Connecticut, C-D, 1749-1989, Undated

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Slave CUFF, 15, hanged New Haven, Connecticut, May , RITES.

The following is taken from the original papers, New Haven County
Superior Court, February Term, 1749, Connecticut State Archives,
Hartford, Connecticut.

Cuff, a negro slave of Capt. Joseph Tuttle of East Haven, aged 15,
was convicted of the October 1, 1748, rape of 15-year-old Diana
Parrish, an apprentice of Benjamin Pardee of East Haven. Two wo-
men examined her when she reported the crime and confirmed the
Signs of a sexual violation. He was examined on October 3 and he
confessed. Miss Parrish was the daughter of Ephraim Parrish of
Branford.

Jacob Bradley, aged 15, testified: "On ye 2nd instant, the sun
being about half an hour high, in the byroad from Benjamin Par-
dee's to East Haven, he saw the said Cuff get off rom the said
Diana that then he the said Cuff sat on or leaned against the
fence, that the said Diana when he first saw her was on the
ground, that she rolled over and got up and ran across thhe path
and catched up a stone and said she would kill said Cuff. Said
Cuff said to her don't tell any more lies about me. She replied
that she would have him hanged. That he the said deponent went
home with said Diana, that she cried all the way and said he Cuff
had almost killed her, that she held by the deponent all the way
home, that she breathed short and seemed as if she would faint
away, that she sighed and sobbed, that he rode so fast when he was
coming toward them that it was not likely he could hear Diana
scream." :

Diana Parrish testified: "that on the 2nd of October it being
Sabbath Day, as she was coming from meeting alone in a byroad
distant from any house, the said Cuyff came prib ately behind her
and catched hold on her and violently held her. That she screamed
as loud and as long as she could. That the said Cuff said to her
you have told stories about me, that she bid hyim be gone, but that
he still forcibly held her and she screaming and striving till she
was out of breath, hge threw her down and pulled up her coats and

unbuttoned his breehes, threatened to kill her if she would not be
still, that he entered her body with his private member, that the
whole time was three quarters of an hour as near as she could guess
but she was so frightened that she could not tell. That when he
was done he told her she might go."

1 Davies
it” after
> an argu-
eat her.
iim as a
fond of
refused
ised her
ore little
. Davies
uet from
cryptic
hom I’ll

chiatrist
wing his
suspect
»>motion-
ilts and
n young
iperior.”
s before,
“needed
ent ten-
g an ef-
tincts at

r, might
earing a
stabbing
‘tims re-

as_ taken
rted re-
During
to inter-
inty and
1 with a
ychologi-
Finally,
aven,
re of
urted
wig? for.
1 looking
nut I did
last Mon-
tty little
vent nuts
e quoted»

f his car,
per to at-
raited for
ed her to
ver from
door had
ier. But
parents’
on, but
plea for
ewdriver.
When she
and gave
door shut
drove off.
house lat-
would see
vers’ lane
and tried
and I got
ind pulled
1 it tight.
nut of the
1 spot and
with the
as dead.”
pt to rape
confirmed
er it was
estaurant,
from his
eakfast of
7 He spent
a nearby
vhere he

statement
1 roadside
‘erville
recov-

| blade

that he said he used in the slaying. Back
near Terryville they found the Doucette
child’s red-handled lunchbox right where
Davies said he threw it after removing the
$1 bill her mother had given her for taxi
fare that morning.

Before being taken to the county jail at
New Haven, where he was booked for
kidnaping and murder, Davies was ques-
tioned at length about the missing Boivin
girl and a 10-year-old youngster who had
disappeared from a summer camp on the
west side of Litchfield County the year he
was imprisoned for molesting two school-
girls in 1952. He flatly denied knowledge
of the fate of either. Late Monday Davies
was returned to the county jail while po-
lice checked back on his movements on
the day Gaetane Boivin was last seen
alive.

Meanwhile the authorities in Western
Connecticut checked their files on the long
investigation following the disappearance
on July 16th, 1952, of 10-year-old Con-
stance Smith. The Smith girl had left a
YMCA camp at Lakeville at 8:30 a.m. to
hitchhike into nearby Salisbury. Some-
where along the lonely back road she
traveled she presumably was picked up by
a passing motorist. Although hundreds of
officers and volunteers searched the area
for weeks, and a nationwide hunt fol-
lowed, the girl, granddaughter of a former
Wyoming governor, was never found.

Two days after Davies took police along
the route he had driven with the Dou-
cette child a prisoner in his car, a 19-year-
old Waterbury youth, Charles Williams,
was returning from a fishing trip to an
isolated stream less than four miles from
that dead-end lane when he came upon
the stabbed and strangled body of Gaetane
Boivin.

The pretty brunette lay behind a clump
of bushes in the heart of a _ heavily

wooded region known as Mattatuck For-
est, approximately three miles northeast
of the city. Dr. Edward H. Kirschbaum,
Waterbury district medical examiner, ar-
rived at the scene with police before
nightfall. He found the girl had died of
manual strangulation, after which she had
been stabbed 50 times with a thin, sharp-
pointed instrument similar to that used in
the mutilation of Brenda Jane Doucette.

Although the Boivin girl had not been
raped, the viciousness of the assault that
ended her life left no doubt as to ‘the sa-
distic rage that had motivated her slayer.

Within two hours of the discovery of the
crime Inspector Bender, Waterbury Detec-
tive Foley and County Detective Laden
confronted Davies -with the three-inch
screwdriver found in his car at the time
he was taken into custody for requestion-
ing. It was Dr. Kirschbaum’s firm opinion
that this instrument, unusual in that it had
a slightly curved point, had been used in
the slaying of Gaetane within a few hours
of the time she was last seen alive.

Davies took one long look at the screw-
driver, then his brooding dark eyes went
to the bloodstained gray tweed coat held
by Detective Foley. “All right,” he was
quoted as saying, “you won’t have to go
through it all again. You’ve found the
body—so I'll tell you now that I did that
one, too.”

In a second signed confession Davies
said he left his home early on the morn-
ing of the 9th, picked up a newspaper in
Thomaston and drove on to Waterbury,
where he stopped in a restaurant near the
Cherry Street home of his first victim.

READ THE
October issue of

TRUE DETECTIVE
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There he glanced quickly through the
Help Wanted ads, found nothing to his lik-
ing, and turned to the Situations Wanted
columns. "

And in these he found something to his
liking—a French girl seeking work as a
mother’s helper. That meant, he said, she
probably would be young and good-look-
ing. He telephoned the number given in
the ad, made an appointment to see her at
her nearby home within the hour, and
“waited a suitable time before driving
around to pick her up.”

“She wasn’t even suspicious when I told
her I needed someone to help care for my
four children and wanted her to come
right out,” Davies allegedly told his inter-
rogators. “She never did get suspicious—
until it was too late. By that time I had
her out in the country and I was ready for
her when she started fighting back. I put
my hands on her throat and I choked
her for 8 to 10 minutes. Then I car-
ried her body off into the woods and I
stabbed her till she quit wiggling.”

