as Barr.

he was being
ay from the
g for mail.
d him under

sy but denied *
that he had
the time of
ifused story,
leaving his

Lincoln con-

car in Texas

f first-degree
ist him and
do issued a

witch were
and sent to
arr to Los
xtradition.
Sheriff Bis-
had received
iamilton in
1at Barr had
n Saturday,
ct was back
wraigned in
on a chargé
a is pending ‘
JETECTIVE
) press.
officers have
t might have
it have been
' this state-
sidering his
apartment,
tened away
» harm her.
dered about
Aiss McCor-
f by the car
Kmiec had
pulled off by
- for her to

‘ss is torn,”
1 inclined to
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i other plans

age 23)

a beef,” she
nd C. Kirk-
Tered apolo-
. When they
iter, neither

vith that in-
, brushed it

._——-

”

“Never in such a place!

» Shown the green convertible he had

- at Saint Luke’s hospital he shook his
head again. ‘

“Never saw that particular car!”

And now, from Detectives R. L. Quick
and Virgil H. Seiveno of the -Chula
Vista ‘Police Department, came added
light on the case. .

Cavanaugh, identified through the
Denver mug, and Welch, known locally,
had spent the evening of July 23 at
Thompson's Cafe in Chula Vista. Cav-
anaugh was sitting at the bar, drinking
beer, when Welch entered, witnesses
said, and Cavanaugh immediately
moved to a stool next to Welch and
struck up a conversation with Welch

~ and a waitress, saying he was & phy-
~ sician and a commander in the

Navy.

~ At about ten o'clock, the witnesses told
the Chula Vista detectives, Welch
stated that he must be going home.

* Cavanaugh asked him where he lived
and when Welch replied that he lived
on H Street, Cavanaugh declared he
lived on the same street and would ride
home with him. Then both men left
the cafe.

On this same date, the detectives
learned, Cavanaugh had purchased a
wrist-watch in Chula Vista with a
$73.78 “no account” check.

Neither man was seen again at the
cafe and Mrs. Welch didn’t see her hus-
band again after that time.

T= detectives talked to Mrs. Evelyn
Cavanaugh, who was cooperative.
She told them that Cavanaugh had
escaped from the Patton Hospital the
night of July 12 and arrived home the
next morning. On July 14 after sleep-
ing all the previous night in a car in
an auto-wrecking . yard, Cavanaugh
again saw his wife and she tried to per-
suade him to return to the hospital. He
agreed and she gave him money for
meals and his fare back. She didn’t see
him again until late at night July 24
when he appeared, driving a green con-
vertible car. He said he had borrowed
it from a man at the hospital. He ap-
peared, she said, very fatigued, and fell
asleep in the car. But at four o’clock on
the morning of July 25 he awoke and
said that he was starting back to Pat-
ton, as the man was waiting for his car.
That was the last she saw of him.
However, on the night of July 28, Mrs.
Cavanaugh received a long-distance
phone call from Denver. She was not
home. Her landlady heard a man’s

_ voice talking to the operator and de-

clared that it sounded like the voice of
Michael Cavanaugh.

Again Captain Flor and Detectives
Holindrake and O'Neill grilled Cav-
anaugh. He admitted escaping from
the hospital, as he had before, but said
that he had not seen his wife after-
ward. He vigorously denied any knowl-
edge of a green convertible car or of any
meeting with Welch or anyone else in
the Chula Vista cafe. Emphatic
enough, he was not belligerent.

By now the Denver detectives had
learned of other Denver taverns Cav-
anaugh and Jones had visited the night
of July 29 and a long parade of wit-
nesses squinted and stared at Cav-
anaugh at Headquarters. They all put
the finger on him.

“Never saw any of these people be-
fore in my life!” insisted Cavanaugh.
“I'm afraid they’re all mistaken about

el"

Meanwhile authorities all along the

~. route from Chula Vista to Denver were

alerted in an effort to find Welch's
body. The Chula Vista police sent a
warrant for Cavanaugh, on the bad-
check charge, but the Denver police
were loath to turn over Cavanaugh just

yet.

“Welch's body may be in or around
Denver,” repeated Captain Flor. “We'll
hang on to him a bit longer.”

Then, on August 6, came word from
Denver. General Hospital.

“Jones, while still pretty sick, has
made a marvelous recovery,” Captain
Flor was told. “Your men can talk to
him now safely.”

Detectives Holindrake, O'Neill and
Oscar Nelson hurried to the hospital.

They were ushered into Jones’ room,
taking Cavanaugh in with them.

Jones, gaunt, almost skeleton-like,
was in his hospital pajamas. Great
bruises showed around his eyes. His
shaven head displayed the stitches of
the operation on his skull. His left-arm
was encased in bandages. He raised
that swathed left arm and pointed at
Cavanaugh.

“That's him. That's the man I was
with the night I was injured!”

Detective O'Neill pointed at Jones.

“That man was pretty badly hurt,
Mike. Remember him now?”

Cavanaugh’s face was frozen.

“T don’t recognize him!" he said.

Then Jones told of meeting Cav-
anaugh, who had said his name was
Commander Welch, in a tavern the
afternoon of July 29. They visited
several taverns and Jones remembered
Cavanaugh bumping into another auto-
mobile on East Colfax Avenue.

“after that,” said Jgnes, “I can’t
remember what happened.”

Detective O'Neill spoke again.

“Cavanaugh, the only reason Jones
here is alive is because he put his arm
up in front of his head, softening the
blow that cracked his skull, breaking
his wrist.”

Cavanaugh’s poker-face curled into
a slight sneer.

“Does it seem logical I'd beat up a
guy like that and then take him to a
hospital?” he asked.

But later, at Headquarters, Cav-
anaugh, face to face again with the
astute Captain Flor, tried to be even
more convincing.

“J really wish I could help you clear
this up,” he volunteered.

“How about a truth serum test?” shot
in Flor. .

“Sure,” agreed Cavanaugh, readily.

The canny Flor wasted no time, The
next morning, August 7, Doctor J. Mc-
Donald supervised a sodium amytal
test at Colorado Psychopathic Hospital,
in the presence of Captain Flor, Detec-
tives Tom O'Neill and Richard W.
Brown, and Kenneth Avery, Junior, a
certified short-hand reporter.

Cavanaugh, under the influence of
the drug, was very windy. His state-
~— later typed, filled 41 legal-sized
sheets.

But his story, according to Captain
Flor, boiled down, was that he met
Welch in the Chula Vista bar, drank
with him, rode with him to Tijuana,
Mexico.

“We drank some more there and
Welch got sick and went to his car. I
had more drinks and when I went to
the car I found poor Welch dead. His
head was bashed in and a dozen stab
wounds were in his chest. He’d been
stripped of clothing. I was in a panic,
being an escapee from a mental hos-
pital. I decided to take the body to
Tucson, Arizona, and deliver it to
Welch's dad.

“TY put the body in the trunk and
started. But I got lost. First thing I

. knew I was near Gallup, New Mexico,

and the body was starting to smell. I
was going broke. I sold my watch to
buy gas. I got to Albuquerque, New
Mexico, finally, but I was afraid to park
the car on the street the odor was 560
bad. I was scared of the Law. So I
drove out from Albuquerque, west on a
dirt road, maybe two or three miles,

“I got out of the car and with my
hands made a cradle in the sand. Then
I thought I can’t do this. I must take
the body to the cops. I zoomed back to
Albuquerque and stopped at the police
station. Cops were going in and out.

I didn’t see a face that looked human. .

So I cruised back to the cradle. I lifted
Welch out and gently laid him in ¢he
hole. I had an overcoat with a fur
collar on it. I put that over him, then
covered him with sand.

“Then I knelt and prayed—for him—
for me. I asked that Welch go to
Heaven because I thought he was a
pretty swell Joe. Then I put some
flowers on the grave—tumbleweeds.

“Then I drove to Santa Fe, New
Mexico, and I called a priest there and
told him I was.on my way to school in
the East but had run out of funds. He
asked me out. I told him my name was
Welch. He gave me twenty dollars and
then I came on to Colorado Springs,

ARE THE TALES of
strange human powers
false? Can the mysterious
feats performed by the mys-
tics of the Orient be ex-

plained away as only illu-.

sions? Is there an intangible
bond with the universe be-
yond which draws fnankind
‘on? Does a mighty Cosmic
* intelligence from the reaches
of space ebb and flow
through the deep recesses of
the mind, forming a river of
wisdom which can carry men
and women to the heights of
personal achievement?
“\
Have You Had These
Experiences?

» see. that unmistakable feel-
ing that you have taken the

_wrong course of action, that
you have violated some inner,
unexpressed, better judg-
ment. The sudden realiza-
tion that the silent whisper-
ings of self are cautioning
you to keep your own counsel

- —not to speak words on the
tip of your tongue in the
presence of another. That
something which pushes you
forward when you hesitate,
or restrains you when you
are apt to make a wrong
move.

These urges.are the subtle
influence which when under-
stood and directed has made
thousands of men and wom-
en masters of their lives.
There IS a source of intelli-

gence within y
as your senses
hearing and }
able, which y
using now! (¢
statement! D
¢rucians to re
tions of this
and its great }
you.

Let This -}
Exp

Take this infin
your partners
use it in a rati:
tical way wit)
ence with you)
liefs or person:
Rosicrucians,
philosophical 1
vite you to u:
below, now, t
tain a free cop
nating book ‘
of Life,” wh
further.

The ROSK(
(AM(

The Rosicrucians are not

USE THIS

Scribe C.L.Y.
The Rosicruci
San Jose, Cal

I am sincere]
knowing more a
vital power whic
acquiring the ful
ness of life. I
without cost, the
tery of Life,” w)
receive this info

Name
Address
State

—ieagi

. Sheriff Walter Sellmer with Caritativo, the houseboy who
was told that he had been named heir to a small fortune

and keep pushing it into his chest all
the way up to the hilt.”

“The man was probably crazy drunk.
He must have been to beat her head in
with the hammer.” ‘ :

“What about the note?” Midyett
asked.

“You mean the way he wrote ‘had’

y* se ‘

instead of ‘have’ and ‘responsible to
what you see’, instead of ‘for what you
see’? I noticed that. But he was
probably under a strain and drunk.”

Midyett dropped his cigaret and
crushed it out with his heel. ‘“That’s
just it,” he said. “Come on inside. I
want to show you something.”

In the bedroom, Midyett pointed to
the note on the table. The hand-
writing was precise and neat.

“Does that look like it was written
by somebody who was, drunk?”.

“Maybe he wasn’t. I know those

whisky bottles are here but he could -

have sobered up.” .

“If he was sober, how about the mis-
takes in grammar in the‘note? And
what about your theory that he plunged
the knife all the way in because he was
drunk?" ;

Sellmer shrugged. “If it’s a double
killing it’s going to be plenty tough.”

Officials knew at a glance how
Mrs. Banks had come to her death

“I'm not saying it is. But I think:

we'd be smart to get all the facts and
evidence and be sure.”

T= laboratory crew had arrived by
that time. As the technicians went

- to work inside the house, Sellmer and

Midyett slipped outside to interview
Mrs. Hilda Grunert, the woman who

had discovered the bodies. With her .

were Mrs. Ruby Fraser, and the resi-
dent deputies. “Mrs. Fraser knew Mrs.
Banks well,’ Woodington explained.
“We brought her along in’ case you
have any questions.”

Mrs. Grunert told the officers that
she had stopped at the cottage at nine

o'clock that morning to offer her help

with the moving.

“Camille was taking a smaller cot-
tage because the new people who
leased Sea Downs wanted to live in
this one,” Mrs. Grunert declared: “She
was going to be here less than a month
anyway; she had all her plans made
for a vaction to Ceylon. The ship sails
on October fifteenth.”

“Did you see or hear anything when
a ae at nine o'clock?” Sellmer
fe

“No. I just knocked on the door. No-

body answered and I thought maybe
Camille wasn’t up yet. When I came
back at three, there still wasn’t any
answer. The door was open, so I walked
in and found them.”

Midyett askeg Mrs. Fraser to tell him
as much as she could about Mrs. Banks
and her former husband, Joseph.

He learned that Mrs.’ Banks was a
native of Wisconsin. She had married
her first husband while they were stu-
dents at Marquette University and he
had died while they were both still in
school, _. ‘

“Camille became a pulp-story writer
and an artist,” Mrs. Fraser related. “I
guess she was rather successful as a
writer. She saved her money and when
she came to San Francisco, she bought
@ restaurant.” ‘

‘ Mrs. Banks had remained unmarried
after the death of her first husband and
was 45 years old when she went to Sea
Downs Resort for a vacation in 1943.
There she met the owner, Theodore
Malmeren, the son of a well-known and
wealthy Corte Madera family, and
married him,

“Ted and Camille were very happy,”
Mrs. Fraser said. “It was an awful
shock for her when Ted died in Sep-
tember of nineteen forty-eight. She
married Joseph Banks a year later...

“Her marriage to Joe was a mistake,
~ I think I know the way Camille

elt.

“Joe drank too much. Camille tried
to straighten him out. She sent him to
sanatoriums and _ finally to the state
hospital, but it didn’t do any good.
When she returned from her ‘round-
the-world trip, she stopped in Tyler,
Texas, and got a divorce.”

Midyett asked: “But she let Dim stay
on here?” :

“Yes. Camille was big-hearted and

hink she was’still fond of Joe. It was

I guess she has paid for

about Joseph Banks.
tell him only that she
came from. England
ing gs. when sober

Midyett asked
’s. Praser could

d was a. charm
> abusive when
EANWHILE the lab crew had com-
work. Pictures had been
prints found but
been able to raise
the handle of the
been used to bludgeon

ton and Deputy Gooch
remove the bodies.
inued his questioning of
He asked her point-blank
of any other men in the
Banks,

‘Ts. Fraser hesitated, then said:
man from Mexico. We
at all. He was here only
x months, more than a year
oe was in the state hospital.
brought him back with her
Pp to Mexico City
going to manage Sea
ner. But he left after about

‘0 you know his name?

was Fernando Juarez—
anky. None of us
He spoke good
ery sociable.”

id she hadn't seen-or
since he had left Sea

1s,
dyett thanked th

technicians had

y-smudges from

nmer that had
Banks.

’ him very well.
ish but he wasn't v

é@ women for the
y had given him. After
his attention to
in you get us a post-mortem right
you what the results will
” the Coroner said. “She
led by the blows on the hea
‘d from the knife wound. Ti

was probably late

“I want the medical report,” Midyett
said.. “And tell whoever is going to do
the autopsy, I'd like to know how drunk
Banks was when he died.”

County, Autopsy Surgeon Doctor John
Manwaring would be called in for the
post-mortem examination, the Coroner
said. “He can test the blood and tell
you how much alcohol is in it.”

With all the details taken care of at

Sea’ Downs, Sellmer and Midyett drove
back to their office in San Raphael, the
county seat. ;
- On the trip in, Sellmer asked: “Well,
what do you think, Don? Is it a murder
and suicide, or do we have a first-class
mystery on our hands?”

“I don’t know,” Midyett: said frankly.
“But I'd be- terested in knowing
whether a certain fellow by the name.
of Juarez has been around: here
recently.” —. :

“You're thinking about the phrasing
of that suicide note?”

“Maybe. And if anybody would
choose a hunting-knife for a suicide
weapon.”

Sellmer was silent as the car sped
along. Finally he said: “Before you go
too far, Don, there’s one point you
haven’t taken into consideration.”

“Yeah? What?”

“We didn’t find any evidence of a
struggle in the house. If a killer bat-
tered in the woman's head with a ham-
mer and then attacked the man witha
knife, I'd say he'd leave some signs of
resistance.”

“Maybe,” Midyett replied. “Maybe
I'm taking this thing too big. Just the
same, I’m going to look into all the
angles, as carefully as I can.”

At the office, Midyett initiated a.
further probe into the affairs of Camille
and Joseph Banks. He located Attorney
A. E, Bagshaw who had drawn up a will
for Mrs. Banks two years previously.
Bagshaw could not recall the exact
wording of the will but he believed that
Mrs. Banks had left her entire estate to
her mother, Mrs. Catherine Gavin of
San Francisco.

‘The question was whether Jose
had been sober enough to kil

he learhed that

Wold, a former Colorado
He also heard
nsidered filing a
usand dollars in
rs to the resort

gh canvass by deputies at
ach and in San Raphael
bduce any information con-
whereabouts of Fernando
ad managed the
ort time. Several of Mrs,
Is verified the story Mid-
d—that the dead woman
ico and he had -

rning, Coroner Keaton
Here is Doctor Man-

the -Coroner said.
a traumatic skull

From another source,
the new lessee of
Thomas Larry

that Mrs. Banks had co:
lawsuit for several tho
a dispute over repai;

resort for a sh
Banks’ friend:

had met Juar,
returned with her,

Saturday mo:
called Midyett.
waring’s. report,”
“Mrs. Banks ‘died o
fracture, Mister Ba ks
Death was somew;
ur and eight o’clock Th
noon or evening.”

ursday after-

as the knife blade?”
The whole thing was
shoved into his c est, hit the heart and
he died instantly,”
“How drunk was he?”
“Doctor Manwaring can
the answer to that yet.
will have to be processed
tory. Same thing with t
the stomach to set the

€ probably won't. know until

Blood samples
in the labora-
he contents of
exact time of

SHORT time later,
into the office to 5
Midyett. They identifie
Thomas and Daniel Ba
Joseph Banks.

two men came
ee Sellmer and _
d themselves as
nks, brothers of
Thomas lived in San
ed on Page 58) *

Daniel Banks, who had his
icions aroused, and at

1 DA Wm. Weissich

The choice of words in this suicide

note meant a great deal to officers

‘

Almost a Quarter of a Million Was at Stake When
The Wealthy Woman. and Her Alcoholic Ex-Husband
2 Were Found Dead Near Stinson Beach, ‘California,
In What Looked So Much Like a Murder and Suicide

September 17, 1954, Sheriff Walter
Sellmer and Undersheriff Don
Midyett drove up to a cottage in the
swank Sea Downs Resort, Stinson
Beach, California. Deputies Bill Wood-
ington and Ellis Seibert were waiting
for them on the porch.
“She’s in here,” Woodington called

|‘ on the Friday afternoon of

out, pushing open the front door and
leading the way to a bedroom.

As they went through the living-
room, both Sellmer and Midyett noticed
that the room was sparsely furnished,
with only a few chairs and two large,
colored posters on the walls stating,
“Visit Egypt”.

In a welter of biood, the body of a
woman, clad only in shorts and a halter,
was sprawled across the bed.

“Pretty awful, huh?” Deputy Wood-
ington asked. Then he added, “A two-
pound sledge hammer was used on her.”

“She's Mrs. Bariks and she owns this
place?” Sellmer asked.

Woodington nodded.

20:

“She owns the

whole resort but somebody else oper-
ates it on a lease.”

“She must have been pretty well off
then,” Midyett said. “This resort is a
big layout. Did she live here, in this
cottage, without any furniture?”

“She was moving out. That's how her
friend happened to find her. She just
signed a new lease and the people who
are taking over were going to use this
cottage. Mrs. Banks was going to Cey-
lon in October.”

As the officers peered distastefully at
the body Woodington went on: “You're
right about this being a big layout. The
county has been trying to buy it to
turn it into a park. It’s worth a couple
hundred thousand dollars. But Mrs.
Banks just leased it out and spent most
of her time traveling. She made a
round-the-world tour last year.”

Sheriff Sellmer asked: “Where is the
dead man?”

“In the front bedroom.”

The officers filed out of the room and
followed Woodington to the bedroom.

SAMAR.

There a man lay on a cot face up. A
hunting-knife, clutched in the right
hand, was plunged deep into the chest.
Blood had spilled onto the floor and run
down behind the cot- Two empty

whisky bottles were within reach of the °

dead man.
“Her husband?” Sellmer asked.
“Ex-husband,” Woodington cor-
rected. “She divorced him last July
but he's been staying on here in a cabin,
There's the note, on the table.”
Sellmer and Midyett read it:

I had been pushed long enough.
This is the end. Am responsible to
what you see and find. Joseph
Banks.

W HEN they had finished .reading,
Woodington said: “It’s a tragedy,
but I can't say it came as a complete
surprise. Ellis and I have been called
out here a dozen times in the last few
years .to stop quarrels between them.

“I guess he didn't
give her a chance to call this time.”

Seibert agreed.

“What was the trouble?” Sellmer
asked. - Woodington and Seibert are,
resident deputies in the resort town of
Stinson Beach and would know about
local disturbances too minor to reach
the Sheriff's office.

Woodington pointed to the empty

isn't that right, Ellis?” whisky bottles beside the body. “That's
|
/ of, Aye. AD
al, ao
¢ NN

. G
~ Ke Aeneviit tne, / 72

—

By Tom

Walte rs

Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

1e answer. She had him committed
vice to the state hospital at Napa as
a alcoholic. Both. times she took him
ick. And even after she divorced him,
1e let him stay on at the resort.”

“It’s too bad things like this happen,”
elimer said. “Has anybody notified
1e coroner's office?”

“They'll be here,” Midyett said. “But
ir lab crew should be along first. I
ape nobody touched or moved .any-
ling. We'll need pictures and a sketch
id a finger-print job on the hammer
id the rest of the house.”

A puzzled expression came over the
ces of the resident deputies. Wood-
gton asked: “Pictures? Finger-prints?
‘s a murder and suicide; the whole
ing is obvious. Do you need all that?”
“Did you see him kill her and then
ll himself?” Midyett asked.

“No, but we have the note.”

“Did you see him write it?”
“Hardly. However, I do know what’s
rm going on out here. They've fought
‘fore.””

The Sheriff said: “Don is right. The
hole thing may be obvious, but we
ive to preserve all the evidence. You
‘ver can tell what might come up.

Seibert said: “We let her go home.
Should I get her?”

“Yes. We'll need a statement.”

Coroner Frank Keaton and his dep-
uty, Gerry Gooch, drove up in front
of the cottage as Woodington and Sei-
bert were leaving and a few minutes
later an ambulance arrived.

Midyett said to Keaton, “Can you
keep the ambulance men out of the
‘house for awhile? Our lab crew will
be along any minute to make pictures
and dust for prints.”

The Coroner agreed and all four offi-
cers lounged on the porch of the cot-

tage, squinting out toward the rolling °

surf of the Pacific Ocean.

Wee?
NX

Mrs. Banks: “Camille was .’. . still fond of Joe. It
was a mistake and | guess she has paid for it now" -

snapped poor Bill’s head off when he
asked you a couple of questions.”
Sellmer and Midyett had been to-
gether a great number of years, heading
the Marin County Sheriff's office, and
had solved many difficult cases.
Midyett used his little finger to flick
the ashes from his cigaret. “I’m not
sure, Walt. But how many suicides
have you seen who stabbed themselves
to death by plunging a knife into their
hearts?”
“Suicides sometimes use a knife.”
“Sure, They cut their throats. Or
@ woman will nick her wrists with a
razor. But no one could take a knife

Roi
ih
wy

SNS

;
h an estate this big, you never know “Okay, what is it, Don?” Sellmer
| t might happen. Some lawyer, asked finally. “What did you spot in
ht try to prove that Mrs. Banks there?”
| ‘d her former husband and then A smile played over Undersheriff
| ‘d herself.” Midyett’s lips. ‘“‘What do you mean?
| 3eat of own head in with a sledge It's id me gtd and suicide.”
imer?” k . “Don't be coy with me. We've worked
that’s why we're going to take pic- together too long and I know you arenes Pham
sand preserve the evidence. Where wouldn’t get yourself all keyed up over @ -two-pound hammer
1e woman who found them?” & murder and suicide. You nearly and a hunting-knife

{
“aan
ta

wh.

SESS SH

“eo

Left, Detectives Lewis Gibson and Lee Dorwart with Elbert Carter, who first was wanted only on a routine
charge. Right, a police technician photographs the spot where his fellow officer's kidnap ride ended in death

As Garibotto received the details of
the kidnaping, he asked: ‘How long
ago did this happen?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”” Mrs. Car-
ter added: “Please don’t let anyone hurt
my boy. He is a good boy—you know
he applied to be a police officer. I don’t
know why he would do a thing like this.”

Mrs. Carter told Garibotto that, when
she last saw the car, it had been head-
ing south on Sperry Road.

Sergeant Jerry Mackey, who was in
the office with Garibotto, asked: ‘Shall
I put out a radio alert on George’s car?”

“Hold it a minute,’ Garibotto said.

OEHRLE had been an officer on

the Stockton force for eighteen
years. He had spent fifteen of these
years in the juvenile division. Gari-
botto, himself a 25-year veteran, knew
Woehrle well.

“George should be able to handle the
guy.’ Garibotto reasoned. ‘We don’t
want to rush the kid and scare him into
doing something crazy.”

Garibotto walked to the radio room.
He had an idea that, if he could con-
tact Woehrle’s car on the radio, he
might be able to talk to Carter and
explain to him the charges were not
serious if he would surrender himself
and come in to headquarters with
Woehrle.

As he and Mackey passed Desk Ser-
geant Berg, they heard him exclaim to
someone over the telephone: “Oh, no!
You're sure? Where? I'll have an am-
bulance there right away.”

“What was that?’ Garibotto asked,
apprehensively.

“I think the guy shot George!”

The call had come in from Harry
Sylvia, a guard at the Johns-Manville
plant on the south edge of town. He
said he had seen a blue Plymouth weav-
ing down the highway with two men in
it, apparently fighting.

The car stopped a short distance be-
yond the plant. One of the men had
been pushed out of the car and the
other jumped out and stood over him
with a gun.

“He says the guy pumped two shots
into the fellow lying on the ground and
sped away.”

“Did he say it was George?” Gari-
botto cried.

“Is he dead?’’ Mackey asked.

Berg answered: ‘He doesn’t know.”

A number of things happened then,
almost simultaneously.

Berg called for an ambulance.

Mackey, with Sergeants Lewis Gibson
and Lee Dorwart, raced out of the
building to their car and sped to the
scene.

Garibotto ran to the radio room, He
put out an alert to all police cars and
law-enforcement agencies in the area,
reporting that a police officer had been
shot and the criminal was escaping in a
1960 blue Plymouth sedan with a city
police licens® number.

The alert reached Captain Densil
Troute at the Stanislaus County
sheriff’s office. He ordered every avail-
able sheriff's car to cover the highway
between Stockton and Modesto, 25
miles to the south.

The highway is crossed at Manteca
by the -east-west highway between
Yosemite National Park and Oakland.
Continuing south, it goes on to Modesto.

The California state highway police
picked up the alert and relayed it to all
their men, with orders to form a block-
ade of the roads surrounding Stockton.

State Police Officers C. Campoy,
G. Risenhoover and T. Towle, all on
motorcycles, met south of Manteca.
They put their motor bikes across High-
way 99 to form a blockade to stop all
traffic.

Mackey reached Garibotto on the
radio.

“It was George,” he said sadly.

“How is he?”

“Dead. It looks like he was shot once
in the head and twice in the back.”

A growl rumbled in Garibotto’s
throat. He knew Woehrle’s wife and
his two children. ‘What a crazy,
senseless thing for the guy to do,” he
said agonizingly. “If he had just come
in, probably the most he would have
gotten is an order to pay child support.
Now, he’s in real trouble.”

Berg had looked into Carter's back-
ground. The young man had applied to
join the Stockton police force, as his
mother had said. He had passed all the
tests and had been placed eighteenth
on the waiting list. What had changed
him?

With flares out to slow all cars hend-
ing south on Highway 99, Officers
Campoy Risenhoover and Towle saw a
car coming at high speed. It did not
slacken at the flares. It pulled out into
the center lane and whizzed by the
officers.

“That’s it!"’ Risenhoover cried.

The state officers jumped on their

motorcycles and roared off in pursuit.

Campoy radioed headquarters. ‘‘The
guy is really flying,”’ he shouted into the
microphone. “We're heading into Mo-
desto.”

The office of Chief of Police George
Bowers in Modesto already had been
alerted on the shooting of Officer
Woehrle in Stockton. A new warning
told them the suspect was headed there
at high speed.

Campoy, Risenhoover and Towle
pushed their motor bikes to the limit.
Sirens screamed and red lights flashed
as the blue car and the pursuing offi-
cers weaved their way through the
heavy traffic on the main Sacramento
Valley thoroughfare. Fortunately, it is
an expressway with a divider strip.

The officers had no opportunity to
use their guns. It took all of their skill
to stay on the motorcycles that were
nearly floating at high speed. The
slightest bump sent them soaring com-
pletely off the ground.

They knew it would be dangerous and
useless to shoot at the fleeing car, for
fear it would careen wildly, cross the
divider and smash into on-coming traf-
fic. All they could do was stick with the
quarry, like greyhounds chasing a me-
chanical rabbit at a race track.

As they reached the outskirts of Mo-
desto, the three screaming motorcycles
had almost caught up with the car.

HE car braked suddenly, sloughed

into a rocking skid, as the driver
pulled at the wheel to make a right turn
off the highway. For a moment, the car
balanced precariously on two wheels,
then righted itself.

The patrolmen in hot chase were un-
able to slow their bikes enough to make
the turn. They braked hard and swung
at the next corner.

Gunning the motors, they came up
the street and made another sweeping
ooo at the next corner to pick up the
trail.

The car had also turned.

They were facing each other.

Bikes .went skidding as Campoy,
Risenhoover and Towle slammed to a
stop and leaped off with guns in hand.

Shots roared.

The driver shot back at them, hold-
ing his gun outside the windshield.
Ducking behind the wheel to avoid
being hit, the driver attempted another
turn. He missed the corner and drove
into the driveway of a house. He braked

the car to a grinding halt only inches
away from the garage.

The sudden stop flooded the carbure-
tor. The starter ground but the motor
would not catch. Campoy, Risenhoover
and Towle came running down the
street on foot.

The man in the car jumped out, gun
in hand, and raced into the house. In-
side were Mr. and Mrs. Harry Gorman.
Jr., their two children, Brian, 20
months, and Jenifer, three. and Mrs
Howard Chenault.

Mrs. Gorman and Jenifer were in the
kitchen. The wild-eyed gunman raced
past her and looked into the front
room where the others were.

Gorman picked up his infant son and,
with Mrs. Chenault, raced out the front
door.

The gunman went back to the
kitchen. Waving the revolver men-
acingly at Mrs. Gorman, he shouted:

“You be quiet and you won't get
hurt!”

Mrs. Gorman snatched Jenifer to her
and stood terrified as the gunman
strode to the kitchen window. He
could see the patrolmen coming up.

The window smashed as he opened
fire on them.

As the patrolmen took cover to re-
turn the gunfire, Gorman shouted to
them: “Don't shoot! My wife and
daughter are in there!”

Campoy called out: “Come out of
there with your hands up! We have
you surrounded. Come out with your
hands up!”

A shot was the answer.

“Get the office on the radio,”’ Risen-
hoover told Towle. “We're going to
need help.”

The radio call alerted not only the
state highway police but also the Mo-
desto police and the sheriff's office.

Chief Bowers dispatched every avail-
able man to the scene and, with Detec-
tive Leland Murphy, went out to take
charge himself.

Inside the house, as the gunman was
occupied shooting from the window at
the officers, Mrs. Gorman sneaked out
of the kitchen with Jenifer and into
the bathroom. Locking the door, she
and her small daughter huddled in the
shower stall.

Sirens filled the air with a deafening
scream as police cars roared into the
quiet neighborhood from all directions.

“He’s still in there,” Risenhoover
reported to Bowers as soon as he ar-

"Please don't let them hurt my son!" a mother

begged. "He's a good boy!" But the youth
had kidnaped a policeman at gunpoint and—

Left, kindhearted Officer Woehrle; above, one of
the passersby who witnessed his heartless execution

rived. “He has taken a couple of shots
at us, but he’s quiet now.”

“Get everybody away from here.”
Bowers directed his men. “There's no
telling who he might shoot.”

“What about my wife and daughter?”
Gorman asked.

“We'll do the best we can to see that
they aren’t harmec.”

“Who is the man? What did he do?”
Gorman asked.

“We believe he killed a police officer
in Stockton.”

Gorman let out a gasp as if the wind
had been knocked out of him. His wife
and daughter were inside the house
with a suspected killer!

“Let me go up and talk to him,” Gor-
man pleaded.

“Please stay back.” Bowers re-
quested. “We'll do everything we can
to get your wife and daughter out of
there.”

Bowers directed his men to evacuate
all of the nearby homes. “The guy
must have gone off his rocker. If he
tries to break out of there, there may
be some wild shooting.”

WIth the house ringed with police

officers and the ring bristling with
guns, there was little chance for the
killer to escape. Police cars choked the
Street. Officers crouched behind the
cars, watching for any sign of move-
ment from the house

“Suppose he uses the woman and the
little girl for hostages?”” Murphy sug-
gested to Bowers.

“I've thought of that,” Bowers said

“What will we do?”

“Let’s see what kind of a play he
makes. Right now, I want to keep things
as quiet as I can so we don’t shake
him into anything desperate.”

Word reached Garibotto that Carter
was surrounded in Modesto. He and hi:
men left immediately to join the other
officers at the scene.

Inside the house, Carter stalked from
room to room. The officers on the out-
side could see him peering from the
windows.

“Maybe we could take him with a
rifle,” one officer suggested.

Bowers vetoed the idea. As long as
Mrs. Gorman and her daughter were
inside the house there would be no
shooting.

“Has anyone seen the woman and the
little girl?” Bowers asked
‘Continued on page 46

CARTER, Elbert Lyndon, bl, agphyx CA (San Joaquin) 1/17/1962

Were both mother and daughter to

become helpless

hostages of the

desperate Stockton, Calif., cop killer?

boy,”’ the woman’s voice pleaded
over the telephone.

Policewoman P. W. Hooper took the
‘all at headquarters in Stockton, Cali-
fornia, at 11:45 on Friday morning,
April 22, 1960. Desk Sergeant Berg had
channeled the report to the juvenile
ision
Who is calling?” Mrs. Hooper asked.

‘This is Elbert Carter’s mother.”

Policewoman Hooper recognized the
name. Earlier in the morning Officer
George J. Woehrle. in charge of the
juvenile division, had left the office with
: rant for Elbert Carter's arrest.
Carter was a 23-year-old youth who had
Deen charged with statutory rape by the
district attorney's office. The complaint
had been filed by a sixteen-year-old gir]
who had given birth to a child she
claimed had been fathered by Carter.

“Den't worry. Mrs. Carter.” Police-
woman Hooper assured the mother.
“You're son won't be hurt. He'll only
de held for a hearing and——"

“You don’t understand.” Mrs. Carter
interrupted. “Elbert took the police-
man’s gun.”

“He took the officer's gun?”

“Yes:”

“Where is Officer Woehrle?”

I don't know. Elbert went away with
him in his car."

Dont hang up!” Policewoman
Hooper cried. “Wait and I'll have some-
ne else talk to you.”

She rushed into the office of Captain
of Detectives Mervin Garibotto, who
was In Charge of the department while
Chief of Police Jack O’Keefe was away
on a few days’ vacation.

as ete don't let them hurt my

“This guy took George's gun and kid-
naped him?" Garibotto asked, as Mrs.
Hooper told him of the call.

“That's what she said. She’s still on
the line.”

Garibotto took the call.

He learned from Mrs. Carter that Of-
ficer Woehrle had gone to the house
with the warrant. Elbert had been
working on his car at the time. He was
in old clothes and dirty.

The youth asked if he could wash up
and change his clothes before going to
jail. Because the arrest was almost a
routine matter, Woehrle agreed.

Carter went into the bathroom, while
Woehrle stayed in the living room with
the youth’s mother. He explained to
her that her son would be taken to
court. The likely consequence, if the
judge found him guilty, would be an
order to pay child’ support.

After changing his clothes, Carter
came out of a bedroom. He was in the
act of slipping into a jacket as he faced
Woehrle; his hand popped out of the
sleeve of the jacket holding a .22 pistol.

“Drop your gun and your gun belt!”
Carter ordered.

“Look, son, you're making a mistake.”

“You do like I tell you. I want your
car.”

Mrs. Carter cried: “Elbert, the officer
says ag

“You stay out of this!” The youth
cut off his mother’s words.

Woehrle obeyed the command. Car-
ter picked up the officer’s gun and
thrust it into his waistband. He
marched Woehrle out of the house.

Mrs. Carter saw them get into the
police car.

The windshield of the stolen police car was riddled by bullets

but the driver escaped. Officer Loren Southerland is at right

By Tom Walters

Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

= Saeeeaieietsomineewcntare eT RIRRRIIT Daa

‘‘My Family MUST Come Out Alive!’ = (from page 27)

The question went around the circle
of officers surrounding the house. No
one had caught a glimpse of Mrs. Gor-
man and her daughter through any of
the windows.

Bowers ordered a “bull horn” to be
sent out from headquarters so he could
talk to Carter.

Inside the house, Mrs. Gorman still
huddled in the shower stall in the bath-
room. Somehow, the closeness of it
seemed to add protection.

She could hear the voices of the of-
ficers outside the house. The gunman
had made no attempt to talk to her
or to force the locked bathroom door.

Outside the house, the tense drama
was being played against a sunny sky.
After the wail of the sirens had died
away, the residential neighborhood had
settled down to an eerie quiet.

Even the officers talked in whispers.
The only movement near the house was
when an officer would scurry from the
protection of one car to another.

How long could they wait?

How long before a demand came from
the house?

ROWERS was faced with the problem
of trying to anticipate and set up’a
defensive action against any move that
Carter might make.

“Chances are, he’ll ask for a car and
use the woman and little girl as hos-
tages to break through our lines,” he
reasoned.

“Do we give it to him?” Murphy
asked.

“Not unless we're forced to,” Bowers
said. “I think as long as the woman
and the girl are in the house they’ll
be safe. Have you passed word that no
one is to shoot?”

“T’'ve told everyone.”

“Make sure they understand it,””
Bowers said firmly. ‘‘No matter what
happens, nobody is to do any shooting.
Even if they get a clear view of the
man, nobody is to shoot.”

As long as Mrs. Gorman and her
daughter were captives and in jeop-
ardy Bowers was determined there
would be no gunplay.

“The officer in Stockton is dead and
there’s no way to bring him back,”
Bowers pointed out. “We'll get the killer
eventually. Our only problem now is to
get that woman and little girl out with-
out their being harmed.” -

Actually only about fifteen minutes
had passed since the fugitive ran into
the house with his gun waving, as he
was pursued by the patrolmen. But to
the participants in the tense drama it
seemed like hours.

“Can’t you just let the man go and
catch him later?” Gorman asked a
police officer. “What difference does
it make? My family must come out
alive.”

The officer explained that even if
they made the offer, it was unlikely
Carter would believe it. He knew the
house was surrounded.

“Tf he’s killed one man already, who-
ever else he kills won’t make any differ-
ence. We have to figure out some way
to get him to surrender or force him
into a position where we can get at

The bull horn arrived from head-
quarters.

“Carter!” Bowers called over the
loudspeaker. “This is Bowers. Iam chief
of police. If you'll come out with your
hands over your head you won't be
hurt.”

No answer came from the house.

“Carter, you know we have the house
surrounded. There is no way for you
to get out unless you surrender.”

Still no answer.

The silence following the loud voice
on the bull horn seemed even more
still and chilling than previously.

Then a school bus, filled with kinder-
garten youngsters on their way home
from school, rolled down the-street.

“Stop that bus!” Bowers shouted.

The bus was: stopped a block away
from where the grim police officers
ringed the house with the killer and cap-
tives in it. There was a scurry on the
street as anxious mothers raced to the
school bus, snatched up their young-
sters and ran with them to their homes.
Within a few minutes the street again
was filled only with police cars and
police officers. :

Officer Don Watson came up to Bow-
ers. He reported: “We just heard from
Stockton. The fellow in there has
passed an examination to be a police-
man. They say he must have gone crazy
to kill that officer. There was no reason
for it at all.”

Bowers once again used the bull
horn.

“Carter, I know you can hear me. I
know you took an examination to be
a police officer so you know the job
we have to do. Play it smart, Carter.
Leave your gun inside and come out
with your hands up.”

No answer.

“There he is!” someone cried.

Carter had peered momentarily from
a window.

“Take a good look, Carter,” Bowers
invited. ‘Nobody is going to shoot at
you. Take a good look and see how
many men are out here. The jig is up
and you know it.”

Inside the house, still huddled in
the shower stall in the bathroom, Mrs.
Gorman could hear the voice of Bowers
on the loudspeaker.

She knew that across the hallway
from the bathroom, in the bedroom,
her husband kept a revolver in the
drawer of a dresser. Courageously, she
reasoned that if she could get the gun,
she: at least would have a chance of
protecting herself and her daughter.

“Lie right down on the floor, baby,
and don’t you move,” Mrs. Gorman told
Jenifer.

“Why, Mommy?” Jenifer. asked.

“You just do what Mommy tells you.”

“Where is Daddy?”

“Daddy is all right. Now, you just do
what Mommy tells you,” Mrs. Gorman
whispered. “You lie down on the floor
in the shower and don’t you move.”

“Why did that man come into our
house?” Jenifer asked.

. Every time a policeman answers:a routine call he kno
officers pay their last respects to George Woehrle,

“Baby, don’t ask questions,” Mrs.
Gorman pleaded. ‘You just do what
Mommy tells you to do.”

With Jenifer on the floor in the
shower stall, Mrs. Gorman stepped out.
Gingerly, she put her hand on the knob
of the door. Slowly, and as quietly as
possible, she turned the latch to unlock
the door.

Then... slowly ... she turned the
knob and pulled the door open. She
took a step out into the hallway.

The gunman saw her from the
kitchen.

ITHOUT speaking, he waved the

gun at her. Mrs. Gorman jumped

back into the bathroom. Hurriedly, she
snapped the lock.

“Why are we hiding in here, Mom-
my?” Jenifer asked.

“It is a game, Baby.”

-“T don’t want to play the game. I
want my lunch and I want to see
Daddy.”

“We will play the game a little longer,
Honey,” Mrs. Gorman said. “You help
Mommy play the game and we’ll hide in
here yntil somebody finds us.”

Outside the house, the minutes ticked
away slowly.

And slowest by far for Gorman, who
could do nothing except watch the
house helplessly and wait.

What was going on inside?

What had happened to his wife and
daughter?

Chief Bowers and his men were ask-
ing the same questions. Why hadn't
Carter made some kind of move? What
was he planning to do?

“J thought by now he would insist
that we give him a car,” Bowers said.
“He must know he is holding all of the
aces with the woman and little girl as
his hostages.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for it to get
dark.”
“That will be hours.”

“He doesn’t have to hurry. He knows
we aren't going in there after him as
long as he has the woman and the little
girl.”

But why hadn't Carter made a de-
mand?

“There’s no way he can get out?”
Bowers asked Murphy for reassurance.

“Absolutely not a way,” Murphy said

‘

ws he may be facing sudden death. Here fellow
slain by a man who wanted to join their ranks

positively. ‘The men are almost shoul-
der to shoulder all the way around the
house. And it’s all in the open so we
have a clear view of it.”

Bowers asked for the bul] horn again.

“Carter!"’ The suddenness of the loud
sound was almost like a shot. Tense
men, crouched behind cars and the sur-
rounding houses, jumped at the sound.
“Carter, this is your last chance.”

Bowers spaced his words and waited
for the effective pause to heighten the
threat.

“Carter, unless you come out, we're
going to use tear gas. You know what
that’s like. Just come out the front door
with your hands held high over your
head and I promise you that there will
be no shooting.”

Gorman asked about the tear gas.
What would it do to his wife and daugh-
ter who were in the house with the
killer?

“We aren’t going to use it, yet,”” Bow-
ers said. “We're just using it as a
threat.”

“What will happen if you do use it?”

Bowers answered truthfully. “It prob-
ably will make them sick. It isn't harm-
ful, but it can make you pretty sick for
a day or two if you inhale enough of it.”

“Isn't there any other way?”

“We're doing everything the best way
we know how.”

Mrs. Gorman could hear Bowers’
threat of the tear gas. She knew only
what she had read about it. But she
couldn’t recall at the moment exactly
what she had read.

Did tear gas settle on the floor, or
did it rise? Would it be best if they
stayed on the floor, or possibly stood on
something to get as high above it as
possible?

Maybe wet towels would help. If she
covered Jenifer’s and her own faces
with wet towels, maybe they wouldn't
breathe in too much of the gas. But
was. water the right thing to use? May-
be it would be better if the towels were
dry.

“Mommy, who is that man talking
loud?” Jenifer asked.

“It is just a man.”

“Why is he talking loud?’”

Mrs. Gorman could find no answer.
How could she tell her three-year-old
daughter that a man was in the kitchen
with a gun? That the house was sur-
rounded by police officers? That any
moment there might be shots?

“How Jong do we have to stay here,
Mommy?”

... police find the fugitive criminal named
and described on the exciting and factual
"True Detective Mysteries" radio program
every Sunday afternoon.

said, while Welch lay down on the back
seat to nap. He drove across the border to
Tijuana and parked behind a restaurant.
Welch stayed in the car while Cavanaugh
went inside to get some fried chicken.
“When I came back, there was Welch
lying dead in the back seat, naked and cov-
ered with blood. He’d been beaten and
stabbed. His wallet was on the floor, turned
out. Some tramp must have come along
while I was gone and killed him for his
clothes and money.

“T realized I was in a spot. Who'd believe
me, with my record? I drove around a
while.’ Finally I decided I'd better just
take over Welch’s ID and put distance be-
hind me. I shoved the body in the trunk
and drove back to the U.S. I went to see
my wife, then I headed up through Es-
condido and east on Route 66.”

Still debating what to do, whether or not
to give himself up, he said, he drove
through Arizona, pawning his new wrist
watch at Kingman and spending a night in
a motel. By Sunday the odor of the body

‘in the trunk was so bad that he was afraid

to park on the street. He decided he had
to get rid of it. He turned off the highway
in the desert some nine miles west of Al-
buquerque, New Mexico, found a deserted
spot on a windswept mesa and scooped out
a shallow grave.

“I put my coat over him, then some tum-
bleweeds for flowers, and I knelt and said
a prayer for him—and for myself,” Cava-
naugh said. ;

Then, he said, he drove into Albuquerque
and looked up a priest, with the idea of
confessing to him. But he changed his mind
and instead borrowed $20 from the priest
with a hard-luck story about driving east
to Columbia and- running out of funds.
From there he went on to Colorado

Springs and Denver. He told of meeting

and drinking with Jack Jones. Then, it

seemed, exactly the same thing happened

as in the case of Welch. Leaving Jones,

who wasn’t feeling well, in the car while

he went into a restaurant, he came out to

find him beaten and robbed. He took Jones

to the hospital, and ran when the police

tried to question him, because he knew he
wouldn’t be believed.

That was Curly Cavanaugh’s amazing
statement. The doctor and detectives,
knowing the subject had been fully con-
scious, had to admit it was a work of art, a
tremendously clever blend of fact and fic-
tion. They believed Cavanaugh had told
the exact truth of all verifiable incidents
except the actual murder of Welch and
the attack on Jones—of which he, himself,
of course, was the only witness. And Flor
was convinced that Cavanaugh had cannily
placed the Welch slaying in Mexico in
order, if he should be brought to trial for
it, to take advantage of more easy-going
justice south of the border, where there is
no death penalty for murder.

drew a rough map of where he had aban-

: When Cavanaugh shortly “came to,” his
memory was “restored.” He remembered
| a A all he had said during the test and even

... is offered for information leading to
the arrest of any one of these criminals.
Hear details about this $1 000.00 reward

‘on "True Detective Mysteries.”

doned the body. Flor thanked him for his
cooperation, and the big man grinned.
Flor called the Bernalillo County sheriff's
office at Albuquerque, and Undersheriff
Walter Geis immediately organized a
search party and went out to look for the
desert grave. They found it just as Cava-
naugh had said. The body was blackened
and ravaged by the elements, but it could

TRUE DETECTIVE : MYSTERIES be seen that the ex-Marine had been fear-
fully hacked and mutilated, as though at-

Every Sunday Afternoon on Mutual Stations

tacked in sadistic frenzy.’ Geis took prints
of ‘wo fingers and rushed them to Wash-

ington for checking against Welch’s Marine
Cor record. Word came back imme-
dix’ vy. The body definitely was that of
Ra Welch.

(
[ee
juan:
found
Bord
tainly
flashy
made
killed
—prol
way
where
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Whe
told Cz
giant ;
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and we
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while :¢
Quesi
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said du
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county
the pri
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tendenc
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pletely
Cavan

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guilty b:

charges.

before &
was swi!
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been in ;
remembe

With t)
him, on
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announce:
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mear
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“yy,
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Then, i:
presence
newspaper
tated a ser
slaying.