In Waterbury, on May 28th, a New Ha-
ven grand jury voted two first-degree
murder indictments against George James
Davies. He pleaded not guilty to both. He
is expected to be brought to trial at an
early date. :

Although questioned at length about the
Smith child, who disappeared shortly be-
fore he first went to prison as a molester
of young girls, Davies continued to deny
implication in that case. But the state and
local police who heard his denials believe
that sooner or later some hunter or fisher-
man wandering the isolated areas between
the prisoner’s home. and the lonely road-
way 40 miles to the east where Constance
Smith was last seen alive, may yet run
onto the skeletal remains of the pretty
child who may have been the first victim
of his abnormal lusts. oo¢

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END OF THE TRAVELER'S
MILLION-DOLLAR ROAD

(TD December, 1957)

It was a long trail, paved with phony
checks. And “The Traveler,” using over
400 aliases and pursued by police and
the FBI in almost every state of the
Union, managed to evade arrest for 12
years. It was September Ist, 1957, when
he was finally identified as Charles
Robert Speedie, 51, of San Fernando
Valley, California. Records showed that
Speedie had been arrested in Los An-
geles in 1942 on a bad check charge, but
had been acquitted,

At his address detectives found a
vast cache of loot, including merchan-
dise of every description. His method
had been to purchase goods at a store,
pay for them with a check for more
than the sum required and depart with
goods and cash to the amount of $70 or
$80. The loot was estimated to be worth
at least $500,000, and he was believed
to have obtained as much again in cash.

Traced by an address on a post card
sent to a friend, Speedie was arrested
on September 5th, 1957, asleep in a
motel near Cleveland, Ohio. He waived
extradition and was returned to Cali-
fornia. However 43 states also filed de-
tainers against him.

In Van Nuys municipal court on Octo-
ber 8th, Speedie pleaded guilty to five
counts of forging and issuing fictitious
checks. On November 13th Superior
Judge Lewis Drucker sentenced Speedie
to 1-to-14 years in state prison.

Speedie told reporters, “It’s not that
I did anything brilliant, but that mer-

chants made it easy for me to cash
checks.”

He said he had twice tried to go
straight, once running a hamburger
stand which failed when the highway
was rerouted, and once in a uranium
mining venture which also failed. For
the past two years, he asserted, he had
been planning to start a business of
supplying tape-recorded readings of
classics and bedtime stories.

REDHEAD HELLCAT

(TD June, 1956)

In Montgomery, Alabama, on October
11th, 1957, Rhonda Bell Martin, 51, died
in the electric chair. The red-haired
former waitress, who admitted that she
had fed lethal doses of rat poison to
two husbands, her mother and three
daughters, was tried, convicted and ex-
ecuted for the murder of her fourth
husband, Claude Martin, in April, 1951.
Governor James E. Folsom denied her
appeal for clemency.

Prison officials found in Mrs. Martin’s
Bible a note which read: “I want my
body to be given to some scientific in-
stitution to be used as they see fit, but
especially to see if someone can find out
why I committed the crimes I com-
mitted.” She was the second white wom-
an to be put to death in the state’s
electric chair.

CONNECTICUT SEX SLAYER

(TD September, 1957)

In Waterbury, Connecticut, on No-
vember 7th, 1957, George James Davies,
38, was found guilty of the murder of

8-year-old Brenda Jane Doucette, slain
on May 13th, 1957, near her Bristol
home. Superior Judge John R. Thim
then sentenced Davies to die in the
electric chair on February 17th, 1958.
Another murder indictment for the
slaying of Gaetane Boivin in Waterbury
on May 10th, 1957, is still pending.
In his confession to the murder of
Gaetane Boivin, Davies said he saw her
advertisement in a local paper, “French
girl seeks work as mother’s helper.” He
called at the Boivin home. said he
needed someone to look after nis four
children. Trustingly she got into his
ear. He drove her into the country,
choked her until she was unconscious,
then killed her with a screw driver.
Confessing the murder of Brenda
Doucette, he said he passed the child
on her way to school. He stopped his
car, got out with a jack, as if to change
a tire. When the little girl came along
he asked her to get him a screwdriver
from the glove compartment. When she
got into the car to get it for him, he
slammed the door shut, leaped in on the
other side and drove off with the child.
She began to scream. He choked her
until she was still, then carried her to
a deserted spot, where he stabbed her
to death with the same screwdriver.
Brenda’s body was found by search-
ers that evening in woods 3 miles from
her home. The body of Gaetane. for
whom police had been searching since
she disappeared, was found when Da-
vies led police to the spot where he
slew her. The screwdriver with which
he murdered was found in his car.

MARJORIE AND THE
MALLET SLAYER

(TD November, 1957

While her parents went out to lunch
on July 12th, 1957, young Mrs. Marjorie
Meyer was in charge of their Milwau-
kee, Wisconsin, paint store. Shortly
after noon a clerk in an adjoining store
heard an outcry. Looking through the
door of the paint shop she saw a man
beating Mrs. Meyer. As she ran to
summon help, the man fled, leaving be-
hind a wooden mallet.

The mallet was traced to the Milwau-
kee Boys’ Club. Officers questioned the
youth in charge of the game room. He
was Jerome Slominski, 17, and had a
record of five arrests for minor crimes.
He offered an alibi, but was identified
by the clerk who saw him run from the
store, and bloodstained clothes.

Slominski then confessed that he
went to the paint store, carrying the
mallet, and asked Mrs. Meyer for a can
of paint. As she moved to the shelf. he
followed her with the mallet. She
screamed and he hit her. ‘When a
woman screams I go berserk,” he said.

Since he had stolen $34 from the cash
register, Slominski was charged with
first-degree murder and armed robbery.
But on November 4th he pleaded guilty
to second-degree murder and District
Attorney William J. McCauley moved
that the other charges be dismissed.

Municipal Judge Herbert J. Steffes
accepted the plea on the reduced charge
and sentenced Jerome Slominski_ to
serve 5 to 25 years in the Wisconsin
state prison at Waupun.

Acca LyateELEN
wilirsitliny /G 59

WORKEF
NOW

Wherever 4

are eager |

Mason Air
on-the

many

Wes

by PETER MATH EWS

HROUGHOUT New

I England the Monday morning

of May 13th dawned cold and

| cloudy with a sharp wind out of the
| northeast threatening heavy showers.
| Baxter Doucette, who lived with his
| wife and two children in Town Line
| Road west of Bristol in Central Con-
| : necticut, left as usual for his job with
/ a tool company in West Hartford at

| 7:30 on that dreary morning. Before

| leaving he instructed his wife to keep
their 9-year-old daughter home from
| | school if the rain started to fall before
she was due to leave half an hour
| later. Her health was important, too,

The Doucettes lived a mile and a
quarter from the two-room Falls
Mountain schoolhouse on the out-

}
'
he insisted.
}
{
1
|
'
1

skirts of Bristol. Efforts to have their
| older child transferred to a school
|. farther away, to which she could be
taken by bus, had proved fruitless.
But the father was resolved that his
little girl should not walk throu gh rain
and cold to reach her classes.

At eight o'clock Mrs. Doucette
glanced at the darkening skies from
the veranda of their neat frame home,
estimated that it would be some time
before the rain started falling, and
tumed back to the pretty brown-

eyed girl at her side. “Now take your
| lunch and hurry,” she admonished
the child.

“Your little friend will be there at
the turn into Allentown Road to join
you and you mustn't keep her waiting
| on a day like this. If you both run
you'll reach school before it starts
raining,” she added.

j Mrs. Doucette added that the
child would find a $1 bill in her
| lunchbox. If it was raining when she
| was dismissed from school she was
| to call a taxi.

Ten minutes later Brenda Jane
| Doucette marched up to the front

door of a house near the intersection.

‘DO YOUREMEMBER

saps RY SY
%.

ISHE

H
ke

There she expected to be met by alit-
tle classm- ete, who daily accom-

panied he» ‘rom that point to the little
brick schov! couse at the end of the
tree-linec ntown Road.

“Judy : here to meet me,”
Brendato.. ‘xe housewife. “And I'm
afraid to © alone.” A heavy roll of
thunder s ‘ed as she spoke. Light-
ning flas! cross the lowering sky.