“I remer
with a wr
cafe in Ch
Tijuana fo
didn’t wan:
my wife anc

lean girls j
dancing to
drove to ;
chicken. J]
out in the

When he
found the t:
girls holdi:
down while
her,

“I don’t
declared vir
stop—he w
afraid he’d
battle-lamp
him over ti
of blew my
member a
knife I’d ju;

The girls
never did ¢
drove down
a lonely spc
trunk, _ first
clothes. Th«
shower of a:

“Not yet!” said Officer Bender,
grabbing him by an arm. ‘We want a
look at your car, for one thing.”

“You’re arresting me?” demanded
Welch, belligerently.

“You can take it that way,” replied
Bender, tightening his hold. “I think
maybe the detectives might want to talk
to you!”

“It’s an outrage!” stormed Welch.
“Great way to treat a tourist doing a
good deed. I should have never brought
the bird in.”

TILL ranting, Welch was led to the
police car and put in the back seat.
Patrolman Alexander climbed in the
back seat with him.
“Now, where’s your car?” __
“Around the hospital, at the ambu-
lance entrance,” said Welch, sourly. “I

_ know my civil rights. Somebody will

sweat for this!”

The patrolmen drove to the ambu-
lance entrance where they spotted a
green convertible with an Arizona
license.

Slipping from behind the wheel,
Officer Bender went over to the coupe,
opened the door and flashed his light
inside.

“You’re not going to search my car!”
shouted Welch, suddenly, and he took
a great, flying leap from the police car.
But he didn’t run toward the coupe. He
bolted in the opposite direction.

“Stop or we'll shoot!” shouted
Bender.

But Welch ran all the faster. He ran
north a block to Twentieth Avenue,
then west to Pennsylvania, then south
again—with both patrolmen in breath-
less pursuit, firing at his legs.

. Denver police had to handcuff the "Good Samaritan"
before they could give him first aid for his wound

Suddenly Welch started to limp.
Then he went down in a heap. Officer
Alexander reached him first and noticed

* that he was holding a brown leather

wallet in his right hand. His right arm
was outstretched, as if he had been
about to toss away the wallet.

“You dirty rats!” cried Welch, be-
tween groans. “You shot me! I’ll—”

“You take it easy,” advised Bender,
frisking him.

Alexander ran back to the patrol car
and called over the air for an ambu-
lance and a detective team.

Officer C. E. Myers, from Car. 21’s
substation, came in answer to the call
as did Detectives Golden and Rice,
O’Brien and Hindes. An ambulance
crew started to give him first aid for a
bullet wound in the thigh but he fought
and it was necedsary for the officers to
handcuff him.

About $180 was found in his pockets,
plus a check book with the name Jack
P. Jones. A closer examination of the
wallet disclosed more papers in the
name of Ralph Robert Welch.

He was taken to Denver General Hos-
pital and Patrolman Myers was ordered
to drive his coupe to Headquarters. En
route Myers got stuck in a mud hole.
He looked to see if there might be a
shovel behind the seat and found a car
jack on the floor.

I wonder why that isn’t in the trunk,
Myers thought to himself.

He opened the trunk, jumped back
with an exclamation. .

A terrific odor enveloped him—the
telltale odor of decayed human flesh.
Myers saw several big, red stains that
he figured were blood and a quantity of
gravel was in the trunk.

Myers slammed the lid down with a
shudder.

He ran back to Car No. 21, which had
been following him at a distance, and
informed Headquarters of his discovery.

Lieutenant James Shumate, chief of
the Denver Police Department Crime
Laboratory, was called out of bed and
rushed to the police garage. The Lieu-
tenant went over the car minutely,
taking 35-millimeter color photos as he
went, In an hour he announced:

“This car recently carried a decom-
posed human body. I’ve got. blood

*samples, human hairs, possible pieces

of human flesh and fibers. The strong
stench is unmistakably the scent of de-
cayed human flesh.”

Mewes. at Headquarters, Cap-
tain William E. Flor, one of the
aces of the Denver Police Department’s
Detective Bureau, had taken charge.
On his orders finger-print men went to
Denver General Hospital to get Welch’s
prints. But he put up a battle. How-
ever, after a doctor administered a
sedative, the prints were taken, rushed
off immediately to the Federal Bureau

of Investigation lab in Washington. At:

the same time Lieutenant Shumate sent
his _ from the convertible’s
trunk,

The night was still young and Ca
tain Flor had a lotto do. In looki
over the contents of the wallet that t
wounded man had been attempting
throw away when shot, Flor saw
description on a United States Mari
discharge and again on -an Arizo
driver’s license, that certainly did n
fit the big fellow in Denver Gener
The papers described Welch as 32 yee
old, five feet six inches tall, 146 poun
black wavy hair and hazel eyes. T
man in the hospital was more.than :
feet and easily 200 pounds.

Among the papers was an insuran
company identification card and alsc
crumpled telegram: “Ralph R. Wek
Will Call, Colorado Springs, Colo. He
is the money you asked for. Josephin:
» Obviously, Captain Flor conclud
the man in Denver General was n
Welch. But the person whose body h
been in the trunk of the car could ha
been the man from Tucson.

“The real Welch may have got as {
as Colorado Springs from Arizona,” ¢
clared Captain Flor, after calling in }
team of crack homicide men, Detecti\
Joe Holindrake and Tom O’Neill. “)
may have been bumped off there a
carried in the trunk to somewhere t
tween Colorado Springs and Denver. «
the body may have been dumped
Denver. In this weather decompositi
would be fast, anyway.

“It’s your baby, boys,” he told the
“We gotta crack that big bruiser at t
hospital, that’s for sure. And we a)
have to investigate that fellow Jon
He probably could tell us an earful!”

But the detectives still had no luck
the hospital. The big fellow, comi
out of his induced sleep, yelled at the:

4 the back
e border to
restaurant.
Cavanaugh
chicken.

was Welch
ed and cov-
beaten and
loor, turned
come along
him for his

no’d believe
e around a
better just
distance be-
n the trunk
went to see
through Es-

‘ether or not
he drove

s new wrist
ng a night in
of the body
ie was afraid
cided he had
the highway
; west of Al-
rd a deserted
4 scooped out

en some tum-
snelt and said
ryself,” Cava-

) Albuquerque
th the idea of
anged his mind
rom the priest
it driving east
ut of funds.
+4 Colorado
of meeting
; Then, it
sali 4 happened
Leaving Jones,
, the car while
he came out to
_ He took Jones
‘hen the police
use he knew he

augh’s amazing
en detectives,
been fully con-
a work of art, a
| of fact and fic-
maugh had told
tifiable incidents
, of Welch and
‘hich he, himself,
‘itness. And Flor
augh had cannily
ig in Mexico in
ought to trial for
more easy-going
or, where there 1s
irder. his
“came to,”
Tee comaimnared
the test and even
nere he had aban-
tanked him for his
s man grinned.
ounty sheriff's
oa Undersheriff
tely organized a
out to look for the
nd it just as Cava~-
ody was blackened
rents, but it could
ine had been fear-

ted, as though at-

Geis took prints
od them to Wash-
vat Weleh’s Marine
ame back iwmme-
nitely was that of

California and Colorado authorities co-
operated in tracing Cavanaugh’s gruesome
trek across Arizona and New Mexico. Ti-
juana police made an investigation, but
found nothing to confirm his fantastic tale.
Border guards said they would almost cer-
tainly have examined the trunk of the
flashy convertible. And the time element
made it most likely that Welch had been
killed on the American side of the border
‘—probably in the Otay River Valléy half-
way between Chula Vista and Tijuana,
where there are extensive groves of eu-
calyptus.

When Flor dropped the kid gloves and
told Cavanaugh he knew he was a liar, the
giant prisoner smilingly reverted to his
blackout story. He: waived extradition
and was returned to the San Diego County
jail to face the check forgery charges,
while the murder investigation continued.

Questioned repeatedly, Cavanaugh bland-
ly insisted that he recalled nothing he had
said during the fake serum test in Den-
ver. Like Flor, Dr. Carl E. Lengyel,
county psychiatrist, was convinced that
the prisoner was faking; that while he.
actually might have certain epileptoid
tendencies, he was perfectly sane, a typi-
cal criminal psychopath, a pathological
liar, a man of high intelligence but com-
pletely without conscience. ‘

Cavanaugh retained an attorney and en-
tered a double plea of not guilty and not
guilty hy reason of insanity to the check
charges. Brought to trial November 16th
before Superior Judge Dean Sherry, he
was swiftly found guilty. He dismissed
his attorney and undertook his own de-
fense on the insanity plea, claiming he had
been in a complete blackout and couldn’t
remember passing the checks.

With the trial obviously going against
him, on November 19th Cavanaugh sud-
denly interrupted the proceedings with an
announcement that he was ready to tell
the truth about Welch. When Judge
Sherry warned him that a confession might
mean the death penalty, the blond giant

shrugged.

“Td rather die for something I know
about, than to go to prison for something
I don’t remember,” he gaid.

Then, in the judge’s chambers, in the
presence of District Attorney Don Keller,
newspapermen and a stenographer, he dic-
tated a sensational new version of Welch’s
slaying. . :

“I. remember it, all right,” he declared
with a wry grin. “Welch and I left that
cafe in Chula Vista and degided to go to
Tijuana for some women. That’s why I
didn’t want to tell the truth, on account of
my wife and Welch’s wife. We met two Mex-
ican girls in’a bar there and took them
dancing to the Aloha Club. After that we
drove to a restaurant for some broiled
chicken. I went in to get it, and left Welch
out in the car with the two girls.”

When he came back, Cavanaugh said, he
found the trio in the back seat, one of the
girls holding her protesting companion

down while Welch forced his attentions on
her.

“I don’t go for that sort of thing,” he
declared virtuously. “When Welch wouldn’t
stop—he was like a wild man and I was
afraid he’d hurt this girl—I grabbed up a
battle-lamp that was in the car and beat
him over the head with it. I guess I sort
of blew my cookie, I was so mad. I re-
member I stabbed him with a souvenir
knife I’d just bought from a peddler.”

The girls fled during the fight and he
never did vet their names, he said. Te

drove down the Ensenada road, stopped at
a lonely spot and stuffed the body in the
trunk, first removing = Welch’s bloody
clothes. These, he said, he left in the
shower of an auto court, near the big ‘Vi-

juana jai-alai center,
briefly to clean up. ‘

That , was_ his story. The authorities
were positive it was a desperate fabri-
cation, designed to take advantage of
easier Mexican justice. Obviously it
would have been impossible to pack all
these activities in the hour and three
quarters between the time he left Chula

Vista with Welch and his appearance alone
in National City.

Nevertheless Chief Ramon Mendoza of
the Tijuana detective bureau duly made
another check. He reported there was ab-
solutely nothing to substantiate the story.
No bloody clothes were found, nor was
there any gossip among the tavern girls of
any such fight. District Attorney Keller
was sure the murder had taken Place in
the Otay Valley and that its motive was
robbery.

Cavanaugh withdrew his insanity plea,
and on December Ist Judge Sherry sen-
tenced him to a total of 3 to 42 years in
prison on three forgery counts. On the
same day, their case complete, the Chula
Vista police swore out a complaint charg-
ing Cavanaugh with the murder of Welch.

The burly and now morose prisoner
still insisted the killing had been justified
and had taken place in Mexico. But he
was due for a rude shock. At his prelim-
inary hearing, the D.A. sprang a surprise
witness—a man who had been Cavanaugh’s
cellmate for some weeks in the county
jail. .

This man testified that Cavanaugh had
sought his help, drawing on his intimate
knowledge of Tijuana in framing details of
the phony confession. The big fellow told
his cellmate he hoped to get off with a two-
or three-year term at the hands of the
lenient Mexican authorities.

Municipal Judge Phil Smith held the
glowering’ giant for trial on the murder
charge, to which he again entered a double
plea. Sheriff Strand, feeling that Cava-
naugh was an extremely dangerous and
unpredictable man, transferred him to the
men’s prison at Chino for safekeeping.

When he finally came to trial in April
before Superior Judge C. M. Monroe, Curly
Cavanaugh reverted to his Denver “black-
out” story of finding Welch slain behind
the Tijuana restaurant. He said he had
made his false confession only to relieve
his distracted wife from further police

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questioning. His court-appointed attor-
ney contended there was no evidence that
Welch was killed in San Diego County, and
also challenged identification of the body
found in New Mexico.

But Deputy District Attorney William B.
Enright marshaled an ironclad case, call-
ing Cavanaugh “one of the most dangerous
men alive,” and on April 8th, 1954, the jury
of eight women and four men found the
blond giant guilty of first-degree murder,
without recommendation.

The next day he went to trial before
the same jury on his insanity plea, repeat-
ing his claim of blackout from Patton to
Denver. Dr. Lengyel and two other psy-
chiatrists testified that in their opinion
Cavanaugh was legally sane, highly intel-
ligent, but a confirmed liar. “A defense
neurologist, while maintaining that Curly
suffered from psychic epilepsy, admitted
it was unlikely that he would be able to
write and pass checks, plan an intelligent:
flight across four states and invent detailed
stories while in a confused or amnesic con-
dition.

After brief deliberation the jury found
Michael Timothy Cavanaugh sane, and
finally, on April 30th, 1954, Judge Monroe
sentenced the husky blond killer to die in
the state's dethal gas chamber. He was
taken to San Quentin’s Death Row, where

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The Good

amaritan

Then They Shot

The man who had two names, two
heights, two different weights

‘

Like a Good Samaritan, He'd Brought
The Injured Stranger to the Denver,
Colo., Hospital. But Then, When the
Police Questioned Him, He Ran.- And
When They Looked in His Car. Trunk—

By Ray Humphreys
Chief Investigator
Denver District Attorney’s Office

Jack Jones: He couldn't remember .
the action after the cars bumped

internal injuries,” Doctor Shearer told

the patrolmen. “We don’t make a

policy of handling such cases; he should

e to Denver General Hospital, we be-
eve.

cal attention and so I brought him
my figuring I was doing a humane
ac n,

“What street did you find him on?”

After assisting the ambulance crew
with the stretcher Officers Bender and
Alexander turned again to Welch, just
in time to see him apparently swallow-

Hospital—Code Thirty-Four.”

Patrolmen J. H. Bender and
B. J. Alexander, in Denver Colorado,
Police Car No. 21, were only a few blocks

ee C* Twenty-One—Saint Luke’s

away from the big hospital the Wednes- -*
day evening of July 29, 1953, when the
call came through. They switched on
the red lights and sped to the hospital. -
Code No. 34 means “obtain hospital re-
port.” Usually such calls involve in-
vestigating traffic or other accidental
injury cases brought into the hospital

by private physicians or citizens. They’ k

were rather routine.
But this one— -
Doctor Robert J. Shearer and Nurse
M. Wittig, of the emergency-room staff,
- met the officers.

’__ “We have a man here covered with
blood, unconscious, with multiple face -
lacerations, a badly swollen and possibly
broken left hand and maybe additional

20.8 ee

“Who brought him in?” asked
“A fellow in the waiting room. He
said his name is Ralph Robert Welch.”
The officers stepped in and saw a
young man—a husky fellow, over six
feet tall and 200 pounds, a blond—
nervously fingering a set of automobile
eys.
“You're Mister Welch?” asked Patrol-
man Alexander.

“Correct.”

“Who is this man you brought in to
the hospital?”

“Search me,” replied Welch, shrug-
ging. “I don’t know him. I saw him
lying in the street, got out of my car and
looked at him and saw he needed medi-

‘Bender.

“I don’t know.: I’m a stranger in
town; I’m driving East to attend Co-
lumbia University in New York,”
answered the big man.

Meantime a call had been sent in for
& police ambulance to remove the in-
jured man to Denver General Hospital.

“How did you find this hospital,
Mister Welch?” continued Officer
Bender, making notes.

“I asked a kid and he directed me.”

The ambulance arrived and the un-
conscious man was loaded in. A hospital
attendant then told the officers that

they had found a card on him appar- -
ently identifying him as one Jack P.
Jones. He had no billfold on him and
no money. His pockets were turned in-
side out. :

ing something he had crammed into his
mouth.

“What have you got there?” asked
Bender, suspicious.

“Nothing,” said Welch, finally. “Are
you through with me?” .

“Not quite. Let’s see your identifica-
tion papers.”

Welch produced a billfold with a card
bearing the name Ralph Robert Welch,
with an address on West Alturas Street,
Tucson, Arizona. He had an automo-
bile license card in the same name for

_& 1951 Ford convertible coupe.

“Where is your car?” asked Bender.

“You can’t question me here all
night!” shouted Welch. “I just did
what any motorist would do! I’m shov-
ing off—”

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April 6th. And that was all he would say.
Further questions elicited no more in-
formation from him. He repeated his story
and insisted that, due to his mental black-
out, he recalled nothing other than what
he already had told the police.

Kacinski was arraigned before Magis-
trate William F. Laukaitis in Baltimore’s
Central Police Court, the day after the
shooting, on double charges of assault with
the intent to kill. He gave his occupation
as a professional gambler and said he was
a native of Lexington, Massachusetts.

At the request of Captain John B.
Kenealy, commanding the Baltimore cen-
tral police district, a full hearing was post-
poned until such time as Patrolman Tracey
and Miss Bandy would have recovered and
could appear to tell their stories.

Kacinski was held in $21,000 bail, for the
future hearing and for the grand jury.
Failing to raise bond, he was confined in
jail.

Conferring with Maryland authorities,
the New York officials decided to relin-
quish temporarily their claim on the sus-

pect, pending the outcome of the Balti-
more trial on the two charges of attempted
murder.

At his trial on these charges Anthony
Paul Kacinski was found guilty and on
June 2nd, 1954, he was sentenced to 20
years in the penitentiary.

Assistant D.A. Carl Grebow in New
York said that they have no plans to try
to extradite Kacinski. The only way to
extradite him now would be for the New
York authorities to request Maryland Gov-
ernor Theodore R. McKeldin Jr. to parole
Kacinski.

“However, if and when we want him,
we'll know where to reach him during the
next twenty years,” Grebow said.

Meanwhile, the body of the slain nurse
had been shipped from the city morgue in
New York to her grieving family in
Canada. Perhaps Norma’s tragic folly lay
in not rebuffing, as did Carol Ann Bandy,
the initial advances of a stranger. As of
now, the New York records state, the
murder of Norma Rennie remains un-

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Houseboy and the
Lady’s Last Will

(Continued from page 37)

Joe was Sea Downs, but they hadn’t seen
him for three years. They hadn’t known of
his confinement to Napa, but they filled ina
bit of his background. A native of Eng-
land, he had come to San Francisco with
the family in 1903. He served overseas in
World War I with the U. S. Army and was
a member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
The elderly parents were still living in San
Francisco.

Coroner Keaton found no will among
Banks’ papers. Apparently he had nothing
to bequeath. The coroner promised the
brothers a full report on the tragedy as
soon as the investigation should be for-
mally closed. There probably would be an
inquest, he said.

It was just a matter of routine cleaning
up of loose ends. But there was a surprise
awaiting Keaton. Among the papers in a
strongbox stored with Camille’s belongings
in an adjoining cabin, he found a will by
Mrs. Banks, dated September Ist, 1954. It
had an appended codicil dated September
16th—the very day of her death.

The handwritten will did not bequeath
the $150,000 Sea Downs resort property to
her mother or sisters, as might have been
expected. Nor yet to Joe Banks. The leg-
atee was none other than Bart L. Carita-
tivo, Ethel Lansburgh’s obliging houseboy!

The will was couched in more or less
formal terms, leaving him the estate “with
no strings attached.” But the codicil, type-
written and signed in ink, read:

“Bart: Since I have known you I have
continually observed your character be-
cause I had the feeling that someday I
would be able to do something for you in
return to what you have been doing and
helping me. Now I come to the conclusion
that you are a very refined boy—honest,
sincere, real and true friend and above all
you are a perfect gentleman.

“Because of these fine qualities you pos-
sess I have chosen you to be the heir to
my estate known as Sea Downs here in
Stinson Beach, California, with the four
conditions attached:”

The document then instructed Caritativo,

after the estate should be settled, to pay

Camille’s mother, Mrs. Gavin, $50 a month
for the rest of her life; to pay Stinson
Beach Community, Inc., $100 a year for
five years “as my personal contribution
to the community,” to give, $1,000 to a
woman friend, and to pay Mrs. Banks’ ac-
countant what was due him. Then the codi-
cil resumed:

“Bart, I like you a lot. I consider you
like a brother. Please always be a good
boy. Don’t give me away. I wish you all
the luck and happiness, and may God help
you and bless you.

Your true friend,
Camille Malmgren.”

Keaton sought out the 48-year-old house-
boy-chauffeur in his ground-floor apart-
ment on the estate of Mrs. Lansburgh,
widow of the noted corporation attorney,
S. Laz Lansburgh, directly across the road
and up the cliffs from Sea Downs. Little
Bart shook his head, said the windfall came
as news to him. .

“I was always friendly to Mrs. Malm-
gren-Banks,” he said. “She was a good
friend of Mrs. Lansburgh and I used to
work over there sometime. She liked to
talk to me about the Orient, wanted to
know all about life there.”

Too, Camille had been helping him with
his aspirations as a fiction writer, he said.
She also gave him her own writings to get
his reaction. They talked them over to-
gether.

But she never had said anything about.
leaving Sea Downs to him, he insisted. For
the past several days, between his duties
for Mrs. Lansburgh, he had been working
for Camille for $2 an hour, helping her
move and pack her things. Mrs. Banks nev-
er even had hinted that she had made, or
planned to make, any such document. But
Bart was certainly very grateful. He would
do his best to carry out the instructions of
his benefactress, he said.

To reporters who thronged the estate
when the news broke, the short, stocky,
dapper man, his black hair tinged with
gray, gave a few details of his own back-
ground.

Born at San Jose on the jsland of Luzon,
he first came to the United States in 1926,
to study at a _ technical high school in
Oakland, California, and a junior college in
Sacramento. Going back to the Philippines
in 1930, he was married and had a son,
born in 1932. That same year he came to
California again, this time to stay. He had
been sending money to his wife and son
in the islands. Caritativo was especially
proud of his United States citizenship,

which he had g:
What did he int
had fallen heir :
Well, of course, h
of Mrs. Banks’ ins:
go back to the is]
Ultimately, he pl:
to the work of

quency in the F

Francisco and Oa

he said he was gr:

done considerable

speeches before F:

he revealed.

Ethel Lansburg}
boy’s good fortune
of sterling charac
well-read and cu

He had spent lon:

late husband’s la\

at fiction writing.

the grade as a w

However, a Sa
tacted Deputy Dis:

McGuire. He said

of the purported \

years before, on t)

she had visited his

draw up a draft fr
make a holographi
to her mother. Sh

time that she had n

the same dispositic

up a new one with
make sure everyth:
He had given he
But no such draft
been found in he
couldn’t locate his
tive, however, that
make sure that S¢
her mother and tha
tion at all of Bart
When Undersheri
on Monday from
gone to return a ;
this report. It just
that Camille would
usual bequest and
by her ex-husbaad
wrote the codicil.

Midyett dropped
to scrutinize the dc
sound like an educ
he told Keaton. “A
Banks’ looks odd ¢
thing deserves furt

And that afterno
Banks showed up «
voice their strong b
the documents for;
mille and Joe had }

Coroner Keaton
over to Midyett’s o/
district attorney jc
ference.

“Look at those doc
urged. “Can’t you s
and the supposed sui
by the same perso
handwriting—I’m_ nc
and maybe it’s a oc
ple of Joe’s you can :

“But I mean the -
phrasing. These thin
person who doesn’t <
English. They could:
American woman cc
educated Englishmar

“And notice one th
the peculiar use of ¢
pointed now to the
“something for you }
have been doing ar
in- the purported
responsible to what

“That that’s an un)
sition ‘to’—where th
‘for’ And further th:
know a little bit <
been in the islands-

typical Filipino gr

» Balti-
cempted

\nthony
and on
to 20

n New
; to try
way to
he New
ad Gov-
) parole

ant him,
wing the

iin nurse
orgue in
mily in
folly lay
a Bandy,
or. As of;
tate, the
.ains un-

o¢o4¢

)a month
y Stinson
year for
ntribution
1,000 to a
3anks’ ac-
1 the codi-

jsider you
be a good
sh you all
- Cod help

imgren.”

-old house-
oor apart-
Lansburgh,
1 attorney,
ss the road
wns. Little
\dfall came

Irs. Malm-
as a good
I used to
ie liked to
wanted to

g him with
er, he said.
tings to get
a over to-

thing about
insisted. For
no his duties
sen working
helping her
. Banks nev-
ad made, or
cument. But
1). He would
structions of

the estate

which he had gained in October, 1953.

What did he intend to do, now that he
had fallen heir to a $150,000 property?
Well, of course, he would first take care
of Mrs. Banks’ instructions. Then he might
go back to the islands to visit his family.
Ultimately, he planned to devote himself
to the work of curbing juvenile delin-
quency in the Filipino colonies of San
Francisco and Oakland—a field in which
he said he was greatly interested and had
done considerable work. He had made
speeches before Filipino-American groups,
he revealed.

Ethel Lansburgh, pleased at her house-
boy’s good fortune, declared he was a man
of sterling character. She explained how
well-read and cultured Bart really was.
He had spent long hours poring over her
late husband’s law books, between spells
at fiction writing. He hoped soon to make
the grade as a writer.

However, a San Rafael attorney con-
tacted Deputy District Attorney E. Warren
McGuire. He said he was highly suspicious
of the purported will of Mrs. Banks. Two
years before, on the eve of a Mexico trip,
she had visited his office and asked him to
draw up a draft from which she wanted to
make a holographic will leaving everything
to her mother. She had told him at that
time that she had made an earlier will with
the same disposition, but wanted to draw
up a new one with an attorney’s advice, to
make sure everything was legal.

He had given her the draft she wanted.
But no such draft or handwritten will had
been found in her effects. The attorney
couldn’t locate his copy of it. He was posi-
tive, however, that Camille had wanted to
make sure that Sea Downs would go to
her mother and that she had made no men-
tion at all of Bart Caritativo.

When Undersheriff Don Midyett returned
on Monday from Nevada, where he had
gone to return a prisoner, he learned of
this report. It just didn’t seem to add up—
that Camille would have made such an un-
usual bequest and then have been killed
by her ex-husband a few hours after she
wrote the codicil.

Midyett dropped over to Keaton’s office
to scrutinize the documents. “That doesn’t
sound like an educated woman’s writing,”
he told Keaton. “And this suicide note of
Banks’ looks odd to me, too. I think this
thing deserves further investigation.”

And that afternoon Thomas and Daniel
Banks showed up at the coroner’s office to
voice their strong belief that not only were
the documents forged, but that both Ca-
mille and Joe had been murdered.

Coroner Keaton ushered the brothers
over to Midyett’s office, where the deputy
district attorney joined them in a con-
ference.

“Look at those documents,” Daniel Banks
urged. “Can’t you see that both the will
and the supposed suicide note were written
by the same person? I don’t mean the
handwriting—I’m not an expert on that,
and maybe it’s a good fake. Here’s a sam-
ple of Joe’s you can have.

“But I mean the wording, the illiterate
phrasing. These things were written by a
person who doesn’t speak or write perfect
English. They couldn’t be the work of an

American woman college graduate, or an
educated Englishman.

“And notice one thing in both of them
the peculiar use of the word ‘to.’ Bauks
pointed how to the

phrase in the codicil,
in returt
have been it and
in the pus

“something far you 1 to what

‘for. :
know 4 bout. Filipin \s
been 1: \ ind ind we say that
typic: mmati

thinks his English is perfect, and he’s un-
conscious of slips like that,” Daniel Banks
concluded.

“You've certainly got a point there,” the
deputy agreed.

“And another thing,” Thomas Banks put
in, “how many Americans or Englishmen
would ever kill themselves by sticking a
knife into their stomach? That’s an Orien-
tal touch, like the Japanese hara-kiri. It’s a
typical Filipino suicide position—sprawled
on the back, with hand clasping the knife
plunged into the stomach—and up—sort of
of a ceremonial position, a ritual.”

And Daniel added, “Our brother wouldn’t
have killed himself by sticking a hunting
knife in his stomach. If Joe wanted to com-
mit suicide with a knife, he’d have cut his
throat, maybe, or his wrists.”

The deputy D.A. frowned.
suggesting, then—”

“You can take it from there.” Daniel
Banks rose.

A few minutes after the brothers had
left, there came an unexpected bombshell,
hidden in the autopsy report from Dr. John
Manwaring, county autopsy surgeon.

Finding that Camille Banks had died of
a traumatic skull fracture, probably in-
flicted by the sledge hammer, and probably
while she was asleep, and that Joe
Banks had died of a traumatic stab in the
heart by the hunting knife—which despite
its thrust into the abdomen had angled up
five inches and pierced that vital organ—
Dr. Manwaring added this electrifying
information:

“Routine test of Joseph Banks’ blood
showed alcohol content of 4.5 percent.”

This meant that if he were not wholly
unconscious from drinking at the time of
his death, he certainly would have been
quite incapable of plunging the knife that
deeply into his body—if indeed he were
able to form the intention of committing
suicide, let alone pick up the knife. The
surgeon’s stated opinion was that Camiile’s

“You're

ex-husband had not killed himself—could |

not have done so.

The officials conferred with Sherif? Wal-
ter B. Sellmer and by telephone with Dis-
trict Attorney William O. Weissich, who
was attending a state bar committee mect-
ing at Coronado. Both agreed that an all-
out investigation. was warranted.

Midyett and Seibert went out to Sea
Downs, where they searched through the
slain woman’s effects and found a number
of specimens of her handwriting. They took
her typewriter along for comparison with
the typed codicil. They also found samples
of Banks’ writing.

At the same time a team of deputies put
Bart Caritativo under close surveillance,
while others drove down to San Francisco
to check on his reputation and associates
in the Filipino colony.

Comparison indicated that the codicil had
been typed on Mrs. Banks’ machine. The
signature and the handwriting of the pur-
ported will bore a close superficial resem-
blance to her handwriting. Similarly, the
“suicide” note looked like Joe Banks’ script.
Sheriff Sellmer forwarded the documents
to the laboratories of the State Division of
Criminal Identification and Investigation at
Sacramento, for further study.

Additional technical reports on the phys-
ical evidence at the double death seene

ere disappointing. No fingerprints were
found in the cottage,
dad couple and some

than those ol
the dei useless smudges
ranks’ own pri re on the death knife

ouner

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best black suit, flanked by a San Francisco
attorney, George I. Hoffman, who explained
that he was an associate of the late S. Laz
Lansburgh, and that Mrs. Lansburgh had
called him in to protect Bart’s interests in
the event the will was to be contested by
Mrs. Banks’ relatives.

Bart repeated that the $150,000 bequest
had come as a complete surprise to -him.
He made no objection when Midyett, ex-
plaining that everyone connected with the
case was being called in for questioning,
asked him to write a copy of the will and
codicil in his own handwriting, at the
officer’s dictation. The houseboy smilingly
handed him the copy in a neat script.

Asked to account for his movements on
the 16th, the night of the killings, Bart said
he had been in San Francisco all evening
till very late, visiting several gambling
clubs. Could he name these places? He
didn’t want to, because it might get the
operators in trouble.

When Bart and his attorney had left,
Midyett forwarded the handwriting speci-
mens to Sacramento. The houseboy’s own
script had been the last thing needed for
comparison.

Midyett and Seibert then went over to
San Francisco, to seek Filipino clubs where
Bart might be known, to attempt to check
his whereabouts on the murder night. Dis-
trict Attorney Weissich flew back from
Coronado to take a personal hand in the
case. A 24-hour tail was maintained on
Caritativo, but he did nothing suspicious.

It was close to 5 p.m. on Friday, the 24th,
eight days after the supposed murder-sui-
cide, with the tension and pressure by the
newspapers increasing by the hour, that the
awaited break came. Sherwood Morrill, ex-
aminer of questioned documents at Sacra-
mento, telephoned Weissich.

“Looks like you fellows are on the right
track,” he informed the D.A. crisply. “That
alleged will, the codicil, and the suicide
note are clever forgeries, all of them.”

Further, Morrill reported, in his expert
opinion the will and the signature to the
typed codicil had been forged by Bart
Caritativo. He couldn’t be positive about
the death note, but it looked like the work
of the same hand.

That was all Weissich wanted to know.
“Now we move in,” he told Midyett. “We'll
pick him up right now.”

The deputies tailing the houseboy had
reported earlier that he had driven Mrs.
Lansburgh over the Golden Gate Bridge to
San Francisco on a shopping trip. They
had followed and were right behind him.
The cavalcade ought to be starting back
just about now.

Midyett and Seibert sped down the high-
way and waited at the foot of the Waldo
approach to the big span. When the sleek
Lansburgh limousine hove in sight they
flagged it down. Midyett quietly told Bart
he was under arrest. While Seibert took
the wheel and drove the protesting Mrs.
Lansburgh back to Stinson Beach, Midyett
took the prisoner to the nearby Mill Valley
city hall for questioning.

Bart, stolid and unsmiling now, was un-
communicative, other than to deny his guilt.
He would answer only, “I don’t know. I
can’t answer that on the advice of my
attorney. I stand on my constitutional
rights as an American citizen.”

As Midyett put it later: “He wouldn’t
give us the time of day if he had eight
watches.” Midyett took him to the county
jail at San Rafael, where he was booked
on a formal murder complaint issued by
Weissich, charging him with the double
slaying.

Caritativo’s arrest was a major sensation
when it hit the headlines. Feeling was
strong both pro and con. The faithful
Oriental servant is a tradition in San
Francisco and its environs.

The last similar case was the equally

sensational one of Liu Fook, aged Chinese
arrested in 1931 for the strangulation mur-
der of his wealthy employer, Mrs. Rosetta
Baker, middle-aged widow, amateur actress
and patron of the arts. The Chinese was
charged with murder after detectives had
investigated a number of socialite friends
and relatives of the slain woman.

The case against Liu Fook was purely
circumstantial, just as in the Caritativo
case, and feeling ran high on both sides.
The powerful Chinese Six Companies came
to his aid with a battery of legal talent
and Liu was acquitted, to go back to China
to end his days, leaving the murder of
Rosetta Baker still in the unsolved file.

Speculation now ran rife in the Sea
Downs case. Bart’s attorney charged that
he was being made a scapegoat by a clever
murderer, Enterprising columnists dug up
gossip to the effect that Camille had been
going to Ceylon to keep a rendezvous with
a mysterious Englishman who might have
some connection with the case. She also
was said to have had a secret Mexican boy
friend.

But the Marin County authorities went
ahead with their investigation. Search of
Caritativo’s living quarters disclosed a
small arsenal in his room—two knives, and
a .22 rifle and a revolver, both loaded. Bart
said he used the guns to shoot rabbits.

The houseboy’s room yielded one puz-
zling item—a Mill Valley bank savings
passbook filled with false entries, complete
with tellers’ initials and date stamps, show-
ing deposits totaling $133,000. Check with
the bank established that the houseboy had
just $2.85 on deposit. Bart sullenly refused
to explain the passbook.

Neither would he discuss the statement
of a notary, that about a week before the
killings, he had sent a notarized letter to
his wife in the Philippines, telling her he
expected to come into some money shortly.

Midyett and the other deputies still had
been unable to trace Bart’s alleged move-
ments in San Francisco on the murder
night. He refused to help them. “TI’ll tell all
that when the proper time comes,” he said.

The sensational headlines continued. The
sheriff and the district attorney pressed
their investigation. On October 4th Bart
Caritativo was brought before a special
session of the Marin County grand jury.
Among the 13 witnesses was ' Sherwood
Morrill, handwriting expert, who testified
that the suicide note, the alleged will and
the codicil were forgeries.

For further corroboration, the documents
together with many handwriting samples
from all three principals, have been sent
to John Lynwood Harris, nationally knowr
Los Angeles examiner of questioned docu-
ments. Mr. Harris, whose authority carries
great weight, will present his findings to
the court.

On the night of October 5th the grand
jury indicted the emotionless Filipino
houseboy for the murders of Camille
Malmgren Banks and Joseph Banks at the
Sea Downs resort. And on Monday, Octo-
ber 11th, Caritativo was arraigned in Su-
perior Court before Superior Judge Thom-
as Keating.

The houseboy is being held without bail
at the county jail. When questioned there
by reporters he still maintained his smilihg
composure. He was worried about just one
thing, he. told the newsmen: Camille Malm-
gren Banks had not paid him the $40 she
owed him for helping her with her final
packing. o¢o¢

School:
in the |

having to get h
day night.”
Murphy expr
had understood
whom Gerry ha
death were the
Savage. “You
last Friday nig!
“Well, not exa
ner store when
meet Cynthia.
mind slipping
they’d have to |
ten so her folk
it.”
“Anyone else
statement?”
Ever since t}
killing and their
must have been
had lain in wait
return that wa:
had been trying
question. Now,
ful and started ;

on a hot trail a

“Why, yes,”
was the = store!
course. And Pe
ing near Gerry.
to go with her.”

“Then young \\

Gerry was meet;

asked. Makarev

youth they wer

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boys drove up :
minute or two |

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Chief Folan wa

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Makarewicz, abo

1201 Washington .

down at police he

side while his so:
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the boy’s mother,
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14, and her 3-year

“Pete’s a good |
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the awful thing

neighbor’s daughte
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months ago.”

“You say your sc

The attractive, :
plied that her olde
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Two months befor¢
quit school because
that time he had ra

“When was the
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murdered. He we;

“And the night

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Nancy here.”

Mrs. Makarewicz
employed nights at
wood, where the s}
Mrs. Garneau, also :

Mrs, Makarewicz s;

Frequently, he, too,

Lido

THE HOUSEBOY AND THE
LADY'S LAST WILL

(TD February, 1955)

Mrs. Camille Malmgren Banks, world
traveler, writer and artist; was plan-
ning to go to Ceylon for an extended
stay. For this reason she had leased
her property, Sea Downs, a popular re-
sort on Bolinas Bay, north across the
Golden Gate from San Francisco. Bart
Caritativo, a friend’s Filipino. houseboy
had been helping her pack for the
journey. ;

The following day, September 17th,
1954, a friend who dropped in at the
Sea Downs cottage where Mrs. Banks
was staying, found a scene of horror.
Mrs. Banks lay on her bed, apparently
slain as she slept, by a blow on the head.
In the living room the body of Joseph
Banks, Camille’s divorced husband who
helped manage the resort, lay on a couch,
a long hunting knife plunged deep into
his abdomen.

A note was found by his body, indicat-
ing that he had slain his former wife
and committed suicide. But the finding
of a will which left all Mrs. Banks’
property to the houseboy, Bart Carita-
tivo, directed suspicion toward him. A
San Rafael attorney told the D.A. that
Camille had asked him to draw a will
for her, leaving everything to her moth-
er. The autopsy surgeon testified that
Joseph Banks at the time of his death
was unconscious from -liquor and-in-
capable of plunging the knife into him-
self. And a handwriting expert testi-
fied that the suicide note and the will
were written by Caritativo.

On February 28th, 1955, a jury of
nine women and three men, after four
hours and fifteen minutes of deliberation,
found Bart Caritativo guilty of first-

degree murder, without recommendation ~

for mercy. The verdict automatically
carried the death penalty. And on March
38rd he was sentenced to die in the gas
chamber at San Quentin. ;

THE MODEL BOY AND
THE BABY SITTER

(TD January, 1955)

On the night of September 25th, 1954,
Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Goldberg went to
a movie, leaving their two little, boys,
Bobby, 6, and Steven, 4, in charge of
a neighborhood schoolgirl, Lynn Ann:
Smith, 14, at their home in Forest Park,
a suburb of Springfield, Massachusetts.

Horror greeted them on their return.

Lynn Ann’s body lay in the hall. She
had been stabbed 38 times with a 6”
bayonet-type knife. In his crib little
Steven lay dead, with 24 knife wounds
and a fractured skull. Bobby, asleep in
his bed, had not. been harmed. Fright-
ened at noises he had heard in the front
room, he said, he had pulled the bed
covers over his head and fallen asleep.
- Careful tracing of a single clue, a piece
of thread, led detectives to the Chapin
home, two doors from the Goldbergs’.
Their son, Kenneth, 18, had been a pall-
bearer. at Lynn Ann’s funeral. Kenneth
had never been in trouble, had a repu-
tation as a model boy, was an honor
Boy Scout and-regular attendant at
Sunday School. But the piece of thread
proved a fatal bit of evidence. f
- Kenneth confessed that he had seen
Lynn Ann reading by the window. He
had knocked at~ the door. When she
opened it, he pulled out the knife, ‘just
to. scare her.” But when she screamed,
he lost his head and stabbed her. The
baby had cried, and, fearing the child
would identify him, Kenneth stabbed
little Steven. i us

At his trial an all-male jury deliber-
ated four hours on. March 19th, 1955,
and convicted him of the two murders,
with no recommendation for mercy.
Judge Charles Fairhouse at once sen-
tenced Kenneth to die in the electric
chair, but he deferred setting the date
of execution’ in order to give defense
counsel time to file an appeal,

Lynn ‘Ann Smith

_ Kill Kids,”

Report of latest legal developments
“on published by TD

SCHOOLGIRL IN THE
GARAGE

(TD February, 1955)

At 9:45 on the evening of ‘November
4th, 1954, in Norwood, Massachusetts,
Geraldine Annese, 15, was. let, out of
a car near her home by schoolmates
with. whom she had been spending the
evening. Her body was found: the fol-
lowing morning in a garage near her
home. She had been assaulted and
strangled.

Among teen-age boys who were ques-
tioned was Peter Makarewicz: Though
only 15, he stood 6 feet 3, having grown
12 inches in the past year.. Neighbors
and the parish priest upheld’ Peter’s
reputation as a good boy, but under
interrogation Peter broke down: and ad-
mitted the murder. He had become
violently jealous, he said, when Gerry
went out with another boy. As she
passed the garage on her way home, he
called to her. When she came in, he
strangled her, then disrobed and as-
saulted her.

On March 17th, 1955, an: all-male
jury, after deliberating two: hours and
384 minutes returned a guilty verdict,
but recommended “that the death sen-
tence not be imposed.”

Judge Lewis Goldberg immediately
sentenced Peter to life imprisonment.
Under state law, he never will be eligi-
ble for parole. Peter, who: had been
calm during the 10-day trial, wept when
he heard his doom.

Gerry’s father told reporters that he
thought the sentence just, but he added
sadly, “My daughter is dead.”

THRILL-KILL KIDS

(TD December, 1954)

Known to the press.as the “Thrill-
Robert Trachtenberg, 15,
Jerome Lieberman, 17, Melvin: Mittman,
17, and Jack Koslow, 18, were brought
to trial for the murder of Willard
Mentner, 34, employe of a burlap bag
factory and father of two children. After
beating and burning Mentner.on August
16th, 1954, they threw him in the East
River, where he drowned.

On December 14th Koslow and Mitt-
man were found guilty of first-degree
murder and sentenced to life: imprison-
ment with no eligibility for parole.
Trachtenberg was sentenced to an in-
definite term in a youth institution, the
case against him being dismissed when
he acted as the state’s star witness. And

Lieberman wo:
quittal.
Examined by
Elmira Recept:
was found to t
24th he was t
mora State H¢

H
HAR

Five witnes:
a third, club
sedan, which s
an alley in d
tucky. The tin
ruary 28th, 1
found at the
Mrs. F. J. Mc
husband, a p
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cut to their
reason for th
The gray sé
fied as belons
who lived ir
southeast of 1
son, Leonard
five witnesses
of the abduct
not been clez
It was lear:
grudge again
represented !
against him.
Both men
had driven
Creek, they
they got th
conscious. T
the fields t
killed him \
bound a con
pushed him i
officers to t!
recovered.
Roy and Li
guilty of fir
tenced to the
on March 16
at Eddyville
time in Ken
and son hac

MU
TH!

On Decer
“Buzzy” Me
necticut, inv
bungalow o
year-old rac
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gun. Then
wife, Evely
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shots, fled t!
neighbors, \

Mead wa:
while atten
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fine old St:
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device for
sented to th

Shei oe

AT A TRS AP CRE TPE IR eR RRR em ema
od RN ETH

ee Range APs pee ranean

“Uh, yeah, sure,’ the man said. “I sent
back to California for it, but it hasn’t
caught up with me yet. I left there a month
ago and it didn’t have a chance to reach
me, see?”

Minton eyed the man and then the car.
He ran his hands along the side of the
car, peered closely at the joints where the
door closed and ran his hand along the
junction of the hood and body. “New car,
eh?” he said.

. “Yeah,” the driver
present from the wife.”

“Have an accident already?” Minton
asked.

“Why, no,” the driver said. ‘What makes
you think I did?”

“You’ve already had a paint job,” Min-
ton said.

“Oh, that.” The driver was affable and
gay again. “Well, the old woman gave me
the damndest looking color—kind of a
rooster gill. pink—and I took it out and
had it painted all over.”

“Pretty bum job,” Minton said. “Looks

said. “Christmas

like it was done in a hurry. Mind if I

take a look at your papers?”

The driver paled again, fumbled in his
pocket, then searched frantically in the
glove compartment. As Minton waited
patiently, the driver pretended to search
the rear seat to no avail. He frowned un-
easily and turned to his companion. “By
God,” he said, “my papers must of been
in that coat they stole back in Texarkana.”

His companion looked uncertainly at him
and then at Minton. The driver turned
to the officer, now leaning on the window
sill. “Somebody copped my coat and grip
out of the back seat back in Texarkana,”
he explained, nervously. “My papers must
have been in it. I generally carry ’em in
the glove compartment, but I guess they
must have been in my coat.”

“Did you notify the Texarkana police

about this?” Minton said. :
“Oh, sure; sure I did,” the man said.
“Well,” Minton said, “we'll drive on
into Hot Springs where you can get a
new set of papers. It’s not very smart
to be driving without them, you know.

Especially when ‘you're a long way from.

home.”

“Oh, sure, thanks,” the man said, and
again his relief was apparent. “Coming
along ?”

“Sure,” Minton said. “I'll ttail along
behind. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Johnson,” the man said. “William John-

son. I come from L.A.”

MILDLY, WILLIAM JOHNSON, as the driver
of the two-tone sedan had named himself,
followed Minton into Hot Springs. Minton
led him to the police station, seated him

and his companion in an anteroom of the

detective bureau and instructed both men to
wait until he could check the possibility of
obtaining papers. In the meantime, a finger-
print man appeared and asked to take
William Johnson’s fingerprints, informing
him ‘that they would be necessary to obtain
temporary papers. a

An hour passed. Johnson and his com-

panion began to get restive. They paced
the room and several times asked if they
couldn’t go out and return later. They
were told that it would be but a matter
of minutes until the formalities of obtain-
ing the papers would be completed. Half
an hour later, Minton reappeared, accom-
panied by a member of the sheriff’s force

and a Hot Springs detective. Minton
minced no words.
“You didn’t report anything lost in

Texarkana,” he said, “and your fingerprints
tell quite a story, including a few things
about a prison term in Texas—”

“All right, damn it,” William Johnson
said, leaping to his feet, “I tried to tell
you out on the highway I was the one
you wanted. Now, damn it, I am. Every-
body wants me because I killed my old
lady out in California . . .”

He turned and looked at the man who'd
been with him and then, with a simple
gesture, said, “My name’s Johnson William
Caldwell, but sometimes they mix it up
and call me the other way, like William
Johnson Caldwell. I killed my old lady,
but this man ain’t got anything to do
with it. I picked him up out on the road.
He’s all right, far as I know.”

Minton and the other officers contacted
Riverside and learned that Caldwell had
been telling the truth about the murder.
Copies of his fingerprints were air mailed
to Hot Springs and they matched Cald-
well’s perfectly. With this, he told his
story, then repeated it three days later
when Vivion and Dawson arrived to take
him back to Mira Loma.

It was a brutal story of an ignorant
adventurer marrying an aging woman
strictly for her money. Caldwell had been
released from a Texas prison following a
felony sentence and had made his way to
California. He had met Lillie Pearl Storts
through a casual friend and, upon learning
that she had money, had paid ardent
court to her. They had married and moved
into Lillie Pearl’s best house—she owned
several in Mira Loma and vicinity. He had
kept after her to-travel. Within a week they
had quarreled, but they carefully kept
their quarrels quiet, so that the neighbors
would know nothing of them. In public,
they had been extremely devoted. Lillie
Pearl apparently had been completely
happy. Then, on the fatal morning, they
had quarreled as Johnny, unable, by his
own admission, to endure Lillie Pearl’s
ardor any longer, announced that he was
leaving.

The terrified, woman pleaded with him to
stay. She offered to turn her property over
to him if he would only remain with her.
Finally, taking a sum of money from a
drawer in the bedroom, she had proffered
it with the plea, “Johnny, darling, if it’s
money you want, take this—take it all—
but please don’t leave me.”