“Now. eres nothing to fear

about a:jittle bad weather,” the
woman reassured her. “I'll have one
of my youngsters walk with you to
the beginning of the straight stretch
in the road.*From there you can see
Judy’s hidtise. I'm sure you'll find

aye RIE E TEELTTT

ADLINE

Peeribes cie-ged & Keni

MURDER?

SERIE Te

she’s out in front waiting for you.”

Some 200 yards down the road
and five minutes later, Brenda Jane
parted from her neighbor's 6-yeat-
old daughter. In front of her lay 600
yards of clear roadway. At the end of
that stretch was the house where het
schoolmate Judy lived.

‘The threatening storm was nol
responsible for Judy’s failure to meet
her friend that day, however. ‘The
child had overslept and by the time
she was through with her breakfast

and ready for school her mother —

realized that Brenda must already
have passed the house where they
usually met.

“™

In seeking the sadistic sex slayer of little Br

enda Doucett
(opp. page) and-a pretty teenage girl, detectives found eens ¢
scarce—but suddenly the probe centered on George Davies (r.)

ONSTER

‘Connecticut’s sex fiend stabbed little Brenda 22 times,

but that wasn’t enough. He kidnaped a pretty teenager

and drove a screwdriver into her body 50 times...

‘ “You can wait for Brenda Jane
ere in front of the house,” the
mother told her 8-year-old daughter.
“If she’s not here soon it'll mean her
mother has decided to keep her
ome, so you can stay out of school
too.” And when Brenda had not
'ppeared by 8:45 she concluded the
ild was not going to school that
Morning. She told her own little girl
to come back inside the house.
Busy with their Monday chores,
neither she nor the woman who lived
at the intersection thought again of
: “ne neighbors’ youngster. Late that
€rnoon they received telephone
talls from Mrs. Doucette, inquiring if

Brenda Jane had stopped at the home
of either woman after school was out.
Both said that she had not.

Mrs. Doucette’s apprehension
tured to genuine alarm when she
learned that her daughter had failed
to meet her schoolmate that morning.
It was now 4 p.m., an hour past the
time when the child usually returned
home. A third call was put through to
the schoolhouse and the principal
told the worried mother that-her
daughter had not arrived at school.

“Half the children didn’t come to-
day because of the weather,” the
principal said. “It never occurred to
me that anything could have happen-

ed to Brenda Jane. Are you sure she
didn’t stop off to visit along the
way?”

Subsequent calls to the homes of
other schoolmates failed to turn up a
trace of the missing girl and her
mother’s alarm reached the point of
near hysteria as she put through a
final call to the factory where her hus-
band was employed. Baxter
Doucette was in contact with the
Bethany Barracks of the state police
within moments of hearing from his
wife.

Soon a score of city, county and
state police cars converged on the

(Continued on page 68)

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they testified or didn’t change their
stories.

One woman was warmed that her
family would be harmed _ unless she
changed her story on the witness stand.
Another person was told by a woman
caller that “someone will get hurt” if he
didn’t come up with a different tale for
the next trial.

Some of the threatened witnesses
were understandably reluctant to
become involved. Others said they would
go willingly if called to testify.

In other interviews, a friend stated
that Sharon had been frightened and up-
set shortly before her death. She said that
Liddick had threatened to kill her and
dump her into Pinchot Lake.

Asked if she knew any reason why
Liddick chose drowning instead of
another method of murder, the woman
replied that Sharon couldn’t swim and
was afraid of water. She wouldn't even go
near deep water.

The witness said that Liddick was
aware of his wife’s fears, and that she
thought drowning would probably be the
most frightening way for Sharon to die.

The trial was a big event for many
people of Enola. Some traveled to Clear-
field County to testify, some just came to

_watch.

Since they all stayed at the same
motel, everyone was aware of who was
present. It was soon known that the
prosecution had brought in the surprise
witnesses. They were ready to dispute the
alleged perjury of the first trial, if it
happened again.

The trial began on October 10, 1977.
Marlon repeated his testimony, this time
with more details. He even related how
Liddick had said he was going to cut off
Sharon's fingers and send them to her
parents.

The surprise witnesses weren't need-

ed after all, and what they knew was
never revealed.
@ After hearing several days of
testimony in Judge John Riley's cour-
troom, the jury deliberated only two and
a half hours before returning a verdict of
guilty of murder in the first degree.

Liddick was kept in the Clearfield
County Jail while there was a legal hassle
over which state penitentiary he would
be sent to, to begin his life term.

The convicted man had no intentions
of going to any of them, though. At 4:50
a.m, On January 2, 1978, a board heard a
commotion in the cell block of the county
jail. When he opened the door Liddick hit
him over the head with either a broom or
mop handle. The guard yelled for help,
and another guard came to his aid. Lid-
dick had run to another room and return-
ed with a hammer to hit the other guard.

They managed to get the weapon
away from him, but he fled in his bare
feet and made his way out of the prison.
Liddick apparently stole a car from a
dealer's lot, then drove out of the area.

Six days later the fugitive became

rowdy in a bar in Little Rock Arkansas
and was asked to leave. A short time later
Police Officer Chappelle stopped the
stolen .car for running a stop sign, not
knowing who was behind the wheel. It
looked like a routine traffic arrest.

When Liddick wouldn't get out of the
car, Chappelle became suspicious that he
had come across something more serious.
He ordered the bearded man to get out
with his hands in the open.

Instead, Liddick put his car in gear
and headed forward, then quickly turned
around and tried to run down Chappelle.
The officer jumped onto the hood of his
cruiser and fired off two shots at the flee-
ing car. One punctured the fuel tank and
the other hit the right rear tire.

Chappelle took off after Liddick,
with Trooper Walter Willis coming in as
backup. They followed the disabled car
in a high speed chase down a ramp under
construction. The wobbly car bounced
over the holes in the unfinished road and
stalled to a stop. Liddick started it again
and tried to get back onto the pavement.

Trooper Willis fired a shot at the car,
lodging’ a_ slug
Chappelle then sot out two more tires.

The car splashed through a puddle
and finally slid to a halt. It had three flat
tires, was riddled with bullet holes and
had steam rising from underneath. ~

Liddick still wasn’t going to give
himself up. He ran into a park through a
group of surprised picnickers enjoying
the warm winter day.

The two Arkansas lawmen finally
caught Liddick and wrestled him to the
ground. Liddick had been armed with a
small revolver, which they took away
from him. :

They had no idea why Liddick was

vo driver's door. _

trying to lose them. One of them later
commented, “With the beard and long
hair, he didn’t look like any kind of in-
mates we have down here.”

They filed three felony and six mis-
demeanor charges against Liddick. When
they learned he was an escaped killer,
they dropped the charges so he could be
returned to Pennsylvania as soon as possi-
ble.

Looking back, Officer Chappelle
could only shake his head in disbelief
over the pursuit. “It was like a badly done
B-grade movie,” he commented. “It look-
ed like one of those Clint Eastwood films.
It was really tacky.”

Extradition proceedings went
through quickly. Liddick was returned to
Pennsylvania to face two counts of assault
by a life prisoner, and one of escape. lle
was lodged in the State Correctional In-
stitute at Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, to
await trial on the new charges.

Liddick was convicted on all counts.
He was sentenced to three to seven years
for the prison breach, and two additional
life terms for attacking the guards. In —
Pennsylvania, assault on a guard by a life i
prisoner carries the same penalty as first-
degree murder.