He had slapped the money from her
hand, accounting for the bills on the bed-
room floor. Then, he said, she had slap-
ped him in the face, while still crying for
him to stay with her. He had lost his
head and hit her with a lamp. Then, when
she fell, he had kicked her in the head
in his fury. Finally he had choked her

with a belt until she made no further sound
and moved no more. He'd dragged her
to the bathroom and lifted her body into
the tub. He had taken hold of the belt
as he lifted her; when it broke, he’d tied
a rope belt about her neck to make sure
she was dead. Then, he said, he had found

‘that in slapping him she had cause his

nose to’ bleed, accounting for the blood
found in the other rooms. Without waiting
to pack anything, he had pocketed such
money as he could find—forgetting the bills
on the floor—and taken the car and fled.
Before leaving the garage, however, he
had shifted a set of license plates he had
picked up some days before to the sedan.
Later, in Arizona, he had a quick paint
job put on it.

Minton explained to the California of-
ficers that as soon as Caldwell had stopped
and he had approached the car, he sus-
pected that the man had something besides
a missing license tab on his mind. Almost
immediately he had recalled a bulletin on
the Mira Loma killing pasted in the High-
way Patrol’s squad room. When he saw
that the sedan driver answered the man’s
description, he had carefully lured him
into Hot Springs and arrest. The luckless
stranger riding with Caldwell began to
pick up on his lucl: before Vivion and
Dawson left for Mira Loma. He was able
to establish his complete innocence and
was released.

Back in the Riverside jail, Caldwell ap-
peared resigned to his fate. But he was a
cagey one, well-versed in prison tricks,
particularly the art of playing possum.
Two days after he was arraigned and
ordered held on a murder charge. Vivion

entered his cell, without prior announce-.

ment, to question him. As Vivion stepped
across the threshold, he noticed that Cald-
well, unawere of his presence, was tug-
ging at the heel of his shoe. Then, as
Vivion watched curiously, the heel came
off. In a flash, Caldwell had a single-
edged razor blade in his hand and was
lifting it to his throat. Vivion leaped
across the cell and, in the nick of time,
knocked the weapon from the prisoner’s
hand. He threw Caldwell to the bunk and
held him until help arrived to handcuff
him.

Unfortunately for his case, Caldwell ad-
mitted that he had carried the razor blade
concealed in the heel of his shoe for some
time. He had placed it there, he said, be-
fore the murder. Apparently realizing that
this would indicate premeditation to mur-
der when properly presented by a wise
district attorney, he added a hasty explan-
ation to the effect that he’d always made
a habit of carrying razor blades in his
heels. They were, ‘he said, invaluable in
fishing and other activities. The thick lay-
ers of leather were the only safe place
for a man to carry them.

After this explanation, Caldwell was
run through the metal finder in the jail.
But nothing else turned up. Nor has he
made any further suicide attempts. Instead,
he sits in his cell, alone and never receiv-

ing any visitors or letters, waiting for the

trial that will prove the exact degree
of his guilt in the brutal death of bis
aging bride. ,

|
i
4
‘
}

it side se

IN RIVERSIDE COURT

mal

FROM HIS CELL TO

LED

“be,

IS
Se ha

FACED ACCUSED MAN (|

GRIM-

— |
=a
==
———
a
—
|)

*.It was the milkman who first remarked
that the honeymooners had taken a strange
means of departipg on the first leg of their
projected travelogue. They hadn’t notified
him they were going, hence he had continu-
ed'to leave milk and butter, as per order.
Now he intended to stop it, much as he
disliked to lose a customer, especially one
with such a capacity for fats as Mrs.
Caldwell...The newspaper carrier boy was
the next to brace the neighbors. The Cold-
wells hadn’t said anything about stopping
delivery of the paper and the boy had
been paid up only to January 10. He
didn’t want to drop them off the list, but
there didn’t seem to be much point in
continuing to throw papers on the terrace,
especially when matters had reached a
point where he was carrying the customer.

BECAUSE OF THESE THINGS, THE continued
absence of the Caldwells began to be some-
thing of a situation in Mira Loma. Alarms
rose and rumors buzzed through the quiet
little community on the desert’s fringe.
The days rolled on until a week had passed.
Then H. D. Payne, a long-time friend of
Lillie Pearl, who lived on the other side
of town in Mira Loma, heard the rumors
and called at the house. His insistent
ringing failed to raise an answer and he
walked around the house, trying to peer
through the windows. He found the shades
tightly drawn, however, and finally decided
to try to force a window. For some reason
he chose the bathroom window, possibly
because it did not seem so formidably
bolstered. He managed to pry it open a
fraction of an inch, but was driven away
by an overwhelming stench. He covered
his nose and mouth with a handkerchief
and ,attempted to see around the drawn
shades.

He was unable to see inside the bath-
room, but he noted that the odor seemed
more noticeable at that point than any
oher. Payne went to the home of the
nearest neighbor, approximately a hundred
feet: from the Caldwell house, to inquire
if anyone had seen the couple. He was
told that the Caldwells had planned to
go away and probably had followed out
their plans without notifying anyone.

Thoroughly alarmed, Payne called the
office of the Riverside County Sheriff in
Riverside, California. Half an hour later,
waiting in his car at the Caldwell house,
he was joined by Captain J. J.. Koverly
and Sheriff’s Investigators Mel Vivion,
Chief of the Homicide Bureau, and Rick
Dawson. Unable to fit a master key into
any of the locks, they forced the rear
door. Koverly led the two investigators in-
side. The house reeked with the odor of

decomposing flesh. Koverly went through’

the kitchen and dining room into a hall
which gave onto the master bathroom. The
door there was slightly ajar and the odor

‘was particularly heavy. When the captain

pushed the door back, the three officers
simultaneously beheld the figure of a

woman, a heavy woman, with a_night- -

THE MAN WHO CONVICTED HIMSELF

(Continued from page 13)

gown covering only her neck and shoulders, -

in the bathtub.

Already the flesh showed the brownish-
gray mottled appearance of putrefaction.
There were deep blue welts on the head
and on the shoulders. A broken belt lay
beside the bathtub. Another cord, such as
might have been taken from a bathrobe,
was knotted about the woman’s neck, so
tightly that it cut into the soft and ample
flesh. Unquestionably this would have
caused strangulation and death, if death
had not been first induced by the blows
on the head. The officers backed out of
the bathroom and began a check of the
remainder of the house. In the bedroom,
they found evidences of a struggle. The
rug had been displaced, a chair overturned
and the bed badly mussed. Most puzzling
of all, several bills lay about the floor: a
twenty, a ten, two fives and some ones.
Obviously they had been scattered there
during the battle.

The search of the house went on. The
three, with Payne, called Caldwell’s name
again and again, but there was no reply.
Nor did a thorough check of the premises
divulge any trace of the youthful husband.
He had vanished. Now it became a question
of whether he had gone willfully, or been
kidnaped. A continuing examination of

the house revealed that there were blood- -

stains not only in the bedroom, where the
struggle that must have resulted in Lillie
Pearl’s death had taken place, but also
in the living room and kitchen. While
there were great welts on Lillie Pearl’s
head, there was little evidence of blood,
beyond the internal suppuration that ac-
companies heavy blows. Certainly she had
not lost enough blood to cause the many
stains in other parts of the house.

The sheriff's men also noted that Cald-
well did not seem to have taken any
clothing, or even a suitcase of any kind,
with him. Payne identified all the Cald-
well belongings and it was soon evident
that William had left, however he had left,
with only the clothing he had been wear-
ing. His pajamas still lay on the uhmade
bed, where he apparently had discarded
them, and a careful check by Payne show-
ed that only a sport coat, underwear, one
pair of:shoes and a sport shirt were miss-
ing from Caldwell’s rather sparse ward-
robe.

Now the investigation shifted to the

garage. As was to be expected, the Cald-

well car was not there. The doors had
been carefully closed and locked, but there
was no car. Highly significant, however,
was the presence in the garage of a pair
of California license plates. A check
against the records showed that these
plates had once been attached to the Cald-
well car, purchased a few days after the
marriage of Lillie Pearl and Johnny Cald-
well.

THE SHERIFF'S MEN CONCLUDED immediately
that there was good reason to suspect
a kidnaping and a robbery. What more

reasonable than for the thugs to remove
the plates from the car to avoid detection
as they drove out of the community, prob-
ably with their victim trussed and covered
in the rear seat. Whatever license plates
they used, they would scarcely be as re-
vealing as Caldwell’s own. The trick of
switching license plates has mushroomed
into a common habit of felons in Cali-
fornia, especially those who depend upon
stolen cars for their escape from the scene
of their crimes.

While this search was going, on, Koverly
had summoned County Pathologist Thomas
E. Jones and Deputy Coroner Arvid De
Pew. Examining the body, they determined
that the woman had died of strangulation,
although the blows on the head might
possibly have been sufficient to induce
death. One in particular, above and behind
the left ear, indicated that it could have
caused a skull fracture. There was no
break in the scalp, but the suppuration
was intense and there were indications
that the stricken woman had vomited just
before death, almost certain indication of
a fracture. The medical men concluded
that Lillie Pearl had been dead for about
six days, which was the approximate time
since the couple’s disappearance. The con-
clusion determined by the investigating of-
ficers was that someone had learned of the
Caldwells’ proposed trip, had assumed that
they would have considerable money on
hand for the trip and had planned,a rob-
bery. Encountering resistance, they had
murdered the wife and kidnaped the hus-
band.

The lone joker in the setup was the
kidnaping. Why would anyone have
snatched Johnny Caldwell? Certainly, with
his wife dead, there would be no one to
ransom him. Granted that she was wealthy
enough to pay handsomely for the return
of her young mate, the golden goose would
already have been destroyed, hence in-
capable of supplying the golden eggs. That
the kidnapers, if any, had proposed to hold
Caldwell captive until his wife’s estate
was settled and then negotiate with him
was a pretty far-fetched deduction, even
in so complicated and senseless a case as
this. Yet the evidence that robbery had
been a motive was there in the scattered
bits of currency and the theft of the car,
with the changed license plates.

Pursuing the methods employed by
modern law enforcement agencies, Koverly
issued an all points bulletin on the murder,
together with a description of the missing
Caldwell and the Caldwell automobile. The
bulletin warned that the license plates had
been changed and suggested that, with six

days in which to operate, the paint job ©

might have been altered. The difficulties of
running down the
through the automobile were complicated

by the fact that no papers bearing on the-’

car were found among the Caldwell ef-
fects. The presumption was that they were
habitually carried in the car, or in Cald-
‘well’s wallet and were with him. Or that

the murderers, realizing the danger of

thieves and killers

—_— ,
i i te

.
Ua 2 ete alienate te alt

oh Saeaerete

MAR ie

fbatciegi ente

r the thugs to remove
avoid detection

tim trussed and covered
Whatever license plates

ould scarcely be as re-.—

Il’s own. The trick of ©
plates has mushroomed
bit of felons in Cali-
hose who depend upon

ir escape from the scene

was going, on, Koverly
nty Pathologist Thomas
uty Coroner Arvid De
e body, they determined
d died of strangulation,
s on the head might
sufficient to induce
cular, above and behind
ted that it could have
cture. There was no
, but the suppuration
there were indications
) . °
oman had vomited just
st certain indication of

edical men concluded.”

d been dead for about
s the approximate time
isappearance. The con-
by the investigating of-
eone had learned of the
trip, had assumed that
considerable money on
d lanneda’ rob-
ce, they had

™ ie
Se kidnaped the hus- ~~.’

in the setup was the
would anyone have
Idwell? Certainly, with
e would be no one to
that she was wealthy
somely for the return
the golden goose would
_ destroyed, hence in-
4 the golden eggs. That
, had proposed to hold
til his wife’s estate
n negotiate with him
tched deduction, even
d senseless a case as
ce that robbery had
there in the scattered
d the theft of the car,
sense plates.
nethods employed by
ment agencies, Koverly
bulletin on the murder,
cription of the missing
dwell automobile. The
: the license plates had
uggested that, with six
operate, the paint job °
sred. The difficulties of
thieves and killers
bile were complicated
‘pap: = :aring on the ’
long Caldwell ef-

ion was tat they were
) the car, or in Cald-
tre with him. Or that |
lizing the danger of “;

mmunity, prob- ‘4

é x 7 :
+

PF fe

RES,

ore
3)

ae Sey

tat |
Sen aes

leaving such information where it could
fall into police hands, had taken them
when they fled. Koverly ultimately solved
this problem by checking the automobile
dealers in nearby Riverside, the county
seat. He uncovered the motor number and
sent it out on the all points wire, together
with the chart on the fingerprints found
in the Caldwell home after discovery of
Lillie Pearl’s body.

THE SCENE SHIFTS, Now, to the mid-South
A sand and brown two-tone sedan of an
intermediate price was rolling comfortably
along an Arkansas highway on this early
February day. Nearing Hot Springs, mecca
of America’s prosperous gangsters and
equally prosperous invalids, an Arkansas
State Highway Patrolman fell in behind
the two-tone sedan. He observed that two
men were in the car. The one driving
was tall, thin and deeply tanned. The other
was heavier, somewhat older, passably well
dressed. There was nothing about the car
to evoke the patrolman’s official interest.
Certainly not in the beginning, at any rate.
Then Glenn Minton, the patrolman, noticed
that the California license plate bore no
1954 tag. Recalling that the State of Cali-
fornia does not issue complete new plates,
but only small ears with the current year
stamped on to attach to the lower right
hand corner of the original plate, Minton
swung his motorcycle up alongside and
signalled the driver to pull to the roadside.

What Minton did not observe, as he
issued the signal, was that the driver
paled noticably beneath his deep suntan.
Momentarily, he seemed about to lose con-
trol of the car; his companion was seen
to clutch frantically at the wheel. As Min-
ton dropped back to allow the sedan to
pull to the roadside, he suddenly became
aware that the car was swerving danger-
ously and that then there was a sudden
effort to open the throttle and speed away.
Immediately Minton passed the sedan and
crowded it to the roadside. The driver
seemed to slump over the wheel as Minton
dismounted and walked to the side of his
car. Narrowly, Minton watched the man
as he approached. Finally, the driver raised
his head. It was obvious that he was near
a collapse.

Signs of a whimper appeared on his
weak, almost urchin face and he blurted,
“All right, I guess this is it. !'m the man
you want.”

Minton stared at the other, then said,
quietly, “What do I want you for?”

The man behind the wheel straightened
and stared at the officer. He moistened his
lips and tried to speak, but couldn’t. He
swallowed hard and finally said, “What did
you say?”

“I asked you what I wanted you for?”

| Minton replied.

The other heaved an involuntary sigh

_of relief. He turned to the man beside him
-and smiled broadly.

Then he winked at
Minton and said, “That’s a gag I always
pull when a cop stops me—sometimes I
say, just for a joke, ‘All right, officer, Yl
go peaceably.” You know... a gag.”
“Sure,” said Minton, “but did you know
you don’t have a 1954 tab on your license

plates ?” '

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MORE CLASSIFIED ON P

By ERNEST BAKER

suspicion that the report which began

as an apparently routine hit-and-run
incident would soon develop into one of the
most involved, complicated cases in their
experience. Before their investigation was
finished, it would lead them into a maze of
back trails marked with signposts pointing to
auto theft, assault, forgery, misrepresenta-
tion, car theft, bigamy—and murder. And it
would be a trail with waystops in jails from
Massachusetts to California, with a dozen or
more courts in between.

Even more important, it would pit all the
intelligence, skill and resources at their com-
mand against one of the most dangerous
lawless types in the book—a hardened crimi-
nal and glib con man so cocky and sure of
himself that he flings a daring challenge at
detectives to prove he’s guilty of anything.

This was the pattern of the case from the
very outset. If Tom Black, the “hit-and-run
victim,” had not been brought to the emer-
gency room of Denver's St. Luke’s Hospital
on that drizzling Wednesday night, July 29,
1953, he would in all likelihood have been
dead before anyone found him. And though
his injuries may have been regarded as stem-
ming from something more than a vehicular
accident, it is highly unlikely that any lead
would have been found to his assailant.

What actually happened made it a different
sort of a case altogether.

The hands on the white-faced clock above
the reception desk in St. Luke’s emergency
room stood at 11:48 when a husky, curly-
haired six-footer burst through the double
swinging doors and cried, “! got a guy in my
car who’s hurt bad! Picked him up on the
highway—hit-and-run, | think. You better send
somebody out here with a stretcher.”

An interne standing within earshot signaled
to a couple of orderlies, who, without further
instructions, picked up a litter and headed
outside to the parking area. The big man went

[) Ss POLICE had not the slightest

with them. He was wearing khaki chino slacks
and a sport shirt—white, with bright red and
blue knitted designs. There was blood on one
of his sleeves.

As they all went out the emergency room
door, the girl at the desk picked up the phone
and called the police station. ‘‘This is St. Luke’s
emergency,”’ she said. “They're bringing in a
hit-and-run victim.”

That was all. At headquarters, the desk
sergeant relayed the message to the radio dis-
patcher. He checked his chart, then called
an order to a radio patrol car nearest the
hospital. Manning it were Patrolmen Julian
Bender and Bert Alexander, who heard the
message, ‘‘Proceed to St. Luke’s emergency
room. Investigate hit-and-run victim.”

At the hospital, the orderlies had removed
an injured man from the car in the parking
lot, put him on a litter, and carried him inside,
where they transferred him to a wheeled sur-
gical table, then rolled it and its bloody burden
into the examining room. The nurse at the
desk called the big man who had brought the
injured man in. ‘We'll need some information
from you,” she said, spreading a form before
her and picking up a pen. ‘‘What is your name,
please?”

“What do you need my name for?’’ the man
asked petulantly. ‘‘I’m just passing through
town. | found the guy on the road and brought
him in. Isn’t that enough?”

A doctor standing nearby intervened. ‘‘We're
required to get this information in a case of
this kind,”’ he said softly. ‘‘It’s just a formality.
The nurse only has a few questions. I’m sure
you won't mind.”

Placated, the big man said his name was
Ralph R. Welch, from Tucson, Arizona. ‘I’m
on my way back East, to Columbia University
in New York. | saw this fellow lying in the
street and thought it was my duty to pick him
up and bring him here.”

He was vague when asked to pinpoint the
exact location where he had found the injured

MASTER DETECTIVE, MARCH, 1961.

When Denver police examined the car that brought a “hit and run”

nee

victim to a hospital, they were almost sick from the odor aS

coming from the trunk. The dreadful Stench could only meee death ;

it *HOAYNYAYD

man. When the nurse had gotten as
much information out of him as she
could, she asked him to wait around
for a little while.

“What do I have to wait for now?”
he asked belligerently. “I told you
everything I know.”

“The police have been notified,” the
nurse responded. “The law requires
it in these cases. They’ll be here any
moment now. They will want to ask
you some questions, since you’re the
only one who knows anything about
n

A jaw muscle twitched in the big
man’s face. His eyes narrowed and he
seemed thoughtful for a moment.
“Okay,” he drawled then. “I'll stick
around.”

Patrolmen Bender and Alexander
came through the double doors only
moments later. Welch got up from his
chair and reached the reception desk
only a step behind them. The nurse
was saying, “That’s the man who
brought him in. His name—” she
paused to look at the form she had
filled out—“is Ralph R. Welch.” She
handed Bender a carbon copy of the
report.

The big man didn't give him time to
read it. “Say, officers, can’t I leave
now?” he demanded. “I just brought
this fellow here. I found him in the
street. They told me I had to wait, but
I don’t know a thing more about him
than I told the girl, and I’ve got to get
going. I’m in a hurry.”

The two officers looked him over.
They saw a tall, sturdily built man
with a strong, roundish face topped by
dark blond curly hair. The blood
spots on his shirt held their attention

for a moment. They noted his air of
impatience.

“You'll just have to wait a few min-
utes more, Mr. Welch,” Officer Alex-
ander said. “We'll have to get your
story for our report. We won't take
long.”

“But I just gave her all the informa-
tion I know,” Welch protested. “You
can get it all from her.”

“Can’t do it that way,” Alexander
replied easily. “We have to get it first-
hand. Just wait here a minute. I'll be
right back.”

With a barely perceptible nod to his
partner, Alexander walked into the
examining room to look at the injured
man. Patrolman Bender kept a watch-
ful but unobstrusive eye on Welch.

In the examining room a doctor was
working rapidly over the man on the
table. ‘“How’s it look, doc?” the officer
asked.

Dr. Robert J. Shearer looked up
briefly. “This man may die without
regaining consciousness,” he said. “I
don’t like the looks of it. Besides, this
isn’t a case for a private hospital.
This is for General, and for you fel-
lows.

“We don’t know anything about this
man, or the circumstances. The only
thing we found on him was that iden-
tification card.” He nodded toward a
chair, where an ID card rested atop a
heap of bloody clothes.

Officer Alexander walked over and
picked up the card. “Tom Black,” he
read aloud. There was no address.
Alexander picked up the trousers.
“His pants pockets are turned inside-
out. Is that the way he was brought
in?”

“That’s right,” Dr. Shearer said. ‘“‘No
wallet, no money, nothing but this card.
And there’s another thing you might
note ... look at this V-mark cut into
the flesh where his left hand is broken.
As though he was hit with a steel bar
of some kind, maybe a jack handle.
This doesn’t look like a hit-run case
to me. Looks like he was beaten, and
maybe thrown from a car.”

The patrolman picked up the tele-
phone and called Denver General Hos-
pital, requesting an ambulance im-
mediately to transfer the patient to the
city hospital. Then he returned to the
reception room where the big man was
waiting impatiently under the watchful
eye of Patrolman Bender.

“All right,” Alexander said, ‘‘let’s
start from the beginning. Tell us all
about this.”

“My name is Ralph Welch, Ralph R.
Welch,” the big man began with an-
noyance. “I’m from Tucson, Arizona.
I’m on my way to New York. I’m
going to Columbia University there. I
saw this guy lying in the street. He
was hurt. I picked him up, put him in
my car, and brought him here. I'm a
good Samaritan.”

“What street? Where did you find
him?”

“How the hell would I know what
street? I’m a stranger in town. I
thought the guy might be dying, so
I figured I better get him to a hospital
fast. I maybe broke your speed limits
getting him here. I didn’t stop to look
at street signs. The guy was bleeding
like a pig all over my car, and look at
my shirt here— See that blood? It’s
ruined.”

“How did you happen to find this

Suspect told wild story of driving across border to Tia Juana, having a bite, then finding a dead body on car’s back seat

hospital?” Patrolman Alexander asked.

The question seemed to eatch the
big man off guard. He stammered,
“Why—why—there was a little boy
passing by—I asked him where the
nearest hospital was. He directed me
here.”

The officers exchanged quick looks.
Up to this point, Welch’s story was
credible, even though vague. The vague
points could be explained by the man’s
unfamiliarity with the city, however.
But his story about a little boy wan-
dering around the streets at midnight
on a stormy night—that was hard
to swallow. Alexander immediately
thought of the victim’s turned-out
pockets. Robbery? It was a distinct
possibility.

“Let’s see your identification,” he
said bruskly.

“Sure,” the burly character replied
surlily. He fumbled for a moment in
the hip pocket of his trousers, then
produced a wallet. More fumbling in
the identification pockets, and he
handed over an automobile insurance
ecard bearing the name of Ralph Robert
Welch, with an address on West Altu-
ras Street in Tucson, Arizona. Next
he handed them an automobile regis-
tration card for a 1951 Ford convert-
ible, issued to the same name.

“Do you have a driver’s license?”
Alexander asked him as Patrolman
Bender copied the information from
the first two credentials into his note-
book.

Ralph Welch, a 12-year, often-decorated
Marine, left his Chula Vista, Calif. home
for a beer, and didn’t come back alive. He
was found buried near Albuquerque, N. M.

Welch flared belligerently. “Say,
what is this?” he demanded angrily.
“Here I try to be a good guy and
help out someone who’s hurt, and you
fellows treat me like I’m a damned
criminal! I haven’t got all night to—”

The interruption was caused by the
arrival of the ambulance from General
Hospital. The officers suspended the
questioning briefly while they watched
the injured man loaded aboard. When
the city ambulance drove away, they
returned to Welch.

“Let's go take a look at your car,”
Officer Bender said.

Again the big man exploded angrily.
“What kind of a deal are you guys
trying to pull? Tm no cheap crook.
ae

“Take it easy, fella,” Bender said.
“We'd just like to take a look at it—
for the record. What’s wrong with
that? You’ve got nothing to hide,
right?”

Flanked by the two officers, they
started out the double doors, but as
they reached the loading platform out-
side, Welch suddenly wheeled and
started to stalk away. Officer Bender
reached out and grabbed him by the
arm.

“What’s coming off here?” Welch
protested. “Are you guys arresting me?
And what for?”

Bender clutched his arm firmly and
said evenly, “Stop being a tough guy,
Welch. We just want you to stick
around for a while. The detectives

might want to question you. Now let’s
go look at your car.”

The light green convertible, bearing
Arizona license plates, stood gleaming
in the rain, front wheels to the curb.
Its top was up. Patrolman Alexander
opened the front door and turned a
flashlight on the interior. At that in-
stant, the muscular suspect suddenly
wrenched himself free of Officer
Bender's grasp.

“To hell with you guys! I’m not
sticking around while you snoop in
my car!”

The words were hardly out of his
mouth when he was sprinting like a
deer down the street, the two officers in
hot pursuit, shouting for him to stop
as they drew their service pistols. They
were hampered by their bulky rain-
coats, however, and it looked like
they would lose him as he disappeared
around the corner and headed up
Twentieth Avenue. They saw him
pull out his wallet as he ran.

“Stop or we'll shoot!” the officers
warned.

Screams suddenly filled the air as
the chase swept by a group of young
nurses just coming off duty. Rain was
pelting down in torrents.

Now the fleeing man darted reck-
lessly across the street, and brakes
screeched as oncoming cars narrowly
averted running him down. He dis-
appeared around another corner, but
the officers caught sight of him again
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sent telegrams for money to. Welch's
folks, got some, came‘on to Denver.”
While still under the influence of the
drug Cavanaugh also told about Jones,
Captain Flor said—the same type of
story.
“I met Jones in a tavern. We went to
several. He got sick and said he’d wait
for me in the car. I went out later.
Jones. was just covered with blood.
My, he was beaten! Hoodlums, I guess.
So I rushed him to the hospital and got
in a beef with the cops and.I ran and
then I heard a shot and I took a nose
dive.”
“What did you swallow at the hos-
pital while you were being questioned?”
“Just some food I had in my pocket.”
Asked if he was able to draw a map
of the vicinity of Welch’s New Mexico
grave he said he’d try.
_ He drew a crude map, with a big X
marking the grave.

HREE hours later New Mexico State

« Police and sheriff's officers founa

the spot and exhumed a badly decom-
posed and battered body.

“It’s Welch, all right,” said Under-
sheriff Walter Geis, of Albuquerque,
leader of the search party.

The next day, August 8, tavanaugh
signed a waiver to return to California
on the bad-check warrant.

But he refused to discuss either the
Welch or Jones case.

Police Chief B. T. McCollum of Chula
Vista advised that he would send for
Cavanaugh. Detectives Seiveno and

. Quick hurried to Denver. But Cav-
anaugh wasn't talking to them, either.

“Welch? Don’t know a thing about
him! And neither do I know anything
about any bad checks!”

Returned to California, Cavanaugh

came under the jurisdiction of James

‘Don Keller, District Attorney of San

Diego County, and his veteran chief
investigator, Harry M. Baugh.

But Cavanaugh still insisted he was
“blacked out”. However, he agreed to
another sodium test and this was given
to him at the San. Diego County Hos-
pital on October 21. Basically, an-
nounced Keller, Cavanaugh’s narration
on this occasion was similar to the
Denver recital, differing only in details.

The District Attorney proceeded with
a check charge against him, involving
three counts of forgery. Cavanaugh
pleaded not guilty and not guilty by
reason of insanity. On November 13 a
jury found him guilty on all three
counts and on November 16 the sanity
trial began. During the course of this
trial Cavanaugh informed Judge Dean
Sherry of the Superior Court that he
wanted to make a statement to the Dis-
trict Attorney in the Judge’s chambers.

There, in the presence of his at-
torneys, newspapermen and others, he
made a detailed statement to Keller,
the District Attorney announced later,
confessing he had killed Weich. He
stated, according to Keller's announce-
ment, that he had gone to Tijuana with
Welch, drank, that they had picked up
two Mexican girls and he left Welch
in the car with them while he went to
buy Mexican food. He returned, Keller
claimed he said, to find Welch caressing
one of the women. He remonstrated,
he said, and Welch struck him. There-
upon Cavanaugh hit him.

“I blew my top and beat his head in
with a heavy flashlight that was in the
car,” Keller quoted Cavanaugh as say-
ing, with no show of remorse. ‘Then I
stabbed him with a souvenir dagger I
had just bought from a street peddler.

Safety Every Hour—At Gunpoint

“That might be it,” declared Shimon.
“If we can find a picture of him it might
ring a bell back in Washington.”

They carried their problem to Deputy
Chief Inspector Willis Kemmins of the
New York Police.. A photograph of
Napoli and his criminal record were ob-
tained from police files. He was a dark,
wavy-haired man, with black, brooding
eyes. His age was listed as 35, his
height six-two and his weight 220
pounds. His aliases were John Penna,
John Currie, Nicholas Falcone and John
LaRue. He had served time on three
convictions of larceny and burglary; his
trade was listed as longshoreman.

“But I imagine his baling hook has
become kind of rusty,” was Detective
Ray Britt’s comment. Britt had been
assigned to aid the Washington men.
He added: “Napoli is an expert ‘safe-
cracker. That sounds good.”

“It does, at that,” agreed Shimon.
“Only we don’t have a bit of evidence
to prove he’s ever heard of Golden-.
berg’s. What about this Joe the
Creep?” :

The nickname was unfamiliar to
Britt and New York’s nickname and
alias file did not list him. “But we'll
find out in a hurry,” Britt said. “We
have a lot of undercover men on the
waterfront.”

Joe the Creep, they learned, was
Joseph Gowasky, 54, a tough, experi-

.enced criminal who also specialized in
safecracking.

“I think Gowasky is a frequent loser,
out on parole,” Britt said. ‘‘Let’s make
sure about it.” :

Police records confirmed Detective
Britt. Gowasky had been paroled on
November 16, 1952. He’d had six con-
victions in New York and also had
served time on a string of larcency, bur-
glary and housebreaking convictions in
North and South Carolina. Since his
first arrest in 1907 he had been out of
prison a total of only two years.

“A real proper boy,” declared Daly.

-* Shimon had been studying the mug

shot of the man. “Look at his height.
He’s only five-three. And Napoli is al-
most a foot taller. According to the

watchman, one of those punks was tall,
one short and one medium height.”

By the following evening, Inspector
Kemmins’ undercover men brought in-
formation that, of late, Napoli and
Gowasky had been seen in the company
of a balding, thick-lipped man known
as Jeff, and with the intriguing nick-
name of, ‘The Washington Fiddle”.

“Do you know anybody like that?”
asked Kemmins.

But Shimon and Daly had no idea
who he could be. A telephone call to
Inspector Flaherty, in Washington, re-

’ vealed that the nickname wasn’t known

there either. :

YW/'irHoor any definite evidence,
Lieutenant Shimon and Daly, en-
listing the help of New York detectives,
decided to try a round-the-clock sur-
veillance of Napoli and Gowasky.

At first the two men made no attempt
to contact each other. Their actions
were routine, with both keeping close to
their respective homes. Napoli lived in
an apartment building on Throop
Street in Brooklyn and Gowasky in a
rooming-house on Pitkin Avenue.

No informers or undercover men had
heard of either trying to dispose of any
amounts of silver coin.

Then, a few minutes after nine
o'clock on a Thursday night, Napoli
and Gowasky met in front of a dwelling

‘on 90th Avenue in Jamaica.

The tailing detectives were startled
to see a good-looking, young brunet
woman answer the door, whisper to.the
men and let them in.

Their stay was comparatively brief.
Through a window that was only partly
curtained, the detectives saw the girl
go to a telephone and then beckon to
Napoli, who talked into the phone for
several minutes. Shortly after he hung

“up, both men left.

Together, they took a cab to Man-
hattan, and got out on East 68th Street.
There they knocked on the door of a
home in the middle of the block. But it
was dark and no one answered. Then
both men strolled to a subway and re-
turned to their homes.

Then I mutilated the body, put it in
the car trunk, and came back across the
border to California.”

The Mexican girls fled as he killed
Welch, Cavanaugh said, according to
the District Attorney.

Then Cavanaugh handed District
Attorney Keller a signed, handwritten
confession on a scrap torn from a note-
book. It read, Keller said:

“I, Michael T. Cavanaugh, do admit ©

by this self-written document that on
July 23rd, 1953, in Tijuana, Mexico, I,
Michael T. Cavanaugh, did kill one
Ralph Welch as an aftermath of an
argument...”

Later, Cavanaugh said he had con-
fessed to “take the heat off" his wife.
She had been questioned several times
by authorities after Cavanaugh’s return
from Denver. She had _ cooperated,
Keller said.

After the confession Cavanaugh
was remanded to jail under a $15,000
bond. He withdrew his plea of insanity.

On December 1, 1953, Cavanaugh was:

sentenced to three to 42 years on the
forgery conviction.

“| WANT to emphasize,” said Dis-
trict Attorney Keller, “that al-
though we do have his confession, our
investigation is not terminated. We are
presently coordinating our investigation
with the Tijuana Police Department to
substantiate or disprove the allegation
that Welch was actually slain in Ti-
juana. Cavanaugh says we will find
evidence there to prove his story.” .

Apparently, however, that evidence
was not found for as this issue- of
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES goes
to press trial of Michael Cavanaugh on
murder charges is pending in San
Diego County.

(Continued from Page 43)

“What do you make of it?” asked
Shimon, after a report had been relayed
to Headquarters.

Kemmins shrugged. “Frankly, it
doesn't seem to mean much, But let’s
see what we can find out about the
occupants of that Jamaica house.”

What he found out was startling. The
house was occupied by Mr. and Mrs.
William Hunter. Hunter was a truck
driver for a building-supply firm. Both
the young housewife and the husband
enjoyed good reputations.

But Mrs. Hunter, detectives learned,
was the daughter of Edward Abair, a
long-time criminal who at that very
moment was under indictment for
burglary and robbery. He was suspected
by the New York police of being the
leader of the Gray Ghosts, a gang of
expert safecrackers who had plagued
Manhattan and its outlying boroughs
for months.

It was a long-shot but Kemmins de-
cided to see if he could trace the phone
call Mrs. Hunter had made. He was in
luck. It turned out to be a long-dis-
tance call to one Ivan Gould, at the
Quebec House, in Washington, D. C.

*'W HY. that’s one of the most exclu-

sive apartment-houses in Wash-
ington!"" exclaimed Shimon.

An exchange of calls to Washington
compounded the mystery. Inspector
Flaherty soon phoned back: that no one
named Ivan Gould lived in the plush
and expensive apartment-house.

“The number is listed in the name of
Albert Dubray,” revealed Flaherty.
“And Dubray is manager of a big,
prominent store here. Are you sure you
have the right number?” :

Shimon was positive, for telephone
company records listed no less than
seven calls to the same number, all from
the Hunter phone and all made person-
to-person to the same Ivan Gould.

After a pause, Flaherty said: “We'll
bear down on it. You boys scoot back
here with some pictures and everything
you can get on Napoli and Gowasky.”

Shortly after noon Friday, Shimon
and Daly returned. Several photos of

the Nev
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clared tl
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Each identifies itself, except when
being sought by the law, with distinc-
tive jackets that bear elaborate
embroidered emblems on the back. with
the gang’s name, such as White Fence,
Honeydrippers, Black Knights.

Police records are filled with stories
of bloody gang fights, depredations and
wanton attacks upon citizens and
shopkeepers. A score of homicides have
been charged to the gangs within the
Past five years.

Police and juvenile authorities have
tried to channel the gang activities to
worthwhile projects by forming hot-
rod clubs and athletic teams. At times
it seemed that they might succeed,

only to have a new outbreak of gang :

violence upset all of the plans.

Among the most feared and with the
greatest police record for arrests are
the White Fencers. The name of the
gang comes from the long white fence
that borders their territory along the
Santa Ana Freeway in the east-side
community.

Lovretovich and Casserly were well
acquainted with the operation of the
White Fence gang from the numerous
encounters its members had had with
the Law. They knew the main gang
was split into five divisions.

TH Spiders are youngsters from eight
to fourteen, the Tinies take in the
fourteen-to-eighteen-year age group,
the Cheeries those from eighteen to 21:
the Monsters from 21 to 24 and the
Veteranos all over 24.

A recent survey by juvenile officials
revealed that more White Fencers were
“twisted” (doing time in work camps
and jail) than employed or in school.

Weird stories have come to light
about initiation into the hoodlum
gangs, some of which have. been veri-
fied by police investigations. Suppos-
edly the youngest members must prove
themselves by stealing and wrecking
at least three automobiles before being
accepted and to move into the next
bracket the members must show proof
of having burglarized a number of
stores.

“I think you’ve got a point that the

three punks in the mob may each have °

killed a man,” Lovretovich told Rosen-
berg. “The descriptions we have would
put them in the Cheeries division.
They’re about old enough to move up
to the Monsters and may be trying to
make an impression to show how tough
they are.”

“How many of these Cheeries are
there?” Bowers asked.

Lovretovich shrugged. “It’s hard to
tell. Forty, maybe fifty. That depends
upon how many of them are in jail at
this time.”

“Can we round them all up and bring
them in so Sanonian can take a look at
them?”

Lovretovich scowled. “It will be a
rough job. Word is out about the kill-
ings. The streets on the east side will
be clean for awhile.”

“What if we picked up some of the
members of other gangs? Maybe we
could get information from them.”

Lovretovich smiled and shook his
head. ‘The gangs will slug it out, even

kill one another, but they arent going ~

to squeal. No matter how much they
hate one another, they have one com-
mon enemy and that is us.” f

“We've got to find that scarfaced
killer,” Bowers declared. “Sanonian
can identify him and that’s our only
lead.” :
“I’ve been thinking about that scar,”
Rosenberg said. “We don’t know how
long the fellow has had it. It may be
recent and that’s why it hasn’t shown
up in our special-markings file. I think
we should look into our records of re-
cent gang fights and see if anyone got
a slash on the right side of-his face in
the past year or so.”

“I'll have it done right away,” Bowers
declared. “I'll put a crew on the hospi-
tal records in the east side, too. In
the meantime, we'll start rounding up
the White Fence gang.”

. Squads of sheriff's deputies -moved
into the east side. However, the flashy learned, that Thomas Guajardo, a
jackets usually proudly displayed by White Fence leader with a bad reputa-

Fence members were noticeably tion, had disappeared from his us
haunts. The best information availa-
All of the youths vigorously denied ble was that Guajardo had gone to visit

White

absent from street corners, -

membership in the gang or any knowl- relatives in Fresno.

edge of the slayings or of anyone who

had a

Scar on his face.

One lead developed when deputies

Guajardo did not have a scar on his
face but the fact that he owned a car
Several youths were brought to and had left suddenly was enough for

Up to the Minute

huh regen criminals who believe that their ages may temper the
punishment meted out to them will not be heartened by decisions
handed down recently in two widely separated states.

In California two young men, Ronald Garrett, eighteen, and
James Woosley, 20, have found out that they may spend the rest of
their lives in prison, They have been given sentences of one year to
life for armed robbery; if they ever complete these terms they
must then begin sentences of 25 years for kidnaping, and then addi-
tional one-year-to-life stretches for another armed robbery. Woos-
ley and Garrett are the two youths who capped a week-long gun-
slinging spree by kidnaping a sheriff and a deputy in Amador
County; the story of the chase after them and their eventual cap-
ture appeared in: the March, 1956, issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE
STORIES Magazine, under the title, “ ‘Caution, the Kidnapers Are
in Town!’”

Mllinois is just about as tough. Richard Pradun, eighteen, and
Leonard Vanosky, sixteen, are in prison for 35 years now; Leonard's
brother, Raymond, fourteen, for fourteen years; and Marilyn Sav-
inski, sixteen, Pradun’s girl friend, must spend the rest of her life
under the supervision of the Illinois Youth Commission. The four
teen-agers made up an armed-robbery gang that caused the death
of Anton Kamalick in Chicago when he resisted a stickup. “ ‘You’ll
Know Me, All Right, Big Boy’” was the title of the detective story
behind the capture of this gang in the February, 1956, OFFICIAL.

A three-year legal fight to escape the gas chamber ended un-
successfully for Michael Timothy Cavanaugh when he was put to
death in San Quentin Penitentiary, California, on Friday the Thir-
teenth—April 13, 1956. Cavanaugh was executed for the 1953 kill-
ing of Ralph R. Welch of Chula Vista. OFFICIAL DETECTIVE
STORIES, in its February, 1954, issue, told of the unusual detective
work that followed Cavanaugh’s arrest in Denver and the discovery
of bloodstains and bits of flesh in the trunk of the car Cavanaugh
had abandoned as he fied from Police after another crime. Cava-
naugh based his. lengthycourt battle on the claim that California
did not have jurisdiction; he said that he did not remember which
State he had been in when he killed Welch.

Two Western United States Marshals, from El Paso, Texas, and
Phoenix, Arizona, find themselves on opposite sides of the fence.
Each wants to be next to bring to trial for bank robbery a gambler,
Robert Sanders, and a bricklayer, Joseph Gullahorn, who joined
forces to raid banks on three different Army and Air Force bases.

Sanders and Gullahorn already are under sentence of 20 years
for the burglary of the bank on Sandia Air Force Base near Albu-
querque, New Mexico, following what Judge Waldo H. Rogers called
“a wonderful job of investigation.” That investigation was given in
detail in the February, 1956, issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE
STORIES Magazine, entitled, “Who Raided the Nuclear Weapons
Bank?” j :

They also will be brought to trial for similar burglaries at Fort
Bliss, near E] Paso, and Williams Air Force Base near Phoenix,

Because OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine keeps
its readers up to. the very last minute with detailed accounts of de-
tective investigations, the stories sometimes are published before
trial. This department appears here regularly to inform readers of
the latest legal developments in such instances.—The Editor.

Headquarters for questioning. Their
sullen replies gave the officers little to
work with.

One of them flatly told Bowers: “I’m
no pigeon. And even if I was, I’m not
crazy enough to open my yap on a beef
like this. Those cats have made three
scores. How long do you think any-
body would last who opened up on
them? You cops are crazy if you think
you’re going to get anybody to finger
them.”

the Los Angeles sheriff’s office to re-
quest Fresno County officers to look: for
the youth and take him into custody
for questioning. $
Then, in looking up Guajardo’s
known companions, Deputies Robert

Beach and Don E. Barnes came to Ray

Ulibarri, a sixteen-year-old youth who
had a strip of adhesive tape on the
right side of his face. He was rushed
to Headquarters.

“I know why you cops picked me up,”

AL DETECTIVE STORIES.

Too Many Scarfaced Killers ‘(Continued from Page 19) OFFICI Read I? First In

Ulibarri sullenly told Bowers anc
Rosenberg. “You figure me for the
“scarfaced kid in those killings. I reac
about it in the paper this morning.”

“What's under that adhesive tape?’
Bowers asked.

“It ain’t no scar. It’s a fresh cut. I
got it last night.”

“That’s your story.”

“And it’s straight! Another cat and
I were just fooling around. He cut me
accidentally. It don’t amount to much.’

_Chief Bowers sent for the jail phy-
sician. The adhesive tape was removed
from Ulibarri’s face. A fresh cut was
revealed beneath it. '

But as the Physician studied the
wound he announced: “This Slash is
over an old scar. It looks like it
might have been made deliberately
with a razor blade to follow the line of
the old wound.” ,

“How about it, Ulibarri?” Bowers
asked.

“The doc is nuts! I told you I got it
cut last night. This guy I was fooling
around with had a knife.”

“We have a witness,” Bowers said.

“Yeah. So I read in the Papers.”

“He's going to take a look at you.”

A sneer curled on Ulibarri's lips. “I
hope he thinks I'm pretty.”

Sanonian was brought to Headquar-
ters. A line-up was formed with Uli-
barri in it and five other youths.
Sanonian studied them closely.

“The one you are thinking of is the
one with the cut on his face.” he said.

“That's right,” Bowers replied. “And
keep this in mind. The doctor has told
us that the cut was made over an older
scar. The slash was made this morning
apparently to disguise the scar.”

Sanonian stood for a long time taking
in every feature of Ulibarri.

“Well?” Bowers asked.

“He is not the boy.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Sanonian said. “I told
‘you I would remember the one who held
the gun. The other two I could not be
sure of. But he is not the one with the
Scar on his face who held the gun. Of
that I am positive.” .

With the showup over, Bowers and
Rosenberg returned to the Chief's office.

“I thought we had it made,” Bowers
said. “But if Sanonian can’t identify
him, that kicks it right out the window.”

Rosenberg’s face was clouded, with
deep furrows lining his forehead. “I
can’t figure the kid slashing his face to
cover that old scar if he isn’t the one we
want.”

“Sanonian was_ positive.” Bowers
reached for the telephone. “I may as
well send word up to release him.”

**H{ OLD it a minute.” Rosenberg re-
quested. “A kid isn’t going to
slash open his face deliberately without
a reason. Even with a razor blade, it
must have hurt. Maybe Sanonian
couldn’t make him as the killer but I’ve
gota idea he’s involved in this just the
same.”
“But Sanonian is the only witness,”
Bowers pointed out. “We haven't any

‘ other evidence and no charge on which

we can hold him.”

. “I know,” Rosenberg said. “Just the
same, I’d like to have him tailed. . I
want to know everybody he sees and
everything he does. Those punks took
the cash register from Markarian’s
place. If we'could find it, we might get
a lead on something. Have Ulibarri
brought here before he’s released.”

Ulibarri swaggered into the office with
a@ smirk on his face.

“Satisfied?” he asked. “I told you I
was clean on this.”

- Rosenberg nodded. “We're satisfied.”
“So, what do you want now?”
“You're a member of the White Fence -

outfit. You know what goes on in the
t side. How about giving us a rum-
ble? Who is the kid we're looking for
with the scar on his face?”
Ulibarri laughed. “You cops sure try
‘the hard way. . First you try to pin a
bum rap on me. Now you want me to
be a stoolie. Why don’t you wise up?”

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He opened the door and stepped into
the street. He slipped down an alley,
darted across a wide street, then lost him-
self in the shadows of a park. Across the
park was a lot filled with heavy machinery,
then open country. He walked through the,
fields in the half light of dawn. It was
getting too light. He found a bed of tules
near an irrigation canal and lay in them.
Daylight came bringing bright, sweltering
sunlight. The tules seemed to eat all the
oxygen. Sometimes he thought he would
smother, but he did not move. He did
not budge all day. Once he heard the
voices of sheriff’s officer’s searching and
tensed himself, bracing himself for a dash
to freedom, but nothing happened.

Night came and he continued his
journey. He reached Williams, ten miles
from Colusa. The lights of the town
attracted him. He had not eaten for two
days but did he dare to take a chance?
He had to eat. The killer entered a
restaurant and ordered a couple of sand-
wiches to take out. He watched for sus-
picious glances, fingering the knife while
he waited, but nothing happened, Four
‘women were sitting in a booth, lingering
over their coffee. The waitress hardly
looked at him. He paid her, took his sand-
wiches and left. :

It was while he was paying the waitress
that he noticed that. his wallet was: gone.
He wondered where he had left it. Back
in the tules, probably. It was lucky he
had money in one of his other pockets
for a mistake like that could be fatal.

The killer moved on and on, walking
through the fields: in the darkness and
sleeping during the day. The. next night
he reached Arbuckle, more than twenty
miles from Colusa. He was getting nearer
and nearer to safety. Two nights later he
passed Zamora, fifty-eight miles from
Colusa. He turned east, toward Wood-
land. Perhaps there was safety there. At
least he. was out of Colusa County. Wood-
land was the county seat of Yolo County.
The next morning found him in the bus
station in Woodland, waiting for . the
ticket office to open. No one noticed him.
There were a lot of Mexican farm hands
around. He knew there was security in
numbers. He purchased a bus ticket to
Stockton.

ITA VALEZ did not wait to witness
the end of the drama on Main Street.
After the fight in the bedroom she knew
that ‘Felix had sufficient strength to take
care of both her and Connie. The only
alternative was to summon help. She ran
out the rear door, screaming.

“Johnt Mary! A man is in there trying
to kill Connie.”

No reply. She called again but still no
reply. The now thoroughly frightened
waitress looked around the yard. For a
moment she thought she was. trapped by
the high board fence. Then she saw the
plank which the intruder had ripped loose.
She darted through it, fqund the hole in
the wire fence, and ran down the street,
still screaming. She was in a state of
hysteria when she reached the police sta-
tion, half a block away.

“Come quick,” she begged. “There’s a
man trying to kill Connie Navarro.”

The desk sergeant looked startled.
“Where?” he demanded.

“On Main Street. You know the place.”

“You mean the Michoacan?”