Wayne Liddick, who succeeded in
murdering his lovely wife Sharon, is now
serving those life sentences. +

EDITOR'S NOTE:

Hal Marlon, Howard Loughran,
Brian Stack and Beulah Adams are not
the real names of the persons so named
in the foregoing story. Fictitious
names have beenused because there is
no reason for public interest in the
identities of these persons.

omnes

Sex Monster in
The Schoolyard

(Continued from page 29)

area and an immediate widespread
search along the lonely roadways and
through adjacent woodlands was launch-
ed. A brace of bloodhounds from
Bethany Barracks was given a sniff of
Brenda Jane’s clothing and set off along
Allentown Road on the course Brenda
Jane had taken when she parted from the
youngster who accompanied her to the
straight stretch of road. Meanwhile the
frantic parents learned of Brenda Jane’s
statement to the neighbor that she was
“afraid to go on alone.”

“That wasn’t like her at all,” Mrs.
Doucette told the authorities. “Brenda
Jane certainly was not afraid of a little
thunder. If anyt':ing else had been worry-
ing her, she surc'y would have mentioned
it to me before ‘caving this morning.”

The child’s father added that his
daughter, an honor student in the third
grade and tall ‘«: ser age, was “too in-

- an abrupt and tragic end. Four of

telligent and much too shy” to have
accepted a ride from any _ passing
motorist. But within an hour, as
bloodhounds continued to pace aiml
back and forth along the straight stretch
in Allentown Road, it was agreed that she
must have been lured or forced into 4
passing car and carried forcibly away
from the road’s vicinity.

At 7:30 that evening, with nearly 100
officers and volunteers spreading over a
ever-widening area, the search came to

Doucettes’ neighbors who joined ¢
search found Brenda Jane's strangled
mutilated body in a brush-filled ditch in4
heavily wooded area nearly three iles
from her home.

The child's body, still in the, neatly
starched, orange-flowered dress she

put on for school that morning ay
jackknifed in a shallow ravine 200 feet off
a. seldom-used dead-end near the
Wolcott-Terryville township line in

northwestern corner of
County. Beacon Hill Boulevard, actually
a single-lane dirt road, intersects with
Allentown Road a quarter of a mile W

New Have ;

of the spot where searchers found the
body. .

Wrapped tightly about the girl's
slender neck was the green sweater her
grandmother had knitted for her last
birthday.. Her undergarments - were
splashed with blood and disarranged, but
Dr. Irving S. Platt, the coroner’s medical
examiner, said there was no indication of
rape. “ie

Examination of the frail body
revealed 22 stab wounds, four in the left
breast. All, said Dr. Platt, were inflicted
with a thin, rectangular instrument. Bren-
da Jane's oblong green and gray metal
lunchbox was missing, as was a dime-
sized gold wrist watch with a gold expan-
sion bracelet.

State police investigators, working
under the direction of Detective Thomas
Laden, were unable to find footprints
because of the heavy foliage covering the
immediate area, but it was believed the
girl had been carried from an automobile
parked at the end of the lane. At this point
there were numerous tire marks in the
soft, watersoaked roadway, left by the
cars of couples who for years had used
the spot as a lovers’ rendezvous.

As Coroner Frank Healy Jr., assisted
by Dr. Joseph O. Collins, a_ state
pathologist, prepared to perform an
autopsy at Waterbury Hospital late Mon-
day, May 13, 1957, Detective Laden
learned that a blue and white convertible
had been seen speeding along Allentown
Road between the neighboring homes
that moming. The 6-year-old child said
she had seen the car as she turned to
retrace her steps after parting from Bren-
da Jane. Sometime later, the mother of
Brenda’s schoolmate reported, she had
observed the same vehicle brake to a
stop, pull into her driveway, back out and
speed westward along Allentown Road in
the direction from which it had come.

Animmediate alarm went out for the
ear as Captain Victor Clarke, com-
mander of the Bethany Barracks, issued
orders for the arrest on suspicion of all
known and suspected sex offenders in
New Haven, Hartford and Litchfield
Counties.

Meanwhile the police in Waterbury,
15 miles south of Bristol, learned of the
Doucette girl’s murder and immediately
intensified their search for a teenager
who was missing from her home in that
city of 100,000-odd population. On Fri-
day, May 10th, just three days before
Brenda Jane was last seen alive, Joseph
E. Boivin, a French-Canadian engineer
who recently had moved to Waterbury
with his wife and nine children, reported
the disappearance of his pretty brunette
daughter, Gaetane.

At 8:30 a.m. on the previous day the
17-year-old girl had received a telephone

1 in answer to a classified advertise-
ment in the Situations Wanted columns of
a local newspaper. This ad, inserted by
GCaetane, read “rrencu cint—Desire light
housekeeping by day or mother's helper.”

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Frank Di Battista ,

Febuary oal/, /930.

MAN WHO SLEW
--GROCER EXECUTED

‘DiBattista “Hanged For Killing’
| Hartford Man During
| 7 Holdup.

| HARTPORD. Feh. 3}. (AP) Frank
iA. Pi Rattivta, BB-yeor old Hartford.
YOM, was banged 3 = Welberapfreld.
ria eA of Agha | 4 the fae |

ist “a8 ash aakemp nt | |
Mei bee 4 Bghis ose

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af Mi yh is iM ft se ® «fale Oy)
vary wh 4h 1h Minh t perry
nena ny: My if He wh 14 ime bri
fe wali 9 ht sayy janpi bby ih
Bem, ki HAM Pkg pn

iss ft ie

‘tte 0 oA wa fh bibd bite wD, LE en
LP. ply pinay j fest! bya pe He ar OT aT a
z High lout Wie fit, THe

i Niet; Hy
b cn i he wasa boy of AL iaing In

e youth wee) tal an and Unshn ken |

‘as he met death. He wad béen priviler.
ell 4 Wa a dak dive rat and

Ww Shi

He had heen convicted three times |
of robbery 4n New York City, }

te... hat his
of death. She
ighter lying in
she has been

(ow could any- °

wiat?”’
isjhead. “These

superstitions,”
gomething has

?
the young man
s daughter to
‘elle, and Leon
‘ry moment on
uneters distant.
in an effort to
s true that their
ered, they had
killed her. The
o one who had
daughter.
concerned in
vs 200 francs,
rte had told us
death, a dark
: whole affair.
something, or
y had not told
er of questions
ion from them
m the mystery.
econ and found
Mary had de-
‘as gawky and
conversation I
defective.

1ustached man
bright, assured
the day Mary

oll« This
ght
vn rench

at a wayside
as I think back
is strange how
: the most im-
tant than the
a newspaper
olice reporter,
o be alert.

f the wayside
id Jost an arm
w- Mile. Del-

e had seen her
ding past ina

e had received
ilong the way,
ifely in Cosne,
oncern myself
ed these rides.

man was she

1, he told me.
yeen a Woman.

’ I asked, and

why I asked ©

{ already have
‘ticularly con-
ad arrived in
edin how and
h, °
the cart,” the
ept a suitcase
lap.”
wuitcase with
in Mamima’s
have taken it
ruse.
irents if Mary

ale with
ssn my
and qem.

me. Delwarte

said, Mary had taken a suitcase with her
hlled with all her best clothes. I obtained
a list of the items which the mother said
were missing from her daughter's room.

The question that puzzled me was,
what had become of that suitcase? Where
had Mary left it?

Back in Cosne I reported briefly to the
Medical Corps commander. He had
gained the impression, quite naturally,
that Mary was just another crafty and
shrewd woman preying upon American
soldiers. He instructed me to arrest her
as soon as possible.

Next, I asked Private Smith about
Mary’s suitcase. F

“Suitcase? She didn’t have any. She
was wandering along the river and I didn’t
see any suitcase,”

Then he told me a curious thing. He
said Mary had asked him to take her to
Mme. Urey’s cafe.

“Had she been there before?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't
know. I suppose so,”

Mary had told me that was her first
visit to Cosne.