“No. Her house. You must know where
it is.”

“That's just the point. -I don’t,” the ser-
geant replied. “If you don’t know the
number, you'll have to show me.”

The waitress shrank back. “I can't go
back there,” she declared.

“You say you can’t go back there? Why
can’t you?”

“He'll kill me. He’s killing Connie and
he'll kill me.”

The sergeant patted his holstered thirty-
eight service revolver. “Not while I have
this,” he said. “Now come on. It may be
too late.”

In spite of her fears the girl led the
policeman to the home of her employer.
The front. door was open. Inside they
could hear Miguel Ortega, snoring loudly.
Other than that it was quiet. Rita waited
on the street while the officer stepped in-
side. He picked out the still form near
the window with his flashlight.

“I’m afraid we're too late,” he told the
waitress. “She’s already dead.”

Rita screamed. The sergeant reached
‘for the telephone. -

. Ten minutes later Max Mayfield, Sheriff
of Colusa County, pulled up in front of
the house on Main Street. He arrived
simultaneously with Dr. Joseph .E. Tillot-
son, who had been summoned by the ser-
geant. Tillotson knelt beside the woman's
body.

“She’s dead,”. he announced.
been thoroughly butchered.”

“What apes” Mayfield asked the
sergeant.

The officer dicugged, “I haven’t been
able to find out,” he replied.- He indicated
Rita. “She saw it happen, but I haven't
been able to get a coherent word out of
her since ‘she found out Mrs. Navarro was
dead. There’s a joker asleep in the front
bedroom, but I don’t think he did it. He’s
in what amounts to an alcoholic coma,
and there’s no blood on his clothes. She
is the key to the whole thing.”

Mayfield turned to Rita. “You want
me-to catch the man who killed your
friend, don’t you?”

The waitress nodded mutely.

“Then you’lkhave to tell me what hap-

“She's

pened.”
The waitress shook her head.
“Why not?”

“He'll kill me too if you don’t catch
him.” ¢

“We'll protect you,” Mayfield protested.
“You must cooperate.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Then you had better help us. Was
it the. man who is asleep in the other
room?” the sheriff inquired.

Once again the waitress shook her head

mutely,
“Then who was it?”
No answer. Mayfield cajoled, threat-

ened, and begged, but he could not -get
an answer from the frightened woman.
Other deputies arrived and assisted in the
interrogation. Finally Mayfield turned
away.

“We'd better let her rest,” he announced.
“Get some pictures and I'll have a look
around: the house.”

The thin trail of blood left by Connie's
cut finger led them back to her bedroom.

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treet °
saturated customer. He was very drunk,

hand Rita shook his shoulder gently. ‘“Clos-

: ing time,” she called. “Come on, sleepy
built head. It’s time to get out of here.”
. “It Miguel Ortega slept on oblivious of the
oing waitress’ summons. Rita shook him again,
. the harder. :

“Come on, you drunken farm-hand,”
ould she shouted. “Get out of here!”

Ortega muttered drunkenly in his sleep,
his then settled down to a loud, steady snore.
tan Rita looked helplessly at her employer.
vath. “What will we do?” she inquired. “He’s
ving too drunk to go anywhere. If we throw
got | him out the police will just pick him up.

| Maybe we should call them now.”
ised. Connie shook her head. “No, don’t call
‘day the police. Ortega is a good man. He
rob- | never gauses any trouble. His eyes were
| just a little bigger than his stomach to-
ive, night. We'll take him to my place, it’s
' only half a block. He can sleep on the
| couch.”
July “I don’t think we can keep him awake
Rita long enough to get him there,” Rita pro-
day ' tested. :
om- “Sure we can,” Connie insisted. “It’s
Tere) | not good for the place if we call the
ited } Police. We'll wake him up.” She lifted
1US- | the prostrate farm-hand to a sitting posi-
ing. } tion and began shaking - his shoulders,
ad- “Give me a hand,” she ordered.
nds | A few moments later Connie and Rita
ga. emerged from the now darkened Michoa-
ep. | can, supporting the semi-slumbering
iad . Ortega between them. In the dimly lighted
or | street it was impossible to tell that the
the man was dead drunk. A casual observer
vas would merely have decided he was a friend
air of the two young women—a very close
aly friend. And the only observer was by no
of means casual.
9) To the small, dark man who stood

hidden in the shadows of the towering
live oak tree across the street the whole
thing was obvious. Just what he had sus-
pected. For an hour he had stood be-
neath that tree, hoping for the best’ but
expecting the worst. He had to find out.
Now that he knew there was only one way
to handle the situation. He had to settle
things man to man. There could be no
compromise, A mixture of rage and grief
washed through his jealousy-tortured soul.

Connie Navarro, the angel of Mexican
farm-hands from Zamora to Willows, from
j Winters to the Marysville Buttes. She
loaned them money, meals, defended and
protected them. As a result her place was
one of the most popular gathering places
for people of her kind in the rich northern
California ranch lands:

Lithe, graceful, comely Connie, told
him she had spurned his advances be-
4 cause she was faithfully awaiting the re-
y ‘ turn of her husband. For months he had
4° known better than that. Her husband's
‘ mind was gone, and he was doomed to
q spend the rest of his life in a mental
"| hospital. There had to be another man.
4 It was the only answer. He had guessed

as much for some time and now he was
f sure. The ‘evidence was on the street be-
| fore him.

He had felt the truth when he had gone
to the Michoacan to play pool in the
afternoon. When he returned at eight
o'clock he was positive. She had spurned

No woman could (Continued on page 56)

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time. That night we drove to a cafe an’ T
waited in the car an’ he went in an’ tele-
phoned. A little while later a guy in a
Ford sedan showed up.”

“That was Rainey?” Stambaugh asked.
. Butler nodded. “I didn’t know he was
no chief of police. Sellmer pulled a gun
on Rainey an’ gave me the chief's gun.
Then we got in the Ford and drove out
Highway 66 to a gravel path where an-

other guy waited—a guy looked like he.

was a hophead. Sellmer never mentioned
him by name an’ I never saw him after.”

The description fitted McNally, Stam-
baugh figured.

““T see you got the lousy rat this time,’
the guy said, and Sellmer said “Yeah, an’
it’s for keeps, now.’ Then Bob busted
Rainey across the head with the butt of
his gun and led him up a path. I just. held
the .38 that belonged to the chief. Then
Sellmer fired three times and dumped the
guy down a well or something!”

“Then they disappeared, I suppose,” -

Stambaugh said sardonically, and Butler
nodded. “What did you do with Rainey’s
gun?”

“! threw it in the Canadian River.”

“Then how,” Stambaugh demanded,
“did you wind up with the .45 in your
possession?”

His story had been going smoothly, but
now all of a sudden a striken look crossed
the youth’s face and his shoulders sagged
dejectedly.

“Jeez,” he said. “I got me one gun too
many.” ,

GELLMER was brought into the investi-
gation again but ironclad alibis and the

’ fact that Butler had no witnesses to their

meetings—if there ever had been any
meetings—exonerated the small-time hood-
lum from suspicion. And so on April 6,
1942, Butler went on trial alone in the

‘Custer County District Court at Arapaho

and was found guilty. Judge J. P. Keem
sentenced him to life imprisonment in the
Oklahoma State Penitentiary.

Butler just hated cops a little more than
Rainey hated people.

Epiror’s Note: The names Dow
McNally and Bob Sellmer are fictitious.

PASSION IN THE MORNING

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 9

laugh at him and get away with it. But .

he had to have evidence, so he had waited.
All evening he had sat around the place,
drinking lightly, waiting for closing time.
When the bar closed at two o’clock he
stayed around, nibbling on a sandwich.
He had asked Connie for one more date,
and she had laughed again. Another black
mark against her.

At three A.M. everyone had gone, so he
left too. He stepped outside and lingered
under the oak tree. Now he knew the
worst. He saw the three of them, arm in
arm, enter Connie Navarro’s house on
Main Street. When they had disappeared
he followed stealthily.

At first he thought of knocking at the
front door. But that, would not do. He
had to surprise them. He circled the block
and found an entrance into the back yard,
a wire fence with a-hole in it. But that
was the wrong yard. Connie’s place was
encircled by a high board fence. He
tested the boards and found that one of
them was loose. He ripped it from the
stringer and stepped through. He could
see through the drawn shade that there
was a light in Connie’s room. He waited.
A half hour later the light went out. There
was still a light in Rita’s room, but that
did not matter, it was Connie he was in-
terested in.

He crossed the yard stealthily and tried
‘the back door, cursing under his breath
when he found it locked. All of the back
windows were screened, but he noticed
that one of them had been broken re-
cently. A kid playing ball, no doubt. Or
had it been broken from the inside? No
matter—it was a means of entry. He
drew a spring knife from his pocket,
pressed the catch, and the razor-sharp

blade gleamed in the darkness. A mo-

ment later he inserted the point at the
bottom of the screen and worked it into
the mesh, then he ripped upward and the
thin wires parted easily. When there was
room for his hand he took a firm grip and
ripped the whole screen out. The window
opened easily and a second later he
stepped inside.

FOR a few moments he stood motionless,

letting his eyes become accustomed to
the deeper darkness. He had visited Con-
nie before and he knew the house. The
crack of light under the door was coming
from the hall. Connie’s bedroom was just
beyond. He crept forward, into the dimly
lighted hall, and paused by her room. He
knocked softly.

“Who's there?” it was a woman’s Voice.

“It’s me, Felix.”

“Well, get out of here. What are you
doing in here anyway?”

“I came to see who is in there with
you.” ‘ ; .

“Are you crazy? There is no one in
here with me. Now get out of here.”

“You can’t fool me any longer. I've
caught you this time.” The intruder flung
the door open and stepped inside. “All
I want is the man.”

Felix was greeted by Connie’s angry
gaze. She had been lying on top of her
bed, dressed only in a brassiere and half-
slip, resting before she took her bath.

“All right, now you see I’m alone. Get
out of here,” she ordered.

The man grinned evilly and closed the
door softly behind him. He advanced
toward ‘the bed slowly. For the first time
Connie saw the knife in his right hand,
the ugly, killer blade gleaming softly. Her
eyes widened.

“What are you going to do?”

aoaeeneaic0n ¥

r>raay was

1 River.”
demanded,
.45 in your

smoothly, but
) look crossed
vulders sagged

: one gun too

o the investi-
alibis and the
iesses to their
id been any
all-time hood-
> on April 6,
alone in the
‘t at- Arapaho.
e J. P. Keem
dnment in the

ttle more than

names Dow
re fictitious.

point at the
/orked it into
»ward and the
ien there was
firm grip and
The window
nd later he

id motionless,
ccustomed to
visited Con-
house. The
was coming
20m Was just
ito the dimly
er room. He

oman's voice.
Vhat are you
a there with

is no one in
of here.”

longer. I've
intruder flung
inside. “All

ynnie’s angry
yn top of her
iere and half-
her bath.

m alone. Get

ind closed the
He advanced
the first time
‘ht hand,
iftly. Her

do?”

“Nothing. Nothing that will hurt you.”

In the adjoining room, Rita was having
her own problems. She stared at her
bed disgustedly. Ortega, still in a drunken
stupor, had somehow got off the couch,
stumbled into her Toom, and passed out.
For a moment Rita considered getting
Connie to help her move the farm-hand
back out to the couch. Then she dis-
missed the idea. It would not be worth
the effort. Instead she would sleep on the
couch for one night. She kicked her shoes
off her aching feet, turned on a small
electric fan, and began fixing her hair.

For a while the house was silent, except
for the heavy breathing of Ortega and
the muted whirring of the fan. Then she
heard them. Footsteps moving stealthily
up the hall. Rita switched off the fan and
listened. There was no sound other than
the farm-hand’s: breathing. She flicked the
fan back on and resumed her hair dress-
ing. :

Voices now. She heard them clearly.
Once again she switched. the fan off to be
sure. Connie’s voice. Was she talking in
her sleep? Perhaps she was having a night-
mare. The waitress called to her em-
ployer.

“Connie, are you all right?”

No answer. Rita was about to switch
the fan on when she heard voices again,
soft and muted. Were there two of them?
Rita could not be sure. She decided to
investigate.

The dim light from the hallway did not
tell the true story when Rita opened the
door. She could see two figures on the
bed, ‘but she did not see the knife, She
started to back out. Connie’s muffled voice
stopped her. _ ‘

“Don’t go,” she begged. “He's trying
‘to kill me.” fe:

Rita’s gaze focused on the knife, held
tight against her employer's side, ready to
plunge lethally into the unprotected flesh,

“Get out of here,” she ordered. “Ts that
any way to act?” ;

In.spite of her precarious position, Con-
nie could .not suppress a laugh. But if
Rita was not much on conversation at the
moment, she was fine as far as action was
concerned. Without further comment she
darted forward, seized the intruder’s knife
hand, and started to twist it. He released
his hold on Connie and struggled for pos-
session of the weapon, and as the man
and woman empaged in a weird wrestling
match in the darkéned room, his intended
victim leaped clear of the bed. and out of
range.

It was a peculiar battle. For some in-
explicable reason Connie put on her shoes
before entering the fight, then’ she moved
to her employee’s assistance. Both women
struggled for possession of the knife, but
the wiry muscles of the little ranch-hand
overcame their best efforts. The melee
ended as weirdly as it had started. Some-
how Connie’s hand found the knife blade.
The woman howled in pain and stepped
back. :

“Now see what you've done,” she said
angrily. “You cut my finger.”

Rita and the intruder stopped wrestling.

“I’m sorry, Connie,” he told her, “I
didn’t mean to hurt you.”

In view of what was to follow, the ’

scene was ludicrous.
“Put that knife away,” Connie ordered.

Her admirer obediently folded the knife
and placed it in his pocket,

“How did you get in here?” the woman
demanded,

“Through the window.”

“What was the big idea of breaking into
my house?” she asked,

“I had to see you, Connie. I had, to
find out who was beating my time.”

The woman laughed. “You're funny,
Felix. You must be crazy.”

“You had better not laugh at me, Con-
nie. It’s dangerous to laugh at me.”

“Why shouldn't. I laugh? The whole
thing is ridiculous,” she responded, “There
is only one man_who is beating your time.
He is my husband.’ And he is sick,”

“Shall I call the police?” Rita inquired,

Connie was optimistic. “No, don’t call
the police. He won’t hurt anybody now.
Anyway, it would just cause a scandal and
a lot of trouble.”

“Connie, you have to listen to me,” the
intruder protested. “I love you. I must
have you.” ‘

“I won't listen to anybody until I get
dressed. Now get out of here.”

Rita and the intruder retreated to the
hall while Connie moved toward the
closet in search of a dress. A few’ mo-
ments later she emerged, fully dressed. She
led the way to the front room. 9

“I still don’t understand how you got
in here,” she declared. “All of my
windows have screens.” :

She moved across the room to a window
which looked onto the street. She ex-
amined the lock while Rita watched in
the background. She heard her employer
still talking about the method the intruder
had. used to break into her house. Then
she heard Felix speak, declaring his love,
Pleading his case. Once again Connie
laughed.

«Don’t laugh at me, Connie. I warn
you.” ‘

“I can't help it,” Connie replied.
“You're so funny. So pitiful. Why don’t
you let me alone. I’m ‘not the only one
who is laughing at you. By now you're
the laughing stock of Colusa. And I will
be too, if you don’t stop this.” ;

“You won't laugh any more. Not ever
again.”

There was a sharp click. From her posi-
tion near the doorway Rita saw the knife
blade once again, gleaming in the in-
truder’s hand. She screamed a warning.

“Connie!”

The knife arm rose and fell. Connie
felt the razor-sharp steel sink into her
shoulder. :

“Please don't. kill me, Felix. Please.”
There was no laughter in Connie’s voice
now. She would never laugh again.

The knife arm fell again and the woman
screamed in horror and agony. A second
and third time. The butchering went on.
Connie slumped to the floor. The in-
truder was a madman now—an animal
killer. The blade bit flesh again and again. |
It missed nothing—arms, torso, mouth,
face and legs. Seventeen times in all the
blade rose and fell. The killer stopped,
breathing hard, perspiring from his effort.
He gazed at the lifeless form beneath him.
She was dead—good and dead. No more
laughing. In the distance he could hear
Rita screaming. She was Tunning for the
police.

is
How

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CHAVEZ, Gregorio, hanged at San Quentin (Imperial County) on Merch ?, 1923.

"Gregorio Chavez, sentenced by Judge Franklin J, Cole on Dec. 15, to be hanged for
the murder of his 12-year-old niece Jovita Hurtado on the night of Nov. ll, 1922,
will pay th@ penalty at San Quentin for his crime tomorrow morning at 10 o'¢tlock,
the date for execution having been fixed by the court as March 2, Chavez was found
guilty of murder after one of the quickest trials in the history of Imperial County,
selection of a jury, hearing of testimony and decision by the jury reouiring less
than one day, On the night of Nov. 11, Chavez went to the home of his brother-in-
law, Jesus Hurtado, with the determination of 'wiping out the whole family,' as he
expressed it, believing that Hurtado was the cause of a separation between Chavez
and his wife, the latter being in her brother-in-law's homeat the time, Upon
reaching the house, Chavez fired several shots at the inmates, but not finding his
brother-in-law there, went to the fields where the latter was irrigating. Upon
reaching the place where the light of a lantern showed Hurtado to be, accompanied by
his small daughter, Chavez opened fire, Hurtado was unable to locate Chave, posi-
tion, but swung widely in the dark with a shovel, One of the bullets intended for
Hurtado struck Jovita and she sank to the ground, At this Hurtado fled, pursued by
the girl s father, who caught up with him when the murderer became stuck in the
heavy mud of the irrigated field, Hurtado struck Chavez with the shovel, rendering
him unconscious, and then bound him with wire and notified the Brawley police, not
knowing at the time his daughter was seriously wounded, Upon the deat1 of Jovita in
the Brawley hospital a few hours later, a charge of murder was lodged against Chavez.
Testimony at the trial showed he had gorie to his bpother-in-law! s place armed with
plenty of cartridges and looking for trouble," IMPERIAL VALLEY® PRESS, El Centro, CA,
3-1-1923 (1:8.)

"Unemotionless as the day he heard the sentence of death pronounced upon him, Gre-
gorio Chavez of Brawley was hanged at 10 o'clock this morning in the state prison at
San Quentin for the murder of his 12-year-old niece, Jovita Hurtado, at Bra wley on
Nov, ll, 1922, According to a dispatch received from San Quentin, the condemned man
went to his death, repeating prayers with a priest, but made no statement regarding
the crime, His wife and small daughter visited the district attorney's office this
morning to ascertain if the hanging had been carried out and what disposition would
be made of the body, Though estranged from her husband at the time of the murder,
Mrs. Chavez showed considerable emotion today and several times cried bitterly.

She is a comely Mexican woman, very neatly dressed and won the sympathy of all who
were present when she conversed with the interpreter, The youngster, unaware of

the tragedy entering its life, romped around the district attorney's office making
friends with everybody, After Chavez had been sentenced to death, he told Dick
Cohen, court interpreter, that he did not wish his wife to have the custody of the
little onee..'! IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, CA, 3-2-1923 (1:3.)

/ the place.”
know where

‘t,” the ser-
know the

ne.”

“I can’t go

there? Why
Connie and

‘ered thirty-
hile I have
It may be

sirl led the
~ employer.
inside they
ring loudly.
Rita waited
stepped in-
form near

he told the
int reached

ield, Sheriff
in front of
He arrived
h.E. Tillot-
by the ser-
he woman’s

ed. “She’s

ed the
@ been
le indicated

t I haven’t
vord out of
JYavarro was
in the front
did it. He’s
iolic coma,
lothes. She

“You want

killed your

: what hap-

don’t catch

d protested.

> us. Was
. the other

»k her head

led, threat-
ild not .get
ed woman.
isted in the
eld turned

announced.
ave a look

vy Connie’s
r’ bedroom,

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“did not find the elusive farm-hand, The

The Sheriff switched on the light and

which had taken place there, The sheets
had been torn free of the mattress. May-
-field examined it. He found several deep
cuts in it, indicating that the killer had
made several thrusts there before the kill-
ing took place in the living room. He
was about to call a photographer to take
Pictures of the slashed bedding when the
rectangular object at his feet caught his
eye. It was a man’s wallet.

‘Mayfield picked the pocketbook up and
examined the contents, They identified the
Owner as Felix Chavez, a twenty-six-year-
old Mexican national who had come to
Colusa County to do ranch work. At the
moment he was employed in Zamora. The
Sheriff returned to the living. room and
confronted Rita. _

“Did Felix Chavez kill Connie?” he in-
quired.

The waitress looked surprised, “Yes, it
was Felix,” she said. “How did you
know?”

The sheriff showed her the wallet. “He
left his card,” he declared dryly. “Now tell
us what happened.” ;

Rita told the whole Story, starting from
the time in January when Chayez had
begun making advances. She concluded
it with the bloody scene in the living
room, then escorted the Officers to the
bedroom where she went over the details
of the incident there,

“How about this man Ortega?” May-
field inquired. “Did he hear anything?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Rita replied.
“Otherwise he would have helped.” .

“We had better question him anyway,”
Mayfield declared. The officers moved to
the other room. But Miguel Ortega, be-
wildered and thoroughly frightened, had
left. Mayfield called his Office.

“Get out an all points bulletin request-
ing the arrest of Felix Chavez for mur-
der,” he ordered. He repeated the descrip-
tion of the fugitive he had found on his
immigration Papers. “Then call every man
on my staff and have them in my Office in
half an hour.” ‘

With his deputies assembled, Mayfield
outlined his plan of action. “We’ll have
to comb the countryside,” he told them.
“Visit every labor camp, talk to every
Mexican we can get our hands on. There
isn’t any bus out.of here for several hours,
so he must be around somewhere, Prob-
ably took to the fiélds, Somebody is bound
to see him. We have to find whoever that
is. Now let’s get going.”

Five days passed. Exhausting, nerve
racking days for Mayfield and his staff.
The sheriff and his deputies worked tire-
lessly, slept sporadically, then started the
search all over again. They visited every
labor camp in Colusa County, then re-
traced their steps. They walked through
freshly plowed fields, trampled tules,
searched barns and outbuildings. But they

Michoacan was closed. Mayfield visited
other Mexican gathering places, Then the
break came. The big break.

Mayfield entered a Mexican cafe on |
Main street and was discussing the crime
with the owner, A nearby customer Jooked
interested. Finally he interrupted.

“Hey, I know Felix Chavez,” he de-

‘found evidence of the violent struggle

clared. “I saw him this morning.”

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Mayfield whirled around. “Where?” he
demanded. “Where did you see him?”
“In the bus station at Woodland. He
was buying a ticket. I was right behind
him.”

Mayfield held his breath while he waited
for the answer to his next question. “Did
you see where he bought a ticket to?”
The farm-hand nodded. “Sure. He
was going to Stockton.”

Mayfield turned back to the proprietor.
“Where’s the phone?”

The cafe operator indicated the in-
strument in back of the counter. The
sheriff called Sacramento and passed ‘on
his information.

“The bus from Woodland has to go
through there,” he said. “Maybe you can
intercept him and take him off.”

“Right away,” the Sacramento officer re-
sponded.

Mayfield returned to his office just in
time to catch the Sacramento Police De-
partment calling back.

“We were too late,” they told him. “The
bus was already gone.”

Mayfield sighed and called the San
Joaquin Sheriff's office in Stockton. He
repeated his request. Sheriff Carlos B.
Souza promised to cooperate.

An hour passed. A _ nerve wracking,
tension-packed hour for Mayfield. Then
the telephone rang. It was the Stockton
Police Department. ,
“We've got your killer in the city jail,”

BEARER

the sheriff was informed. “We met him at .
the bus. Boy, is he a tough guy. Thinks
he’s Joe Louis.”

At first Felix Chavez had stoutly de-
nied his identity when confronted by the
Stockton Police at the bus station. He
claimed his name was Pullido Ignacio and
explained his lack of papers by declaring
he was a wetback. The subterfuge did
not last, however. Felix Chavez con-
fessed to the murder of Consuelo Navarro
on the way to jail. Then at the booking.
desk, he made one final bid for freedom.

For a few brief seconds he fought like
a wildcat. Four officers were required to
overcome ‘him. When he was finally
quieted one of the Officers wanted to
know why he had picked the booking-desk
for his break for freedom.

“I wasn't’ trying to get away,” Chavez
replied. “I knew I couldn’t. But I figure
I’m going to die pretty soon for this and
I decided it might as well be now. I
thought that if I fought hard enough one
of you would shoot me.”

Mayfield arrived in Stockton that eve-
ning to claim his prisoner. Chavez, was
returned to Colusa, tried for the murder
of Connie Navarro, found guilty and sen-
tenced. On the morning of November 30,

1951 Felix Chavez was executed in the
gas chamber at San Quentin prison.

Eprror’s Note: The names Miguel
Ortega and Rita Valez are fictitious.

LOVE BUTCHER

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 29

And only yesterday she had tried to reach
Robina by telephone to ask her to come
for some uniforms she had left—but the
nursemaid’s landlady said Robina hadn’t
been there for eight days!

Mrs: Carter hurried into her house and
telephoned the Flushing police station.
Captain Gallagher, who had returned to
the station after setting the two patrol-
men to work digging in the ashes at the
municipal dump, took the call and listened
to the housewife’s information with eager
interest. "

“We'll send an officer up for you right
away,” he promised. “We'd like to take
you over to the morgue in Brooklyn and
see if you can identify the remains.” —

BAK at the apartment the laborers «in

the basement had ‘finished ‘clearing
away the last of the coal from the bin,
and leaned back: sweating on their shovels.
Detective Daly looked at the bare concrete
floor of the bin and shook his head.

“It’s no use, boys,” he said. “There’s
nothing else here. Put the coal back
again.”

As the workmen, grumbling, resumed
their task, Daly walked. through the base-
ment and came upon the superintendent at
the entrance to the boiler room.

“Back so soon?” asked the detective.

“Yeah,” Kelly nodded. “I showed the
captain where we dump our ashes, and he
started his officers sifting. But that'll take

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- all day—and maybe then some. The cap-
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back here. I got to work, you know.”

“Tell me,” asked Daly, “have you any
idea how that torso got into the coal
pile?” :

“Honest to gosh, I haven’t the slightest.”

“Does any woman of the victim’s de-
scription live in your house?”

Kelly thought a,moment. “Only one—
a night club entertainer who lives up in
6B.” ‘ :

“Is she there now?” .

“J .suppose so. She usually sleeps until
late in the day. I see her coming in about
five or. six in the morning and going out
again just before dinner at night.”

“Let’s check that,” Daly said.

In response to prolonged ringing of her
bell, the handsome-looking tenant opened
the door of her apartment. A sheer silk
robe enhancing her voluptuous: curves,
the pretty young brunette confronted Daly
and the superintendent. :

“What in blazes do you want?” she de-
manded angrily.

“There’s been a murder here,” said Daly,
“and we're checking on the whereabouts
of all tenants.”

“Well, I'm right here!” she snapped.
“And I’m going back to bed!” Indignantly
she slammed the door in their faces.

“Get used to this,” Daly told the
superintendent. “We’re going to make a
canvass of the entire building.”

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» art Caratativo cast us ah
ried glance as he was.ush-

ered into the gas chamber.”

The two guards quickly strapped
him into the chair and taped th
stethoscope to his chest. Just as
quickly they left, sealing the air
tight metal room. A few feet and

thick window of bulletproof glass? =

separated us from. the prisoner.

Inthe quiet that followed, the :

32-year-old Filipino houseboy.
looked directly into our eyes...
“Goddamn you,” 1 could see him *

saying. Moments later, the deadly
tablets were dumped into their ac
id bath, and. colorless cyanide gas,
began to rise around Caratativo.

He had been told to hold his~
breath as long as possible, and--

his brain would die instantly. Like
follow the script. Instead, he

fought for air. For a minute he 4.

gasped, oes and bet it =
was over: : ae:

Geo minutes later “i UW 03

a.m., the doctors doo Saree Bart

Caratativo dead:ts

It was October 24, 1958, and I
was a young law student. My room- :
mate and I had driven up from...
Stanford to see Caratativo die in *
San Quentin’s gas chamber. I was
opposed to the death penalty, or at
least I thought I was. As a law stu-°

sends wh

dent, this was more or less expec-.

ted: Witnessing an execution, I
reasoned, would make me a cru-
sader for abolition. -

On the way back to the univer-:

sity, we discussed the event. My-~
roommate was visibly shaken by -
what, to him, were Caratativo’s fi-
nal words: “God bless you.” The .
next day the San Francisco Exam-:

iner reported that the condemned:
“mindful that death row.inmates -
-were.disproportionately black;

“wrote that the death’penalty “is:

man maintained his innocence to

the end, and his last words were: “Tx

didn’t do itt ro eee SS
3 7 er ‘

Bart Caratativo died for the.
double murder of his wealthy:
neighbors at their. Stinson Beach:
resort in Marin County. ‘A forged:

will, leaving the resort to him, led‘

to his conviction. Years.later, San
Quentin’s chief psychiatrist dis-"
closed that Caratativo had, like’.
most, confessed. his crime befor

solve against stecapitat punishment,
as I had expected? It did not — pe

haps because the killing seemed as":

buimane as possible under. the cir-

baiict Se eae

In the 30 years ‘since Bart Car- =:
t atativo’ 's execution, however, the -
death penalty in America has ex- ©
-perienced an unprecedented up-

-L’ heaval. During the 1960s, the Unit.

‘penalty was steadily increasing: : ia

et
Davi Mier ihe 2 Dict Ananya gies

of Madera County. He has been an 4:5: toa record BO percents Ts
elected district ghomey et more del i
_ 20 years, «~ <r

“1958

then to breathe deeply. That way “ 2

i ices. Aft
most, however, Caratativo didn’t: *~ cust shad law schoo shag

ame a career prosecutor. Since **"

then, I have sent men to death row,

and I have death penalty cases’ *
now pending. Like other prosecu-

» > tors, Ido my job, which occasional-

“dy include een for a geath, h yer

ed States Supreme Court, under. .

3 - Chief Justice Earl Warren, under-
’’ took its revolutionary expansion
“of criminal defendants’ rights. The’

country’s executions, which then

* totaled about:7,000, slowed to a’
~ trickle. Then, in 1967, they foe
~ -altogether. cece ae ee

vy |
In 1972, the supreme courts of

"the United States and California ©
~ both ruled that then existing ©
- death penalty laws violated: the
Eighth Amendment’s prohibition |
“against “cruel and unusual punish-

ment.” Justice Thurgood Marshall, '

morally unacceptable to the peo-::
ple of the United a State t this :

“Marshall, however, ¥ was bail
‘trary; as defendants’. rights wére
increasing and executions slow::
‘ing, public approval of the death: *

When Bart Caratativo was execu

ed in 1958, barely half of California
‘residents favored the death penal-’

ty. But by1972; ‘when Marshall +y;

claimed: thatthe, death penalty was:
“unactéptable” to the people; 60°

percent of Californians supported -
it. Today, according to the latest: ,

‘Field California poll; the support;

s Het

or capital punishment pha

ney ae thoe ce ea

" Responding | to the public will,.
~ state legislatures have, since the *

“moral? Certainly.our nation’s’.

the courts had defined more than:

“death penalty.The Eighth Amend
_ment’ 's ban against “cruel andt un- me
* Ysual puriishment;” according to’ **”
«an 1890 United States Supreme. -
“»’ Court decision, applied only to
y.,such forms of exec’

" ing eure ear like,

. 1972 court rulings, passed new

~ death penalty laws. The new laws

have been acceptable to the high

courts, and executions have begun

once again. Sometime this year
. California should hold its 501st le-
* gal execution — the first in a

ist veate’ Social, ER

Despite its current public sup-

. port, the death penalty remains —
and will always be —controver-
-o7 sial. The arguments against it are

-, the same today as they were in
. 1972 or.100 years ago: 1. It is moral-

ly wrong for the state to kill; 2. The:

Pa: ‘ ‘

" Sometime this
~year California
- should hold its -

~ 501st legal
execution —— a.

fi rst in iA! years.

, Isthe death: peualty venilyi im-

founders did not, think so. At the~
‘time of the American Revolution,

200 felony-crimés that carried the

rina Q

- Death as an ultimate punish-

sf erent has never been thought im- -

Eee

“ £6
ution as burn” ent studies show that more than}

x wi peréent of California's death.

moral by a majority of the Ameri-

- can public, or illegal by our’

highest court. As for the scriptural
argument against the death penal-
ty (“Thou shalt not kill”), it is con-
tradicted by abundant Old Testa-
mentscriptureinsupportof. -
capital punishment; and the New’
Testament says nothing to the con-

trary.

Does the death vetlty. have’

_ any deterrent value? Certainly it

has some. Robert Page Anderson,
in whose name the California Su-
preme Court struck down our capi-

tal punishment law in 1972, said it . ”

was fear of the death penalty that
kept him from killing more ann
ple.

In the 1930s, a sationwide,

* wave of kidnapings for ransom dis-

solved after passage of the “little .
Lindberg laws,” which made such
crimes punishable by death. Clar-
ence McKay, whom] prosecuted : ©

for the double murder of his wife

and friend, had a body in the trunk

and a gun in hislap whenhiscar. -

was stopped by an unwary Lom-..
~ poc policeman. He didn’t shoot the .

officer, McKay said, only because ~
af he feared he would go to the 1e Bas ae
ee chamber for * Cop-killing. °
‘death penal has no detarrSit val: i
“ue; 3: The death penalty is applied foie
--discriminately;; and 4. scoops bee
people are executed: ©

“Most murderers, of: course, 46:
not consider the death penalty be ..

* fore they kill: This is because most ~
-- faurders are crimes of passion, or *
“are committed while intoxicated.‘

x Still, there is simply no way to. mea, -
‘gure ‘accurately the deterrent ef.”

* fect of- the death penalty. No one~

: ‘cah tell us how many people‘ eonid
‘have committed murder, but.

* didn’t; for fear of paying the ulti-
mate penalty for their crime.’

Finally, one aspect ‘adie 3
“rence allows no argument: An exe-..

cuted killer cannot kill again: Cur. Sd 7

“row inmates are multiple murder-
ers. We can reasonably assume. __
“that their execution will save lives,

tenet alll

if only: those of fellow prisoners.

. Isthe death penalty applied ir
a discriminatory manner? This is

" perhaps the most troubling issue

in the death penalty debate. In
January 1983, two-thirds of the na-
tion’s 150 death row inmates were
in southern states and 41 percent
were black. This alone does not °
prove discrimination, however, be
cause the black murder rate is sev
eral times greater than the white.

. And the percentage of death row
blacks in 1983 was much lower °
than the 55 percent level of 15
veer earlier...”

* Finally, does the neers penal-
ty result in the execution of inno-
cent people? The dean of Califor-
nia’s death penalty opponents, -
former Governor Edmund G,
Brown, has said he knows of no
© case in. which this has ever hap-
C7 in California.

a These standard arguments of
aie death penalty debate have re-
mained the same for decades. An
as in some debates, there can be n
winner. For just as in 1958 three
witnesses interpreted Bart Carat:
tivo’s last words differently — the
way each of us wanted to — the d:
- baters of capital punishment will
always interpret the facts to best

~ “serve their own Legeragege PE VE

; “the death penalty debate is
still worth airing, because society
should continually examine its vz

ues and moral standards. The har
fact is, however, that today the
public wants the death penalty, j

. Pies are voting the death penalty,

and current death penalty laws

pass constitutional muster. In Cal
fornia, after 21 years, San Quen-
* tin’s gas chamber is about to go
back into business.

The more realistic question t
«.day is not should we execute, but
how often should we execute. Th:
“answer lies with our public prose
‘cutors,; who decide if and when t!
state will seek the ultimate nega
We ses FSA a

‘tt was ‘fetintly sunbed tha
: former California district attorn
“had pledged to seek the death pe
alty in every case possible under
‘ithe law, Such an attitude is both :
% responsible and frightening.
Death penalty.trials are today so
‘costly they can bring financial ri
» 4n toa small county: What is wor:
~ Ahey: are a bad gamble. Chances
~.that a jury will return’a death ve
dict are about 1 in 5. With those
* ‘odds, thetheavy expense of publi
“funds should he saved for the mc
» Serious CASE, 5 Seca

: > Today;as ‘San Quentin’ s eins
chamber is readied for.use,: Gali-
*fornia’s prosecutors can and '-
should be expected to ask juries
for death verdicts, The measure
. their public responsibility, howe
‘er; will be the judgmentthey us«
“in deciding which cases are appr

priate for asking the ultimate pe

~alty.” eos

Oe ee ee, a

CARITATIVO, Bert L., Phil., gassed CASP (Marin) October 24, 1958

“Who me? We were just good friends, nothing more.”

WHO ICED
THE RED

~ HOT MAMA?

Camille: Some envied, some sniggered about her.

“You say he had passed out before he died. He
couldn't have killed himself? Thank you, doctor.”

| 28

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, January, 1955

Camille did as she pleased and just maybe it

pleased her to leave $150,000 to a stranger.

by HUGH COBURN

STINSON BEACH, CAL., OCTOBER 11, 1954

™ Camille Banks, the neighbors said, was a red hot mama. This was an
old joke at Stinson Beach, faintly tinged with envy but always good for
polite sniggers. It was supposed to be very subtle back-stabbing. It implied
that Camille, like the red hot mamas, was dated about 1920.

There was enough truth in this to tickle Stinson’s crusty old guard.
Camille was kittenish and man-hungry at an age when most women have
grandchildren. She was 52, though some people wanted to haggle over that,
also. The women at the Thursday Reading Club agreed happily that she
looked every day of it.

As they said, the peroxide and beauty oil and anti-wrinkle cream and
lipstick and red toenail polish didn’t fool anybody. Camille could rub and
scrub and paint up like an Indian, but she remained unchanged in their
eyes—a preening, strutting, bandy-legged little pouter pigeon of a woman.

continued on next page

“I would be able to do something for you in return to what

Voors were never locked at Sea Downs. And one never
had to knock more than three times to get an answer.

vay

Her fat figure defied anything short of a steel-ribbed corset.

What really got them was that Camille Banks didn’t give a
damn what they thought. And she said as much in her lazy
drawl, emphasizing it with picturesque adjectives and ges-
tures which left them gasping.

Camille did as she pleased. It pleased her to flounce along
the beach in over-filled shorts and halter, trading wisecracks
with the male sunbathers.

It pleased her to sit in a cabana at her big Sea Downs re-
sort, pecking out deplorable fiction on a portable typewriter
while sipping bourbon highballs.

It pleased the mistress of Sea Downs to sign her checks
“Camille Malmgren,” because the memory of her second
husband was more pleasant than the reality of her third, Joe
Banks.

It pleased her to chat with strange men in bars, to careen
down the Coast Highway at 2 a.m. in her sleek big car, to
dash off on unplanned trips to Mexico, and to mingle on
friendly terms with servants, male and female.

Some of the families on the bluff with chauffeurs and but-
lers said Camille was a servant-type, herself. They never
failed to recall how she became the owner of Sea Downs.

To Sheriff Sellmer, Caritativo had only one response:“I won’t answer on advice of my attorneys. I stand on my rights.”

Camille
fore, a sui
lips. Her
from her 1
mending hr

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Old Man M

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cry incessar
and surf fis
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winter

The peo;
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Stinson Be
Downs
frontaye
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State Park

Asiever
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the $15
Camille

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ous Englis!
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tonic and

CAMILL!

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him in Jun:
times he sik
stayed in or

This was
blonde won
Bank's cot!
afternoon

The blor
discuss wit
a new leas
month. Ca
was alread,
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The blor
the bag of a
apples along

When her
decided to
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— oa cn Ne

42nd Air

bit of
wander-
igh they
ing sand,
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idication
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id simply
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» Arizona
Did they

mind?
airplane?
sight and
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emain un-

s wind up
the MP’s
soldier.

ie GI was
s Madison
vas Rocky

accident.
promoter
indle that
‘or an esti-
learned he
nalities as
club owner
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ight at the
orp, stock
ing his way
t Mountain
wning near-
vearing he
silver really

, recognized
applied for
irance com-
lastered on
m coast to
r mail fraud.
and brought

ing around.
ere, Deputy
there was

dat as yet, so
sun on the

station.

in ran grimly
white sand

tion. She saw

stretched out

atching a re-

there’s some-
ong in Mrs.

-et in a bound.
said, “take it

rywhere,” she

the arm and
ck through the
ng block away

on paused. “I
e for a minute,
“T'll want to
vay.”

sank gratefully
ngton stepped

There on a bed in a corner of the room
the sun still dappling the bright slip cover
of the couch, was the body of Mrs. Camille
Malmgren Banks. She was face down on
the bright coverlet and clad only in black
silk panties. Her head, buried in the stark
white pillow, was battered. Blood had
spattered the walls, a nearby radio and
onto the floor linoleum. Around her neck
was twisted her brassiere.

Woodington stepped into the second
room. On a bunk bed lay the twisted form
of Joseph Banks, one-time husband of
the owner of the Sea Downs resort.

Sticking out of his chest was the six-
inch handle of a fourteen-inch hunting
knife, The blade of the knife was buried
in his heart. The weapon was surrounded
by dried blood.

Banks lay staring at the ceiling, his
eyes still wide, his mouth open in an age-
old and silent protest against what he had
seen and what he was going to see. His
hand was clasped around the handle of
the knife.

Atop a sea chest beside the bed lay a
four-pound sledge hammer, its head still
encrusted with the blood and hair of the
murdered woman in the adjacent room.
There were also cigarets, an abalone shell
half filled with cigaret stubs and a half
empty gin bottle. An emptied whisky
bottle lay on the floor.

Woodington swept a hand over his
brow and was surprised to find that it
came away wet. He said, “Whew,” once,
softly, and then, after glancing slowly
about the room, moved into the third
room. There on the kitchen table he found
a suicide note. It said simply:

“T had been hushed long enough. This
is the end. I am responsible to what you
see and find.”

It was signed:

Moving briskly
fully not to disturb anything,
ton strode out onto the porch.

“Joseph Banks.”
now but walking care-
Wooding-

Mrs. Hilda Grunert looked up at him,
her eyes wide and blue in a sun-tanned
face. She didn't need to talk. The question
hung there between them.

Woodington scuffed a booted toe at the
wooden porch. “Two,” he said, holding
up a pair of fingers. “Both of them. Joe
and Mrs. Banks.”

He sighed and shifted his weight.

“You can go home, Mrs. Grunert, but
please don’t talk to the neighbors yet.”
As she rose to leave, hurriedly, Wood-
ington added, “Please be around so that
you can tell me exactly what you saw.”

Then he trudged, not in haste now, back
through the deep sand to his home.

His wife came to the door wiping her
hands on her apron, face flushed from the
stove and smiling. As he moved up the
steps the smile faded and the question
came.

“Both dead. Looks like a murder-sui-
cide. Mrs. Malmgren got it with a sledge
hammer and then Joe Banks took a knife
and stabbed himself. He left a suicide
note.”

Marge Woodington said: “Dinner?”

“Skip it, honey, we've just seen the start
of this,’’ Woodington answered, reach-
ing for the phone and getting a line
through to the main office in San Rafael.

His call brought County Coroner Frank
Keaton and three sheriff's deputies—Ellis
Seibert, Sid Weber and Carl Sears—
sirening over the winding roads to the
scene, The photographer’s flash bulbs
popped and the technician dusted for
fingerprints, as a crowd of curious gath-
ered outside the little cabin.

When the fog horns along the Golden
Gate began to moan and the little fishing
smacks that crawl along the ocean front

were hidden by darkness, the sheriff's
deputies, coroner and Woodington re-
paired to the warmth of the Woodington
home and the resident deputy filled them
in on the strange background of Mrs.
Camille Malmgren Banks and her hus-
band, Joe.

The murdered woman had come to
Stinson Beach some ten years ago, Wood-
ington said, his strong hands cradling a
cup of coffee. For a time she served as
housekeeper in the home of Ted
Malmgren, who owned Sea Downs—a
bar, restaurant, and eleven cabins. A little
gold mine in a recreation-starved com-
munity.

Then suddenly, one day, Malmgren,
himself a strange man, with a background
of tours of duty in the Orient and given
to violent rages and the tossing out of
any chance offenders at his bar, divorced
his wife and married Mrs. Malmgren. He
died quickly and quietly in 1947 and left
his entire estate to his one-time house-
keeper.

She sub-leased the layout to a couple
and went away to Europe for a year.
When she came back, the widow became
the talk of the small community with her
eccentric ways and her bent for long
drinks in short glasses.

She appeared in police court in 1948
claiming that four members of a barber-
shop quartet, following a drinking bout,
had robbed her of $6,000 worth of jewels.
The case was settled and again Mrs.
Malmgren took off on her wanderings.
No one knew where she was. She ap-
peared briefly back in Stinson Beach
again, sub-let the bar to still another
couple, married Joe Banks in 1952, and
took off by the first available plane for
Mexico,

“How about Joe Banks?”
Frank Keaton asked.

“A heavy drinker,” Woodington said
slowly. “She had him committed twice for
alcoholism. But mostly he was a wine-
and-beer man. Those gin and whisky
bottles make me wonder a little.”

The men were quiet as Marge Wood-
ington moved about quietly filling their
cups with steaming coffee.

“The next time I heard from Mrs.
Banks was when she got back from
Mexico early ‘this year,” Woodington
said. “She had a young fellow in tow then.
Tall, wore a mustache, the manners ofa
count and a tongue that would melt butter
in your mouth.”

“Yes,” Keaton said intently.

“Oh, they quarreled, all right. Every-
one quarreled with Mrs. Banks,” Wood-
ington said flatly into his coffee cup.
“Then this fellow, or so I heard, claimed
that she had promised to give him Sea
Downs and he went off in a huff.”

Chief Criminal Deputy Seibert spoke.

“Bill, if you give us a description of this
fellow we'll try to run him down. He
might turn out to be important.”

Woodington told all he knew and
Seibert wrote it. down.

“T suggest we all knock it off for to-
night and get a fresh look at this thing in
the morning,” he said and then laughed.
“What do | mean, ‘morning’? It’s three
a.m., already.”

The men grinned and filed slowly out
into the darkness toward their cars.

“Oh,” Keaton said. “I’ve taken the
bodies out of the cabin to the morgue and
sealed the place up. Undersheriff Don
Midyett will be back to work Monday and
maybe the two of you will want to go over
the cabin again. But as far as I can see
now, it’s a murder-suicide, all right.”

The next two days were busy ones for
Woodingtoy. Over the weekend, as
always, the town filled up with the holiday

Coroner

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Deputy Bill wepengee (far left) figured on trouble
one day at the Sea Downs, but he never thought of
double murder nor that it would happen so soon.

Accused, in handcuffs, is taken to Marin County Jail
by Sheriff Sellmer, at left, and Undersheriff Midyett,
in rear, who flagged down a Cadillac to make arrest.

Murder and suicide were clearly the answer when the
body of Joe Banks was found lying, with knife
through heart, near the hammer used on his ex-wife.

+ aR “33 DM

Her head battered, the nearly nude corpse of Camille Banks (center) was discovered on a bed. This hand-
written will with its so inexplicable bequest threw an entirely different light on the seemingly simple case.

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1933, AND JULY 2, I

Section 233) SHOWING THE OWN
MENT ULA

STARTLING DETECTIVE published bi-monthly at Green-

wich, Conn., for October 1, 1954,

1. The names and addresses of the publisher, editor,
managing editor, and business managers are: Publisher,
Faweett Publications, Ine., Greenwich, Conn.; Editor.
Hamilton Peck, New York, N. Y.; Managing Editor, Ralph
Daigh, Pelham Manor, N. Y.; Business Manager, Gordon
Faweett, Greenwich, Conn.

2. The owner is: (If owned. by a corporation, its name
and address must be stated and also immediately there-
under the names and addresses of stockholders owning or
holding | percent or more of total amount of stock, If not
owned by a corporation, the names and addresses of the
Individual owners must he given. If owned by a partner-
ship or other unincorporated firm, its naine and address, a6
well as that of each Individual member, must be given.)
Faweett Publications, Ine., Greenwich, Conn.; W. H.
Faweett. Jr., Norwalk, Conn.; Marion Bugg, Kansas City,
Mo.; Roger Fawcett, Greenwich, Conn.; Y. D. Faweett,
Greenwich, Conn,; M. B. Fawcett, Norwalk, Conn, ; Odin
J, Jubnson and Chester W. Johnson, Trustees under the will
of Mira F. King, Minneapolis, Minn. ; Gordon W, Fawcett,
Greenwich, Conn.; Gloria Leary, Bakersiield, Cal; V. F.
Kerr, Bukersileld, Cal.; Mrs. Kva Roberts, Seattle, Wash. ;
H. A. Fawcett, Greenwich, Conn.; Roscoe Kent Fawcett,
Greenwich, Conn,; M, F. Fawcett, Greenwich, Conn.

. ‘The known bondholders, mortgagees, and other secu-
rity holders owning or holding 1 percent or more of total
amount of bonds, Mortgages, or other securities are: (It
there are none, so state.) None,

4. Paragraphs 2 and 3 include, in cases where the stock-
holder or security holder appears upon the books of the
company as trustee or In any other fiductary relation, the
name of the person or corporution for whom such trustee
is acting; also the statements In the two paragraphs show
the affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to the clreum-
stances and conditions under which stockholders and security
holders who do not appear upon the books of the company
us trustees, hold stock and securities In a capacity other
than that of @ bona fide owner,

5. The average number of copies of each issue of this
publication sold or distributed, through the mails or other-
wise, to pald subserlbers during the 12 months preceding
the date shown above was: (This information is required
from daily, weekly, semiweekly, and triweekly newspapers

only.) ,
GORDON FAWCETT.
Business Manager.
Sworn to and subseribed before me this 21st day of

September, 1954.
jaeALl LILLIAN M. KLEIN
(My commission expires April 1, 1958)

76 ad

crowd. He had his hands full. On Mon-
day, he found time, however, to talk to
Mrs. Hilda Grunert, the real estate
woman, who had discovered the bodies.

“Tt was a strange thing how I happened
in there,” Mrs. Grunert said. “In the
morning, about 10 o’clock, I left a sack
of apples by the front door of the
Malmgren cabin. I knocked and there was
no answer, so I went on my way. About
3 o’clock I saw one of the town characters
walking by munching a green apple. I
asked, ‘Where'd you get that?’ He said,
‘From a sack on the Malmgren porch.’
About that time I thought I ought to
mosey down and look,”

Woodington nodded slowly and moved
off to his front porch to think a little. A
blue Mercury: sedan, police aerial whip-
ping in the breeze, eased into his front
yard and Undersheriff Don Midyett, a
tall, gaunt peace officer with a bulldog’s
tenacity got out.

“Any new developments, Bill?” he
asked.

“Come up and sit, Don,” Deputy Wood-
ington said, “You know I been thinking.
This thing is not as open and shut a
murder-and-suicide as you might think.”

Midyett slid into a porch chair and
said, “First, I ought to tell you that we
checked out that joker Mrs. Malmgren
brought back from Mexico with her. He’s
alibied. Two thousand miles worth of
alibi, if I can count on the Acapulco
police.”

“Well, let’s look at this thing a minute,”
Woodington said. “First off, that room
was all-fired neat for a murder scene. Not
a pin out of place. And Joe didn’t like gin
eed whisky. He just lapped up wine and
peer.” :

“That’s something I wanted to talk to
you about,” Midyett said. “I have here
the report of County Autopsy Surgeon
John Manwaring.” He paused and fished
into his inside pocket for the papers and
spread them on his lap. “He says Joe
must have been out like a light when it
happened. Had a four point five alcohol
blood count. That would make him un-
conscious when he stabbed himself—if
he did.”

In the sunlight the two men looked at
one another.

“A double murder, then.”

“Could well be,” Midyett answered.

Inside the house the phone bell trilled.

Marge came to the door.

“Tt’s for you, Don.”

His voice rose and fell within the house,
at times merging with the rumble of the
surf. Then he loomed at the doorway.

“Bill, grab hold of yourself,” he said.
“That was Coroner Keaton who has just
finished going through someé letters and
documents found in the murder house. He
discovered a will leaving the whole kit
and kaboodle, $150,000 worth, to a Fili-
pino houseboy, Bart Caritativo, who lives
next door to Sea Downs!”

The legs of Woodington’s chair came
down on the porch with a thump. “What
are we waiting for?” he asked.

Midyett looked at him for a minute,
spread his hands and grinned. “Tell
Marge not to wait supper.”

The two men hopped into Midyett’s
car and swung down a lane, around a
corner and up to the estate of Mrs. S.
Laz Lansburgh, widow of a prominent
corporation attorney. Her house and
grounds, adjacent to Sea Downs, looked
down on Stinson Beach and beyond that
the rolling Pacific.

Yes, she said, Bart had been with her
for eight years. A perfect servant. No,
she was sorry, the officers could not talk
to him. It was his day off and he probably
was in San Francisco. Oh, yes, he knew

Mrs. Banks. Was down there a lot and
often ran errands for them when she and
bey husband had their hands full at the
ar.

Midyett and Woodington thanked her
and fifty minutes later were in the office
of Coroner Keaton.

Keaton flipped a piece of paper across
the desk.

“Here’s a codicil to the will,” he said,
“the will itself is handwritten and simply
leaves everything she owns to one Bart
Caritativo.”

Mrs. Malmgren’s typewritten letter or
codicil read:

“Bart: Since I have known you I have
been continuously observing your charac-
ter because I had the feeling that some
day I would be able to do something for
you in return to what you had been
doing and helping me.

“Now, I come to the conclusion that
you are a very refine boy, honest, sincere,
real and true friend, and above all, you
are a perfect gentleman.

“Because of these fine qualities you
possessed I have chosen you to be the heir
of my entire estate known as SEA-
DOWNS here in Stinson Beach, Cali-
fornia with four conditions attached from
the estate.”

(The conditions were that he pay her
mother, Mrs. Catherine Gavin of San
Francisco, $50 monthly; give the Stinson
Beach Community Center $100 a year for
five years; pay her accountant and pay
$1,000 to a “Grandma Lawrence” of Stin-
son Beach.)

“Bart, I like you a lot,” the letter con-
cluded. “I consider you like a brother.
Please be always a good boy.

“Don’t give me away. I wish you all
the luck and happiness, and may God
help you and bless you. Your true friend,
(signed) Camille Malmgren.”

ce
I got a hunch,” Midyett said.
“Frank, do you mind if we borrow the
handwritten will and the typewritten
codicil for a while?”

“No,” Keaton said, “if you’ve got an
angle, I'll be glad to help.”

Woodington and Midyett took the docu-
ments, went down the street to the
sheriff’s office and locked themselves in
an inner room. The lights were on in that
room until 2 o'clock in the morning and
when the two men emerged they were
hollow-eyed and grim-lipped.

That morning they flew up to Sacra-
mento in Woodington’s private plane
with the will, suicide note and samples of
Camille’s and Joe Banks’ handwriting.

They went to see Sherwood Morrill,
ace investigator of questioned docu-
ments and handwriting expert for the
California Bureau of Criminal Investiga-
tion and Identification.

Morrill, a bulky type with a quiet mouth
and deep set eyes, took the documents
and went into the laboratory. An hour
later he came out.

“T can tell you this, flatly and un-
equivocally, and will be willing to stake
my reputation on it,” Morrill said. “The
will is not written by Mrs. Banks, the
codicil is not signed by her and the suicide
note is not in Banks’ handwriting.”

“Tt looks like—” Midyett said.

“You've got yourself a case of double
murder,” Morrill interrupted. “But I want
more samples to work on.”

The two men flew back to Marin
County and went to work. Woodington
took his car back to Stinson Beach and
began a conversational combing of the
neighborhood. Midyett assigned his top
men to running down leads. One of the
principal assignments was: Find Bart
Caritativo.

The undershe
autopsy surgeo!
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man is under
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ing down drut
on the floor. Ai
was), well, he
more alcohol
you're dead, M

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finally paid of
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said he drew uy
Malmgren Ban’
added: “She
written will 1
mother.”

Midyett we:
better, the cas:
next morning «

Bright and <
over a blue se:
lawyer, Bart (
sheriff’s office

“It’s all as
“T don’t know
leave me $150
chauffeured he«

Would he gi
writing samp|«
Mrs. Malmgr:
the same wor
suicide note.

“Certainly,”
be a pleasure.

Outside

ducked, bobbe
tions of newsp
“No comme:
question but t
His biograp
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come to the Si
college, went
pines in 1930,
a son 22 years
“I'd like tt
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time I'll go «
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While Carit:
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Identification
Sacramento
The same
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Midyett an
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Morrill can
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“T can tell y
is disguising |
Both Midye:
fell down tot
Morrill laug
“Don't be s
need more sa
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“You'll get !
two men took
Once in the
at one anothe:
“This thing
maybe we h:z
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Telegrams
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cisco to check
he was ‘“winn:

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deal for a $5,000 solitare ring she wore,
but she had said she would think it over
and maybe be back later.

There the Boomhower traif ended, and
her case remains. open today in the Miss-
ing Persons file. Mimi literally walked
out of this world that August night and
never came back.

There are other such casés—hundreds
of them—each with its own flavor of
mystery and excitement and heartache.

There was pretty Jean Spangler, an
exotic brunette Hollywood bit player and
friend of the late Tommy Lee of the Don
Lee radio-television empire. Tommy had
fallen to his death (or was he pushed,
police still wonder) from an office window
in Los Angeles’ Pellissier Building. But
Jean Spangler simply left for a television
show rehearsal and never came back.

Her purse was found a short time later
off a lonely road in Griffith Park on the
edge of Hollywood, and it was learned
she had recently seen a doctor about a
serious operation. The Spangler case also
is still open.

So is that of another beauty, June
Marajane Walker, a 28-year-old nurse at
Pasadena’s Huntington Memorial Hos-
pital, and her boy friend, Klaus W.
Martens, 28, a graduate engineer and
truck salesman, with whom she flew off
in a rented plane July 15, 1951, for Blythe,
a little desert town on the Arizona
border.

Sixteen days later, their plane was
found in perfect condition parked on an
abandoned bombing target strip ninety
miles southwest of Blythe, with a small
amount of fuel still in the tanks.

One of Arizona’s greatest manhunts
was launched by Sheriff Jim Washum of
Yuma County and the 42nd Air Rescue
Squadron at March Field. They had a
single good clue to start on—a note was
found in the ship’s cabin that read:
“We're leaving the plane at -5:45 a.m.
Monday morning and we're walking
west.”

Hardened desert trackers wondered
about that, because the way west led only
into the vastness of the desert while the
little town of Wellton lay only thirty
miles to the east.

And Sgt. Don Kissinger, expert out-

doorsman and a member of the 42nd Air
Rescue team, found one more bit of
mystery—two sets of footprints wander-
ing off toward Mexico. Although they
were almost obliterated by blowing sand,
the tracks showed the couple had walked
south, not west. There was no indication
they had camped along the way, or
bothered to obtain water from the cacti
that abound in that region.

Martens and Miss Walker had simply
landed a perfectly running airplane (it
started right up when searchers found it)
set off on foot in the middle of the Arizona
desert, apparently for Mexico. Did they
have some particular goal in mind?
Were they picked up by another airplane?
Did they intend to drop from sight and
start life anew somewhere else, under
different names?

Those are questions that remain un-
answered.

Sometimes disappearance cases wind up
absurdly simple, like the time the MP’s
were looking for an AWOL soldier.
Although listed as “missing,” the GI was
a featured boxer at New York’s Madison
Square Garden. His name was Rocky
Graziano.

Others are closed almost by accident.
Like the case of James Elliott, promoter
of a fantastic silver mine swindle that
clipped Hollywood investors for an esti-
mated $1,000,000 before it was learned he
had been using such personalities as
comedian Ben Blue and night club owner
Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom as dummy
fronts, unknown to them.

Elliott disappeared from sight at the
moment American Silver Corp. stock
crashed and was last seen groping his way
up a hill toward the Panamint Mountain
mine near Death Valley, feigning near-
complete blindness and swearing he
would show everyone that silver really
did exist there.

Seven years later Elliott was recognized
by an alert secretary when he applied for
a job with a midwestern insurance com-
pany. His face had been plastered on
postoffice bulletin boards from coast to
coast, listing him as wanted for mail fraud.
He was quickly apprehended and brought
to trial in New York.

Bequeathed:
Two Murder Charges

[Continued from page 36]

devotees of the sun barrel into the town,
complete with two-tone horns, British
sport cars, Bikini bathing suits, sun tan
oil and a powerful thirst.

All the resultant shenanigans are
watched over with a careful eye by
Deputy Woodington. He sometimes acts
as cop, judge and jury to the little beach-
front town, separated by the bony-backed
ridge of 2,600-foot high Mt. Tamalpais
from the inland portion af Marin County
and its sheriff’s office some twenty-two
twisting miles away.

Sin, sand and sun, Woodington mused
to himself, they all seem to run together
somehow. Take that Sea Downs, There
was a restaurant and bar that was coining
the money. But the place was getting
something of a bad name due to the
people from the city who frequented it.

Then there was the owner, Mrs.
Camille Malmgren Banks. She just got
divorced the other day, and her ex-hus-

band, Joe, was still hanging around.
Trouble there, trouble there, Deputy
Woodington thought. But there was
nothing he could do about that as yet, so
Woodington relaxed in the sun on the
porch of the sheriff’s sub-station.

The tall, gray-haired woman ran grimly
and awkwardly through the white sand
toward the sheriff’s sub-station. She saw
the tall form of Woodington stretched out
in the deck chair, the sun catching a re-
flection in his blond hair.

“Bill,” she gasped. “Bill, there’s some-
one—there’s something wrong in Mrs.
Banks’ cabin.”

Woodington was on his feet in a bound.

“Now, Mrs. Grunert,” he said, “take it
easy. Just what’s wrong?”

“There’s blood. Blood everywhere,” she
gasped.

Woodington took her by the arm and
together the two hurried back through the
loose sand to the cabin, a long block away
from the sub-station.

At the door, Woodington paused. “I
think you better stay outside for a minute,
Mrs. Grunert,” he said. “I’ll want to
have a chat with you, anyway.”

As the gray-haired lady sank gratefully
into a porch chair, Woodington stepped
into the first room.

cial. |

There on a |
the sun still da;
of the couch, w
Malmgren Bai
the bright cove
silk panties. H
white pillow,
spattered the
onto the floor
was twisted |

Woodingto:
room. Ona bu
of Joseph Ba
the owner of

Sticking ou:
inch handle «
knife. The bl:
in his heart
by dried bloox

Banks lay
eyes still wide
old and silent ;
seen and wh
hand was cl:
the knife

Atop a se:
four-pound s
encrusted wit
murdered w«
There were a
half filled wit
empty gin |
bottle lay ont

Woodingto:
brow and w
came away \
softly, and
about the
room. There
a suicide not«

“T had bee:
is the end. |]
see and find.’

It was sig:

Moving bris
fully not to d
ton strode out

Mrs. Hild
her eyes wid:
face. She didn
hung there be:

Woodingto:
wooden porc!
up a pair of {
and Mrs. Ban}

He sighed ;

“You can x
please don't t
As she rose
ington adde:
you can tell n

Then he tru:
through the cd¢

His wife ca:
hands on her ¢
stove and sm:
steps the sm
came.

“Both dead
cide. Mrs. Ma
hammer and t!
and stabbed
note.”

Marge Wo

“Skip it, hon
of this,” We
ing for the
through to t

His call br
Keaton and t
Seibert, Sid
sirening over
scene. The |
popped and
fingerprints, a
ered outside t

When the fc
Gate began to
smacks that cr

CAVANAUGH, Michael T., wh, gassed CA (San Diego) A

It happened in...|

BALTIMORE, MD.—A couple of
police officers spoiled the fun of a pretty
25-year-old girl by arresting her on
charges of disorderly conduct and toss-
ing her in jail. “Everytime I try to have
.a little fun I get in trouble,” the fun-

loving girl protested. Officers said when
they found her, she was running down
the street, clad only in a string of pearls
and a pair of shoes.

CHARLESTON, S. C.—When a
judge set bail at $20,000 for a window
cleaner who was being arraigned on a
felony, the man quickly whipped out a
checkbook and a well-worn pen and
offered the court his personal check, The
magistrate refused to accept it. The man
was charged with writing nearly $50,000
in bad checks in the Charleston area.

SILVERTON, TEX.—This town has
a new city commissioner backed by 29
votes and a flip of.a coin. The new com-
| missioner and the candidate who op-
posed him at the polls, each of whom
received 29 votes in the city election,
decided to save the city the cost of a

| new election by a coin toss.

_ BRAZIL, IND.—A 15-year-old high
school boy who shot a policeman in the
head faces stern disciplinary action. The

shot at a policeman passing by in a

squadcar. The policeman, who has only
; a dry sense of humor, hauled the offend-
er to the station for explanation.

CHICAGO, ILL.—A 25-year-old man
, known as the “king of the traffic viola-
' tors,” has earned the right to retain his
title say Chicago police. Three years ago
j he was fined $2700 for 41 traffic viola-
tions. This month he appeared in court
on 14 more counts.

AMARILLO, TEX.—A deputy sher-

iff here walked into a grocery store and
asked to see the owner. A polite young
man behind the counter told him the
owner was out to lunch, suggested the
deputy return later. The deputy did,

(

man and $180 in cash were missing.
10 Zs

INSIDE DETECTIVE, July,

boy, armed with a water pistol, took a -

In At The Finish

James Warren Wilson, 21-year-old
youth from Cortez, Cal., and Bradenton,
Fla., accused of the murder of San Fran-
cisco,, Cal.; grocer Kurt Wolff (The Dead-
ly Birthmark, January INsweE, 1956), is
shown as he bows his head in grief as a

San Francisco Superior Court judge sen-/

tences him to life in prison. Wilson was

convicted of shooting Wolff during a
holdup. He was caught a few days later
and identified from a birthmark on his
neck and fingerprints found in the store.
In a written statement to the court, plead-
ing for his life, Wilson said he would try
to atone for his crimes. “I know that if

my life is not taken, I will repent for my

wrongdoing in ‘every way possible,” he
wrote. After Judge C. Harold Caufield
passed sentence, he strongly recommended
that Wilson never be granted a parole.

‘Walter E. Tips, arrested as a suspect in’
in the fatal shooting of Mary Alice Brod-
erick in Buffalo, N. Y. (Killer in the Win-
dow, June INSIDE, 1956), has been declared
mentally unfit to stand trial and will be
committed to Matteawan State Hospital
for the criminally insane. Alice Broderick
was shot and killed by two deer rifle slugs
fired through the window of her home
while she was sitting at a dining room table
writing letters to friends. She. had pre-
viously spurned the attention of Tips who
was a religious fanatic and who is, accord-
ing to the psychiatric report, mentally in-
capable. of understanding the charges
against him. |

Mrs. Rhonda Belle Martin -has been
formally indicted for using arsenic to kill
her mother and two young daughters and
trying to kill her fifth husband (Alabama’s
Burying Hellcat, June nse, 1956). She
has also been charged with poisoning her
fourth husband, her first husband and a

third daughter which will be investigated
by a grand jury at a later date. Mrs. Mar-
tin has admitted killing her relatives for
“several thousand dollars” of their insur-
ance mon

Michael Timothy “Curly” Cavanaugh,
the 32-year-old convicted murderer of
Robert Welch, has gone to his death in
the gas chamber at San Quentin prison
(Just a Bald Faced Liar, July mwswez,
1954). Welch, an ex-marine corps veteran
just two months, out of the service was
murdered in National City, Cal., and his
body dumped on the desert near Albuquer-
que, N. M. Cavanaugh was tried and found
guilty of first-degree murder and _ the
prosecution asserted that robbery had been
the motive for the murder. Cavanaugh had
a long record of minor crimes and had
spent time in mental institutions. Petitions
for a new trial both to state and U. S. Su-
preme Courts had been denied before the
execution, The prisoner’s-last dinner was
of. fried chicken, ried potatoes, pie and
coffee. He spent the night writing ‘letters
and listening to the radio and after a heavy
breakfast of bacon and eggs was taken to
the execution chamber. Quiet and com-
posed, he made no final requests and made
no final statement.

Richard Kluckhohn, 21, the son of a
Harvard professor who was granted a
new trial for the shooting of Bernice Sea-
well in Raleigh, N.C., has been | retried
and sentenced to a term of one to two
years in prison. Miss Seawell was shot
while standing in a parking lot (Dry Fire,
September rinse, 1955) and. Kluckhohn
told officers-after his arrest that he was

handling the gun in his hotel room when
it discharged and had no idea it had struck
anyone. He was tried on charges of invol-

untary manslaughter
to ten years but was
after an appeal to

‘Supreme Court. Kh

left) stood pale anc
Hamilton Hobgood i
“T am told that this
career in the social sc
the judge said, “but
It is not a pleasant '
certainty of justice

Thomas L. John

~ balmer from Bilin;

convicted of slashin;
ald Wendorf and h
die in California’s ga
He Loose? May IN
slashed young Wer
men’s room of a ¢
Cal., movie house.
mediately as he tric

and told arresting
to cut the boy t:
pen,” and. that w
he panicked and
found literature ar
room which indica
in knives, also fou
The date for the
set.

David Hagler, :
just learned that |!
by a Sulphur, Ok!
torch slaying of a
was found burned
bile belonging to |
a half years ago (1
nit? February INS
auto was the grav
tity is still a mys
but was at first th
self because of
initial ‘H’ and p
which were foun

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ip ques-

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of the
ars.

un con-
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ears in
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» stand
against
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ties in

n Was
and it
in. He
repara-
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, 1931,
does in
fought
hills.
ve men
staring
eld by
ick the
ir way
an un-
siving

tt
t the
mobile
on the
irectly
elo.

1rough
\ngelo,
guring
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escape,

a gun
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:e bat-
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Texas
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funds
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id his
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April, 1935

Just what happened between Wright,
the lawyer, Walter Groce, and Sheriff
Hausser has -never been publicly- re-
vealed in its entirety. Reporters man-
aged to get several versions of the inci-
dents which followed and here is the
gist of them: i

Wright telephoned Groce from At-
lanta, Ga., expressing his willingness to
surrender to Sheriff Hausser and agree-
ing to meet the Sheriff in New Orleans.
Groce explained the plan to Hausser
and then departed for Atlanta.

Sheriff Hausser left immediately for
New Orleans, unaccompanied, and re-
turned two days later with Wright in
his custody. Mrs. Wright, her baby
daughter, and Groce were also in the
party.

I understood that Hausser contacted
Wright and Groce on a Pullman on the
outskirts of New Orleans, and that
Wright readily agreed to return to San
Antonio. A

1 don’t know whether Mrs. Wright
ever got her share of the reward. When

California’s Startling Ranch Riddle

(Continued from page 39)

The neighbor, Mr. Church, offered
to take the suffering children in
his car to the hospital, and the dead
waited as we assisted in placing them
in the car for the ride to El Centro hos-
pital. 'y
The truck driver continued on his be-
lated route saying as he left that he
would telephone Phillip Fornasero,
Mike’s brother, of the tragedy. Just
then we heard voices from across the
canal and the Sheriff said, “That must
be Dr. Peterson, the Coroner, | tele-
phoned him before I left my office.” I
went to direct him along the route we
had come while Sheriff Gillett waited
beside Mike’s body. When the Coroner
and his assistant reached the spot and
the Coroner viewed the body he stated
that he believed, because of the ad-
vanced state of rigor mortis that Mike
had been dead at least thirty-six hours
or longer. As we started to the house
with the Coroner to search for the body
of Mrs. Fornasero, another neighbor,
accompanied by the zanjero, appeared
on the scene. The zanjero told us he
had passed by and noticed the water
running away and had immediately
closed the head gate and diverted the
water down the canal.

We entered the house through a
screen door, facing east, into - the
kitchen; everything was in wild: dis-
order, showing the results of what must
have been a terrific struggle. Through
a battered, broken door, half torn from
its hinges, we looked into a sleeping
room reduced to a veritable shambles, a
tumbled bed, a broken chair. Some
of the paper had been torn from the
walls; pieces is about on the floor
while some still clung in ragged flaps
to the walls. We forced our. way fur-
ther inside and noticed a wide board
about two or three feet long which had
been broken or kicked from the outer
wall on the north side of the room.

Several barnyard fowls had entered and-~.the children had encountered. The two

“Last ‘heard of her she was employed

-were in the court-room as the trial

_lover, some rejected suitor from far off

‘which had been the sleeping quarters

>
*
ixté
Be
a
$

a beauty parlor. ‘

Wright went to trial that summer for

robbery by assault with firearms in the
Morrison case. He pleaded not guilty.
His wife, mother and other relatives

started. Edmondson testified for the
State, admitting that he had_ been
promised immunity by Walter Tynan,
district attorney.

Morrison took the stand and was un-
able to identify Wright. He said he saw
only the face of Conner when he. was
kidnapped and that the other men were
masked. {

On Monday, June 20th, 1932, the
jury gave Wright fifteen years in the
penitentiary. He took it without flinch-

ing.

On October 16th, 1932, Nile Wright
was taken to the State Penitentiary,
where he probably will be for some
time to come. Efforts have recently been
made to secure a parole for him, but I
doubt if they will be successful.

taken up their abode. A trunk was
flung open, its contents strewn on the
floor, letters and documents lay scat-
tered about, and a man’s gold watch
and chain lay among the plunder. Two
sacks of poultry feed stood against the
center partition, and’ beyond, nearly
hidden from view, lay the body of Mrs.
Fornasero. Around her the floor was
widely blotched with dark red stains.
Her heavy hair, once soft and lovely,
was crimson with the blood which had
gushed from a deep wound in_ her
temple, and her face was bruised. A
fat red hen perched solemnly: upon her
bosom.. When we assisted the Coroner
to turn her over, we noticed that the
fingers of her left hand tightly clutched
a handful of gold coins, and under
her torn house-dress, lay other gold
pieces.

Wo could have done this foul deed? |
What was the motive?: Was it an
act of vengeance? Could some jealous

Italy have trailed the Fornaseros
through the -years, seeking and taking
his revenge in this vindictive act? These
baffling thoughts flashed through our
minds as the Coroner continued his ex-
amination. Suddenly he exclaimed,
“This woman is alive, there is a faint
flutter. of pulse, maybe she can be
saved. We must get her to the hospital
immediately. I. will take her myself,
while my assistant here waits for the
undertaker to remove Mike’s body.”
As we lifted her cold form to take ‘oa
to the doctor’s car, we found a two
inch iron pipe about fourteen inches
long, covered with dried blood, lying
on the floor. “This must be the murder
weapon,” exclaimed Gillett:

e examined the screened porch

of the children. There, too, we found
mute evidence. of the dreadful ordeal

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100 &. Jefferson Street, Dept. D-1465, Chicago, Il.

*DOCTOR TELLS WHAT TO DO

for COMMON HAIR & SCALP TROUBLES
Advises Use of Real Scalp Medicine

The physician who approved this advertisement says that you
need a real scalp medicine—an antiseptic counter-irritant—
if you are to avoid premature baldness due to poor circu-
lation, dandruff and scaly accumulations that choke your
scalp pores.

So follow the doctor’s advice—ask your druggist for an anti-
septic counter-irritant—just say JAPANESE OIL and you'll
be sure of getting the right thing.

Then massage your scalp with it every night before retiring.

Keep this up faithfully—and you'll marvel at the improve-
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Delay doesn’t help, so ask your. druggist for Japanese Oil
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“with am) Nar vo will d FREE a band-tinted ni "i
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.In. the house. A heyleate remained
!stuck in the top of t )

beds were in disarray, the covers torn:
and bloody. Short pieces of cotton!
rope, stretched and bloody, lay scat-'
tered about, and a sharp butcher’s knife
lay on the floor under a broken table.
Sheriff Gillett picked up the knife and
pieces of rope and wrapped each one
separately in order to preserve any
finger-prints.

Phillip Fornasero arrived as the
Coroner’s assistant and the under-
taker were removing the body of his
brother. He appeared dazed with grief,
and deeply shocked. Because of his
grief we were unable then to question
him at length. However, he stated that
he felt positive that Mike had no
enemy. Several more. neighbors had
gathered by then and they, too, were
strong in their assertions that a kind,
benevolent man such as Mike could
have had no enemies who would seek to
do him harm.

THEN, who could have committed

the terrible deed? Who would have
cruelly attacked the faithful wife and.
children and left them for dead? The |
Sheriff then asked Phillip Fornasero |
when he had last seen his brother alive,
and he answered: “Last Friday after- -
noon. when | came by here on my way
home from town, I stopped. for a little
chat and Mike told me how busy he ex-
pected to be this week irrigating some
land for late cantaloupes.” “Do you re-
member whether he seemed worried ‘or
bothered about anything in particular?”
asked Gillett. After a moment’s hesita-
tion Phillip replied, “Nothing in partic-
ular, except that he remarked that he
had done a lot of extra work around
the ranch lately, digging ditches and
lowing; he said the Mexicans he had
hired had been demanding excessive
wages when he paid them off, ‘and
rather than incur their animosity he |
paid them practically double of what
was due. He told me they had taken |
advantage of him and he decided
against rehiring them.” hata
. The Sheriff then asked the zanjero,
who stood near by, how long the water
had been released to Mike, and he
stated that it had been turned on since
Tuesday noon, and that he believed it
had been ‘running wild’ ever since an
heur or so after that time. Thus, we
had the first definite clue as to the ap-
proximate time of the murder, for, ac-
cording to the Coroner, Mike had been
dead some thirty-six hours or longer.
Thus, we concluded ‘the murder was
committed some time before dark on
Tuesday, January 2nd, 1923... We
searched the area surrounding the hay-
stack, finding nothing except a piece of
broken plowshare, lying in the muddy

The Master Detective

six hours we were still further handi-
capped by our inability to obtain a
statement from the widow or the chil-
dren of the slain man. Little Paul was
conscious only-at intervals and the other
children had suffered radiating skull
fractures, and had rallied-poorly from
the’ emergency operation. _ Mrs. For-
-nasero’s injuries were such that her con-
dition was extremely critical, and she
remained unconscious.

An inquest was held Saturday, Jan-
uary 6th, 1923, in El Centro. The ver-
dict of the coroner’s jury read that
Mike Fornasero came to. his death be-
tween the hours of three and five o'clock
on the afternoon of January 2nd, 1923,
from wounds inflicted by a sharp edged
‘instrument in the hands of an assassin
or assassins unknown to the jury, and
with homicidal intent.’ ~

One of the Fornasero neighbors, W.

Alviro Mendez, the man who was
finally identified by the dead man’s
children

S. Harris; gave ‘us’ some information
‘which we considered ‘significant. He
‘said that. Mike had’ leased’ some land
‘the year previous to a Mexican who had
‘raised a‘ crop’ of tomatoes, and who
later worked for Mike on his ranch.
Mike had told him there had been some
‘argument over the payment of wages.

e immediately went to Phillip For-

. Nasero’s ranch to. question him again,

He also remembered ‘the ‘circumstances
‘as told by the neighbor,” Phillip told us
that. Mike’ had ‘often’ befriended the
Mexican “workers, ' especially ‘in’ hot
weather, hiring them to carry water for
the field ‘workers during the ‘cantaloup
season. And,’ too,’ there: Were some
- Mexicans'‘who ‘bought’\ chickens from
Mike, rarely paying for them. *
As we stood talking' with: Phillip in
his milking shed,’ the Sheriff suddenly

noticed, hanging on a ‘low rafter, a coil’

of cotton’ rope which ‘appeared to’ be
unused. “As he reached for’ the rope,

water; no blood was discernible any- «he said: “Look here, is this your rope?”

where upon it, rg mud. We wrapped -
it carefully and placed it with the iron
pipe and pieces of rope we had found

+ 8

e haystack. —

When we returned to the Sheriff's |
office, and he summed up available de- |
tails, he admitted that he was ‘unable —
to define any motive for such an*atro-
cious crime, and that he lacked a’single
clue on which to begin the hunt for. the |
criminal. At the end of the first thirty-

ow?” vever,
lel powiaHawevee

Phillip looked surprised
before answering,:“Wh
had about forty: feet

, and hesitated
‘yes, itis. “I

ome’ Mexicans
ere.” Gillett

; but'l don’t “remem

r hi
The -Sheriffsaid

‘ment remained to woo t

“any one ‘of -
replied; “Yes, ,
er his name, _

have to be getting back to town, but
I'll take this rope with me.” We left
him standing in amazement, and as we
drove away the Sheriff remarked.
“This rope is our first clue to the mur-
der.” And when we reached the office
and compared it with the small pieces
of bloody rope we had found in the
house, they proved identical. Was that
a mere coincidence? From the de-
termined expression on the Sheriff’s
face I concluded that he considered the
rope incident most vital.

Sheriff Gillett detailed me to scour
the ranching district of Calexico in an
attempt to locate the Mexican who had
worked for Phillip, and also the one
who had raised tomatoes on Mike’s
land. I made inquiries in and around
Calexico and finally learned from Con-
stable Frank Crane that there was one
Alviro Mendez who had raised toma-
toes the year before on land adjoining
Mike’s, who spoke English fluently. He
had lived on the American side of the
Line, near Calexico, for years. I located
his home, went there and inquired for
him, but was told by his famil that he
had been away a week. From the

‘description given me by Constable

Crane, I believed him to be the same
man Phillip had described to us. I
telephoned developments to Gillett, who
instructed me to watch Mendez’ house

-and wait until he sent two other

deputies to relieve me. They arrived
and remained all night, watching, re-
portin the following morning that no-
ody had entered.

By careful plans we arranged to con-
tinue and extend the search for Mendez
across the Mexican line. Sheriff Gillett
and myself dressed in shabby old
clothes, and Tuesday, January 9th,
1923, (exactly one week after the mur-
der) found us mingling with the crowds

of thé City of Mexicali,-Mexico, Baja

Califotnia. Gillett posed as an experi-
enced* cattle man seeking employment
as a ranch foreman, and f as a wander-
ing. cowboy, seeking work with some
American concern needing a Spanish-

‘speaking ‘vaquero.’

THE international Line was open day
and night, but midnight saw many
Americans leaving. an a certain ele-
e-bright lights

of a foreign city. Finally, the Sheriff
remarked, “Well, Sterling, it begins to
look like a ‘wild goose’ chase, but that
‘hombre’ must be here in Mexicali, un-
less he’s gone down the Coast to Ensen-
ada.’ We'll go: over to the California
Bar and look’ the place over.” We
walked the short distance, and entered.
Near the doorway we saw a man, alone
at a table, unshaven and dejected in
appearance. * But as he quaffed a tall
glass of his native drink; “mescal,” we
were positive he answered the descrip-
tion which was indelibly graven upon
our minds. Mendez, as we believed him:

to be, remained at his table, paying at-
tention’ to no“one except the man who

served him drinks. Finally, he arose
from his chair and unsteadily gained
‘the ‘sidewalk.: He entered the dingy

«=». (Continued on page 82)

rway, “Off*'a'rooming “house, and —
lambered up the dimly-lighted stairs,

It was then three o’clock in the morn-
ing, but we had no choice except to
wait. Then shortly before noon we saw
Mendez as he came striding out of the
doorway and down the street. Tense
with expectation we followed in our
car and saw him enter a small restau-
rant. Parking our car we went inside.
Only two seats remained unoccu-
pied, at the long bar where food and
drink were served, and they were along-
side the man we believed to be Mendez.
I sat nearest to him, and as we ordered
I] casually spoke to him in English,
but he informed me “no comprendo,”
although we knew he spoke English. 1
then remarked in Spanish that my part-
ner and myself lived in El Centro, and
had been in Mexicali about three days,
looking for work on a ranch, but had
found none. I inquired if he had any
friends in Mexicali. Of friends, he
had only one, he told us, a very good
friend, Muy bueno amigo, an amusing
fellow, he said, one who raised fighting
cocks amd lived on a hill over in “New
Town,” Mexicali. As he ate and drank
coffee, into which he generously poured
Cognac, he waxed enthusiastic about
his “bueno amigo” of the fighting cocks.

LATER in the afternoon we met the
bueno amigo, an old man with a
halting gait.

The aiireoot wore on and I gained
his confidence while the three of us sat
together at a table. Mendez was neither
loud nor boisterous but drank tequila
and mescal steadily and deliberately as
though it were a task laid down for
him. The day waned and Mendez be-
came very drunk. As the lights were
turned on, and at a nod from the
Sheriff, 1 remarked to Mendez, shaking
him by the shoulder, “Well, ny partner
and myself must be getting home, we
have been in Mexicali too long already
and found no work. We've decided to
go home.” Mendez’s - response was
prompt, but deeply satisfying to us.. He
said in Spanish, “Do you have an auto-
mobile, amigo mio, and could I ride’a
few miles across the border with you?”
We had to lead and half drag him to
our car; we almost lifted him bodily
into the back seat. Soon we reached
the International Gate, crossed the Line
and drove through Calexico.. The
Sheriff nudged me. Looking around I
saw that Mendez had fallen over on the
seat, dead asleep. He awoke about
noon the following day and thought he
was in the Mexicali jail. He was duly
booked, finger-printed and “held for
investigation” by Sheriff Gillett.

On January 15th, Mendez attempted ,

suicide in his cell by slashing his throat .
-with a pety razor blade, and was re-
e

moved to the County Hospital under
guard. Although his wound was serious,
the doctors stated he had an even
chance to recover, barring infection.
Three days later Sheriff Gillett — ar-
ranged to take the Fornasero children
to Mendez’ bedside in an effort to learn
whether they knew him. We took them
in our car, attended by a nurse, their
faces and heads swathed in bandages.
As we entered Mendez’ room he sud-

The Master Detective

(Continued from page 80)

denly found himself gazing straight into
the faces of the three children. For
one tense moment they stood as though
transfixed at sight of him, Paul sud-
denly exclaimed, “He’s one of them!
Fle’s one of them! They killed Daddy!”
Mendez growled, “Cierra la boca!”
(Shut your mouth).

The County Grand Jury was called
into immediate session by its foreman,
Alvin N. Bucklin (present Police Com-
missioner of El Centro) ; numerous wit-
nesses were called, including the three
children, neighbors of the Fornaseros
and Mike’s brother, Phillip.

MBs. FORNASERO regained con-
sciousness on the fourteenth day
after the discovery of the murder.
When | asked her if she remembered

Mariano Casarez, the bueno amigo
of Mendez, who was brought over to
the United States from Mexico
through the promise of work and
arrested as he. crossed the line

who had hit her and hurt her head, she
replied trembling, “Mariano! Mariano!
El hombre villano” (Mariano, a vil-

lainous Mexican). She told me in ~

Spanish that “Mariano,” wearing a
black mask and a large sombrero, cad
suddenly rushed into her kitchen that
fatal day, grabped her, and struck her;
while another man entered the chil-
drens’ room through the west door, held
them and beat them. Both men then
dragged her into her bedroom, saying
they would kill her unless she ‘gave
them Mike’s money.

Exactly one month after the murder,
February 2nd, 1923, Sheriff Gillett
again called me to his office, saying,
“Sterling, we are going to make another
trip across the Mexican Line, this time
we're going after Mendez’s bueno amigo
of the fighting cocks. Certainly, since
those two hombres are such pals, bueno
amigo must know something about the
murder, possibly he knows Mariano. At
least, we will try to get him across the
Line and arrest him.” |.

We left that afternoon, planning to

© to the man’s home in New Town,
Mexicali: but’ as .we drove through.
Mexicali’s residential district, whom
should we see but the old man himself.

termes ~ a

aeons

We parked our car and walked over
to the bueno amigo and | spoke to
him in Spanish, telling him the friend
with me owned a hay-baling outfit
across the line near Calexico. | asked
him if he wanted a month’s work with
good pay. The bueno amigo then told
me he would be ready to cross the line
in an hour, and he asked how he could
find the hay-baler in Calexico. We told
him we would meet him at the Climax
Bar in Mexicali in one hour.

We telephoned the Sheriff's office im-
mediately upon crossing the Line, and
asked Deputy Sheriff Spencer to come
to Calexico at once. When he arrived,
Gillett gave him instructions to cross
the Mexican Line and meet the bueno
amigo, whom we described, at the Cli-
max Bar.

At the appointed hour, Spencer en-
tered Mexicali with the old man. The
bueno amigo seemed half drunk, and
talked bauclly to Spencer in Spanish.
We met them as they stepped on to
the American side and Sheriff Gillett
handcuffed them together, telling them
they were under arrest. Although the
Mexican understood, Spencer explained
in Spanish that they were both under
arrest, asking him, “Why do they arrest
us?” And the old man answered him:
“Maybe, for that killing.” “What
killing?” exclaimed Spencer, and the
bueno amigo replied, “Mike Fornasero.”
He told us his name was Mariano
Casarez.

THE trial in the Superior Court of

Imperial County, consumed almost
the entire month of March. Both defen-
dants entered a plea of “not guilty”
and retained defense attorneys from
Los Angeles. Ernest Utley, Prosecut-
ing Agtorney of Imperial County ex-
erted_ tireless efforts to obtain justice,
and his work was highly instrumental
in convincing the jury that the chain
of evidence was stronger than circum-
stantial.

After brief deliberation the jury re-
turned a verdict of first degree mur-
der, jointly, against Mendez and Cas-
arez. On April 3rd, 1923, Judge W. M.
Conkling sentenced them to hang to-
se date of execution set for June,
2nd, 1923. They were committed to
San Quentin State Prison, April 9th,
1923.

Both men were granted one year’s
stay of execution, the date for their
hanging being reset for May 9th, 1924.
With death only two weeks removed,
Mendez suddenly went insane in his cell
at San Quentin, April 25th, 1924. He
was committed to the Napa State Hos-
pital May 7th, 1924, only two days
before he was to have died. Mariano
Casarez was hanged at 10:28 a.M.,
May 9th, 1924, at San Quentin, Cali-
fornia.

A recent communication from Mark
E. Noon, Secretary, Board Prison
Terms and Paroles, San Quentin, Cali-
fornia, states that Mendez’ death sen-
tence has not been commuted; .and he
will be returned to prison and duly ex-
ecuted if he is ever pronounced cured.

victil
of a
Fo
man
and
start
Tho:
and

teen

{ am Gloria Urebi. I worked for
nie. Waitress.”

ampson squinted at the girl. “I
't remember seeing you around.”
(ve only been here a week. Connie
e me the room across the hall.”
Where is Vince?”

He left yesterday for Sacramento
‘o to the hospital.”

‘or a moment, Sampson was left
10ut questions. He glared at the
and she said, “Maybe I should go
ind put something on. Are you sure
yne’s in there?”

No. Nobody’s around now.”

{ was afraid,” she said softly: “But
are so big. I woh’t be afraid while
‘re around.”

Better go. get some clothes on,”
apson replied gruffly.

7hile the girl was gone, Sampson
iced a ladder at the edge of the
jing, leading up to the roof. He
ibed part way up it. A screen over
bedroom window to Connie’s room
a fresh cut across the wire,

‘HEN Gloria came out, robe and
slippers on, Sampson asked her
ut the screen.
[don’t think it was like that before,”
told him, “We open our windows.
aight. If the screen was torn the
iquitoes would get in.”
asects are a problem near the Sac-
iento River. No one would leave a
dow screen torn or open for long.
oices called from the street below
soon Sheriff Max Mayfield and
xe deputies, Sherman Schroeder,
n Shearin and L. R. Stites, came

ing up the stairs. They shot ques- .

‘is at Sampson and he led them in-.
‘ and pointed out the body.

‘usky, broad-shouldered Mayfield
hed his fingers through his dark

hair. “Whoever did it wanted to make
sure of the job.” He counted a score of
visible deep, slashing wounds.

is didn’t. touch a thing,” Sampson
said.

“Good. We'll want pictures and the
place dusted for prints. What hap-
pened?”

“The girl outside—she’s a waitress
downstairs and has a room across the
hall, She heard Connie groaning and
came in and found her.”

Mayfield turned to Schroeder. “Get
your equipment and work this room
over.” .

The Sheriff then walked:out to the

landing, where Gloria Urebi leaned’

against the wall shivering in the warm
sun. He asked the girl to tell her story
again. :

She gave it in more detail, stating
that she had worked in the cafe until

it closed at two o’clock and then she and

Connie had gone upstairs.

“Connie came into my room and we
had a couple of cigarets and talked.
After she left, I got undressed and I
was brushing my hair when I heard the
groaning. At first I wasn’t sure where
the noise was coming from. I looked
out the front and side windows but I
didn’t see anyone on the street.”

“Did you hear anything before the
groaning? Screams or noise like a
struggle?” —

The girl shook her head. “Just the
moaning. It kept up for awhile. I didn’t
think it was Connie because she felt fine
when she left. Then I thought maybe
she was sick, so I called to her. When
she didn’t answer I went in.”

Mayfield pulled out a pack of cig-
arets and offered Gloria one, She took
it with a shaking. hand and when he
lighted it for her she dragged deeply
to steady herself. :

Joe Lopez: "If | knew
who killed my sister,
1 would tell you..."

Through this window to Connie's
bedroom the killer had climbed

“How long after she left your room
did this groaning start?” . 4
“I don’t know. A half-hour, maybe

“Did she have her clothes on when
she left your room?”

Gloria nodded her head to indicate
she had. * ?

Almost to himself, the Sheriff said:
“That means she had time to undress
before the killer let her have it.” Then
he pointed to the door. ‘“Was that
locked when you went in?”

“It has a catch on the inside but I’m
sure it wasn’t.”

Mayfield examined the catch. Ap-
parently it had not been forced. The
killer probably had gone in through the
window and fied by the door, leaving
it unlocked. That brought up the ques-
tion: Did he go in before or after Con-
nie went to her room?

“She hadn't gone to bed yet; I noticed
the bed clothes weren’t disturbed,”
Mayfield said, “If she had been in the
room, she’d surely have heard him cut-
ting the screen and opening the win-
dow‘ and’ she would have screamed.
Gloria says she didn’t hear any
screams.”

This deduction placed the killer in
the room, possibly in the closet, when
Connie entered. ,

Next came the question of motive.
Connie had been very beautiful. How-

Se tee mmr ol

One. - Se

sett Colusa
because She .
seared Man

Yearch for Felix Chavez, 25,
ican national, wanted for the
slaying of Connie Navarro
yuu early Sunday, was in its

th day today. with Sheriff
x. Mayfield. see tS Kian.
Deal
Yost night both the sheriff
osChief of Police Glenn Wise
enti Mexicans: who -had

‘Muxtaken into custody—Mexi-
seonationals known -to have
\enfriendly ‘with Chavez, But
Ugtatements -obtained = from
‘men only served to’ con-
‘the }. circumstances . sur-

ooo Wht Wl hed ed ey a ee wean

tte’

ontinue Killer Hunt:

Se Chonan

,SERVICES HELD — This.:is

sitdbag! Mayfield said..
ough they are about con-
d. that , Chavez’. has *made’
Mhis escape’ from - ‘Colusa
2 , the. officers’: are ‘con
the manhunt. -)..7) oh
me! ‘wheré the pulse ‘would
ide: have -been. been 4
-and swatched. arian
6..4..m: Sunday. 4
ESS ‘THREATENED |
night. a waitress ‘former!
‘eployed at’ the. Durango
:on“Main Streéets~two doors
the murder scene—came to
Oia from Marysville with a
eusapf the slain woman,
abe waitress told a Stn-Her-
olvporter that she: left’ Dure«
8 week ago last Saturday
ke-¢t'she was. afraid. of (Cha-

‘aya

wi isa dangerous: man. |
avetafraid of -him. . 2 -; ‘He
w~Wwanted me to go with
wSnd once he said to me: ‘Tf
¢-eon't go with me, you'll
Sout what I can do’, ” the
S-releted: wactun mises
Auwaitress said her only
won leaving her job at
e“6%"and going to Marys-|e
tthe because of her fear of

pe sheritt is receiving much
“help in trying to track
¥v the killer. °

file« and sheriff's offices
ut the state will be cir-
vad immediately.

on Appoints
imittees For
s Club Year

tors of the Colusa Lions
ret last night in Hotel
le and discussed plans |]
New club year. Presi-
‘laude Tolson - presided.
9unced the club commit-
the 1950-51 year as fol-

lance: G, Muttersback,
1", Sellman.

ership: Ramazzini, Hob-
‘Wer, Livermore, ‘Myers. f
mm: Hobbs, Burleson,

7€: Mace, Hoyt.
tution: Barnes, Busch,
Weyand:

information: Westcamp,
nN Wrysinski, {

Sine the disappearance of |.

ILASTRIBUTE

ilast respects to, Consuelo (Con-
nie)’ Navarro in‘ services held at
% 9 o'clock this: morning ‘in Our
.| Lady of. Lourdes Church. :”

men‘; wastmade in Colusa “—
olic Cemetery.

-utes, indicating the love and es-
teem in which Connie was held.
Lonnie was known to have help-

T.. Mendoza, G. Duarte, Albert
Duarte, Joe Arce and Santana
Ylouro.

Sullivan Brothers.’