I mulled these conflicting facts over in
my mind for a day. Meanwhile there was
no word of Mary. I had asked the girl’s
parents to telegraph me if they heard any-
thing and to date no word from them
had come. .

I was agreeably surprised the next
morning to find the French interpreter,
whom I had met on the way to the Del-
warte farm, calling on me. He came into
my room and sat on the edge of the bed.
I could see he was highly excited.

“They have found Mlle. Delwarte’s
body,” he said grimly. “In the Loire.”

£ HE Loire river lowed through Cosne
and wound its way westward into the
Bay of Biscay.

“Where in the Loire?”

“Near Orleans.”

I leaped out of bed and began pulling
on my uniform.

“Did she drown herself?”

He shook his head. “No, the police say
she was murdered. She was shot two
times in the breast with an American
Army .45.”

So Mme. Delwarte’s vision of death, of
her daughter lying in the water had been
all too true! Was there, I wondered,
something behind it, something to prompt
such a vision or premonition? Something
to plant the seed for such thoughts.

I reported immediately to the Medical
Corps major, but the camp commander
shook his head. “It’s no affair for us to
investigate,” he said. “It will be called to
the attention of the proper authorities.
The fact the girl was shot with an Army
45 calls for an investigation. I’ll get in
touch with the authorities at Nevers.”

I was disappointed. I wanted to follow
the case, but I had no right to leave that
area without official permission.

It was not until the following day that
Lt. Gordon H. Wherry called on me. He
had friendly brown eyes, curly black hair
and the broadest pair of football shoulders
I had ever seen. He looked capable. °

He said he had been assigned by corps
headquarters to make an investigation.
Several Army .45’s had been reported
stolen in the area and he thought one of
them might be in the possession of the
slayer.

I gave him a detailed account of what
I knew, and called in Private Smith for
confirmation. I called to Wherry’s atten-
tion the suitcase Mary had taken with
her, but which had disappeared some-
where on her way to Mamma’s Place.

Smith swore that he had seen'no suit-

‘DiBATTISTA, Frank, white, elec CT
(Hartford) 2/21/1930

ALMOST daily, hundreds of crimi-
nals ate seized by police when they
talk too much; but it is a decided novelty
for a killer to be brought to justice be-
cause he utters just one little word.

That was the fatal mistake made by
the murderer of Samuel Kamaroff, a
Hartford, Conn., grocer.

The crime was committed shortly
after 10 p.m., April 1, 1929. Kamaroff
and his wife were busy in the back room
of their store at 116 Jefferson Street
when they, heard the door open.

Mrs. Kamaroff remained in the back
room, while her husband moved front
to wait on the presumable customer.

Then a shot!

The woman raced to the front of the
store, saw her husband sprawled dead.
At the door stood a man, a pulled-down
hat shading his face, a gun in his hand.

Bravely, Mrs. Kamaroff moved for-
ward, only to be halted by the words:
“Whoa! Steady there! Come closer, and
I'll plug you, too!” -

The killer wrenched open the door
and fled into the night.

Detective Captain Frank Santoro

questioned the hysteriacl widow, but’

learned little. The killer’s pulled-down
hat had effectively concealed his face.

Santoro tried another angle. “Did he
say, anything?”

The woman shuddered. “I'll never for-
get those words. I’ll hear them for-
eyer.”

She went on to repeat the slayer’s
grim warning: “Whoa! Steady there!
Come closer, and I’ll plug you, too!”

Obviously, the killer had been bent
on robbery. When Kamaroff refused to
surrender his cash, the deadly shot was
fired.

But who was the murderer? The lone .

clue was to be found in his words to
Mrs. Kamaroff. A slim lead, at best.

Santoro summoned his two ace in-
vestigators, Detective Sergeants John
Madigan and Patrick Sheren.

“T have something,” he said. “It isn’t
much, but see what you can do. There’s
a chance the killer is a fellow who works
with horses, possibly at racing stables.”

“How do you figure it?” asked Madi-
g&n. .

“By the words he used,” explained
Santoro. “Instead of telling the woman
to halt or to stop, as the average person
would do, he spoke the word whoa.”

Sheren nodded. “I see what you
mean,”

“Also,” continued Santoro, “he said
steady there to Mrs. Kamaroff.. That’s
another horsy expression. Anyway, see
what you can turn up.”

Sheren and Madigan knew they were
confronted with a tricky assignment,
but they had faith in Santoro’s hunches.
Those hunches had paid off in the past.

In plain clothes, they hit the Hartford
tenderloin, frequented by the under-

world. Unobtrusively, they checked
cheap restaurants and dingy pool-par-
lors; dance halls and hotels. Always,
they were seeking a line on a man who
worked with horses.

They pulled blank after blank, until
early one morning... .

The detectives sipped coffee in an all-
night lunchroom. Two chaps, seated
near them at the counter, were engaged
in conversation. One man asked his
companion, “Seen Cowboy around?”

“No,” replied the other. “I hear he’s
outa town.”

The sleuths exchanged glances. Could
this be it? A man who worked with
horses could quite possibly have ac-
quired the nickname Cowboy.

The two astonished men were taken
to Headquarters. There they told San-
toro the man they referred to as Cow-
boy was Frank A. DiBatista, that he
worked off and on at various race tracks.

It was a lead, a slim lead. The detec-
tives learned DiBatista’s address and
checked. He was out of town still,
they discovered. When he returned to
Hartford, afew days later, they were
waiting. At headquarters, DiBatista ad-
mitted his sobriquet was Cowboy, but
indignantly denied his guilt.

ANTORO, unable to break him
down, had the murdered man’s wife
brought in. She studied DiBatista, then
shook her head. “It looks like him, but
I can’t be sure,” she said,

Santoro’s lips pressed into a tight
line. His case had fallen flat.

Then he got another hunch. If—just
ifthe could build up the tension and
trick DiBatista into uttering just one
significant word, he might sew up this
case after all. He gazed sternly at Di-
Batista. ’

“We're booking you for murder any-
way, Cowboy,” he said.

‘The suspect’s face flushed, and he
threw up his hand. “Whoa!” he ex-
claimed angrily. “You can't do that!”

And. Mrs. Kamaroff said excitedly,
“That’s the man! I'll never forget the
way he said whoa! I'll swear to it!”

DiBatista’s eyes bulged—and he
cracked. “All right. I’ll come across. I
killed him.”

He was sentenced to die. But the
Cowboy spoke again as the executioner
approached him at the Connecticut
State Prison in Wethersfield on Feb-
ruary 2k, 1930.

- “Whoa!” stuttered the panicky killer
as he flinched from the noose.

But then it was too late. In another
moment, that one little word, whoa, had
sprung the trap.—By Joseph DeBona

the officers called. But Tony Blasi was
out somewhere in his car, having left
his home before 7 o’clock.

Meanwhile, Mitchell and Lenzi were
making progress in their canvass of
the residents in Elm Street. They
found a woman who claimed she had
seen a man about Sal Bonelli’s size
and age get into a gray convertible
coupe at about 6:25 a.m.>

“T saw the man from my window,”
the woman stated, “so I wasn’t close
enough to recognize Mr. Bonelli. But
he looked very much like him.”

The investigators thanked the
woman for her*information and con-
tinued questioning the Elm Street res-
idents. However, they found no one
else who had seen the gray car that
morning. Finally they gave up, at-
tributing their lack of success to the
early hour when few inhabitants were
abroad in the street.

They returned to headquarters
where Lieutenant Lenzi instructed the
police dispatcher to put out an alarm
for gray cars of the convertible type,
requesting a close check for blood-
stains.

HEN Fleming and Doyle re-

ported on the missing Tony Blasi,
Detective Mitchell was instantly alert.
“What type of car does Blasi own?”
he asked.

“A: gray convertible Chevvy coupe,”
Fleming replied.

The county detective received this
news with great interest. “We put out
an alarm for a car like that,” he said,
“so Blasi may be picked up at any mo-
ment. Unless he’s the man we’re look-
ing for and he’s already made tracks,
of course. But if he’s not found by
noon, we’d better start looking for
him_ personally.”

At Mitchell’s suggestion, Patrol
Officers Reynolds and O’Brien were
sent to maintain a stake-out at the
Blasi home, with instructions to bring
Blasi to headquarters immediately
when he returned,

“What’ll we do in the meantime?”
Doyle asked. /

“We'll search for the murder
weapon,” Mitchell answered. “In all
probability the killer. tossed it away
somewhere to be rid of any incrimi-
nating evidence. Suppose we go back
to Elm Street and find out how those
troopers are making out?”

The others agreed, but before leav-
ing, Mitchell asked Chief Fleming
whether or not Sal Bonelli had ever
been in any trouble. The police chief

recalled that the victim once had been’

‘involved in a tavern brawl. A man
named Dominic Guinazzo had charged
the elderly man with assault and bat-
tery, but the case was dismissed.

Mitchell became thoughtful at this
disclosure. With several bullets in
him, Bonelli could have been the vic-
tim of vengeance. Had.someone, har-
boring a.grudge against the elderly
victim in the old country, followed
him here and finally had his revenge?
Or had Guinazzo taken matters into
his own hands once he was denied sat-
isfaction in the courts?

“Can you find this
Mitchell asked.

Chief Fleming nodded. “I’m pretty
sure I can. Both he and Bonelli used
to patronize a tavern only a block
from here. Perhaps the hangers-on
can give me a lead on Guinazzo.”

“It’s a possibility,” Mitchell agreed.
“Suppose you check this angle while
we go searching for the gun?”

The county detective arrived at the
scene of the murder with Lenzi and

Guinazzo?”

Doyle and found that the troopers had
made no progress. Mitchell imme-
diately ordered a search which would
take them from the scene all the way
into town. ;

“We'll try to follow the route the
killer would have taken in his flight,”
he said, “and search every inch of the
way on both sides. Doyle, you take

two men and comb the right side;

Lenzi and I, with another man, will
search the left. Sing out if you find
anything important.”

The officers were deliberate and
thorough in their search, and it took
them all of two hours to come within
sight of the town itself. Mitchell had
been following the course of a drain-
age ditch along Broad Brook Road
when he gave an exultant shout. He
picked up a .22-calibre revolver with
its cylinder missing. Although search
for the cylinder went forward for an-
other hour, it: was not found.

“Perhaps Lieutenant Chameroy can
fit another cylinder into this gun and
fire some test shots for comparison
with the death bullets,” Mitchell told
the others. He wrapped the weapon
carefully in his handkerchief and
handed it to a trooper, saying: “Take
this to the police lab in Hartford. Tell
Chameroy to dust it for prints and
then rig it up for test shots. I’ll see if
the autopsy is completed and rush the
slugs to him for comparison.”

- With Lieutenant Lenzi and Detec-
tive Doyle beside him in his car,
Mitchell drove to St. Francis Hospital,
where Dr. Louis P. Hastings, noted

pathologist attached to the institution, -

had just completed the post-mortem.
He had some very interesting dis-
closures to make.

“The victim was shot seven times,”
he said. “I found six wounds in his
left side just below the heart, and one
in the left side of his face. This bullet
ranged upward into the head and
would have been rather quickly fatal.
However, I discovered evidence of
suffocation which also,contributed to
the man’s death.” oa :

“Which means the man _ was still
alive when he was buried,” Mitchell
observed.

Doctor Hastings nodded. “Definitely.
And here’s something equally impor-
tant. I’ve recovered all the bullets and
found that three.are short and snub-
nosed, while the rest are extra long,
possibly rifle ammunition. And all, as
you can see, are .22-calibre.” He laid
out the death bullets on his desk for
the detectives to see..

“The first thing to do,” Mitchell said,
‘is to find out whether or not they
came from the gun I just found.”

Taking the slugs to the Thompson-
ville headquarters, Mitchell dis-
patched another trooper to Hartford.
“Ask Chameroy to compare these bul-
lets with the test shots from.the gun
he just received,” he said. ‘“We’ll be
waiting for his report.”

The door had scarcely closed behind
the State policeman when the phone
rang. Chief Fleming was on the wire
saying that he had located Dominic
Guinazzo. The man disclaimed any
knowledge of the murder, saying he
was home in bed until 9 o’clock that
morning. “I’m still checking,” Flem-
ing added.

Several moments later, he relayed
the information received from Guin-
azzo. “He told me that the victim had
another fight with a couple of men
down at the same tavern only two
weeks ago. He says the men came
from East, Hartford.” Fleming sup-
plied the names,

Detective Mitchell was very much
interested. ‘“We’ve got to talk to those
men right away. Ill contact the
i Police at Hartford to run them

own.”

LEMING returned to headquarters

just as the county detective eom-
pleted his call. A moment later, the
investigators had a visitor. Fleming
introduced him as the operator of a
filling station in Thompsonville Cen-
ter.

The man unwrapped a newspaper-
covered package. ‘“‘When I opened up
for business this morning,” he said in
explanation of his visit, “I noticed the
water in my tire-testing trough was
red. I emptied it to fill it up fresh, and
this fell out.” He displayed a man’s
bloodstained handkerchief.

The detectives examined the hand-
kerchief with interest. “It means that
our killer washed his hands in the
tire-testing box,’ Mitchell observed,
“and then discarded his handkerchief
there.”

He looked for an initial, but could
find none. “Maybe there’s ‘a laundry
mark or some other clue,” he said.
“This looks like another job for Lieu-
tenant Chameroy.” ;

.Mitchell summoned another trooper
and dispatched him to Hartford with
“the handkerchief. Then Patrolmen
Reynolds and O’Brien came in, escort-
ing a tall, slim youth. ‘Here’s Tony
Blasi,” O’Brien said.

The youth regarded the officers
through lowered lids. ‘“What’s this all
about?” he demanded angrily.

The county detective ignored the
question and addressed O’Brien.
“Where’s that gray convertible?” he
inquired.

The patrolman motioned toward the
front of the building. “Outside,” he
said. “We’ve given it the once-over
and found it clean as a whistle.”

Doyle and Lenzi went out to look
at the car. Then Mitchell turned to
Blasi. “Where were you today around
six-thirty a.m.?” he asked. ’

“Home in bed,” Blasi replied. “I got
up at eight and went to Hartford for
an insurance examination at nine.
Why? What’s the trouble?”

“Tl tell you later,” Mitchell said, as
he went outside to join the others.

‘He found Detective Doyle inspecting
the floorboards of the gray coupe
while Lenzi looked at the tires. Both
shook their heads in doubt.

“There’s a dark substance between
the floorboards,” Doyle said, “but it
looks like grease to me.”

Lieutenant Lenzi stood up. “The
tread pattern is identical on all four
tires,” he said. “And the murder car
had two different tires on it.”

“I know, but this fellow could have
changed his tires,’ Mitchell persisted.
“He’s had plenty of time to do it.”

Lenzi examined the wheels more
closely and found the lugs dirt-caked
and rusted. “I don’t think so,’ he said.
“And the upholstery hasn’t a speck on
it. No, there was no one shot in this
machine.” t

But Mitchell took a look for himself
and was forced to admit the.evidence.
“Send Blasi on his way,” he ordered.