San Joaquin Opens

years, the department said, San
Joaquin valley. counties
consistently shown a higher in-*
fant mortality rate from diarrhea
and similar diseases than the
state as a whole.

peak among agricultural worker
families in the fall of 1949,

infant mortality rate from the
discase
and a half per thousand, or three

another Picture, of ~ Consuelo
(Connie) Navarro, victim of a
Savage rape killer's attack last
Sunday morning, Connie’s
funeral was held at 9 a. m, to-
‘day in Our Lady. of Lourdes
Church and < scores’ oft "people
turned out to “pay their’ _
respects. f ‘

PAID. CONNIE:

Scores of friends paid ‘their

Father’ J. J. McGarry ‘*con-
ducted the last rites and inter-

There were many floral trib-

many people in time of need.
The pallbearers were M. Pena,

The interment was directed by

Disease Study In

rT Was Chavez
In Hotel Room
But Not Felix

The rape killer manhunt
had its humorous side here
at an early hour yesterday,

Patrolman Leonard Bruf-
fett got a telephone call from
a local hotel clerk who in low
voice confided:

“I've got that man in a
room here . , .”

“What man?” queried Bruf-
fett.

“The killer—Chavez,”
plied the hotel clerk.

Bruffett lost no tithe in in-
vestigating.

There was a Chavez regis-
tered at the hotel, alright.

He was John . Chavez—no
relation to Felix—who has
been helping Shertff Mayfield
on the case, acting as an in-
terpreter.

Tre-

wwund Fy

‘igs

Announcement was made

as Marks of Arbuckle at
ber of Colusa County’s
Service Board. He succeeds Py,
J. Moore of Arbuckic,
The appointment fills out the
draft board for the present, oe
Morse, chairman, and Bob Pry.

members, fin
er of the Johns District; He: fg

served as president of . the
lusa County — Bureau, \;

THE DEFENSE
CHIEF SAYS---

.WASHINGTON, July 26 U.P—
Defense Secretary Louis John-
som has ‘told “a senate sub-com-
mittee that American military

strength, was. at its: postwar peak
on. the day the communists in-
vaded’ South. Koréa. ° Johnson
said the nation’s military “estab-

.U flishment now “is: a sounder mo-
| bilization .base than ‘the United.
“tStates-ever had before.” ”.

‘Johnson >gave the account of,
his defense stewardship behind |
closed doors at a house hear-
ing.on the President’s arms bill.
- He reported that the Army’s
striking force went up 165 per
cent between. March, 1948, and
June, 1950. as 3
‘Johnson said our ‘tmed serv-
ices were geared to act swiftly
in case of a third world war
and .were prepared to meet the
first shock, of any Seergeeion.
io nen aoe w :

Crash Deaths
Set Thursday

Coroner _ Tim bt Bi will |
conduct an inquest at 2:30 p. |
m. tomorrow in the deaths of
John T, Zellers,.Jr., of San Ra-
fael. and infant son resulting
from an automobile accident on

SACRAMENTO, July 26 wP)—

The State Department of Public
Health reported today ‘that it has |
begun an intensive six months |
preliminary study of diarrheal
diseases in the San Joaquin val- ; l truck.

ey.
For at least "ea past five

have

‘and’ deaths
reached a

Hospitalizations
rom these illnesses

In 1948, the. report said, the
five

in this area was

imes the state ene ond

fies Mary tiele Woe

rato of
Pedy h fered lt {1

C suse

Highway 99W north of Maxwell
on. June 17.

The Zellers car was struck by
a trailer -laden with lumber
j which snapped loose from a

Mrs. Zellers, critically injured
in the crash, is now in a bay
hospital.

Camel Cigaret
Prices Advance

By United Presa

R. J. Reynolds—a - lending cig-
aret manufacturer—says it has
boosted prices on Camel and
Cavalier cigarets to levels which
will take something less than an
extra -half-cent out of the smok-
ers pocket. Other makers are

|
Inquest. Into - :

SEND nO

By United Prese. : yy
“Australia, Deng ae
Turkey, ‘shave

‘will® gend wolitl faee™ ‘orces
the United Nations. Jighting in
Korea. >

i wy

gacard Mew ¢ *y 4

Five- -pound sacks were pric-
ed at 916 cents a pound “for

regular customers”, But 25
and 100-pound sacks were
labeled: “For Hoarders — 16

cents a pound.”

day of the appointment of Thee be y
4 heel cy
Selectivel*¥¢

resigned, By Re

or of Williams aang the other:
Marks is a welt known eid :
a Farm Bureau leader and had

THREE NATIONS

a =a
Beas YS
= oe
Vd << x;

Rs ae ARLE

sage a

BRITAIN WILL
SEND TROOPS
INTO KOREA

LONDON, July 26 (.P}—Great
; Britain in sending ground troops
into the Korea fighting.

The troops, of unspecified num-
bers, will comprise infantry,
armor, artillery and engineers.

Nazi Hangman

Dies Overseas
BOISE, Idaho, July 26 UP)—

The hangman .at the execution

of the top Nazi war criminals is

Go fh
WASE
Chairg
House

tee says
to put.
riers int
other .wt

Kin ¢
With

reported dead. Surve
- Mrs. Hazel Woods of Boise Paul €
says the Army has notified her Paul Re
of the death of her husband, cceaak ©
Master Sergeant John Woods. sity of.
“I cannot tell where his death endet ;
took place,” said Mrs. Woods. toned:

“He was on special assignment US G

overseas.” ‘ Paul fé

July 231

expected to follow suit.
*

"Fr

British Flect Mn Hey tart

‘

yee 5¢
ae Adana SD _ LMea MSA Say

RAM FOR
AE MEET
ee GUST

hydrator operators
of Colusa County
tation to attend the

Second ‘Murder’
In Colusa Only
Some Idle Talk:

Wild reports were circulated
about Colusa yesterday that
there had. been & second mur-
der—that a woman had been at-
tacked with a beer bottle, and

had died. : :
Apparently. the Connie Na-

eting to be held at
ia Prune and Apri-
ion plant in Colusa,
ay, August 2.

ag will start prompt-
m. and will adjourn

visor Jack Fiske of
ity of California Ag-
xtension Service re-
‘omplete program aS

izzi, Extension Spe-

‘eciduous Fruits, Uni-

California.

3 of Marketing Low
unes”, Robert’ McAr-
ornia Prune Market-

istration. —" ; :
» Which Affect the| he doesn’t want to have an-
Prunes. Before They other slaying ‘on his hands un-

Pe dil this one (the Navorro case)

rated; Handling, Stor-
farvesting”, John Kil-

gion of Food Technol
asity of California.

i bi ns

in Ag

tology, University of ; ey
ata a ART ret ta 0 EM Mi ; 4
re CILAID TO REST:
Produce .'Top Quality | PN wie eigen,
R. L. Perry, Division of} franeral, services were held at

ral’. Engineering, Uni-
“24° bmorial Chapel;

f. California... :;
$952! : . ae a
ig the “Local

Production ‘of Quali

J..N. Fiske, Colusa

farm Advisor«
iy. You! Eat
‘ M. -Mrak:

yoree Scouts .
Rotary Club
it Gathering |

dx Yocat Scouts who at-
the Jamboree at Valley

weré honored guests

) Rotary meeting as were
Barber, scout executive,
‘eorge King, Marysville
aster and Rotarian. They

‘the various activities
mboree.

l'. boys who were guests
Harold Tennant, Ronnie
Jim Davison, Alan Rut-
Douglas Weber and David

cial Letters
~. ed In Connie
varro Estate

tlon for special letters of
istration. in the matter of 3 d
»|Continue

state of Consuelo (Connie
today in the

sro were filed

of County: Clerk S.
by Frances mor

her
’ Sabla a ;

oda

{cal Bulk’ Handling of
talph. Parks, Extension
ricultural Eni-
hiversity' of California.

td Ft a

in the De-

Your

varro slaying made the com-
munity very murder conscious
because Sheriff - Mayfield said
he had heard this yarn and two
others—all about murder in the
Colusa district.. And to top it
off, there was a report that a
man had jumped off the Colusa
bridge in a suicide attempt.
The Sun-Herald received sev-
eral phone: calls yesterday from
curious people wanting to know
all about ‘the second murder”.
One man was..known to have
told another: -. |

“Oh, the sheriff knows all.
about it (the second murder)
but he is just keeping it quiet
for. four or five days because

is cleared. up.” :
-]- All of which. is just
eyewash. °° af

so much

homicide here. was the

Navarro, knife murder.

else has: been. S{ain.
ered, .

ter City Cemetery.

Pherrin, Darw
Phil Harris, Charles Harris,
Harris and Fred Harris. +.
Honorary
Ernest Sachreiter,
man, Chester
Aliread, Renzo. De Pero,
Richards,’ Irwin ° Rollins,
Madden and er Kells.

cat

ers announce’

The facts are-these: The only
Connie
Nobody

11 a.m: Saturday in Ullrey Me-
“ Marysville, -for

“No. 70,
F. & A. M,, conducted the serv-
. Lourey

Interment was made in Sut-

pallbearers were
Robert :Stohl-
Winship, . Dewey
Tom
Tom

RUSS KNIGHT. :
IS RELEASED.

Manager Bordes of the Prun-
d. this afternoon
that Russ Knight, who played
left field for Colusa last night
against Yuba City, making two

ithink Killer |
Still Hiding
Out In Area ~

There was a growing convic-
tion today that Felix Chavez,
25, Mexican national who sav-
agely stabbed pretty Connie Na-
varro, 30, to
ments on Main Street here Sun-

day morning, had escaped from

this county and was heading to- -
ward the (Mexican border and... ots
his home in Mexicali. a Bae

death in her apart-

Weary city and county offi-

cers had turned up few if any
new leads
murder of Connie Navarro. They:
had run down every reported
instance
swering to the
tion was seen.
was nothing—nothing but some-
one’s suspicion that the person
he or she had seen was the
killer. ae oe
MAN HUNT GOES ON Par

in the brutal rape

in which a man an-
suspect’s descrip-
But always there

But the manhunt,, now in its .
went on. relentlessly. ,

liams constables, R. E. et pe :
and Jack Forsythe, Chief of Po-' °
lice’ Glen . Wise and: his men
worked on the case throughout
‘the night.": All areas surround- | |

were. searched time’ §

‘Best theory advanced in the

suspect’s disappearance is,, that. .
he received
hational—someone’ who obtained ~
a car and-drove the killer out of ~
Colusa,’ perhaps early
morning

murder. “+ Z
OTHER COUNTIES HELP

help from q fellow

Sunday’
antew hdurs after the
al feeo es Ae

~ Sferift’ Mayfield said that oe
migration © offi ‘ers, city an
county police pa others in sur-.
rounding ‘counties were on the
lookout for Chavez. Two im-
migration officers were in’ Co-
lusa this morning on another. .
matter, but interested them-
selves in the homicide.

The Junction Road area west
of Colusa was closely watched
last night after a report was
received that a man answering —
to. the description of the killer
was seen in the vicinity of the |

day night. 1
all others, produced nothing.

KILLED SELF?

the killer may have committed
suicide after the killing, but of-
ficers were inclined to discount
any such theory. t ‘
Sheriff Mayfield said’ practi-
cally, every camp known to have

errors, had been released.

new field
saro in left field tomorrow
‘ {night . ** - cs tale oe

Warm
E.

ny
Weather Bereau

aAw-1A80

The
Pruners will either get another
er or’play Carmen Fu-

\Weather Forecast

Continued warm weather to-
daw and tomorrow is forecast by
: Tem

Celena SOA \
Warckd

Mexicans had been covered in
this ares. Pledges of coopera-
tion in trying to run down and
capture the suspect were offer-

ed, but that was all.
at these camps had seen Chavez
and if any fellow nationals there
had seen him, chances are they
‘would not admit it.

I HERE? |
vn -Sherift May-

‘This’ afternoon f
field expressed the belief that,

tthe faet no new leads ts

Yrowd been Wee . eis Pere ce ae,

Sedeng, aon BB. Comme gp ggpe stared pene? Mis ccs

“ohn Seas eon Sy ke} WX Ie Ahege, Renee

adsouy Orrrtre" ad ; ; 5 A check’

srlthing, xy en Pal dhe ‘ P a , ny

Se ake eae cxcnttiy Dene en -we tomes Ut
> % See & bhi Parte er \or Rigs

Weast and Garrette ranches Sun~ ;
But this lead, like |

"Some persons suggested that

Nobody «

third day,
Sheriff Max Mayfield and his || “4
deputies, the Colusa and Wil-

cy Lae : }
pinlinle "neaa ah wen

._|place of entrance and not™ exit.

The rapist-slayer had only to
unbolt the rear
coud , nina were his
| There was an elght-foot lad-
{der .in the rear of teat bheae
.[Jeading to the roof, and that area
was searched immédiately when
Gloria, the key witness, ‘said
noises were heard on the roof.
a also related to the sheriff
ag Chavez apparently. took off
is shoes when he entered the
place, at least, she said, he was
barefooted when she and Conni
argued with him.

City and count
searched the Colusa Bidet be
Sunday without success, sen’
ree down all possible leads
alking with Mexicans who knew
Chavez and tracing his move-
ments Saturday night and early
Sunday morning.
ae DRINKING

~havez, it is said, wen
movie early Saturday peed Ah
Then he drank in Main Street
establishments, including Dur-
men cho = Yellow Front—which

.the murd —

Connie's place. ore

. There were reports th

vez molested Connie at poh pia
or another Saturday evening
And there were also reports that
mg hh another Mexican recent-

‘had an’ né

to Connie, eee 2 ears
“Chavez . had “been em
locally by a Colusa Steere on
irrigator at the Jattér’s - ladino
clover acreage some five miles
west of Colusa, off the Junction
Road. Officers-went there Sun-
day .morning and: found the
cabin which had. been occupied
by Chavez and another’ Mexi-
can. The latter. was there, but
he said that Chavez had not re-
turnéi to. his cabin Sunday
morning.) sa 48 eve 8
CABIN WATCHED 7
“ ‘of. Chavez's: clothing v
intact at the cabin and ft se
picked ‘up and taken’ to” the
sheriff’s office. The. place was
watched carefully during the
day in the belief that Chavez
might try to return there and
change his unquestionably blood-
spattered clothing: - But he did
not return. : coke
The manhunt’ went ‘on ‘hour
after hour and at one time dur
ing the day Deputy ‘Sheriff John
Shearin, in A plane piloted by
Slim”, Davis,‘« combed“: the : Cot
lusa area in the hope they might
get some glimpse of the suspect.
described as being 5 feet, 8 in-
ches in height; weighing about
140 pounds, wearing tan‘slacks,
oe colored shirt and straw

Chavez was known to have
been employed by others in this
area and at one time was known
to have been at a labor camp
,in College City. His immira-
tion work permit had expired
in March of this year, making
|him in the Colusa area illegally
at the time of the crime. He
was known to have been paid

———— -

tte

: TUESDAY :
WILLIAMS THEATRE

GRAIN, BEAN, WOOL
. BAGS

w. C. WEEKS

621 Market St. Colusa, Ph, 47
HARRY STEPHENSON

. Marysville, Ph. 3-5980

osleneey

« iy ze

“en

icali the following day.

}so far as ‘he:
“broke”, - yar gad

eee OF

She was the fo

residing

pez, and_ sister, Mrs.
Bruggman,. in Colusa.

nationals
posses., -

CAMPS CHECKED .‘.%

case along: with other) officers;

funeral arrangements...»
NoT KILLER TYPE « #5:
‘ormér ‘ employers of. Chay
and fejlow workers have. told

Sheriff Mayfield that the sus-

pect is not the killer t

e. -
pas — said, does jag make

rarely i

-_ Y. if ever drank to ex-
Jose, the irrigator with wake
Chavez lived in a cahin peor
five miles west of Colusa, off

the Junction road, told his em-|;

ployer that-Ch :
re avez of late had
night. He said Chavez

woul
ri nee staring at‘ the ier

, e expressed the. beli

bain Chavez had professed ae
ove for Connie and had been

by one or other

DIDN'T SMOKE

ne officer said the killing
appeared to be the type oe
committed When a man_ goes
berserk under the influence of
marijuana. Chavez, however.
didn’t smoke, although he could
have obtained some marijuana
ae tgs it is believed.

_ noon today, Sheriff Max
peysieke and Chief of Police
harigd Wise still had their men
ve > case, although three
tp aig sheriff's deputies—
i es er, Wilson and Stites—
ba acer at 11 a. m. to get
wial Sleep, They hadn't had a

of sleep since 5 a. m. yes-

OME? MAN $30 oy OF
e irrigator at the ‘Zaniboni
— told Sheriff “Maytield ‘a
avez owed him $30,. and that
‘Chavez ‘was

The. slain “Connie,:. pre’
. Quk 4 r tt fe
ed and : friendly, al Tales
aeman Seen near Los An-
_ in 1919. She. would have
en 31'-years old next month. |
er . i
Lopez, her father, Gabriel Lopes |
in Oregon,’ ar |
brothers, Joe’ pe Hitand is |
Francés

~ Connie had lon af

sag with local pF ea ie
_ brutal, fiendish slaying
jouched off. bitter ‘condemnation
Pe the missing suspect, - describ-
< as’ being unable to “speak
glish, unable to drive a car.
and apparently one who receiv-
ed ‘help from other Mexican
in’ eluding _ sheriff's

$270 on Friday; and o
p , on
as Mexicans said Chaves diet
1s money to his home in. Mex-

Numerous camps kn be
housing Mexicans i tag
4 the officers yesterday and far
Jinto the night, but without. suc-
cess in locating Chavez... Some
nationals known to have been
felandly with the slayer suspect
‘c ammed up” when -questioned
‘Chief of Police Glen Wise ria
Tived home, at 7. o'clock last
night froma week spent in’ the
redwoods on’ vacation: and:, im-
mediately. went to work on the

Connie’s body: is. in Sulliv:
, ull:
Brothers: Funeral Home pending

sleeping. .much__ at]:

—

rebuffed, or that he j
L A was
of’ the attentions paid Come i

t
erday. They had been on the

CHAVEL,

The Michoacan, where Carnie es
queen in the hearts of hundreds

LREADY, at only four o’clock in
the morning, it was muggy hot.
Hitching his hip farther onto

the edge of the desk, “Sampson” reached
over for the coffee pot. “It’s going to
be another hot one, Al.” .

Deputy Al Leverett, slumped in his
swivel chair in front of the radio broad-
casting set, squinted out the window of
the sheriff's office in Colusa, California.
“Yeah. Quiet last night, huh?”

“For a Saturday night. Not even a
drunk.”

“Sampson” had dropped in from his
night patrol for the city police, His given
name was Davis McKasson but the
“Sampson” came from his six-foot-four
frame and 260 pounds. .

Al stretched and stifled a yawn. “Only
a couple of hours more.”

“yeah. I hear the fish are biting.
oe I might go down to the river
and—" ‘

His words broke off in mid-sentence.

The front door of the courthouse had
banged open and a young woman sailed
around the counter that separated the
sheriff’s office from the hallway.

Long, dark hair streamed down her
back. She was barefooted and dressed
only in a filmy, flesh-colored nightgown

that barely concealed her figure.

For an instant she stood there gasp-
ing for breath. .

Sampson managed to close his mouth,

“2 similar to the other girl’s except that
s@ most of it had been stained deep crim-
son.
‘ It was Connie Navarro—Sampson
; ¢ ' recognized her despite the welter of
Ko ght @ §=blood, Someone had used a knife vi-
- ES ciously. She was dead.
a RNY +For an instant Sampson stared at
her, finding it difficult to realize that
+ —this body on the floor was gay, laugh-
mg ing Connie, the life of the Michoacan.
~“ Then his glance swept the room and
z he went down on one knee to look under
the bed. Next he opened a closet door,

i
‘hn

yo ee =

District Attorney Weyand: Connie
had told him about The Hangman

open it and shut it again, without words ; Fe

coming out. Al just sat numb.

“please! Please, come quick!” the
woman cried.

Sampson found his voice. “Now, hold
your horses, young lady. What’s the
idea?”

“It’s Connie—Connie Navarro. Some-
body killed her!”

“Connie Navarro?” Sampson and
Leverett formed a duet.

Everyone in town knew gay, dark-
eyed Connie Navarro. She and her hus-
band, Vincent, owned the popular
Michoacan Cafe and Sports Center in
the Latin quarter, only a block from
the courthouse.

. “Where?” lL

“In her room over the cafe. Please
hurry!”

Sampson shifted his gun belt into
position and told Leverett: “Tl go with
her. You call'the rest of the fellows.” y

The barefoot girl in the nightgown A vse
led the way, Sampson lumbering after. - f
her. Around to the alley she went and
up a flight of stairs to a landing:

At a doorway the girl stopped, pant-
ing. “She’s in there—in the bedroom.”

Sampson pushed by and into the dark
hall. A light shone through a partly
open door on the right. He pulled his

gun out of its holster and barged in.

The body was sprawled on its back
on. the floor, clothed in a nightgown

rs)
f lee
Tes ber eee ee

’
CO

“Please! Somebody's

Would the Death of Beloved Connie
Navarro Go Unavenged—Or Would
These Colusa, Calif. Men Brave
The Vengeance of *El Verdugo, The
Hangman, and Tell All They Knew?

q By Tom Walters

Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

eased back out to the hallway and we
across to another bedroom.

No one else was around.

Back on the landing, blinking int
bright light, he demanded of the g
“What happened?”

“Connie is dead?”

“Yes, she’s dead.”

HE girl shook as if with a viol

chill. “I heard her moaning ap
thought maybe she was sick solw
in and found her.”

“Who are you?”

CARITATIVO, Bert Luis, Philippino, asphyxiated California (Marin) on Oct. 2l,- 1958.

_ Where There's A Will, There's

‘ ’

‘

A Motive For Murder!

and
and
the

{ her
thee

acrOss

said,
simply
- Bart

ter OF

have
varac-
some
ng for
been

; that
sincere,
ill, you

es you
the heir
SEA-
Cali-
d from

pay her
of San
Stinson
year for
and pay
of Stin-

iter con-
brother.

you all
lay God

se friend,

tt said.
rrow the
ewritten

> got an

the docu-
to the
iselves in
yn in that
rning and
they were

to Sacra-
ite plane
samples of
lwriting.

d Morrill,
ned docu-
rt for the
[nvestiga-

uiet mouth
documents
An hour

and un-
ig to stake
said. ‘‘The
Banks, the
i the suicide
riting.”
said.
- of double
“But l want

to Marin

\V oodington
Beach and
ring of the
zned his top
One of the
Find Bart

The undersheriff called in the county
autopsy surgeon and again went over his
report. At 1.5 alcohol count in his blood a
man is under the influence, Manwaring
stated. At 2.0 he’s drunk. At 3.5 he’s fall-
ing down drunk. At 4.0 he’s usually flat
on the floor. And at 4:5 (which Joe Banks
was), well, he’s out like a light. Much
more. alcohol in the blood count and
you're dead, Manwaring stated.

Persistent bird-dogging by Midyett
finally paid off. He ran across a San
Rafael attorney, Albert E. Bagshaw, who
said he drew up a draft of a will for Mrs.
Malmgren Banks. Significantly, Bagshaw
added: “She wanted to make a_hanid-
written will leaving everything to her
mother.”

Midyett went to sleep feeling a little
better, the case was moving along. The
next morning came another break.

Bright and chipper, his eyes snapping
over a blue serge suit and flanked by a
lawyer, Bart Caritativo showed up at the
sheriff’s office.

“Tt’s all a surprise to me,” he smiled.
“I don’t know why Mrs. Banks would
leave me $150,000. Maybe it’s because I
chauffeured her around a little.”

Would he give the officers some hand-
writing samples? Say, a copy of the will,
Mrs. Malmgren’s signature, maybe, and
the same words as were in Joseph Banks’
suicide note.

“Certainly,” Bart chirruped. “Tt would
be a pleasure, sir.”

Outside the sheriff's office he
ducked, bobbed, and weaved to the ques-
tions of newspaper reporters.

“No comment,” was his answer to any
question but that about the weather.

His biography: Caritativo was 46 years
old, his attorney said for him. He had
come to the States in 1926, gone to junior
college, went back to his native Philip-
pines in 1930, married a girl there and had
a son 22 years old.

“I'd like to bring them all to this
country,” Bart grinned. “But in the mean-
time I’ll go on working for Mrs. Lans-
burgh. I’m sure surprised about this will.”

While Caritativo was bein questioned
by reporters Midyett and Woodington
slipped out a side door and made a bee-
line for the airport and the Criminal
Identification and Investigation Bureau in
Sacramento.

The same Sherwood Morrill took the
samples of Bart’s handwriting.

Midyett and Woodington paced the
corridor and sweated.

Morrill came out and shut the door
quietly behind him.

“T can tell you this,” he said, “that man
is disguising his normal handwriting.”

Both Midyett’s and Woodington’s faces
fell down to there.

Morrill laughed.

“Don’t be so downhearted,” he said. “I
need more samples of everyone’s hand-
writing.”

“You'll get them,” Midyett said and the
two men took off for Marin County.

Once in the sheriff’s office they looked
at one another.

“This thing is getting pretty big, Don,
maybe we had better call in some more
brass,” Woodington said.

Telegrams were dispatched to District
Attorney William O. Weissich, attending
a state bar convention in San Diego, and
to Sheriff Walter B. Sellmer, on vacation
in a neighboring county. Both men flew
to Marin at once.

With augmented forces, the law officers
spread out over the Bay area. Special
deputies were dispatched into San Fran-
cisco to check on Bart’s explanation that
he was “winning some money ata Chinese

gambling joint.” Other officers obtained
additional copies of Bart’s handwriting,
including a fistful of short stories and one
of Mrs. Malmgren’s compositions from
his room.

The police grew more than wary when
they found a young arsenal in his room,
a loaded and cocked revolver, a loaded
rifle with a bullet in the firing chamber
and two large knives.

The new samples of handwriting were
rushed with red light siren to Sacramento.
Now Morrill wanted more time to go
over the specimens. It turned out he had
plenty of time, for Caritativo had dropped
out of sight.

From Stinson Beach one of the deputies
phoned in a report. F, S. Smith, Jr., a
retired chief probation officer of Sacra-
mento and a neighbor of the Lansburgh
family, had recalled an odd conversation
with the Filipino on September 18, the
day after the two bodies were found.

Smith said Caritativo told him that
Banks had acted strangely shortly before
the time fixed for the double slaying. The
ex-probation officer quoted the houseboy
as st that he was sunbathing beside
the Lansburgh swimming pool when
Banks, who obviously had been drinking,
strolled by twice but refused to speak
to him.

Smith said he had been puzzled at the
time that Caritativo had bothered to men-
tion the incident. But now he thought it
might have some bearing on the case.

The day passed slowly, filled with ten-
sion. Every time the phone rang in the
office of the sheriff everyone jumped
toward it. Finally on Friday afternoon,
eight days after the homicides, the right
phone call came through. Sirens moaned
and red lights winked on as the deputies
moved into action,

Fittingly enough, it was Midyett who
made the pickup.

At Dolan’s Corners at the foot of the
hill going toward Stinson Beach from
San Francisco, he spotted the Lansburgh
Cadillac heading up the grade.

He flipped on his red light, turned to
Deputy Seibert riding beside him and
said: “This is it. Get ready.”

The patrol car pulled up alongside the
limousine. Bart sat small, quiet, dressed
impeccably in a box-shouldered gray suit,
behind the wheel.

Midyett, got out and flashed his identi-
fication to Mrs. Lansburgh sitting in
the rear.

“T’m sorry I’ve got to talk to Bart right
now,” he said. “I’ll have Deputy Seibert
drive you home.”

He handcuffed the small Filipino and
took him to the nearby Mill Valley police
station. Once there, Bart was informed
of his rights and accused of the murder
on September 17 of Camille Malmgren
Banks and Joseph Banks.

Two hours of questioning in relays by
Sheriff Sellmer, District Attorney Weis-
sich and Midyett failed to break the icy
calm of the little man.

“T didn’t do it,” was the longest state-
ment he made. The rest he turned o
with, “See my attorney,” or “No com-
ment.”

Back at county jail after Bart had been
booked on two counts of murder, Weis-
sich gathered the newspaper reporters
around him and told them o the days and
nights of investigative work that led’ to
the arrest of Caritativo.

“We're tying up loose ends now,”
Weissich said, “but the biggest factor in
this case is the immeasurable help given
by the county and state crime labora-
tories.”

Weissich said the county autopsy sur-
geon had proved “without a shadow of

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a doubt” that Joseph Banks was un-
conscious at the time he was killed and
that the wound could not have been self-
inflicted.

He said Sherwood Morrill, the state
handwriting expert, had found that the
handwritten will, the signature on the
codicil and the suicide note were all
forgeries.

Other points, Weissich said, were con-
versations with the neighbors after the
crime; grammatical discrepancies in the
will, although Mrs. Malmgren was a
stickler for grammar and writing in
general; and the failure of the Filipino to
account for his time when the murder
was pegged—‘the daylight hours of
Friday, September 17.” ;

The next day Bart granted what was
to be the most one-sided press conference
in history.

The reporters did all the talking. The
only rise that he made to the bait was
when his American citizenship was ques-
tioned.

“’m an American. I was naturalized
last July,” he snapped and his eyes flashed
around the room.

Asked about his relations with Mrs.
Banks, he said, “We were just good
friends.”

How about his bank books, where he

had apparently raised a balance of $2.85
to $133,000?

“No comment, you see my lawyer.”

Did he ever flash a $1000 bill in a San
Francisco gambling joint?

“No comment.”

Finally, Bart did you do it? Kill those
two people?

For the first time a flicker of light
flashed across his face.

“That’s the truth. I didn’t. I didn’t do
it. Iwill tell the grand jury everything.”

Back he went into a cell of the Marin
County jail.

A few days later, James MacInnis. one
of San Francisco’s top criminal attorneys,
showed up as counsel for the Filipino. He
described Caritativo as “a bewildered
little guy who is charged with murder.”

The Marin County Grand Jury ap-
parently didn’t agree with this evaluation.
After two sessions, during which the
jurors heard seventeen witnesses, they re-
turned two indictments against Bart
Caritativo charging him with the mur-
ders of Mrs. Camille Malmgren Banks
and Joseph Banks on September 17.

As this account of the investigation is
prepared for publication, Bart Caritativo
awaits the processes of justice that will
determine the extent of any connection he
had with the case.

Freda’s Tryst With Murder

[Continued from page 7]

Freda home, too, but when we got to
Plymouth Street, around the corner from
here, she asked me to let her out. I
couldn’t understand why.

“She explained that she didn’t want her
parents to see her with me—with me
mind you, a boy she had grown up with—
because she had told them she only was
going to meet a girl. Well, I accepted that
with a grain of salt, but I did what
she wanted.

“Then I remembered I had promised
my mother to bring her home some candy
bars, so I drove back downtown to the
drugstore, and when I. returned past
Plymouth. Street, Freda was gone.”

Powell considered ‘this statement
lengthily, and finally asked Bobby: “But
Freda must have gone home. When she
was found, she was wearing her own
bathing suit. How could that be, unless
she went back for it? Surely she wasn’t
carrying the suit around with her,”

Bobby, however, was able to clear that
point up quickly. “Oh, yes,” he told
Powell. “As Freda got out of my car,
she asked for her bathing suit. You see,
a bunch of us—Freda included—went
swimming after work last Friday after-
noon, and Freda had left her suit in my
luggage compartment. So I gave it to her,
and the last I saw of her she was stand-
ing on the corner of Plymouth Street
last night.”

The detective cleared his throat and
dug a toe into the ground, thinking. The
implications of Bobby Edwards’ account
were apparent. The question that now
arose was: Whom had Freda met—or
anyway expected to meet—on the corner
of Plymouth Street? Probably some man.
But what man?

Chief Powell drifted off, apparently
aimlessly, with a definite purpose. It was
his intention to check Bobby’s story at
the drugstore and with Rosetta Culver,
Freda’s girlfriend.

He proceeded first to the only down-

town drugstore remaining open as late
as 10 o’clock at night. There the clerk
remembered that Freda and Rosetta had
had a soda “around 8:30 or 8:45” the night
before and that Bobby Edwards had
stopped in to get some candy bars around
10 :30.

So far, Powell realized as he headed
toward the Culver girl’s home, all the
elements of Bobby’s story checked. News
of Freda’s death had spread rapidly and
the detective chief found Rosetta in
tears. Nevertheless she told a coherent
story of her meeting Freda the previous
night and in the main bore out what
Bobby Edwards had said.

But there was one discrepancy. Ac-
cording to Rosetta, Bobby had dropped
her off and then gone on with Freda,
presumably to take her home, at around
9 o’clock—not 10 o’clock.

Powell was puzzled as he departed. The
druggist had supported young Edwards’
statement that he had stopped at the
store for some candy at 10:30, yet
Rosetta Culver had been positive Bobby
had dropped her off at 9 o’clock. Which
was right 9 o’clock or 10? The one-hour
difference could be vitally important.

The answer came to Powell literally
like a bolt of lightning as he sat at his
desk. The storm the previous night! He
remembered the time of the storm ex-
actly, as the result of an annoying ex-
perience with his radio.

He had been home the night before,
listening to his favorite programs, and
the static brought on by the storm had
been unbearable at 10 o’clock—so unbear-
able that he had to shut off the only
newscaster for whom he cared a hoot.
Then he had jumped up to close a win-
dow to save a rug from getting soaked by
the sudden downpour.

Powell sighed a deep, melancholy sigh,
for it distressed him to know that Bobby
Edwards, one of his neighbors, had told
him a lie—and not just a white lie. Either
Rosetta Culver or the druggist might
have been mistaken about their estimates
of the time, but the detective could not
doubt his own memory.

Since the rain had been coming down

cats and d
McKechnic
Bobby’s c
of Plymor
ing. It look
had intent
which he
girl, safe
borhood—
One ans
believed,
explain w
between
then, it ha
Freda to
Powell
telephone
barracks
structed a
wardsvill¢
of the tirx
he called +
and asked
pathologis:
“Finish«
he inquire
phone.
“Just al
grimly ser
you'd bet!
you and |
“Situatic
“Worse
“See ve
See you i:
to meet o:
from the s!
Powell s1
left the 4d
street corn
drew up sh
over for a
at the whe
as to how
plaster cas:
meni still «
“That's +
— a who
excluded
today and
out.”

The tr
got in his
pital. In th
Dr. Wenne:
sober, scien
der,” said \'
I know the

The path
small amou:
in Freda’s |
tively Dr.
she had not
“The gir!
sion,” he wi
blow over
have felled a
heavy object
Then Wen
determined a
dinner the n
7:30,” the d
had a soda
later.”

“Yes,” the
dence of th:
in when sh¢
It was stil!
digested. S}
hours after
9:45.”

“Tt could:
death?” ask.
“Possibly
Wenner shr:
the rest of m
clusions yo:

right?”
Powell nod

DETECTIVE DRAGNET, Dec., 1972.
by CHRIS LANG

To all outward appearances Camille Malmgren Banks and
just about everything a woman can desire. Although 52 years
old, she was still very attractive. Her manner was charming.
Money had come easy to her. A successful magazine writer,
Camille also owned a luxurious resort hotel on the exclusive
Gold Coast across the Golden Gate Bridge north of San Fran-

cisco. There had been three husbands. Two died. Camille had
divorced the third.

(Continued on next page)

Camille was a successful businesswoman with everything apne
to live for... and now she was slashed to

Vhen police opened up her will, they found their suspect.

Camille Banks, photographed Bi j
Shortly before herdeath. —_ |

1 + ae ae
” tee

| ie

ae “ae”
.

ribbons.

Tia».
nia,

Wight

as a blot in
ntro, Imperial
it stands out
tifying in the
f the State of

ning, January
t called me to
nd told me to

a murder he |
rom his office
wn taking the
Border sixteen
fore our start,

{ike Fornasero
ranch home,

(Left) Mike Fornasero, the
murder victim. (Above) Ex-
terior view of the temporary
home of the Fornasero family.
Arrow points to the rushes
where the terrified children
were hiding; their father’s
battered body was found at
spot marked by cross. (Right)
Mrs. Fornasero, who was
cruelly beaten and left for
dead

located twelve miles southeast of El Centro,
and eight miles north of Calexico, California,
and Mexicali, Mexico (Baja, California).
We had known Mike a number of years,
and as we rushed along it was hard to bg-
lieve that he and his wife were dead, mur-
dered. Sheriff Gillett remarked, “I well re-
member in 1907, when Mike and his brother,

Phillip, came here from Italy and bought —

land. Mike endured the hardships that come
to all pioneering ranchers, but after years of
toil under the blistering sun of this reclaimed
desert he found himself prosperous. He
had accumulated enough money so that he
was able to realize a long cherished dream,
when in June, 1913, he returned to Italy and

38 The Master Detective

who had telephoned the Sheriff of the murder. He hailed us saying,
“Hey, Sheriff, leave your car and walk about two hundred yards
north to the foot bridge across the ditch; then walk east toward the
milk sheds, and I’ll meet you.” We did as he directed us, wondering
what all the wasted water could mean. Water for irrigating purposes
is a rancher’s most precious possession in this country, and frequently
he has permission from the zanjero to water his crops from the irri-
gation ditches, which are tributaries from the main canals, the original
source flowing along deep canals from the Colorado River. Sometimes
a rancher has access to the water for twenty-four hours or longer,
often remaining up all night guiding it cautiously along his fields by
the light of a lantern lest it “run wild” and waste. We walked in clay-
like adobe mud and water reaching above our ankles as we entered the
north-west premises of the ranch with its usual array of milk sheds,
chicken houses, hay racks, and farming implements. The dairy herd,
with sad bovine eyes, stood huddled together in water that nearly
reached their strutted udders, barnyard fowls cackled and scurried
before us in grotesque splashes of muddy water. Mr. Church ad-
vanced to meet us and pointing to a small, roughly built house with
a screened porch extending completely along its western walls, he told
us the Fornaseros had been living there temporarily, having moved
a few furnishings from the main ranch house which stood a half mile
to the east.

He related how he had noticed the water “running wild” the day
before, as he drove by en route. to El Centro, and he had wondered
how Mike, after years of experience with irrigation, would have
allowed such a thing to happen. The night previous he had heard
some cows lowing about two hours after milking time and thinking
they were the Fornasero herd he remarked to his family that he be-
lieved something was wrong at Mike's. Early that morning after

(Above) Former Sheriff Charles

Gillett looks at spot in the stag-
nant pond where the tall rushes
grew (marked by arrow),
among which the panic-stricken
Fornasero children sought refuge
after terrible beatings from their
father’s murderers

claimed his childhood sweetheart,
Lucia Marenco, as his bride, and
brought her back to his ranch
home here in Imperial Valley.
And now they are the parents of
three children, a girl and two.
boys.” Thus the Sheriff chatted
as we spend along. We struck the
dusty country roads, passing fields
set out in tomatoes, and green ex-
panses of lettuce fast ripening.
Mexican pickers, hired by Amer-
ican growers, were afield cutting
the firm heads for shipment. Soon,
in the distance, some of its build-
ings partially hidden by a large
irrigation ditch, we could see the
Fornasero ranch.

Suddenly to our right, like a ,
desert mirage, appeared a placid —
lake of water, and as we drove,
directly across the road, a veri-
table river ran from the ragged
banks of: an irrigation ditch. We
stopped our car, unable to pro-
ceed, and saw a man standing on
the other side of the widening
expanse of water. He was D. C.
Church, a neighbor of Fornasero’s
who lived a mile south; it was he

(Left) Virginia Wright, who
interviewed Chief of Police
Oswalt and wrote the story

discussir
investig:
driver o
cream f)
Centro
The
failed t
(Wednes
little th
out of «
near the
and noti
jumped
entered
house ar
covered
tinued,
is the be
mire of t
his arms
fate wh
rounding
Clues?
mud and
obliterat
The §
and Mr
house. ~
told hin
gone int:

“ RR LTT EP somecnene — eh oS AEic rensanwer Wilocnd ae cone

cruelly

HE Fornasero murder! It stands out as a blot in located

the memory of the citizens of El Centro, Imperial and eig!
County, California. In my memory it stands out and Me
vividly as. the most brutal and mystifying in the We h

entire criminal history of this section of the State of and as
California. lieve th

l It was about ten o’clock on Thursday morning, January dered
| 4th, 1923, when Former Sheriff Charles Gillett called me to member
his office from the deputies’ assembly room and told me to Phillip,
| hasten with him to investigate the report of a murder he land. M
l had just received by telephone. We rushed from his office to all pi
| and into. his car and drove rapidly through town taking the toil unde
main highway leading towards the Mexican Border sixteen desert |}
miles distant. Having learned no details before our start, | had acci
the Sheriff told me as we sped along that Mike Fornasero was able
and his wife had been found murdered at their ranch home, when in

d us saying,
ndred yards
¢ toward the
s, wondering
ing purposes
d frequently
‘om the irri-
the original

Sometimes
-s or longer,
his fields by
ilked in clay-
e entered the
f milk sheds,
2 dairy herd,

that nearly
and scurried

Church ad-
it house with
walls, he told
aving moved
da half mile

vild” the day
iad wondered
would have
he had heard
and thinking
y that he be-
norning after

Wright, who
f of Police
e the story

California’s Startling Ranch Riddle 39

discussing such a possibility with his wife, he decided to
investigate by riding as far as the Fornasero’s with the
driver of the Creamery truck, who, each morning, collected
cream froth the dairies for the Crescent Creamery in El
Centro.

The truck driver told him that the Fornaseros had
failed to put the cream cans out the motning before
(Wednesday) for the usual collection but he had given it
little thought, thinking that their cream separator must be
out of order.* Church and the driver drove the truck as
near the ditch as possible because of the flooded ground
and noticed again that the usual cans were missing. They
jumped down from the truck, walked around the milk sheds,
entered the corral, and there, about ninety feet from the
house and fifteen feet from the largest haystack they dis-
covered the body of Mike Fornasero. Mr. Church con-
tinued, “Here, Sheriff, over this way, around this haystack
is the body.” And there, nearly submerged in the sodden
mire of the corral, lay Mike, his face and head badly beaten;
his arms flung wide as if in hopeless submission to a cruel
fate which had taken his life, amidst the peaceful sur-
roundings of his own barnyard.

Clues? Were there any? If so, where were they? With
mud and water everywhere, any possible tell-tale tracks were
obliterated,

The Sheriff then asked, “Where is Mrs. Fornasero?”
and Mr. Church replied that she must be inside the
house. The younger Fornasero boy, Paul, aged seven, had
told him “Mama dead in house.” He stated he had not

gone into the house as he was in haste to get to a telephone .

and notify the Sheriff of the crime. He related how he. had
found little Paul not far from the body of his father, and
the truck driver had remained with the boy while he went
to telephone. We heard a whimpering sound, and there,
for the first time that morning,.we saw little Paul. The
truck driver was trying to soothe him as he crouched beside
a sodden mound of hay, a pitiful sight to behold. A deep
wound lay open on his forehead and his face and hands
were smeared with dried blood.

As we covered the body of Mike with a blanket, the
Sheriff suddenly asked, “Where are the other two children,
Mr. Church?” In the confusion and horror of the situation
we had not thought of them before. The neighbor replied
that he had seen nothing of them; neither had the truck
driver. We asked Paul, who, trembling with pain and
fear, and unable to speak, pointed with a weak hand toward
a tule patch growing tall and lush near two trees about
seventy-five feet away. We ran to the spot and there were
the children. Nina, the little girl, about six years old, lay
partially submerged in the stagnant pond where the rushes

(Above) The International
Boundary Gate at Mexicali,
Mexico and Calexico, Cali-
fornia, where Former Sheriff
Gillett and his deputy crossed
into Mexico in disguise to
seek for the murder suspects

(Above) A partial view of the
room where Mrs. Fornasero lay
unconscious for thirty-six hours
before she was found, after the
distressed lowing of the cows had
aroused a neighbor’s suspicions

grew, a deep gash in her left
temple, her face bruised, and eyes
swollen shut. Her clothes were
torn and bloody, and she seemed
more dead than alive as we lifted
her cold, wet form from the slimy
pond. Joe, the older Fornasero
boy, aged eight, sat huddled
among the rushes as though at-
tempting to hide, his face bruised
and swollen, his right cheek plain-
ly showing the mark of a cruel
boot heel. In his arms he tightly
clutched a loaf of mouldy bread.
He whimpered and cringed like
some wounded little animal as the
Sheriff tenderly lifted him in his
arms. (Continued on page 79)

1 has pro-
spectacu-
rder cases
3 in such
with one
such in-
ad broken
share of

murder,
dl both in
became a
sdiate area

was short-

use its de- .
g in their.

: fullblown

they came |
tem today, |

i when cops
this car and %
leah . . "8

another a few days later, then noth-
ing for another considerable space of
time. From an editorial standpoint,
interest in a great criminal case must
be sustained from day to day to merit
front-page treatment.

It was something of that nature
which was responsible for the fact
that the case of Michael Timothy
Cavanaugh, although one of the most
remarkable homicide cases in the an-
nals of Western crime, is almost for-
gotten, except among police officials
who were immediately concerned
with it and remember Cavanaugh as
one of the trickiest criminals ever
encountered in their long careers. It
was a case that forced them to pit all
the intelligence, skill and resources
at their command against one of the
‘most dangerous lawless types in the

book—a hardened criminal and glib
con man so cocky and sure of himself
that, with the opportunity to escape
scot-free after a crime, he deliber-
ately let himself be seen and virtually
dared police to prove he was guilty
of anything.

This was the pattern of the case
from the very outset. If ‘Tom Black,
the “hit and run victim,” had not
been brought to the emergency room
of Denver’s St. Luke’s Hospital on
that drizzling Wednesday ‘night, July
29, 1953, in all likelihood he would
have been dead before anyone found
him. And though his injuries) may
have been regarded as the product
of something more than a vehicular
accident, it is highly unlikely that
any lead would have been found to
his assailant.

Police bullet struck fleeing Mike Cavanaugh in rear end, but he still put up a fight and h

ad to be handcuffed

What actually happened made it a
different sort of case altogether.

The hands on the white-faced
clock above the reception desk in St.
Luke’s emergency room stood at
11:48 when a husky, curly-haired
six-footer burst through the double
swinging doors and cried, “I gota
guy in my car who’s hurt bad! Picked
him up on the highway—hit and
run, I think. You better send some-
body out here with a stretcher.” .

An interne standing within earshot
signaled to a couple of orderlies, who.
without further instructions, picked
up a litter and headed outside to the
parking area. The big man went with
them. He was! wearing khaki chino
slacks and a sport shirt—white with
bright red and blue knitted designs.
There was blood on one sleeve.

aa Sale

CaVaNsUGH, Michael dW white, asphyx. Calis. (san Diego) fe)

! April nS 1956.

- BONUS-LENGTH FEATURE |

a oe

: by CRAIG CALDANIE
‘ Special Investigator for OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE,

October, 2o62 \1

2 The irrefutable evidence of murder was still fresh in his car,
| but this brash, hardened ctinilivel was so cocky and sure
of himself that, with the opportunity to escape scot-free,
he deliberately tempted fate and virtually dared

the cops to prove he was guilty of anything

THE KILLER
PLAYED GAMES —
WITH THE POLICE

‘

duced some of the most spectacu-

Tz STATE of California has pro-

lar murderers and murder cases
in America, sometimes .in such
profusion. that they vied with one
another for headlines. In such in-
stances, the one which had broken
first received the major share of
publicity, and another murder,
though equally sensational both in
commission and solution, became a
big story only in the immediate are
of the crime scene.
Sometimes, too, a case was short-
changed by the press because its de-
velopments, while startling in their

own right, did not break fullblown—
in one shocking revelation; they came

in piecemeal fashion, an item today,

Murder probe was launched when copt
opened the rear trunk of this car and
one said: “It smells like death .. .’

st.’

another
ing for <
time. Fr
interest
be sustai
front-pa;
It was
which w
that the
Cavanau
remarkal
nals of \
gotten, «
who we
with it 2
one of
encounte
was a ca
the intel
at their
most dar

Cops examined interior of suspect car looking for clues to identity of owner

As they all went out the emer-
gency room door, the girl at the
desk picked up the phone and called
the Denver police. “This is St. Luke’s
emergency,” she said. “They’re
bringing in a hit and run victim.”

That was all. At headquarters, the
desk sergeant relayed the message
to the radio dispatcher. He checked
his chart, then called an order to a
radio patrol car nearest the hospital.
Manning it were Patrolmen Julian
Bender and Bart Alexander, who
heard the message, “Proceed to St.
Luke’s emergency room. Investigate

: hit-and-run victim.”

‘At the hospital, the orderlies had
removed. an injured man from the
car in the parking lot, put. him on a

litter, and carried him inside, where
they transferred him to a wheeled
surgical table, then rolled it and its
bloody burden into the examining
room. The nurse at the desk called
the big man who had brought the in-
jured man in.

“We'll need some information from
you,” she said, spreading a form be-
fore her and picking up a pen. “What
is your name, please?”

“What do you need my name for?”
the man asked petulantly. “I’m just
passing through town. I found the
guy on the road and brought him in.
Isn’t that enough?”