QUICK check revealed that the

men who had quarreled with
Bonelli in the tavern had not yet been
found. A probe in Blasi’s neighbor-
hood disclosed that the man was hav-
ing breakfast at approximately 8
o’clock, having just risen. A neighbor,
calling to discuss the erection of a
fence between their properties, found

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Tony Blasi in his bathrobe at the
kitchen table. That made it official,
and he, too, was in the clear.

“So we’re right back where we
started from,’ Mitchell observed in
disgust.

Before he could continue, the tele-
phone rang on Fleming’s desk. The
caller was Lieutenant Chameroy, and
he wanted to talk to Mitchell. The
county investigator listened for sev-
eral moments, then hung up.
_“Chameroy just told me that target
ammunition was used to kill Bonelli,”
he explained. ‘Who does target prac-
tice around here?”

The query was directed at Chief

Fleming, who thought for.a moment’

before replying: “There’s a gun club
in Enfield. Most of its members come
from around here.”

Early on the following morning,
Mitchell, accompanied by Lenzi and
Doyle, drove to nearby Enfield. Sur-
reptitious inquiries disclosed the name
and address of the gun-club secretary.

Mitchell wasted no time in explain-
ing the purpose of their visit. “We’re
checking a .22-calibre -target pistol
that might belong to one of your mem-
bers,” he said. ‘“We’ve very little to
back it up, but we’d like to make
sure.”

“Got the gun.with you?” the secre-

tary inquired.

The county investigator shook his
head. “No, but I have its serial num-
ber. It’s 142,867.”

The gun-ciub secretary checked his
record book and came back with a
name written on a slip of paper. “That
gun belongs to Norm Stead, who lives
in Thompsonville,” he said.

The detectives thanked him and de-
parted. On the return trip. Mitchell
pointed out to the others, “It still may
not be the murder gun. Chameroy
isn’t finished with his comparisons yet.
But we'll check with Stead and see
what he has to say.”

Mitchell glanced at his gauge just
then and noticed that the indicator
hovered dangerously close to the zero
mark. ‘We'd better fill i he said.
He turned in at the next filling station
and while the tank was being filled he
noticed a stack of used tires beside
the garage building. On a hunch, he
questioned the attendant.

“Anybody in here yesterday for a
change of tires?” he asked casually.

The station man nodded. “Yes, one
fellow drove in and picked out a
couple of the better shoes for his back
wheels. I have his old ones.”

“Can I look at them?” Mitchell
asked.

He walked over to the pile of tires.
He took out the sketch prepared by
Lieutenant Chameroy at the murder
scene and compared it with the tread
pattern.on. the tires which had been
left. They matched! Exuberant at his
discovery, Mitchell called to the
others.

Doyle and Lenzi crowded around
and agreed. They held their breath as
Mitchell asked the station owner:
“Were these tires left here by.a fellow
named Stead?”

The attendant shook his head. “No.
The fellow’s name was DeCaro.”

“DeCaro!” the investigators chor-
used.

“That’s right. He came in here yes-
terday afternoon.”

Detective Mitchell voiced his next
thought. “The gun is owned by Stead,
yet DeCaro’s car was on that dirt
road. Could it be that we’ve got two
men in on this instead of one?”

“But how about DeCaro’s alibi?”

Lieutenant Lenzi interposed. ‘We

learned that: he was in Worcester

ene 9:45, and that’s 70 miles from
ere,”

Mitchell did some mental figuring,
then said: “Pretty close calculation, if
DeCaro’s the man, ‘but he could have
made it. Well, anyhow, let’s talk to
Stead first.”

ORMAN STEAD was located with

Chief Fleming’s aid. “We. want to
talk to you about a .22-calibre target
pistol,” Mitchell told him. “Do you
own one?” ;

The reply was quick. “Yes, Ihave a
.22-calibre rifle and two revolvers.
That is—”

Stead stopped suddenly, then asked,
“Anything wrong?”

“A gun registered in your name
with the Enfield gun club was found in
the Elm street section where Sal Bon-
elli was murdered,” Chief Fleming
said. “We think it was your gun that
did it.”

Stead gasped at the information. He
cast a glance around the group of
officers. After a moment’s reflection,
he said: “I think I can explain my.
gun’s ‘presence there. About a wee
ago, an acquaintance of mine came
here and asked if I would loan him a
gun. He pg te that a relative was
going on a hunting trip to Maine and
needed a weapon.”

Stead explained to his friend that
he had no guns to lend but that he
might sell one if the tee was right.
He showed his friend the .22-calibre
revolver and told him he could have
it for $15. .

“The man said that my price was a
little high but he’d try to raise the
money,” Stead continued. “I didn’t
hear-from him for a few days, but he
came back two days ago with the cash
and I let him have the gun. I also gave
him a box of ammunition for the
weapon.”

“What kind of ammunition was it?”-
Mitchell asked.

“Short and long .22’s,” Stead re-
plied.

“And what is the name of the person
who bought it?” Mitchell demanded.

“Carl DeCaro.”

The officers were speechless for a
moment. Then Mitchell’ broke the
silence. “DeCaro was pretty clever,

-setting up such an elaborate alibi. If

it hadn’t been for a couple of mistakes,
he might have really gotten away
with it, too.” /

“Yes,” Lieutenant Lenzi agreed. “If
he wasn’t careless about the tire tracks
and where he discarded the murder
weapon, we’d have almost a perfect
crime on our hands.”

“T don’t believe there’s a criminal,”
Mitchell said, “who doesn’t tip his
hand. Everyone of them is so careful,
and yet bound to make a mistake. De-
Caro tried to cover up his tire mis-
take after his car left the imprints at

‘the murder scene.”

The county investigator telephoned
Worcester authorities with a request
for a pick-up of the missing man, but
to no avail. Then he dispatched two
State Troopers to the DeCaro home in
Park Avenue to await the man’s re-
turn. Chief Fleming gave a word of
warning. “DeCaro is a big man,” he
said, “and as strong as a bull. So be
careful when you approach him.”

gov troopers had just parked at the
curb when a dirt-streaked gray
coupe pulled into the yard of the Park
Avenue house and an exceptionally
large man alighted. '

The officers were prepared for any
eventuality as they approached. But
their precautions were unnecessary
for Carl DeCaro made no attempt to
resist. Instead, he showed surprise
that the police should be waiting for
him. “What have I done now?” he
asked.

The troopers were noncommittal.
“Chief Fleming just wants to talk to
you,” he was told. °

Carl DeCaro accompanied one of the
troopers in the police car, while the
other drove the youth’s auto to police
headquarters. And this, the investi-
gators noted, was spotlessly clean. De-
tective Mitchell had a feeling of mis-
giving. Were they on a false trail after
all? Had Stead made up his story to
incriminate his acquaintance?

But Mitchell’s hopes rose as his eyes
fell on the new seat covers. “Rip those
things off!” he snapped.

Quickly the seat covers were re-
moved, revealing a huge stain on the
original upholstery.

“That’s blood, DeCaro!” Mitchell
told the youth. “Sal Bonelli’s blood!
We can prove that, so you’d better tell
us about it.”

The young man simply glared at the
officers about him‘and said nothing.

As the day progressed, Detective
Mitchell and his colleagues fired ques-
tion after question at him. But De-
Caro merely stared them down. Then
Lieutenant Chameroy telephoned his
report on the murder gun. The test
shots were identical with the death
slugs!

The county detective confronted De-
Caro with this evidence. Norman
Stead was brought in to repeat his
story about the sale. The two tires left
at the gas station were brought in, and
finally the bloodstained handkerchief
which bore a laundry mark identified
as belonging to DeCaro was produced.

Stony-faced' at first, the 19-year-old
defense worker, who had been re-
jected in the draft because of over-
weight, wilted in the face of the evi-
dence and witnesses and confessed to
the crime.