A doctor standing nearby inter-
vened. “We’re required to get this
information in a zase of this kind,”
he said quietly “it’s just a formal-

“Check with Arizona authorities revealed the car had been stolen

ity. The nurse only has a few ques.
tions. I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Mollified, the big man said his
name was Ralph R. Welch, from Tuc-
son, Arizona. “I’m on my way back
East, to Columbia University in New
York. I saw this fellow lying in the
street and thought it was my duty
to pick him up and bring him here.”

He was vague when asked to pin-
point the exact location where he had
found the injured man. When the
nurse had gotten as much informa-
tion out of him as she could, she
asked him to wait around for a little
while.

. “What do I have to wait for now?”
he ‘asked belligerently. “I told you
everything I know.”

“The police have been notified,”
the nurse responded. “The law re-
quires it in these cases. They’ll he
here any moment now. They will
want to ask you some questions,
since you’re the only one who knows
anything about it.”

A jaw muscle twitched in the big
guy’s face. His eyes narrowed and
he seemed thoughtful for a moment.
“Okay,” he drawled then. “T’ll stick
around.”

Patrolman Bender and Alexander

came through the double doors only

moments later. Welch got up from
his chair and reached the reception

desk only ‘a step behind them. The
nurse was saying, “That’s the man
who brought him in. His name—” she
paused to look at the form she had
filled out—“is Ralph R. Welch.” She
handed Bender a carbon copy of the
report.

The big man didn’t give him time
to read it. “Say, officers, can’t I leave
now?” he demanded. “I just brought
this fellow here. I found him in the
street. They told me I had to wait,
but I don’t know a thing more about

him than I told the girl, and I’ve got

to get away. I’m in a hurry.”

The two officers looked him over.
They saw a tall, sturdily built man
with a strong, roundish face topped
by dark blond curly hair. The blood
spots on his shirt held their attention
for a moment. They noted his air of
impatience.

“You'll have to wait a few min-

utes more, Mr. Welch,” Officer Alex- |

ander said. “We'll have to get your
story for our report. We won't take
long.”

“But I just gave her all the infor- |

mation I know,” Welch protested ir-
ritably. “You can get it all from her.”

“Can’t do it that way, sorry,” Alex-
ander replied easily. “We have to get
it first-hand. Just wait here a min-
ute. I'll be right back.”

With a barely perceptible nod to
his partner,, Alexander walked into
the examining room to look at the
injured man. Patrolman Bender kept
a watchful but unobtrusive eye, on
Welch.

In the examining room a doctor
was working rapidly over the man on
the table. “How’s it look, Doc?” the
officer asked. :

Dr. Rober
briefly.

“This man
ing consciou
like the loo
isn’t a case
This is for (
lows.

“We don’
this ‘man, o
only thing \:
identification
ward a chi
rested atop «

Officer Al:
picked up t!
read aloud.
Alexander
“His pants
out. Is that
in?”

“That’s r
“No wallet,
this card. /
you might 1
mark cut in
hand is br:
hit with a
maybe a j
look like a
more like h
thrown fron

The patro
phone and
Hospital, r
immediatel
to the city !
to the rece)
man was v
patience, wu
Patrolman !}

“All righ
start from
about this.”

“My nan
R. Welch,”
manifest ar
son, Arizon
York. I’m
versity the:
the street. °
up, put hir
him here. I

“What st
him?”

“How th:
street? I’n
thought the
figured I b
fast. I may
its getting
look at st
was bleedi
car, and |
that blood’

“How di
hospital?”
asked.

The que
big man
“Why—wh
passing by)
nearest ho

- here.”

The of
glances. Ul
story was
The vagu:
explained

1 few ques-
vind.”
nn said his
1, from Tuc-
y way back
sity in New
lying in the
as my duty
im here.”
‘ked to pin-
‘here he had
When the
ch informa-
could, she
{ for a little

it for now?”
I told you

‘n notified,”
‘he law re-
They'll be
They will
questions,
who knows

1 in the big
rowed and

~ a moment.
1 “TIL stick

{| Alexander
: doors only
‘ot up from
ie reception
| them. The

sews she had
Welch.” She
copy of the

ve him time
can’t I leave
just brought
him in the
iad to wait,
more about
and I’ve got

d him over.
y built man
face topped
*. The blood
eir attention
‘d his air of

a few min-
Yfficer Alex-
to get your
: won’t take

Jl the infor-
orotested ir-
ll from her.”
sorry,” Alex-
: have to get
here a min-

tible nod to
walked into
look at the
Bender kept

sive eye, on .

om a doctor
r the man on
x, Doc?” the

Dr. Robert J. Shearer looked up
briefly.

“This man may die without regain-
ing consciousness,” he said. “I don’t
like the looks of him. Besides, this
isn’t a case for a private hospital.
This is for General, and for you fel-
lows.

“We don’t know anything about
this'man, or the circumstances. The
only thing we found on him was that
identification card.” He nodded to-
ward a chair, where an ID card
rested atop a heap of bloody clothes.

Officer Alexander walked over and
picked up the card. “Tom Black,” he
read aloud. There was no address.
Alexander picked up the trousers.
“His pants pockets are turned inside
out, Is that the way he was brought
in?’

“That’s right,” Dr. Shearer said.
“No wallet, no money, nothing but
this card. And there’s another thing
you might note. . . . Look at this V-
mark cut into the flesh where his left
hand is broken. As though he was
hit with a steel bar of some kind,
maybe a jack handle. This doesn’t
look like a hit-run case to me. Looks
more like he was beaten, then maybe
thrown from a car.”

The patrolman picked up the tele-
phone and called Denver General
Hospital, requesting an ambulance
immediately to transfer the patient
to the city hospital. Then he returned
to the reception room where the big
man was waiting, with obvious im-
patience, under the watchful eye of
Patrolman Bender.

“All right,” Alexander said, “let’s
start from the beginning. Tell us all
about this.”

“My name is Ralph Welch, Ralph
R. Welch,” the big man began with
manifest annoyance. “I’m from Tuc-
son, Arizona. I’m on my way to New
York. I’m going to Columbia Uni-
versity there. I saw this guy lying in
the street. He was hurt. I picked him
up, put him in my car, and brought
him here. I’m a good Samaritan.”
“What street? Where did you find
‘ 9”

“How the hell would I know what
street? I’m a stranger in town. I
thought the guy might be dying, so I
figured I better get him to a hospital
fast. I maybe broke your speed lim-
its getting him here. I didn’t stop to
look at street signs. The guy was
was bleeding like a pig all over my
car, and look at my shirt here—see
that blood? It’s ruined.”

“How did you happen to find this
hospital?” Patrolman Alexander
asked,

The question seemed to catch the
big man offguard. He stammered
“Why—why—there was a little boy
passing by—I asked him where the
nearest hospital was. He directed me
‘here.”

The officers exchanged quick
glances. Up to this point, Welch’s
story was credible, even if vague.
The vague points might have been
explained by the man’s unfamiliarity

with the city, however. But his story

about a little boy wandering around
the streets at midnight on a stormy
night—that was hard to swallow.
Alexander immediately thought of
the victim’s turned-out pockets. Rob-
ery? It was a distinct possibility.

“Let’s see your identification,” he
said brusquely.

“Sure,” the burly character replied
surlily. He fumbled for a moment in
the hip pocket of his trousers. Then
produced a wallet. More fumbling in
the identification pockets, and then
he handed over an automobile in-
surance card bearing the name of
Ralph Robert Welch, with an ad-
dress on West Alturas Street in Tuc-
son, Arizona. Next he handed them
an automobile registration card,
made out for a 1961 Ford convertible,
issued to the same name.

“Do you have a driver’s license?”
Alexander asked him as Patrolman
Bender copied down the information
from the first two credentials offered,
and into his notebook.

Welch flared belligerently. “Say,
what is this?” he demanded angrily.
“Here I try to be a good guy and
help out someone who’s hurt, and
you fellows treat me like I’m a
damned criminal! I haven’t got all
night to—”

The interruption was caused by
the arrival of the ambulance from
General Hospital. The officers sus-
pended the questioning briefly while
they watched the injured man loaded
aboard. When the city ambulance
drove away, they returned to Welch.

“Let’s go take a look at your car,”

_ Officer Bender said.

Again the big blond man exploded
angrily. “What kind of a deal are you
guys trying to pull?” I’m no cheap
crook, I—”

“Take it easy, fella,’ Bender said.
“We'd just like to take a look at it—
for the record. What’s wrong with
that? You’ve got nothing to hide,
right?”

Flanked by the two officers, Welch
started out the double doors, but as
they reached the loading platform
outside, he suddei:y wheeled and
started to walk avay. Officer Bender
reached out and grabbed him by the
arm,

“What’s coming off here?” Welch
protested. “Are you guys arresting
me? And what for?”

Bender clutched his arm firmly
and said evenly, “Stop being a tough
guy, Welch. We just want*you to
stick around for a while. The detec-
tives might want to question you.
Now, let’s go look at your car.”

The light green convertible, bear-
ing Arizona license plates, stood
gleaming in the rain, front wheels to
curb. Its top was up. Patrolman
Alexander opened the front door and
turned a flashlight on the interior. At
that instant, the muscular suspect
suddenly wrenched himself free of
Officer Bender’s grasp.

“To hell with you guys!” he yelled.

Master Sergeant Ralph Welch was
murdered and his body stuffed into
trunk of his own car by the killer

“fm not sticking around while you

snoop in my car!”

The words were hardly out of his
mouth when he was sprinting down
the street, with the two officers in
hot pursuit, shouting for him to stop
as they drew their service pistols.
They were hampered. by their bulky
raincoats, however, and it looked
like they would lose the man as he
disappeared around the corner and
headed up Twentieth Avenue. They
saw him pull out his wallet as he
ran.
“Stop or we'll shoot!” both officers
warned, .

Screams suddenly filled the air as
the chase swept by a group of young
nurses just coming off duty.

Now the fleeing man darted reck-
lessly across the street and brakes
screeched as oncoming cars narrowly
averted running him down. He dis-
appeared around another corner, but

the officers caught sight of him again .

as they followed him down the new
street. He was nearly half a block
ahead of them, but the gap was wid-
ening. Again they yelled a warning
to stop or they would shoot. Welch
ignored the warning.

Each officer fired a shot in the air
over the fugitive’s head. He kept run-
ning. Then they took aim at his legs
and fired again. Welch went down,
tumbling forward under the momen-
tum of his own flight.

When Bender and _ Alexander
reached him, he was cursing and

cad

Se ee
pi i 5

Ke
|

n the de- with Black, the “hit-run” victim. longing to Welch. In the latter, he Captain Flor picked up the tele- \
hold of a Both sets of prints were run found $180 in cash, as well as a phone and asked the operator to get ¢
concluded. through the Denver Police Depart- United States Marine Corps certifi- him Tucson police headquarters, |
came to ment’s identification division, with cate stating that Master Sergeant where he was connected with Cap- fy
und Lieu- negative results. The files contained Ralph Robert Welch was honorably tain James D. Allaire. Allaire copied
head of nothing on either man. Captain Flor discharged on May 18, 1953. That was down all the information Flor could 1
nining the ordered copies of their prints rushed only a few days more than two give him about Welch and promised |
in the to the FBI in Washington for com- months earlier. to run an immediate check on the bin
‘parison against the federal bureau’s An Arizona driver’s license and man at the West Alturas Street ad- i,
‘ts of this master files. He also ordered “a other papers all bore Welch’s identi- dress. i
dispatched make” on the convertible’s license fication. Captain Flor shook his head By the time Flor had finished talk- |
hospital. plate number through Arizona State sadly. “Just out of the Marines and ing to ‘Tucson, Lieutenant Shumate
at out for Police headquarters in Phoenix. going haywire like that. He’s got a was ready with his report on his ex- |
bt, had to “Let's see what Welch had on wife and kid, too—pictures of ’em amination of the Ford convertible.
\dued with him,” Flor said next. He was handed here.” He held out a few snapshots He had done a meticulously thorough }
id get his the bullet-pierced checkbook belong- showing a_ pretty blonde woman job, assembling specimens for analy-
ws trouble ing to Tom Black, and the wallet be- holding an infant. sis, compiling copious notes, and tak-
ing both black and white and color |

pictures of the trunk interior and
other parts of the car.

“There’s no doubt that a decom-
posing body: was carried in that car,
and not too long ago,” Shumate in- \
formed Captain Flor. “I’ve collected \
samples of dried ‘blood, hair, and att
shreds of tissue. There’s fresh blood \
on the jack ‘handle—also hair, but ; ;
that probably came from Tom Black.

These other traces are older.

“And I found these in the back
seat.”

Shumate dropped a couple of ob-
jects on the captain’s desk—a pair of
sun glasses, with blood-encrusted
frames and cracked green lenses; an
a broken piece of removable gold
dental bridgework.

“How do you figure it?” the cap-
tain asked.

Lieutenant Shumate shrugged. “It
looks to me like someone was killed
in the back seat, then put in
trunk, carried for some days—no
telling how long—and later thrown

out. I've taken samples of the gravel

and leaves—they’re from some sort

of evergreen tree, and not very old. hy,

“They might give us @ lead to
where it happened. I’m sending all
the samples and data back to the
FBI lab. Do we have any idea who
the victim might have been?”

Captain Flor shook his head nega- \
tively. “As yet, we've got very little
to go on. Both fellows are still un- \;
conscious—we had to knock out the i\
big guy with a shot to get his prints.” ye

“But if Welch’s story is true—that
he drove up here from Tucson and 1;
was just passing through—the mur- 1
der could have been committed al- Fr
most anywhere in Arizona, Utah, or |
Colorado—maybe even in Mexico.

“And as for the victim, it could be
he came from any one of those places
or none of them.” He pointed to a
thick sheaf of missing persons circu-
lars on his desk. We might get a lead
when we hear from Tucson, or when \
we can talk to Black and the big -

y:
A call to Denver General elicited ip
the information that Tom Black’s
condition was critical. He had a seri-
ous skull fracture, and his left hand
was broken, possibly suffered as he
attempted to ward off blows from his
assailant. Black was at that very
moment (Continued on page 92)

“truth serum’ test proposed by police

Cavanaugh readily agreed to ‘take
53

—_ -

(Continued from page 90)
‘rules and regulations’ have been
greatly reduced; our coed housing
arrangements have been expanded;
residents have been given greater
responsibility for self-government
and self-discipline . . .”

‘Then there is the new program at
Pennsylvania State University, called
the Interest House ‘Program. Under
this program, students are housed
together according to the general
fields of study which interest them
most—there are, for example, Envi-
ronmental House, Human Values in
a Technological Society House and
Race Relations and Social Conflict
House.

Here is how the office of the Dean
of Student Affairs at Penn State de-
scribes the new program: |

“The Interest House Program is a
new and unique alternative in Res-
idence Hall living. The Interest
House will develop, through its res-
idents’ efforts, a common purpose for
dormitorv life. This is accomplished
by providing students the chance to
live with other students who have a
common interest of concern related
to a broad area of student experi-
ence, Each Interest Community will
consist of two units, male and fe-
male, which will work with mem-
bers of the faculty to design a res-
idence experience that is both stim-
ulating and enjoyable.”

That, then, is the way to the fu-
ture. The keywords are stimulation
and enjoyment. And there will be a
lot more on the campus than books
and classes. Certainly, there will be
a lot more sex.

It all depends on one’s idea of what
college ought to be. If it’s strictly a
place for academic learning, then
perhaps sex has no place. But to the
members of today’s youth counter-
culture,. college is much more, and
sex is a necessary part of the scene.

“You know,” said one long-haired
NYU sophomore, “in the old days,
people went to college to learn how
to. make a living. og people are

going to college to learn how to live.”
kk

Maryland’s Case...

acting on Feehley’s request, took
Marjorie Coyne into custody. They
said she had a new blue suitcase
with her.

Captain Feehley rushed to New
| York, then visited Felony Court
where Marjorie Coyne was arraigned
on a Maryland warrant charging her
with being a fugitive from justice.
Although Feehley expected diffi-
culties, he was pleasantly surprised.
Marjorie waived extradition and
agreed to return to Baltimore for
questioning. The next day, she sub-
mitted to interrogation by Assistant
District Attorney Weiss and Captains
Feehley and Kriss.

Marjorie Coyne’s story was at con-
siderable variance with the one told
by Don Brooks.

Marjorie admitted that Brooks had
paid her fare to New York. She said
he had bought her clothes and had
taken her on a round of gaiety. But
she also said that on July 20th, after
Brooks had threatened her and
scared the hell out of her, she packed
up her things while he was out and
moved up to the Bronx.

“Why did he threaten you?”

The girl shrugged, fiddled with her
auburn hair, and airily said, “It was
just a petty quarrel.”

Questioned next about the murder
of Mary Finn, Marjorie professed
complete ignorance. In reported in-
terrogations during the next 24 hours,
the girl insisted she had never heard
of the Mary Finn murder, nor even
of Mary Finn.

It was a stalemate. The probers
took Marjorie over’ her story again
and again. She recounted the details
of her New York trip, the places
they had been—she and Brooks, that
is. Feehley got from her approximate
amounts of money Brooks had spent
for various things, and his addition,
even allowing for rough estimates,
1) Brooks had spent well over

500.

Yet the ex-con had admitted to

having only $350 in cash from his

crap game: winnings, a story which
would not be corroborated.

Questioned more closely about the
money, Marjorie disclosed that
Brooks had given her about $90.

“Eighty bucks in bills,” the pretty
redhead said, “and about ten dollars
in dimes.”

“Tn dimes?” Captain Feehley
echoed. “John Zigler had a collection
of dimes in a glass jar. Brooks stole
those dimes and gave them to you.
That makes you ‘an accessory.” He
paused and regarded the now fright-
ened girl sternly, then asked, “Do
you want to go to prison for a long,
long time, Marjorie?”

The redhead’s mouth set in a firm
line. She refused to say any more.
Captain Feehley, recognizing her re-
sistance, ordered her left to her own
thoughts in a cell in the woman’s
section of city jail.

A little over an hour later, the girl
sent word to him that she had some-
thing to tell him. She was weeping
when a matron brought her to the
office of the assistant district attor-
ney to face her questioners again.
Now she broke down and admitted
that she had known about the crime.

She said that one day in New
York, after she and Don Brooks had
quarreled, he had threatened her,
saying, “you’d better look out or
you'll get what.Mrs. Finn got!”

Later, Marjorie said, when Brooks
was in a better mood, she had asked
him about Mary Finn. She said
Brooks had replied:

“I broke. in there because I knew
Zigler always had a lot of money
around. I didn’t know that Mrs. Finn
was there. She came out’ to the
kitchen while I was ransacking the
joint and started a fight. I had to
sock her,

‘Later, when I was looking for
more money, she began to revive. So
I socked her again.”

Marjorie Coyne went on to say
that just. before she moved to the
Bronx, she saw Brooks putting new

(Continued on page 95)

The Killer Played Games .

undergoing an emergency operation to
relieve the pressure on his brain. If he
survived—and that was not certain—
it would be a considerable time before
he was able to talk to police.

But though Black appeared, for the
moment, at least, to be a highly dubi-
ous source of information, diligent
police work turned up something on
his background. By eight o'clock
Thursday morning, Homicide Detec-
tives Joe Holindrake and Tom
O’Neill had succeeded in establish-
ing that Tom Black was a local resi-
dent. They traced him to an address
on East 12th Street, where they
learned he had gone out the previ-
ous afternoon. But that was as much
as could be found out; no one at the
address could even hazard a guess at
what might have happened to him, or

« (from page 55)

how.

Meanwhile, Captain Flor had made
a discovery of his own. Anxious to
have a versonal look at Welch, he
had gone to the hospital. He was ad-
mitted to the room where the big,
bellicose man, still manacled and
strapped to a bed in the prison ward,
was sleeping off the effects of the
sedative administered to him under
protest.

Captain Flor’s brow furrowed in a
puzzled frown for a moment as he
stood looking down at the blond
giant. He reached in his _ pocket,
pulled out Welch’s wallet, and stud-
ied the identification papers it con-
tained. The captain’s eyes flickered
back and forth from the papers to
the man in the bed.

Finally he exclaimed, “This man is

not Welch! He was carrying some-
body else’s papers. He doesn’t come
close to fitting the descriptions here.”

The papers from the pocket bore
him out. They described. Ralph
Welch as 32, five feet six inches tall,
145 pounds, with black wavy hair,
dark complexion, and hazel eyes.

The man in the bed might have
been about 32, but there the resem-
blance to the real Welch ended. The
sleeping man was an inch or two
over six feet tall, he had to weigh at
least 200 pounds, he had dark blond
curly hair, and his eyes, a_ hasty
check showed, were light blue in
color.

The questions awaiting recovery
of consciousness by the big blond
man were piling up. But answers to
other questions in Captain Flor’s
mind were soon forthcoming. When
he got back to his desk at headquar-
ters he found that the Arizona State

wor

Police
son had

The
register
son, It
June. |
stolen.

_ State P.

Capt
Investig
Street
Welch’s
They |
their sc
June,
from tl!
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Welct
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At the
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converti!
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Allaire }
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They’re }
Allaire
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Denver
be the ex-
Captair
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that poin
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about We
At this
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struggling to rise and continue his
attempt to escape. One bullet had
struck him in the right buttock. The
wallet was still clutched firmly in his
hand, and he continued struggling so
violently that they had to put hand-
cuffs on him.

While trying to determine the ex-
tent of his injury as they awaited
an ambulance, they found that the
bullet which had hit him had passed
right through a folded checkbook in
his hip pocket. The checks in it were
imprinted with the name, Tom Black.

“Looks like he had good reason to
run,” Officer Alexander observed
grimly, still panting from the exer-
tion of the chase. “Either he beat and
robbed that guy he brought in, or he
rolled him while he was lying there.”

Moments later the area was filled
with police vehicles, as radio cruis-
ers and detectives, alerted by the
hospital staff when the chase began,
responded to the alarm from head-
quarters. Even handcuffs did not
deter the muscular fugitive from
struggling and it required the efforts
of four men to load him into the
General Hospital ambulance.

Patrolmen Bender and Alexander
filled in the detectives on what had
transpired thus far, and the group of
officers returned to the hospital park-
ing lot to examine Welch’s converti-
ble. They noted immediately that the
chrome grille work on its front end
was newly damaged; it looked like it
had run into a car which stopped
ahead of it.

They found a profusion of blood
on the front floor mat and on the
leather covers of the right front seat,
obviously where Black, the injured
man, had been placed for his journey
to the hospital.

On the floor of the rear seat they
found a bumper jack, the handle of
which ended in a V-shape. Detec-
tives put the jack and its handle in
their car for delivery to the crime
lab, where it would be examined in
detail. Patrolman C. E. Myers then
was assigned to drive the converti-
ble to headquarters. The other police
vehicles followed him in.

Before they reached the station,
however, the convertible became
mired in a mudhole, and the other
officers stopped to help Myers free
the car. Myers went back to the
trunk, to see if it might contain a
shovel, but he had hardly opened it
when he recoiled. A nauseating odor
rose from the trunk compartment.

Later Myers said, “When we op-
ened that trunk, we smelled death
right off.”

Another detective who was pres-
ent added, “And in view of what had
happened, it smelled like murder.”

The veteran officers had no doubt
about the nature of the sickly-sweet
stench in the trunk. It could only
have been caused by one thing—
decomposing flesh. There was no
body in the compartment now, but
there must have been one there not
long since. At the moment, all they

could see was < wealth of caked and
dried stains ‘n the bottom and sides.
It would require laboratory analysis
to make it official, but they were
sure it was blood. There also was a
scattering of leaves and gravel litter-
ing the trunk compartment.

Obviously, of course, the dried
bloodstains could not have been
made by Black, the “hit-run” victim
brought to the hospital that night.
The same question therefore, was in
the minds of every officer on the
scene: Had there been another at-
tack, ending in murder?

Chief of Detectives Captain Wil-
liam E. Flor was called at home and

awakened’ to be filled in on the de-
tails. “Looks like we’ve got hold of a
big one,” one of his men concluded
Flor dressed hurriedly and came to
headquarters, where he found Lieu-
tenant James E. Shumate, head of
the crime laboratory, examining the
blood-stained convertible in __ the
police garage.

While awaiting the results of this

examination, Catpain Flor dispatched

a fingerprint team to the hospital.
The team found its work cut out for
it; Welch, still full of fight, had to

be strapped down and subdued with |

a sedative before they could get his

fingerprints. They had less trouble |

with E
Bot!
throu;
ment’s
negati
nothin
ordere
to the
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maste
make’
plate
Police
“Te
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the b:
ing to

tory which

about the
osed_ _ that
it $90.

the pretty
ten dollars

Feehley
a collection
rooks stole
2m to you.
‘ssory.” He
10w fright-
isked, “Do
for a long,

t in a firm
any more.
ing her re-
to her own
e woman’s

‘er, the girl
had some-
as weeping
her to the
trict attor-
ners again.
.d admitted
the crime.
y in New
Brooks had
tened her,
ok out or
ot!”

Brooks
@: asked
e said

ise I knew
of money
t Mrs. Finn
sut_ to the
sacking the
. I had to

ooking for
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on to say
ved to the
utting new
m page 95)

ying some-
sesn’t come
tions here.”
rocket bore
ved ~=Ralph
inches tall,
wavy hair,
| eyes.

might have
the resem-
ended. The
ich or two
to weigh at
dark blond
s, a_ hasty
at blue in

g recovery
big blond
answers to
tain Flor’s
ning. When
t headquar-
izona State

Police and Captain Allaire of Tuc-
son had called in 'their reports.

The green Ford convertible was
registered to Ralph R. Welch of Tuc-
son. It had been bought there in
June. It had never been reported
stolen. That much came from the

_ State Police.

Captain Allaire had other news.
Investigation of the West Alturas
Street address disclosed it was not
Welch’s home, but that of his parents.
They told Tucson detectives that
their son had visited them early in
June, shortly after his discharge
from the Marines, but that he: had
since gone, with his wife and two-
and-a-half-year-old daughter, to
live in California. They gave his ad-
dress as a trailer court in Chula
Vista, a city of some 16,000 popula-
tion south of San Diego and only a
few miles from the Mexican border.

Welch had been a Marine for more
than 15 years, he had served in two
wars and won decorations for hero-
ism in combat. He had been dis-
charged recently for medical reasons.
At the time he visited his family in
Tucson, he had $6,000 in mustering-
out pay, and he had spent part of
this to buy the second-hand Ford
convertible and a house trailer. He
had been looking forward to settling
in California after his long career of
moving about while in service.

“But it looks like he was heading
up your way this week,” Captain
Allaire had reported. “Just the other
day, Monday the 27th, his folks got
a telegram from him, from Colorado
Springs, asking them to wire him $75
there. They sent it, and that’s the last
they’ve heard from him. They
thought he’d gone back to California.
They’re pretty worried right now.”

Captain Flor now placed a call to
Chula Vista, California police with a
request for assistance in checking at
that point. He outlined the circum-
stances and spelled out the prisoner’s
fingerprint classification code. Next
he called Colorado Springs, 70 miles
to the south of Denver, and re-
quested inquiries at Western Union
about Welch’s wire to his parents.

At this point, police guards at the
hospital reported that the big blond
prisoner seemed to be coming out of
his sedation stupor and was demand-
ing to know why he was chained to
his bed. When they asked him his
name, he said it was Welch. He was
very drowsy, and had gone back to
sleep.

Captain Flor now ordered a tele-
type bulletin to all points in Colo-
rado, New Mexico and Arizona. It
spelled out the real Welch’s corrob-
orated description, and requested
any information available on a man
answering it anywhere in the area.
If they were lucky, the ex-Marine
might still be alive, but,-said Flor
wryly, “I’m not banking.on it.”

In Chula Vista, California, mean-
while, Sergeant Charles L. Woods,
chief of de.cctives, assigned Detec-
tives Richard L. Quick. and Virgil H.
Seiveno to conduct a hasty inquiry
at the trailer camp address of Ralph
Welch. -He assigned other men to
check out the fingerprint classifica-
tions received from Denver, and
asked the sheriff’s department in
San Diego to do likewise.

Detectives Quick and Seveino
found Ralph Welch’s pretty blonde
wife without difficulty. Not wanting
to alarm her, they told her they were
making a routine check on her hus-
band. She said she had not seen him
for a week. “He took off in his car
one afternoon and didn’t come home.”

Pressed to be more specific, they
learned from her that Welch drove
away in his convertible around four
o’clock Thursday, July 23rd. He had
been restless all day and said he was
going out for a couple of beers and a
sandwich. He had with him a check
for $48.52, which he planned to cash.

She had naturally been concerned
when he didn’t come home, but she
decided finally that he may have
gone to visit his parents in Tucson.
He had been unsettled and moody
since leaving the service. He had
been working as a cutlery salesman
and going to accounting school at
night. She added that the previous
Monday she had received a wire
from Colorado Springs and showed
it to the officers. It read “Need
money to come home. Either you or
bank wire $75 immediately. Care
Western Union here. Home soon.
Love. Ralph R. Welch.” His wife had
wired the money, but she had heard
nothing since. She assumed her hus-
band was enroute home.

B ack at headquarters, detectives
learned that the Denver mystery
man, the blond giant, had finally
been identified. His fingerprint clas-
sification had done the trick. Sheriff
Bert Strand, at San Diego, had
pegged him as Michael Timothy
Cavanaugh, 29, of National City,
which is just a few miles north of
Chula Vista. Cavanaugh had more
than a nodding acquaintance with
the police of several states. At the
moment, he was being sought by
Sheriff Strand himself, because of
his escape from the State Hospital at
Patton, California, where he had
been committed as a mental case after
an arrest for forging checks. He had
escaped on July 12th.

Sergeant Woods was reasonably
certain Cavanaugh was the man who
figured also in a recent series of bad-
check complaints in Chula Vista. He
had used several names, but the de-
scription of the passer in each case
was too close to that of Cavanaugh
to be coincidence.

At Cavanaugh’s home in National
City, his wife told Detectives Quick
and Seveino she had seen her hus-
band twice since he escaped from
Patton. The. fi-st time was on July
13th, the day he escaped, but he left
immediately. The second time he
appeared just before midnight on

July 23rd, arriving in a green con-
vertible which he claimed he had
borrowed from another patient at
Patton. He wanted his wife to pack
up and go to Indiana with him, but
she refused, and pleaded with him
to return to the hospital. He left
about 1 a.m.

July 23rd, the detectives immedi-
ately noted, was the very night when
Welch had disappeared. The convert-
ible Cavanaugh was driving undoubt-
edly was the ex-Marine’s, After a
‘stop at National City police head-
quarters, they left with'a complete
dossier, as well as photos of Michael
Cavanaugh.

It seemed that Cavanaugh had
started out in life in Greenfield,
Massachusetts. In 1942, at the age of
17, he had lied about his age and en-
listed in the Navy. But four months
later he was ousted on an undesira-
ble discharge after trouble with bad
checks. The record showed that
checks and the Navy would continue
to figure in the man’s life.

On November 23, 1942, he was
picked up in San Francisco for fraud
and impersonating a Navy officer,

’ both offenses committed in San An-

tonio, Texas. He drew a three-year
sentence to Leavenworth, but be-
cause of his age was transferred to
the federal reformatory at Chilli-
cothe, Ohio, where he was paroled
in 1944. Back home in Greenfield,
Massachusetts, he was convicted in
September 1945 of delivering alcohol
to a minor. This brought revocation
of his parole and he went back to
Chillicothe. He was released from
there in April, 1947.

Less than a year later, he was up
for check forgery again, this time in
Lincoln, Nebraska, and he drew a 22-
month sentence in the state prison.
Interestingly enough, he was again
impersonating a Navy officer, at the

‘time he passed the checks, Within

weeks after his release from this
stretch, he was nailed on a similar

check charge in Lincoln and drew

another 18 months in jail.
Between jail terms, however, Cav-
anaugh had been very active matri-

monially. In October 1942, he mar- .

ried a 21-year-old beauty in Lincoln.
She divorced him while he was in
prison. He married again in Mexico

City in 1948, married a third time in.

1949 and wed his fourth and current
“ae in Glenwood, Iowa, on April 22,

950.

Cavanaugh’s record also showed
several divorces, but it did not es-
cape the alert eyes of Detectives
Seiveno and Quick that the dates of
marriages and divorces did not jibe;
Cavanaugh sometimes got his di-
vorces after he had already been
married bigamously. His present wife
had been in complete ignorance, both
of his prison record and his check-
ered marital career, until the facts
came to light when he was committed
to Patton. She knew only that Cav-
anaugh drank too much, but she had
been confident she could get him to
mend his ways. :

They came to California in June
1952. He held two or three jobs

!
i
H
;
{
{
i

briefly, but in April 1953,.he was ar-
rested after a bad-check spree in
San Diego County, cashing scores of
worthless checks after convincing his
victims he was either a captain or a
lieutenant commander of the Navy.

Cavanaugh’s long experience as.a
con artist, however, helped him to
thwart justice. He was glib, person-
able and intelligent. One of his vic-
tims grudgingly paid him a tribute
as a man who “could charm a snake.”

In any ,event, he charmed a judge
into believing he was a sick man,
suffered from headaches and black-
outs since he was a youngster when
he had hurt his head, he claimed. He
insisted he couldn’t even remember
passing the bad checks. At his wife’s
urging, he had been consulting a
neurologist. Now Cavanaugh begged
the judge to commit him to a state
hospital until they found out what
was .wrong with him. The sympa-
thetic judge pigeonholed the charges
and sent him to Patton.

In the three months he was there,
doctors had made a tentative diag-
nosis of psychic epilepsy, with chronic
brain syndrome . and_ convulsive
tendencies. The patient’s aggressive,
irritable temperament and extreme
egotism pointed to this, and it was
thought his crimes might have been
commited in so-called “epileptic
equivalent” states—blackouts with
amnesia, which sometimes occur in-
stead of epileptic fits.

Before a final diagnosis could be
reached, however, Cavanaugh took
to his heels.

Detective Seiveno and Quick, after
poring through Cavanaugh’s volumi-
nous file, decided to see if they could
pick up his recent file in Chula
Vista.

“We know he didn’t have a: car,
but he sure got around to a lot of
places to cash those checks,” Seveino

said. “Let’s start with the cab com-:

panies.”

The hunch was’ a good one. They
soon found a cab driver who recog-
nized Cavanaugh’s mug shot as the
man he had picked up in front of a
cafe on National Avenue at 5:45 p.m.
on the 23rd. He took him to several
cafes and the officers set out to
check the cold trail. ;

It was at just about that same time
that Captain Flor began to make real
progress in the Denver end of the
investigation. The FBI had confirmed
the identification on Cavanaugh. Flor
had photographs of Cavanaugh and
the still unconscious Tom Black re-
leased to newspapers and television.
The immediate result of this move
was confirmation of Captain Flor’s
suspicion that it had been Cava-
naugh, and not Welch, who sent the
telegraphic appeals for money from
Colorado Springs; then cashed the
checks when the appeals were an-
swered.

Then the manager of a cafe on
Colfax Avenue recognized the pic-
tures of Cavanaugh and Tom Black
and told police they had been drink-
ing there Wednesday evening, just a
few hours before they turned up at
St. Lukes’, Hospital. The big guy was

loud and belligerent, the manager
said, but Black kept trying to quiet
him down, and apologizing {or him.

Next a prominent Denver business
man reported that Cavanaugh was
the man driving a green convertible
which had bumped him in the rear.
He said Cavanaugh willingly ac-
cepted the blame, showed insurance
papers, and assured him the insur-
ance company would take care of the
damage to his car. Black was with
him at the time, he said. This hap-
pened within an hour of the time the
pair showed up at the hospital.

“Well, it’s pretty clear that Cava-
naugh beat and robbed Black,” Cap-
tain Flor concluded in a conference
with his detectives. “He didn’t find
him lying on the street. That much
is sure. The big question is: Why
did he bring him to the hospital, in-
stead of just leaving him?”

He shook his head wearily. “With
a character like this, you never know.
He could have figured Black would
never recover to identify him as his
assailant, and done it as a nervy
grandstand play, sort of daring us to
nail him with something.”

Sti unanswered, of course, was

‘what had happened to the real Ralph

Welch, but 1,200 miles away, in Chula
Vista, Detectives Seiveno and Quick
were finally putting the two men to-
gether. They had turned up some hot
leads on Cavanaugh’s cold trail. One
of them led to a blonde barmaid who
instantly recognized the big guy’s
mug shot, and a picture of Ralph
Welch as well.

“The big guy is Curly,” she said.
“Used to drop in here often—he’s a
Navy officer. He and this other fel-
low—Ralph—got to talking in here
the other day, abut a week ago.”
She pinpointed the date as the 23rd.
She also said that Welch had cashed
a check in the place for about $48.

Welch was moody, she recalled. He
ordered a sandwich and beer, and
Cavanaugh joined him at his table.
When Welch complained of a head-
ache, Cavanaugh saiu, “I’ll fix your
headache. I’m a Navy doctor, a lieu-
tenant commander. Just come with
me.”

It was about 10 p.m. when they
left together.

Detectives Quick and Seiveno by
now were reasonably certain that
Cavanaugh had killed Welch some-
time between that time and 11:45,
when, he showed up at his wife’s
home in the convertible. Welch’s
body was probably in the trunk at
that time.

“All we need now is the body,”
Quick said dryly.

In Denver, Captain Flor had de-
cided the time was ripe to start
working on that angle. With a couple
of homicide detectives, he called on
Cavanaugh in Denver General’s pris-
on ward.

“Look, Curly,” Flor began, “we
know all about you. We know you’re
Cavanaugh, not Welch. We know you
picked up Welch in Chula Vista and
robbed him of his money, car and
papers. You might as well tell us the

whole story. What did you do with
the body?”

The big blond guy in the bed re-
garded the captain oddly for a long

moment, then quietly dropped a
bombshell. “Sure I’m Cavanaugh,”
he said. “Michael Timothy Cava-

naugh. Who else would I be? But
who’s this Welch you're talking
about? And who are you guys? What
am I chained to this bed for? And
what’s the matter with my hip?”

Captain Flor threw up his hands
and shook his head in disgust. “Here
we go,” he said wearily. To Cava-
naugh, he said sarcastically, “You’re
now going to tell us you don’t re-
member a thing, right?”

“I don’t remember much. What
day is this? Last thing I remember,
my wife was here to see me. That
was the Fourth of July.”

“Where do you think you are?”

“Why in Patton State Hospital
California. Where else? What’s going
on here?”

Captain Flor stared hard into the
big man’s cold blue eyes. Every
ounce of his instinct and experience
convinced him Cavanaugh was lying,
but proving it was another matter.
He was sure that with the lightning
mental agility his record proved he
possessed, Cavanaugh had pulled his
new gambit right out of the blue sky.

The man professed to be amazed
when he learned he was in Denver,
that he had been driving Welch’s car,
and that he had done the things they
said he had. He could remember none
of it, he insisted.

An FBI report pinpointed the or-
igin of the leaves and gravel found
in the convertible’s trunk as Cali-
fornia. The leaves were California
eucalyptus or blue gum and _ since
this species does not grow inland,
they had probably come from near
Chula Vista.

The following morning, Tom Black
had recovered sufficiently to identify
Cavanaugh as the man who attacked
him after a drinking spree. For the
moment, though, no charges were
filed, pending outcome of the murder
probe. Captain Flor, meanwhile,
worked on some strategy. He had
been calling on Cavanaugh for long
talks for several. days and they had
been getting on well. Flor knew a lie
test would he useless on such a
pathological liar, but he had another
ace up his sleeve.

Pretending to be convinced by
Cavanaugh’s blackout yarn, he said,
“’'d like to help you, Curly. I’ve
seen a lot of cases like yours before,
where men are accused of something
they can’t remember because they
blacked out. Many times we’ve been
able to help them get back their
memory, if they cooperated.”

“What do you want me to do,
Captain?”

“1d like to give you a truth serum
test—sodium amytal. Of course, we
can’t do it without your consent. We
give you a shot and put you to sleep
—that is, your conscious mind sleeps,
and your unconscious talks to us, like
under hypnosis.” ;

‘The big fellow was thoughtful for

a mo}
in his
go for
said sudde
Flor'’s ru
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captain hz
him an ac
to pretend
pening.
The test
gust 7th. |
Flor and
doctor inj«
of the dru;
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but not enc
Cavanau
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Captain F!
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He had
convertible
Welch cur
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“When
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beaten anc
on the floo:

He drove
continued, }
man, and ;
But by Si
trunk was

aes: ted
anc scoo:
“T put my
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and said a
myself,” Ca
Afterwar
Springs an
had _ the
Black, whi
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Welch, he
feeling we!
when he
When he
beaten a:
hospital a
cause hr
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That con
ing stateme
well as th
had been f
ing it, h
of art, a fier
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u do with

ie bed re-
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iropped a
‘avanaugh,”
thy Cava-
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re talking
tuys? What
| for? And
hip?”

his hands
sust. “Here
To Cava-
ly, “You’re
1 don’t re-

vuch. What
remember,
e me. That

u are?”
te Hospital
Yhat’s going

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»yes. Every
{ experience
h was lying,
ther matter.
he lightning
1 proved he
d pulled his
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he amazed
Denver,
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_ ngs they
nember none

ated the or- |
gravel found
nk as Cali-
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n and since
grow inland,
e from near

x, Tom Black
ly to identify
who attacked
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tharges were
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meanwhile,
egy. He had
augh for long
and they had
lor knew a lie
; on such a
e had another

convinced by
yarn, he said,
1, Curly. I’ve
» yours before,
1 of something
because they
es we've been
et back their
ated.”

nt me to do,

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Of course, we
ur consent. We
ut you to sleep

us mind sleeps, ,

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’
sl ° ¢ i A a

)

a moment, a crafty look appearing
in his blue eyes. “Okay, Cap’n, Ill
go for it. I got nothing to lose,” he
said suddenly.

Flor’s ruse had worked, and Cava-
naugh had outsmarted himself. The
captain had no intention of giving
him an actual truth serum test, only
to pretend that was what was hap-
pening.

The test was administered on Au-
gust 7th. In the presence of Captain
Flor and several other officials, the
doctor injected a very weak solution
of the drug, just enough fo make him
feel he had been given something,
but not enough to put him under.

Cavanaugh promptly closed his
eyes, sighed, and in a little while
began to mutter drowsily, answering
Captain Flor’s questions in slow, me-
chanical phrases.

He had taken the wheel of the
convertible, Cavanaugh said, while
Welch curled up in the back seat to
nap. He drove across the border to
Tijuana and parked behind a restau-
rant. Welch stayed in the car, while
he went inside to get some fried
chicken.

“When I came back, Welch was

lying dead in the back seat, naked ‘

and covered with blood. He’d been

- beaten and stabbed. His wallet was

on the floor, empty. Some tramp must
have come along while I was gone
and killed him for his clothes and
money.

“I realized I was on a spot. Who'd
believe me with my record? I finally
decided I’d better just take over
Welchs’ identification and put dis-
tance behind me. I shoved the body in
the trunk and drove back to the U.S. I
went to see my wife, then headed up
through Escondido and east on Route
66.”

He drove to Arizona, Cavanaugh
continued, pawned his watch in King-
man, and spent a night at a motel.
But by Sunday the odor from the
trunk was so bad he was afraid to
park on the street. He had to get rid
of it. He turned off the highway in
the desert about nine miles west of
Albuquerque, New Mexico, found a
deserted spot on a windswept mesa,
and scooped out a shallow grave.

“IT put my coat over him, then some
tumbleweeds for flowers, and I knelt
and said a prayer for him—and for
myself,” Cavanaugh said.

Afterward, he went on to Colorado
Springs and then to Denver, where he
had the drinking bout with Tom
Black, which led to a crazy coin-
cidence. Just as he had done with
Welch, he left Black, who was not
feeling well, asleep in the back seat
when he went into a_ restaurant.
When he came out, he found Black
beaten and robbed. He took him to a
hospital and ran from the cops be-
cause he was sure they wouldn’t be-
lieve him.

That concluded Cavanaugh’s amaz-
ing statement. The officers present, as

‘well as the doctor, knowing the man

had been fully conscious while mak-

"ing it, had to concede it was a work

of art, a fiendishly clever blend of fact
and fiction. They believed Cavanaugh
/

had told the truth about verifiable
facts, though studiously avoiding in-
criminating himself as a killer.

When the prisoner “came to,” he
said his memory was restored. He re-
membered everything he had said un-
der the truth drug, he said. He even
drew a rough map of the area where
he had buried Welch’s body.

A few hours later, aided by a tele-
phoned description of the map, Bern-
alillo County Sheriff’s men at Albu-
querque found Welch’s corpse in the
crude grave. Though badly decom-
posed, it could still be seen that the
ex-Marine had been hacked and mu-
tilated. Technicians were able to get
fingerprints from the corpse, and
these were flown to Washington, where
Marine Corps records confirmed the
identity of Welch.

Confronted with the truth about the
truth serum test, Cavanaugh blithely
went back to his blackout story,
claiming he could remember nothing
he had said during the faked test.

It was but one more in a series of
several turnabouts which followed.
Returned to California, he was tried
for the check charges in a couple of
wild excitement-packed trials, in the
course of which he fired his lawyer
and undertook his own defense on an
insanity plea. He was found guilty
and sentenced to a total of three-to-42
years on three forgery counts.

On the same day, Chula Vista po-
lice completed their murder casé and
charged Cavanaugh with the slaying
of Ralph Welch. He was finally
brought to trial for murder in April,
1954 before Superior Judge C. M.
Monroe.

Once again, Cavanaugh went back
to his blackout story. He claimed he
had made the false confession only to
relieve his harried wife from further
police questioning.

This time, he let his attorney carry
the ball, and the counselor labored
valiantly on his client’s behalf. De-
spite his efforts, however, the jury of
eight women and four men found Mi-
chael Cavanuugh, on April 8th, guilty
of first-degree murder, without rec-
ommendation.

ination. The prosecutor won their ad- |

mission that they felt it was unlikely
that a man suffering from psychic
epilepsy would be able to write and
pass checks, plan an intelligent flight
across four states and invent de-

' tailed stories while in a confused or

amnesic condition. ;

The jury’s verdict was that Cav-
anaugh was sane. On April 30, 1954,
Judge Monroe sentenced him to death
in the gas chamber. The automatic
appeal from a capital sentence in the

state of California was but the first
of many legal steps, however, which
delayed Cavanaugh’s day of judgment
for nearly two years. His last hope
was shattered on April 12, 1956 when
the United States Supreme Court re-
fused to review his petition.

The following morning, at 10
o’clock, he was led to San Quentin’s
gas chamber in the presence of official
witnesses and members of the press.
His last words were exchanged with
the warden after he was strapped
into the steel seat. The warden later
said the condemned man was “quiet
and composed” as he faced death.

At 10:04 the cyanide pellets were
dropped and Michael Cavanaugh
strained convulsively against his re-
straining straps as the swirling fumes
of death rose about him.

At 10:13 he was pronounced age :

Maryland’s
Case of —
Pre-Marital Murder

(Continued from page 92)

tape on his blackjack.

“I was afraid he meant to kill me,
too,” she declared, “so I got away
from there fast.”

With the testimony of Marjorie
Coyne, and other evidence the police
were able to gather based on fur-
ther investigation, Assistant District
Attorney Weiss went to the grand
jury and obtained a_ first-degree
murder indictment against Brooks.

At his arraignment on the capital
charge, the ex-con was ordered held
for trial. Application for bail pending
trial was denied.

The state was ready to present a
formidable case against the accused
man when he was brought to trial on
October 3, 1944.

On October 6th, the defendant was
found guilty, without ‘extenuating
circumstances. A little more than a
month later, on November 9th, he
was sentenced to be hanged for the
murder of Mary Finn.

The execution of Donald Brooks
was carried out at the Maryland
Penitentiary in Baltimore on Novem-
ber 30, 1945. A reporter for a Balti-
more newspaper who witnessed the
execution wrote:

“The man whose blackjack blud-
geoning kept Mary Finn and John
Zigler from ‘tying the knot’ wound
up with a knot about his own throat
—on a gallows. . ...” the

Eprror’s Nove:

John K, Zigler, Preston and Agnes
Beck, Augie Fontana and Marjorie
Coyne are not the real names of the
persons so named in the foregoing
story. Because there is no reason for
public interest in the identity of
these persons, fictitious names have
been used.

o one wail of

Chairs kicked
ied in a wild
iysterical girls
-d the rear.

men and three
separated from
the plate glass
up. The fifth

table now was
Twenty-two,
ippearance she
» dressing room
A man’s coat
um. An icicle
eseribes her.
mly, coolly the
ited lips as she
her companion,
t home in some
» man his smok-

ay on the floor
1 ever widening
the white shirt
wheezing from

G DETECTIVE

a punctured lung. The other man and
woman stood transfixed.

A slightly upturned nose raised a few
degrees higher as the girl surveyed the
panicky diners. A dainty slipper passed
over the body of the stricken man.
Then another as she joined her com-
panions heading for the front door.

At the cashier’s desk, William Conk-
lin was reaching for the phone. The
girl favored him with a smile.

“Never mind calling the police,” she
advised. ‘We're leaving.”

The screen door slammed behind
them. The wall clock ticked away sec-
ond after second. Then the spell was
broken. Conklin and others rushed to
the side of the bullet-riddled body on
the floor. First aid had no effect.

Outside another scene was being
enacted.

The two couples had parted on the
sidewalk. The girl and her companion
had stepped into a shiny Cadillac
parked at the curb. Quietly and calmly.
Curious ones who had gathered there
under the bright lights remained at a
respectful distance.

Then up raced Patrolman Ira Buell.

ADVENTURES

Mabel Champion, alias Inez Parker, alias Tedd O’Brien, alias Mabel Bar-
nett, Cleveland’s vanishing ee who attended the murder dinner and
es when disarmed and captured.

defied the authori

On duty a short distance away, he had
been attracted by the shots. Spectators
became bolder now with the law on the
scene.

“Stop that car!” they yelled to the
puffing copper. “The big Caddy.”

The motor of the big car was roaring
but it was pocketed.

Behind the wheel was the girl’s
companion. Beside him was the
girl. Buell leaped onto the running
board.

“What’s the idea, officer?” asked the
girl coyly and two great brown eyes
reflected persecuted innocence.

“Take your time, there,” smiled Buell.

“Get the hell out of here,” snarled
the driver, all the time trying to wiggle
the car out of the pocket. For answer
Buell reached over and shut off the igni-
tion,

Into Buell’s ears rang a warning

cry:

“Lookout! She’s gotta gun.”

Buell’s heavy service weapon leaped
into his right hand.

“No monkey business,” he warned.
The girl smiled. Her right hand slipped
down into her lap. Then it disap-
peared.

Woman Turns Sphinx

AAT OMS have been known to hide
things in strange places. Some
cops have been too chivalrous to in-
vestigate. But not Buell. His bulky
left paw started in pursuit. The smooth
feel of silken hose didn’t mean a thing
to the copper. Finally he caught up
with the girl’s wrist.

And all this time his right hand kept
that service gun on the pair.

“Whee-e-00-00!” It wasn’t the
dainty, dimpled knee that brought the
whistle from the hardboiled cop.

VOAMELON,

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| OF CLEVE
| VANISHING SPHINX

Thomas O’Connell, one-time vio
athlete and victim of Cleveland's
shocking cafe murder,

“Step aside, Daddy, while
I drill him.”’

Three shots, panic in the
cafe, and one of three men
fell fatally wounded.
Imprisoned, Cleveland’s
most beautiful suspect
laughed at the law—and
wouldn’t talk.

What was her grim secret?

Cr ae
+

Photo-diagram of the popular cafe where
three men and two beautiful girls dined be-
fore the mysterious slaying of O’Connell.

house Square, the flickering

killers of the screen, the painted
beauties of the chorus, romantic lovers
and comics behind the footlights of half
a dozen heaters had taken their last
bows.

Playgoers streamed out on the streets
and into their favorite after theatre
dance-and-dine spots. Midnight ap-
proached. Midnight of July 26, 1922.

But the revelry hardly got underway.

For stark tragedy stalked upon the
stage of life, tragedy that stormed
where mimicry and laughter had ruled
before.

Then whistling, searing lead sup-
planted whining saxaphones.

“Step aside, Daddy, while I drill
him.”

“Let him have it!”

The words rasped on the ears of
diners in Downing’s restaurant, popular
after theatre rendezvous, directly across
famed Euclid Avenue from the then
world’s most gorgeous theatre, Keith’s
Palace.

Three shots!

sh mimics of Cleveland’s Play-

Fired so rapidly that

the reports merged into one wail of

death.

Women shrieking. Chairs kicked
about. Tables overturned in a wild
scramble. Clawing, hysterical girls

fighting their way toward the rear.

Five persons, two women and three
men, had sat at a table separated from
Euclid Avenue only by the plate glass
window. Four sprang up. The fifth
slumped to the floor.

Standing beside the table now was
a modishly garbed girl. Twenty-two,
perhaps. From her appearance she
might have left a Palace dressing room
a few moments before. A man’s coat
was hanging over her arm. An icicle
in conflagration—that describes her.

“Here, Daddy.” Calmly, coolly the
words fell from her tinted lips as she
held out the coat for her companion,
She might have been at home in some
living room offering the man his smok-
ing jacket.

The murdered man lay on the floor
at her feet, coatless, an ever widening
red blotch smearing the white shirt
front, a gasping rattle wheezing from

STARTLING DETECTIVE

a punctured |
woman stood
A slightly :
degrees high:
panicky dine:
over the bo
Then anothe
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At the cas
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Outside
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The two
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Curious one
under the |
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Then up

ADVENTU

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a window.

cipated a
at Canon
had mur-
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an order
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But the

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‘IVE

The Scarlet Secret of Cleveland’s Vanishing Sphinx

Bertillon measurements. “There she is.”
And he threw down a photo. Matowitz
read the description. ;

Mabel Champion with a record for
grand larceny and_ bond jumping in
Indianapolis, in April, 1921.

That checked out with the lingerie
initials.

“H-m-m-m,” mused Matowitz, “Mabel
Champion, alias Inez Parker, alias
Teddy O’Brien, alias Mabel Barnett.
Not so bad for a beginner.”

Matowitz sent for the girl.

“Well, Mabel Champion,” he began,
and tossed the picture before her.

“Did you ever make a mistake?” she
asked. No answer. “Well, you're
making one now.” That was all.

There was nothing left to do but
to charge the girl with murder and
Barnett with assault to kill. When the
pair appeared before Judge Selzer in
Police Court, the room was jammed.

Barnett was released on $5,000 bond.

Murder admits no bond. But while
the courtroom throng waited breathless
Mabel spoke her piece.

“IT want a continuance, your Honor,”
she began. “I have had no opportunity
to retain counsel.”

The Judge looked down on a demure,
school-girlish sort of person. Even
police were surprised. The Sphinx?
She belied the name. The court sug-
gested a week. That was satisfactory.

As they started to lead Mabel back to
a cell Barnett clasped her hand.

“Don’t worry,” he encouraged, “I'll
send you roses.”

Weeks passed. Weeks that dragged
for the vivacious girl in the dingy cell
block of Cuyahoga County’s musty jail.

But police had not been idle. With
the girl’s trial date, October 23, 1922,
something like ten days away, Barnett’s
visits to the jail suddenly ceased. The
roses in Mabel’s cell withered and died.
None came to replace them. And just
about that time police positively identi-
fied Barnett as Ausley Champion, a
Champion with a_ rather checkered
career that had police of the nation
guessing considerably.

Reporters and sob sisters were pester-
ing the girl continually. What they
learned from the girl they could have
written on their cuffs and kept there.

It was only when the papers were full
of headlines on Clara Phillips’ sensa-
tional escape from jail out California
way that the Sphinx let slip a loose re-
mark or two. She sneered just a little
at Clara’s stunt.

“I could make this joint just as easily
if I had a few tools,” she confided to a
reporter. “It would be simple. But
they'll never stick little Mabel in the
chair, so why should I worry? I'll be
out in a week or two.”

Half of Cleveland tried to crowd itself
into Judge Maurice Bernon’s courtroom
that late October morning when the
Sphinx went on trial for her life. She
was) depending on former Appellate
Judge Walter D. Meals, one of Cleve-
jand’s leading legal lights, to see her
through the ordeal successfully.

“Get the girls on the jury,” she advised
the attorney.

The trial got underway with Ausley
Champion missing. Police had made every

ADVENTURES

{Continued from page 35}

effort to locate him but without avail.
Was he planning some eleventh hour coup?
Or had he deserted the girl in her hour of
direct need? Perhaps she knew but her
lips were sealed.

An air of uncertainty hung over the
courtroom, Absence of state witnesses
caused a short postponement. Only Detec-
tive Harry Brown’s hurried trip to Balti-
more located the State’s star witness,
William Conklin, and brought him back to
testify. Then the prosecution proceeded to
cast her in the role of the cold, relentless
gun moll; a Texas gun moll who fired
from the hip without hesitation and with
unerring aim—to aid her lover, the lover
who was later to desert her.

The careful and painstaking work of the
police had builded a case which seemed
unbeatable. For eight days County Prose-
cutor Edward C, Stanton and James T.
Cassidy, his chief assistant, piled up the
evidence against the childishly innocent
looking defendant,

Then the girl took the stand. The
Sphinx. Her life was in balance.

A Jury Decides

ELF defense, she pleaded, admitting

the shooting.

“He attacked me with a fork.” That
was the tenor of her testimony.

But on cross examination The Sphinx
was just that ds Cassidy belabored her
in his efforts to make her admit a rather
sordid and sickening past. She admitted
nothing. Denied everything. Answered
in monosyllables. She'd never been ar-
rested in Kansas City, Mo., for prosti-
tution and vagrancy; had never jumped
a bond in Indianapolis. She knew noth-
ing of the present whereabouts of Aus-
ley Champion—her husband.

Deputy sheriffs took her back to jail
to await the verdict.

She spent her time primping. Under
her deft fingers the demure, dainty
school girl features disappeared. Rouge,
Lipstick. Eyebrow pencil. A woman
of the world appeared. Sophistication
replaced innocence.

The jury filed into the box to return
its verdict. Surprise was unconcealed
as their eyes fell upon the defendant.
But the verdict was in.

“We, the jury, find the defendant
guilty,” droned the bailiff. An audible
sigh echoed through the courtroom.
The defendant sat like a statue.

“_of manslaughter,” finished the
bailiff.

Another sigh. Of relief from the
women spectators. Mabel Champion
had escaped the death chair.

Back to County Jail went Mabel
Champion, sentenced to the Ohio State
Reformatory for Women at Marysville
for a term of one to twenty years, while
Defense Counsel Walter D. Meals took
the conviction to the higher court.

Again weeks dragged by. And still
no word from Ausley Champion, at
least so far as anyone knew, until the
news wires carried a paragraph.

Ausley Champion had been hanged in
California for a murder committed while
in the perpetration of a stickup. The
Sphinx never batted an eye at the news.

Never batted an eye when the Court of
Appeals affirmed her conviction. Nor

when the deputies bundled her off to
Marysville to begin that sentence of one
to twenty years.

“l’ll be seeing you,” she called gaily
. reporters and jail attendants as she
ett.

The Sphinx was gone. Where she
came from no one knew. Where was
she going? They thought they knew,
but they didn’t.

At the Marysville institution she re-
mained The Sphinx. Weeks passed
into months; 1922 into 1923 and 1924
and into 1925. Mabel Champion, for all
her Sphinxlike qualities was regarded as
a model prisoner. Perhaps the hanging
of her husband had worked the regener-
ation. At any rate she became a trusty
in this institution which knew no walls,
which is patrolled by armed guards, but
is merely a collection of comfortable
cottages and an administration building.

A bright girl, handy and willing, she
gained the faith and confidence of Mrs.
Laura Kissinger, night matron of her
particular cottage, the first cottage as
you enter the spacious ground on the
outskirts of Marysville. Week in and
week out Mabel Champion performed
her duties religiously and Mrs. Kissinger
had no reason to doubt the trust she
had placed in The Sphinx. She came to
have practical supervision of the cottage
during the night season and with that
the freedom of the matron’s room and
more important still—access to the keys.

It was Sunday morning, March 29,
1925, that Mrs. Kissinger chanced to
glance in Mabel’s room. She saw a
form huddled under the blanket’s of
Mabel’s bed. Her shoes were on the
floor at the edge of it.

It was Sunday afternoon that Mrs.
Kissinger discovered that the form was
not Mabel; that the lacy boudoir cap
did not cover Mabel’s brown locks. In
her place was a cleverly made dummy.

The alarm went out. The investiga-
tion was on.

The Sphinx was gone,

Hours later they pieced together the
theory of the vanishing act of The
Sphinx.

While the trusting matron was busily
engaged about her duties, perhaps at the
administration building, Mabel had taken
the keys to unlock the night matron’s
private room. About the same general
build she had selected suitable clothing
from the Matron’s wardrobe; packed
her own belongings and a few of Mrs.
Kissinger’s in two suitcases; helped her-
self to thirty dollars from the trusting
matron’s funds and departed before
dawn.

Perhaps an hour later she had roused
a dozing taxi driver in Marysville, piled
in with her bags and instructed him to
deliver her to Springfield. The trip
ended at the Pennsylvania station. The
driver pocketed a_ generous tip and
started back from Marysville.

The Sphinx dropped into the station
restaurant for a bite to cat after her long
early morning ride.

When the driver returned to Spring-
field with reformatory officials the
Sphinx had vanished.

And to this day the mystery of the
Vanishing Sphinx remains to puzzle the
police of the nation.

ocks ae-
‘ose long
wistfully.

ontinued,
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Bigamy.
*, B. and
ever get

ian

turned
Snyder
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rought to

‘ECTIVE

the operating table about 1 a.m. For
the past hour Dr. Charles C. Casto had
been working over him.

The medico led Snyder and the girl
to the dying man’s bedside. She stared
at the wan face, almost the same shade
as the pillow.

“Not a chance in the world,” Dr.
Casto informed Snyder. “An hour or
two at most.”

“Then it’s murder, first degree
mur—”

A tug at Snyder’s sleeve interrupted
the sergeant. He swung around to face
the girl.

“Sergeant! Sergeant!” she was
blurting, “did you hear what he just
said?”

“What who said?” countered Snyder.

“Didn't you hear him say that I’m
not the one that shot him?” Snyder’s
eyes shot to the doctor. Then fixed
themselves on the girl.

“Did he say that?”

“Yes, old dear,” the girl was smil-
ingly confident now. “He sure enough
did. Said I was not the one.”

“Strange,” murmured Casto, “he’s
been aut. since they brought him in.
He’s unconscious now. Can’t move a
muscle. Talk?” Casto’s shoulders
parked up around his ears.

“Come along.” Snyder grabbed the
girl by the arm. “Back to the station
with you before you have me believing
in Santa Claus.”

Luckily police had been able to get
statements from several of the restau-
rant employes and patrons. There were
the usual discrepancies in the descrip-
tions of the self-admitted eye witnesses.
Some didn’t see the shooting. All
agreed that the victim had come into
the restaurant and sauntered over to
the table occupied by Barnett, his girl
friend and the other couple.

There had been a drink or two. An
argument; a brawl. Then the fireworks.

Joe Schmadle, a taxi driver, insisted
he'd heard the girl yell:

“Step aside, Daddy, until I riddle
this with slugs.”

Then the shooting began.

Other witnesses insisted that the girl
had just reached up and taken Barnett’s
coat from a wall hook, The coat was
hanging over her arm when the lead
started to whine.

ADVENTURES

: DEATH PARTY’S “DADDY” UAataent
Ausley Champion, “Daddy” of the death party, who sent roses daily to the

girl he love

duntil....

Matowitz and his aids figured they
had a case against the girl whose iden-
tity they didn’t even know. But no
copper likes to be stopped by a woman.

Already, the newspapers had dubbed
the girl, “The Sphinx.” So shrieked
the headlines.

It was almost twenty-four hours after
the shooting that the Kotel detail struck
pay dirt. “Mr. and Mrs. Cliff Barnett,
Dallas, Tex,” were found registered at
the Huron Hotel. The couple had oc-
cupied Room 401. But the room had
not been occupied the preceding
night.

Clerks and bellhops knew little of the
couple. Search of the room and lug-
gage disclosed nothing but lingerie,
initialed “M. C.”

Armed with this information Ser-
geant Snyder took another whirl at the
girl, It was to be strategic attack this
time,

“T just came from your boy friend,”
Snyder began.

“Yeah, what did he say?” was the
counter.

“He said you were just a cheap, little
gold digger,” Snyder volunteered.
“Said he picked you up on the avenue,
bought you a feed and took you to a
room.” Then he waited for fireworks.

The Sphinx Identified

“Le he say that?” she queried
simply. Snyder nodded gravely.
“Well,” she continued, “whatever he
says is okay.” And that ended that.

It remained for Bertillon Officer
George Koestle to come to the rescue
of the distracted cops.

“T’ye made her,” Koestle informed
Matowitz after a solid day wrestling
with mugs in his rogues’ gallery and

[Continued on page 57

George J. Matowitz, Cleveland’s
chief of police, who was detective
captain at the time of the cafe mur-
der and worked on the investigation.

It was a heavy .38 which the girl had
in her right hand. Buell pocketed the
weapon,

“Better get out,” he drawled as a
flying squad of dicks rolled up beside
the car. A few minutes conference with
the detectives. Buell turned over the

An ambulance pulled away with the
victim, headed for Huron Road Hos-
pital. A police car raced to Central
station with the couple and the gun,

Hasty examination of the revolver
disclosed three exploded cartridges.
Detective Captain George Matowitz,
now Chief of the Cleveland Police De.
partment, despatched a detail to Huron
Road Hospital in the hope of getting a
statement from the dying man. He had
been identified—according to a flash to
the station—as Thomas Albert O’Con-
nell, man-about-town, erstwhile resident
of the summer colony at Geneva-on-the-
Lake and formerly from down Boston
way where he had been a well known
athlete in his college days,

Another detail was taking the state-
ments of the witnesses who had not
slipped away from the restaurant in the
confusion, before the arrival of police.

The case looked like a “pipe.” The
girl would probably make a clean breast
of the whole affair. Matowitz and De-
tectives Jim Price, Carl Schwendeman
and Ernie Clement were confident the
girl would talk even though her com-
panion wouldn't.

Then Matowitz and his dicks got a
surprise, the first of a series that was

man Ira Buell.

day.

At the bureau the man had given his
name as Cliff Barnett from points west;
engaged in the real estate business and
in Cleveland looking for a restaurant

site. That was all. And this came only
after one of the bystanders at the res-
taurant had tipped off his identity.

But the girl? As far as the police
were concerned she might just as well
have been an ivory doll.

“The cashier says you shot O’Con-
nell,” snapped the ponderous, granite-
jawed Matowitz. The girl smiled. It
wasn’t exactly a pleasant smile. It
might have been distantly related to the
well known horse laugh,

“Why did you shoot him?” persisted
Matowitz. She glanced from one dick
to another. Solemn visaged men, all.

“Me?” she asked innocently, ‘Shoot
whom ?”

“Come clean kid and make it easy
for yourself,” urged Detective Price,
old enough to be her father.

A shrug of the shoulders and a smile
like that since made famous by Greta
Garbo.

Matowitz was methodically going
through the contents of the handbag
which Buell had taken from the sus.
pected murderess. The usual acces-
sories. Then a knife that opened a
wicked blade.

“What do you use this for?” Mato-
witz asked casually, testing the edge.

Dark eyebrows arched. <A grim
smile,

“Peeling peaches,” replied the girl,

An hour of grilling left the police
baffled.

“Well, suit yourself,” Matowitz
wound up. “It’s murder in the first de-
gree and the chair is waiting for you.”

“You wouldn't kid me, captain?” A

The murder gun taken
from the girl when she
was trapped by Patrol-

to leave them up in the air to this very .«

roguish jerk of the brown locks ac-
companied the sally. Then those long
eyelashes seemed ‘to droop wistfully.
For a moment only,

“Say, old dears,” she continued,
“you're wasting your time on me.
Charge me with anything. Bigamy.
mopery or murder. I’ve got T. B. and
I'll be dead long before you'll ever get
a chance to burn me,”

An Unbreakable Woman

MArTowItz and his crew turned

the girl over to big Charlie Sn der
for a trip to Huron Road and shifted
their attention to Barnett. He couldn’t
be any tougher to break than his attrac-
tive young companion.

So while the burly Sergeant Snyder
bundled the girl into a squad car for
the hospital trip the dicks went to work
on Barnett. Blandly he parried ques-
tions.

Now Snyder had won his stripes after
years on the force but Snyder was due
to learn something that night. Perhaps
the girl thought she might make some
headway with the jovial sergeant. She
favored him with her best smile,
Charlie grinned.

“The waiter says you shot from the
hip,” he began. The smile broadened.

“What made you say, ‘Step aside,
Daddy, while T drill him?’ ”

Snyder glued his eyes on the girl to
get the effect.

O’Neil, the waiter, insisted the girl
had used those words just before
O'Connell was shot.

“Did that waiter say I said that too ?”
she asked. Snyder nodded. “Well,
maybe he doesn’t hear well,”

Arrival at the hospital found O’Con-

nell unconscious. One slug had tapped

a lung. Another remained in his shoul-
der. The third had passed through his
arm. The victim had been brought to

STARTLING DETECTIVE

Gamaheietteniiaaee

the past
been wo
The:
to the d
at the w
as the
“Not
Casto i:
two ati
“Ther
mur—”
A tug
the serg:
the girl.
“Serg
blurting,
said?”
“What
“Didn
not the
eyes shi
themsely
“Did
“Yes,
ingly co
did. Sa
“Strar
been ou
He’s un
muscle,
parked v
“Come
girl by :
with yor
in Santa
Luckil
statemen
rant emy
the usua
tions of
Some d
agreed t
the rest
the tabk
friend a
There
argumen
Joe Sc
he’d hea:
“Step
this
Then
Other
had just
coat fron
hanging
started t:

ADVEN

. sne weamer—--
; Partly cloudy with little rain
extreme north today, occasional

rain over valley tonight and Fri-
dav; high 56-63 both days; low
tonight 47-53.

1p Leader Is Dead; 38.

"Y DANCER MEETS FIANCE

4APPILY, Egyptian dancer Samia Gamal gives warm
her Texas fiance, Sheppard King III, as he arrives in

‘plan to wed in Moslem faith.

NEW ATOMIC
BLAST TODAY

WIT & mene

(International)

n Dancer
Playboy

‘typt, Nov. 29 (U.P)—
ncer Samia Gamal

1 today to Texas
ennard “Ahdaniiah”

2 63 Violation |

$5 175 Here

Houchins has ievied fines against}
or set bail for 38 more hunters,<
most of them charged with tres-
passing during the recent pheds-
ant season, totalling $2,925. ‘This
brings the total number of viola-

$5,175.

before Judge Houchins during thé
opening week-end: of: “pheasant
season were fined * $2,250.° i
The majorty of the. 38 new
violations are hunters from the
bay area and Sacramento. —
Fined $100 each for trespass-
ing on cooperative hunting areas
were: the following: O. L. Wil-
son, ‘Henry ‘Tennessee, James
Dennis, Gerald D. Ricketts, Na-
than Stokes, Charles O.. Bush,
Richard .Kuduk, Lionel gy

tions to 68 and the fines-+to es

Thirty hunters who “appeared é

Justice of the Peace ‘Claude L ga

: SER
FELIX CHAVEZ _ “Convicted.
Slayer of ‘Connie . Navarro,

Prison’s lethal: ‘gas chamber
‘There was no word from Gov-
emor Warren today . that“he

‘the -condemned Mexican“ “na-_

“| Rihean

Charles C. -Ogden, Charles: ;

Taha Wr wre

tae SR eye Ne

(PM Iain etait |

OBR Hepat

will be executed at-10 a. ‘m: a
tomorrow -.in San Quentin:

would .intervene in behalf. of -

Fluoridation

A~ resolution | supporting . the
proposed fluoridation of city
water. was adopted by Colusa
Post, : American” Legion, et: ‘its
meeting last night. » =

Dr. E. L. Hicok addressed the
group, . telling. z benefits of eae
a program.’ =

“A breakdown of. the ‘cost "was
given by .Attorney Dick: Patton.

Plans were -completed «for
awarding the Chris-Craft * boat
with motor~ and trailer, seeety
next year.

Ten -dollars was donated: re
the -Boy. Scouts and a, $5 -TB
bond was purchased. ~-

Bob Martere. was not’ present
when his name was called ° _for
the - jackpot.

Princeton Danes: 5s

}, tional, Twa Dolasmns.ain wit
a of eves

WEAK STORM _
-|FRONT; SOME
{RAIN LIKELY

. One hundredth ‘of an- inch more
rain -was recorded here in the
past 24 hours to make the sea-
son’s .total 5:36 inches.

Variable high cloudiness pre-
vailed in the valley today after
morning fog cleared.

‘about 400 miles west of the Nor-
thern California coast today and
is.expected to cause some rain
in the extreme es pe

MUST ADMIT
GERMANY 10
PACT ARMY

ROME, Nov. 29 WPh— The
United States has warned its At-
lantic Pact partners they must

nAmMit Carman tA theta nn

A weak storm front centered },

Battie Only
If Attacked,
Troops Tole

BULLETIN

KEY WEST, Fla. Nov. 2
U.P)\—President Truman warne
today against any “prematur
slackening” of the United Ne
tions effort in Korea. The chic
executive reiterated that rn
cease-fire could be arrance
without a signed armistice.

Ry Onited Prese

Army says it wll stick to
new policy of fighting on!
when attacked.

The commander of the Eight

interpreted bv lower cam—~--

*TS6L. ‘Of aequeaoy uc (£4uN°PD esnton) *sJTTPO *xAydse Sueotx Wo SSttoa *ZHAVHO

An informal cease-fire in Ko-
rea has ended, but the Eighth

Army, General James Van Flee:
says the reports of a cease-fir:
to troops yesterday came be-
cause his directives were mis-

Sop C57" »

Mig XK WESY

Colusa, California, fF

-j, LXXXVII

We're eee sos dad cone Of

Chavez Attacked olica:

The AR

ontésdedl bayer
ty Connie: Navarro, at-
as “Officers int. the
: istation ‘ (arly
y vline: the, ; hope hg
wew rill. him. ie are
jade this ,: staisment? to

Max * Mayfield, through
yh Phavez, interpreter, ‘while
sae! turned. to Colusa.’ > ®
ontit was learned today that
{0 havez has expressed the
sy that they “kill me quick”. |
Coatez_ has made ia . full.: cori-

vot the” slaying? | #-.°‘«

Mydistrict - attorney’s. offiee

bnot Say..whether or’. not
‘= Bad “confessed that. ‘he
epGonnic Navarro before he
Habis oy But. there ig ‘every,

H that he? did. ~ Gloria
he! key witness. in the
» Asists that she saw Chavez
*@ act—with the murder
yh in his outstretched right
SECOND ATTACK
“is little evidence, ‘it is
, to indicate that Chavez
Ally attacked Connie again
Hex knifed her, contrary to
soit na eborts which stemmed
~ 2 Position of her sprawl-
'¥ near the front door of
Nrtments at 635 Main

“t Sunday morning.
carne a number of facts
On, 8 Yet to be cleared
es be the reason why

aa ant to purchase a re-
A, Pigg’ Places in Colusa
» dag... Dtore the slaying.
dice. sheriff he wanted
and ts to “take back to

“ hod
wo teh nen would sell

“ty
. Ary THURSDAY
, vninary hearing for
een set for next
mw ‘ust 3, before
it. Peace Claude
en at in all probabil-
Yo ‘ed shayer will be
eae tesa. court for trial,
a nite certainty that

tag "sul's offic
Ee UA: cine e will

*h,

x
ae

all cases in-
tienalg. The
Grimes in
. a. fendes was
: trample. The
Mote Tedticr
Aor Anew

Yes
; se Mayne nn

lepincg..

lindefinite Trend
Upward For Farm
Prices And Costs

WASHINGTON, July 28 W.P)—
The’ Chamber of Commerce of

‘<4the United States, in its weekly
es Teport, says: :

\ #Farm_ interests can look. for
an indefinitely upward trend in
prices, not only for farm prod-
ucts but also in costs—regard-
less of what. comes out of the
KOrean. situation.”

The chamber goes on to offer
this word: of caution: Ay

“But neither farmers not other
businessmen ¢ should : blindly , as-
sume. that’ ‘here ..we go: again’

“1 }—and> go - all-out watiecrinainete-

ly.” 4 gs ri wy;

The’ : ‘‘chhenbex's" agricilitaral
section feels that-~careful man-
agement in the farm business re-
mains: highly necessary, despite
advances in prices. For oper-
ating costs .are following hard
on the Heels of rising commodity
quotations, ; ae

“It’s the ‘prediction of "2he, bu:
iness group prices of goods and
services used by farmers in liy-
ing and production are likely to
rise faster than farm commod-
ity prices in the months immedi-
ately ahead.

US DISPERSAL
PLANS DRAWN

WASHINGTON, July 28 (.P)—
The Washington Post says in a
copyrighted article, President
Truman will receive a plan in
the next 10 days to disperse key
government agencies to new sites
outside the capital.

The mewspaper says the plan
was drawn up by the National
Security Resources Board against
the possibility Pd atomic attack.

After 86 Years,
Elgin Watch Has
Its First Strike

This is the ,

ELGIN, IL, July 28 UP)—The
perféct labor relations record of
the Elgin Watch Company is, at
an end,

The plant was closed yester-
day by a strike for the first
time in 86 years. More than

2,500 workers refused to cross
picket lines thrown up by 200

s Ug matking machinists who want a

| Cousia: Athick.

Vinson Says
Ariny To Add.
240,600 Wien

.WASHINGTON, July 28 WA—
Chairman Carl Vinson of the.
house armed services committee
says the Army will: boost its
strength to 834,000 men—an in-
crease of 240,000 men ~above
current. strength. Vinson also
says the Army: will spend. $1,-
650,000,000 over and: above its
present appropriations ay” a
equipment. + yee, :

Misfires; Enémy —
Was Not There

TOKYO, July 28 WPR—An
American - plan to © counter-at-
tack ‘the advancing North - Ko-
reans misfired today; The Amer-
can force found no enemy troops
in a spot which pilots and
other ‘sources said was the scene j
of a big communist build-up.
Said:..a, top - officer, “we. had
every reason to believe we could
hit ‘them, but when we: got’ ‘there
we couldn’t sai them.”

Actor Divorced
In Mexico, Will
Wed Bette Davis ~

HOLLYWOOD, July 28 (W.P)—
Attorney Manuel Ruiz, Jr., said
in Hollywood to@y that -Actor
Gary Merrill obtain a “quickie”
divorce in. Juarez, Mexico, to-
day and that he is planning to
marry Bette Davis immediately.

U.S. Offers To
Buy Cuba Sugar

WASHINGTON, July 28 W.P)—
Agriculture Secretary’ Charles
Brannan has announced that the
United States has offered to buy
all the sugar remaining in Cuba.
That amounts to more than
600,000 tons.

The big boost would bring
the total domestic sugar supply
for this. year to more than
8,450,000 tons.

Walton Named |

Francisco and requiem mass
be celebrated at Emydius Church
with interment in Holy Cross

Cemetery.

nd Mrs. A. G. Silva,
ored at a party in celebration
of her third birthday anniver-

cake,
fed

Donations Are
Welcomed For .:
N. Fusaro Night °*
' Plans are shaping up well
for Ned Fusaro Night at thé
local’ ball park next Wednes-
day . evening, August 2, when.
the Chico Colts come to town;
Cash and. merchandise gifts’,

are to be presented to. the:
veteran third sacker—16 years

the game. 6
Fans desiring to nak! do-
nations of gifts or cash. fot
Ned Fusaro Night can eave
them ‘at Tommy ’ Capalbo’S’
Cafe or Harry Weber's ere
man’s Club before August 2.

in “the. Valley League—betute i

+F'COP” GALVIN":

DEAD IN S.F..

Maurice P. “Cop” | Galvin; ‘sop fat
of ‘the Jate : Daniel and: Mary an

Galvin, who were early day reg?

idents of the section -between .

-Colusa and Maxwell, died ‘July
26 in San Francisco. A brother,
John Galvin, was killed at the
Sites quarry many years ago.
“Cop” moved. .from ~ Colué

County when he was a boy and

spent some time in Marysville

before going to San Francisco
where he has lived since.

Surviving are. a_ brother,
Michael T. Galvin, and two sis-
ters, Mrs. Nellie Cannon and
Elizabeth Galvin and_ thtee
nieces and one nephew.

Galvin was a member of the
American Legion, Elks Lodge in
San Francisco.

Funeral services will be held
at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning
at the Evergreen Mortuary of

_ in San
McAvoy O'Hara Co. in atl

Birthday Party
For Colusa Girl

, daughter of Mr.
Cynthia Rose wae fame

sary, in the home of her grand-

parents.

After opening her many gifts,
ice cream, punch and ov
little

ae Eee eee

4.8

tiful bit
placed i
its two
little gm
cake to}
blow a
trucks. |

Guests
Jimmie
Bobbie ,
Stephen,
man, Jc
Wayne
Arthur,

cig,

ROS

ot d

j Ducroed 5 r:
q A a OE ae ond etal ke
OR ae a ot
Seles AS aby Sp
yA oe eee a Ne ‘tcagert Sat

o-j8nd Leon Lucchesi,

Colusa

Colusa First |
= In Walley To

(Be ilonored

Some 300 persons who gather-
ed in Colusa Elementary School
auditorium last night for an
-}excellent Colusa County Band
concert, saw the T Flag formally
presented to Colusa as an honor
;|city in the recent Defense Bond
Drive. '

The presentation was made by
Minette. K. Higgins, assistant di-
rector of the Bond Department,
U. S. Treasury, San Francisco,
who is also a lieutenant com-
mander in the WAVES. Reserve.
She was in uniform. ~
Receiving the flag on behalf
{of the veterans of the Korean
was was Pétty Officer Angelo
Jaconetti of the USS Philippine
Sea, substituting for Corporal
Joe Zwald, USMC.

Zwald, thrice wounded Korean
war veteran, was called back to
the hospital and could not be
here for the ceremony last night.
Jaconetti. in turn, presented
the flag to City’ Councilman A.
B., Davison, who received it. on
ong of the council and the
CHY, te tech :
Elliott. O’Rourke as president
of the. Chamber of. Commerce,
was master of ceremonies for the
flag presentation, and he’ intro-
duced W. G. Brill of the Sun-
Herald, the county savings bond
chairman, who in turn presented
Mrs. .E. K. Lange, calling atter-
tion to the fact :that the recent
Colusa drive under her guidance
was conducted; solely by women
members of the BPW Club, ..::
GIVEN CITATION. = .7 0".
‘Mrs. Lange made .a , splendid
talk in which she stressed the
fact that defense is everybody’s
job. She thanked her co-workers
and praised the business houses
of Colusa for their . cooperation.
Licut.-Commander .Higgins,. who
also made a nice talk congratu-
lating the City of Colusa on be-
ing the first city north of Sacra-
mento to attain Flag City status,
presented Mrs. Lange with a ci-
tation from the Treasury. Depart-
ment for spearheading the com-
community campaign. Mrs. Hig-
@ins said Colusa could proudly
fly the T Flag below the Ameri-
can flag atop the city hall,
City Councilman .« Davison, in
receiving the flag from Jaconetti,
commented upon Colusa’s past
work in bond drives, aircraft
warning service, Red Cross, blood
donations, ete.’ He said Colusa
was proud to receive the flag
and said this community had
always done its part in the de-
fense effort.
BOY, GIRL SCOUTS
Local Boy and Girl Scouts, in
uniform, took part in last night’s
flag ceremony. On the stage with
the Treasury Department, repre-
Sentatives.and drive leaders were
slie Arent, Jon Jacobson, Judy
Smith and Kathleen Wrysinski.
High school Cadets Val Young
in uniform,
also were on the stage.
The Colusa County. Band gave
¢|what many. considered its best
jeoncert since organization. Direc-
tor W. (|. Gifford enid he and
the Vorrtreh pore? ‘ Ae A yy

preety

Chavez Dies 3 ;
is Presented T-Flag _
Death .

Cash Value Of
Wife Figured
At $22,000

DALLAS, Tex., Nov. 30 (U.P)
How much is the cash valu
of a wife? : ‘

Well, the National Tax As-
sociation was told at its con-
vention here that she’s worth
thousands of dollars.

An economist for’ General
Motors, Ludwig -Hellborn, fi-
gures it this way:

A> bachelor Pays more thx
than a married man on, say
$7500. ¢

If the married man were a
bachelor he would have to in-
vest some. $22,000 at 2% per
cent interest to make up the
difference in take-home pay.

That, says the economist,
makes the cash value of his
wife some $22,000.

SECRET BIG 4
TALKS SLATED.

PARIS, Nov. 30 U.P)—A sec-
ret Big Four disarmament con-
ference will open in Paris to-
morrow. The: United’ Nations
unanimously approved a pro-
posal for the talks today after
Russia agreed to a 10-day limit
demand by the United States,
Great Britain and France.

PARIS, Nov. /,.30 'U.P)—Secret
Big Four disarmament talks ma
start in Paris tomorrow. «*{" * ’
«Russia has, ‘agreed to a. pro-
posal .by small. nations for the
talks, kand ; the _ conference ° wil!
get underway. if Russia, also
accepts the ‘demand of. the Unit-
ed States, Britain and France for.
a. 40-day limit’ on the - sessions.

RSs ROR d > kas PT pee
SPARTANS AND“
MARQUETTE TO
MEET TONIGHT

SAN JOSE, Nov. 30 U.P)—The
Hilltoppers of Marquette. Univer-
sity will go into their football
game in San Jose tonight as a
slight favorite over the San Jose
State Spartans. ; :

The visitors from Milwaukee
have played one of the tougher
schedules in the nation this year
—without too much success—and
have one of the top quarterbacks
in Tommy Lahey. .

A crowd of about 10,000. is ex-
peeted for the game.in’ Spartan
Bowl.

Salesman Robbed
Of $100,000 In

Uncut Diamonds

CHICAGO, Nov. 30.(U.P) — A
salesman an abel the Ba
elry firm to cago to-
pk that three men abducted him
and robbed 9 of $100,000 in

cut diamonds, 4
TT Salph Lewis says the men
forced him into a car at a
busy southside intersection dur-
ing the Lap of the morning
rush hour. wis says he was
thrown out of -the car about a
mile and a half away. ie

CHURCH CIRCLES MELT
fo Terre ;

Gas
Late Today

BULLETIN

Felix Chavez died late to-
day in San Quentin’ Prison’s
gas chamber. He entered the
death chamber at 3:02 p. m.
and was pronounced dead at
3:12 p. m. by Dr. M. D. Will-
cuts, chief medical officer at
San Quentin. Chavez entered
the chamber praying, Warden
Duffy sajd, and held his head

Chavez was told that the court
had denied him any further

warden just before he died:
“What's gotta be has to be.”

late in the day for an execu-
tion. It was the latest execu-
tion in the prison’s history, he
believed. ‘ cs

Ao Tg,

Warden Clinton Duffy of Sa

chamber at 3 p. m. today. °
Warden Duffy
Judge. Walter Pope of the ‘U.
8.' District Court of Appeals
at 1:55 p. m. informed him that
that he had set aside the tem-
porary stay of execution issued

this morning and denied Cha- a

{vez ‘a¢ further stay.
», Warden ‘Duffy said. that a

messenger was en route from .

fié district court to San Quen-
tin Prison with the documents
that. will seal Chavez’ doom.

. have set the execution
for 3 p. m.” Warden Duffy
said, “and unless something
unforeseen happens . it
take place then.”

, \Judge. Walter Pope of the
United States District Court of
Appeals issued an order grant-
ing’ "a last minute stay of exe-
cution for Felix Chavez 27-year-

old Mexican national, who was‘

scheduled *to die at 10 a. m. to-
day in San Quentin Prison’s gas
chamber for the kife murder of
Connie Navarro. -

Pope granted the temporary
stay pending further action of
the court. , :

‘He set the deadline for the
court’s action on appeal for 2
p.. m. today. j

San Quentin Warden Clinton
Duffy said if the court does not
frant a stay today, the execu-
tion will take place this after-
noon, He said no new time had
been set, pending outcome of
the court action.

‘Chavez had request@l a stay
of execution on grounds that the
interpreter at his trial in Colusa
made errors in translation.

He filed for a writ of habeas
corpus with Federal Judge Oli-
ver Carter and the state su-
preme court. Both were denied.

Chavez stabbed Mrs. Navarro
to death ‘in

23, 1950.

abode here July

Charee hill Te 77:

CN ae an. —"Lena ld

IsPossible —

stay. He had held hopes right /
fo the end, but said to the .

Duffy said it was unusually’ -

' BULLETIN .. os tat
Quentin Prison told the Sun-
Herald by telephone at 2 p. m.°; {
that Felix. Chavez, unless there .
was a last minute change in;" ..:
plans, :would go to the gas ates

said “that (.:

will -

her Main Street .\:

'
Ht
é

M Today; ~

COLUSA SUN-HERALD; COLUSA, CALIFORNIA

(Continued from Page One)
He knew, he said; that the of-
ficers would take his clothing
from the cabin. “hats

Chavez lay hidden in the
weeds all day Sunday. That
night he set out on foot again,
heading toward Williams,

“lupD IN PUMP PIT

He reached Williams at an
early hour Monday and again
went into hiding, this time in

‘la pumping pit.

Chavez said he did not fol-
low the main roads, but cut
across fields in making his way
to Williams.

Reaching the main S. P. rail-
road line, Chavez headed south
down the tracks, walking to-
ward Arbuckle Monday night.
On Tuesday morning, Chavez
told the officers, he dug out a
place under some brush or tree
prunings and crawled in. He
identified this place as being
near Arbuckle. Again he hid
out all day without food or
water. : ; ‘
When it grew dark Tuesday
night, Chavez walked into Ar-
buckle and went to the Blue-
bird Cafe. He. ordered some

,| chicken. He said: there were two

girls waiting on table there and
he was afraid that they recog-

ie nized him.: So he ate hurriedly
‘*1and left, heading south toward

F ‘Zamora,

“lof .Zamora: early Wednesday

morning and again he hid out,
waiting until it became dusk.
TOOK BUS AT ZAMORA
..Chavez was in Zamora when
a bus. stopped there. He decid-
ed to buy a ticket through’ to
Stockton, but was told that he’d

S. have to change buses in Wood-
‘land and go to. Stockton via

es, | Sacramento. So Chavez purchas-

ed a ticket to Woodland and
boarded the bus at Zamora.

The chance meeting with
Louis Arena at the Woodland

“bus depot followed. They knew
‘leach other, and both chatted at
¢*the depot.
, {said nothing about the murder.

Chavez, of course,

Arena learned about it when he
arrived in Colusa, told officers,
and they acted quickly, contact-
ing Woodland, Sacramento and
Stockton police.

BLAMED GIRLS, ARENA

_ After his capture, Chavez told
officers he thought the girls at
the Arbuckle cafe had. “turned
him in” or maybe. it was Louis
Arena, The officers.simply told
‘Chavez that they would have

‘]captured him sooner or later

because all of the buses and
stations were being watched.
He nodded his head and let it
go at that.

Chavez is now in a separate
cell in the county jail and is
being closely guarded and watch-
ed. The sheriff is taking no

Custom

HAY BALING

Phone 204-K or 209-F
JOHN PAUL
WESTFALL GOULDEN

Keep Cool With

'Chavez’s’ khaki

|Chavez Says He Battled
Stockton Police Hoping
They'd “Kill Me Quick”

chances, whether it: might be
an escape’ try or suicide. at-
tempt. :

MOTIVE JEALOUSY?

Insane ..jealousy over. Connie
Navarro may have been the
motive behind the savage at-
tack ‘upon the Colusa cafe op-
erator, but Chavez is known to
have told interrogators .. more
than that. There are some facts
that may or may not come out,
when Chavez is brought to-trial.

There are reports that Chavez
said he broke into Connie’s place
last Sunday morning because he
suspicioned that another man
was there. As the officers know,
there was no other man there.
SILENT ON TRIP

Chavez, trussed up and hand-
cuffed, said few words on; the
trip from’ Stockton to Colusa,
via Woodland,- yesterday. When
he did speak, the words tumbled
out, officers -said...There was
fear—great fear—in his eyes,
Chavez even thought the offi-

cers were going to take him out

and “kill him quick”. And he
was truthful, it is believed, when
he said he became violent in the
Stockton police station because
he wanted. the. officers to kill
him. He told John Chavez;: the
interpreter, that he figured he’d
die anyway, so that’s why he
put up:a battle after . bein
taken into custody. }

HAD CLEANED KNIFE .

The knife which Chavez’ had
on his’ person when captured—
the same one used in the. mur-
der—had, been wiped clean.

There were brown stains on
trousers, but
they were not too noticeable be-
cause the killer. had: acquired
other grass stains during his
days of hiding since the slay-
ing.

The shirt he was wearing was
not white, rather a pale pink.
It was also stained, but only
close scrutiny would have dis-
closed the blood stains.

Officers and. degree , team
members of Deborah Rebekah
lodge are asked to attend prac-
tice for initiation at the I1.0.0.F.
hall Tuesday evening, August
1st, at 7:30 o’clock. Initiation
will be held Thursday, August
3rd. ‘

For quick results at low cost.
try Sun-Herald classified ads.

SEPTIC TANK
SERVICE

If you need your
tanks cleaned

Call

R. L. HEAPE
Phone 14 Live Oak

The Perfect
Salon Wave
for home use!

~- PERSONALS

Mrs. Etta Wilson of Bridgton,
Maine, who has been a guest of
her cousin, Mrs. Hugh. Ballard
for two weeks, left from Sac-
ramento yesterday for Los An-
geles where .she will spend some
time before going on to the mid-
dle west for visits, on her way
back to Maine. Mrs. Ballard
took her to Sacramento yester-
day. During her visit here the
two ladies enjoyed a trip up
the Redwood highway, visited
in Santa Cruz County, San Fran-
cisco and Grass Valley... .,

Mr. and Mrs; 'C. A., Shepard
of San Francisco, who | have
been on a five months trip in
the eastern states, are expected
in Colusa this week-end for a
visit with Mrs. Frank Hiegel and
Mr, and Mrs. Francis White. The
Shepards bought a new car in
Detroit and have been taking a
tour of points of interest in the
East before returning home.
Their son, George, has been here
with the Francis Whites during
their absence and their daugh-
ter, Joan, is in Chico.

Mr, .and Mrs..Gene Brendlin
of San Luis Obispo arrived this
afternoon for an overnight stay
with Mr. and Mrs.. Chas. A.
Poage. Mrs. Brendlin had un-
dergone surgery in Sacramento
recently and they will go on
home after their visit in Colusa.

Coroner and Mrs. Tim Sulli-
van and Howard H. Moore at-
tended a meeting of- the Nor-
thern California Funeral Direc-
tors Association at the~ Indian
Ranch resort, near Grass Valley,
Wednesday evening.

Mr. and Mrs. Jack Nolan and
daughter, Nancy, are home from
Pullman, Washington, where No-
Jan attended a. week’s confer-
ence of Agricultural teachers: at
the Washington ~ State ‘College.
The Nolans were away ten days.

Mrs. Emory H. Smith return-
ed last Friday after a pleasant
month’s visit in Riverside with
Mr. and: Mrs. .James Smith and
two children. : The same day

|that Mrs.. Emory “‘H. Smith left

to return to Colusa’ her daugh-
ter-in-law and two children de-
parted” for Indianapolis for a
few weeks stay with her pare-
ents.

Louise Whit
McNary Wil

The First Cong i
Church in Berkeley ~ ys
setting for the wedding of :
Louise White and Donald
well McNary on Sunday ‘,
30th, at 4 o'clock. Dr. Ver
Loper will officiate,

Louise, who will be give:
marriage by her father,
wear a white satin gown \
long pointed sleeves, desis
with a yoke of lace over §
trimmed with seed pearls. .
gown will have a round «
and long train, Her veil
family heirloom, is trimmec
lace and will be supported }
heart shaped crown. She
carry an old-fashioned bou
centered with a corsage of w
orchids, and surrounded
stephanotis and bouvardia.

Her sister, Jean White I
stan, who was married jus
few weeks ago, will be ma
of honor and the bridesm
are to be Beulah Lobdell
Leabelle Sutton of Chico, E)
beth Dennison of Santa''M
_— Nancy McNary of Be
ey. on. det

Robert M. McNary will ac
his brother’s groomsman ?
ushers are to be Allan Mar;
of San Franciscay Eugene
Lee of San Leandro, Rict
Ruppe of Canada, Stephan Ki
man of Mill Valley and Ex
White, a brother of the,’bt
from Berkeley. . | (#2

Mrs, William A.. White, mo!
of the bride, will wear an.
crepe formal gown with: di
pink accessories and pin’, ¢
corsage of white ‘orchids, .:33

The groom's mother’.
chosen a rose-beige dress‘,
a lace bodice and chiffon
Her matching accessories wil
completed with’ a ‘ corsage
pink orchids. Up ase

For the ceremony the chi
will be decorated with M
gladioli, stock, oak Jeaves~
lighted’ tapers." ' > 3° 4: 43

The wedding reception *
mediately following will ;b
the Delta Delta Delta. soro
house in Berkeley. nes.

Miss White, who is the dat
ter of Mr. and Mrs. William
White of Berkeley, was gre

ated from the University of C€

MORE AND MOR

fornia in Berkeley in Jurk

wey

Sy |
Saray
ys}

: :

Cie*

Metadata

Containers:: Box 4 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 15
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Bert Caritativo executed on 1958-10-24 in California (CA)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: June 27, 2019

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