“T just wanted enough money to get
married,” he said, “and thought killing
Sal was the easiest way to get hold of
it. Sal flashed his role a couple of
times and I decided to take it.”

Then he accompanied the investi-
gators to Worcester, where he pointed
out the spot where he buried $1508
taken from the victim.

Carl DeCaro was brought to trial
before Judge William F. Comley in
the Hartford Superior Court on No-
vember 30, 1943. State’s Attorney
Hugh M. Alcorn, Jr., presented the
evidence to the jury, and they found
DeCaro guilty of murder in the first
degree on December 16.

UDGE Comley passed sentence im- _

mediately, and DeCaro was con-
demned to die in the electric chair in
the State Prison at Wethersfield. How-
ever, an appeal by defense counsel au-
tomatically stayed the execution, and
no date was set.

The appeal from the verdict was
heard by the State Board of Pardons,
which upheld the decision of the lower
court, and Carl DeCaro walked the
last mile on May 3; 1944, when he paid
the price for his brutal crime.

Eprror’s Note: The names Joe Paffo,
Tony Blasi, Gus Rennick, Dominic
Guinazzo and Norman Stead, as used
in this true crime story, are fictitious,
to spare embarrassment to innocent
persons.

-”

ome: §

FAST &
ENOUGH!

by Harold A. Klein
TWO STOLEN CARS
COULDNT CARRY THE
PAROLEE FAR ENOUGH OR.
FAST ENOUGH TO AVOID

A COP-KILLER'S FATE

Bullet-riddled (rear) in hectic chase, the
stolen car driven by confessed slayer
was forced off the road, crashed into
tree. Driver was caught in near-by barn.

con tegen te pe SR NET

ONNECTICUT State Trooper

Ernest Morse, 33, was cruis-

ing in his patrol car on the

broad, tree-lined Merritt
Parkway when a black Oldsmobile
sedan went racing ahead in the
direction of Bridgeport.

Morse started after the speeding
automobile, sounding: his siren as
a signal for the driver to stop. In-
stead, the motorist increased speed.
Trooper Morse continued the chase
for more than ten miles, before he
finally forced the speeder off . the

“ road.

As Morse stepped out of the po-
lice car and approached the Olds-
mobile, the speeder—a dark-haired
youth in a grey overcoat—pulled out

‘a pistol and thrust it through the

window of the front door. Without
warning he fired a shot. Morse was
caught by surprise. He didn’t have
a chance to return fire. He fell to
the ground, bleeding badly from a

bullet wound in the abdomen. The*

speeder started up his motor and
took off on the parkway again.

A few minutes later a Navy chief
petty officer named Franklin Jen-

‘son saw an unusual sight as he

drove along the parkway. An empty
police car, was standing at the side
of the road, its red warning light
blinking steadily. As he slowed

down to glance at the car he noticed ,

eB z teases i tt

2 TT ‘

Guanes Officers Bria (, Hylenski remove suspect few questioning after capture

a weak blink of light on the ground
near the car. Jenson stopped his
automobile and got out to investi-
gate.

He found a white-faced trooper,
badly wounded, sprawled out on the
grass, signaling with a flashlight.
The policeman gasped a few words,
explained that he was Ernest Morse
and had been chasing a speeder.

“Oh God,” he groaned, “oh God

. . get me my rosary. It’s in my
pocket.”

Jenson hastened to obey the
trooper’s request. Then he took the
flashlight from Morse's hand and
tried to make him comfortable.

Morse mumbled a few details
about the license number of the elu-
sive Oldsmobile, and then asked the
Navy man to “go to the rear of the
car and radio for more help.”

e «® *

ENSON relayed the _ trooper’s

words to Westport police bar-
racks,’ and patrolmen all along the
parkway were alerted in a matter
of minutes. A state-wide manhunt,
one of the most intense in Con-
necticut’s history, soon got under-
way.

Troopers from the Westport bar-
racks rushed to the scene of the
shooting and sped Morse to Bridge-
port Hospital. There, only a half
hour after he had been shot, Morse,

TRUE CRIME

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TRUE CRIME

Stopping a speeding cor on Connecti-
cut’s Merritt Parkway led to the death
of State Trooper Ernest Morse, 33.

A TREACHEROUS BULLET

FELLED THE TROOPER —
A GIANT MANHUNT LED

TO SWIFT CAPTURE!

the father of two children, received
the last rites of the church. A short
while later he died.

Meanwhile, every available state
policeman, including all off-duty
patromen were pressed into the
search for Morse’s slayer. Local po-
lice throughout Fairfield County

also joined the search, setting up’

road blocks at strategic points on
both the parkway and nearby U.S.
Route 1, the Boston Post Road.

Within a few hours, police in
Trumbull, a mile away from the
scene of the shooting, located the
wanted car. It had been abandoned
by the speeder who apparently had
stolen another car, a 1951 Mercury,
shortly afterwards, and headed
south towards New York.

The wanted man was spotted as he
raced through Greenwich toward the
New York-Connecticut border.
Local police tried to stop the speed-
ing fugitive but he ignored them and
kept to the road. For almost a mile
police sirens dogged the slayer and
finally forced him off the parkway
and into roads leading to Cos Cob.

There the Mercury crashed into
a tree and the driver ran into a
garage nearby. A hailstorm of po-
lice bullets swished about the slayer
as he ran. By that time some forty
TRUE CRIME

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Greenwich policemen had converged
on the scene, Two bystanders at the
scene were wounded and taken to
nearby: Greenwich Hospital.

Police entered the garage and
found the fugitive, later identified
as John J. Donahue of Arlington,
Massachusetts, cowering under a

mattress. “I give up. Don’t shoot— .

I’m. unarmed,” he shouted to the
searchers,

Donahue walked out of the garage
with his hands up and without a
gun. But police found a .32 caliber

automatic near the mattress where
he had hidden. ;

State Police Commissioner Ed-
ward J. Hickey announced after
questioning Donahue that the
twenty-year-old reformatory pa-
rolee and auto thief, had confessed
to shooting Trooper Morse. The
youth was charged on a preliminary
count of assault with a deadly
weapon, and held without bail.

Police said he h previous
record of arrests for kidnapping and
automobile theft. END.

364 Conn. 109 ATLANTIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
consideration, was propef as guide in jury’s
. application of evidence offered on defense
that defendant had not formed a deliberate
and premeditated intent to kill,

141 Conn. 656
STATE of Connecticut

Vv.
John B. DONAHUE.

. Supreme Court of Errors of Connecticut. 4. Constitutional Law €=42

Noy. 9, 1954. No one may question the constitution-

ality of statute unless he is harmed by its
Prosecution for first degree murder. application.

The case was tried to jury. The Superior

Court in Fairfield County, Troland, J+ eM 5 Gonstitutlonal Law €>42

tered judgment of conviction and defend-

t led. The Supreme Court of Er-
wae Balto. J., held that conduct of de- for first degree murder had been death,

fendant, who had: placed loaded revolver additional provision, permitting jury to rec-
beside himself on seat of stolen automobile ommend alternative penalty <r Ley eggs
and, while being questioned by police offi- onment, had not harmed defendant, :

ek: released safety catch on gun, freed whose conviction for first degree muraer

hand brake of automobile, and then shot jury had not exercised that power, and de-

officer, was wilful, premeditated and
liberate and constituted murder in ‘the
degree.

Where only penalty upon conviction

de- fendant had no standing to attack validity
first of statute on the ground it permitted dis-
crimination because it did not establish
standards to. control exercise of jury's dis-
cretion. Gen.St.1949, § 8351; Gen.St.1953

Supp. § 2463c.

No error.

The appellant filed a motion for reargu-

ment which was denied. : a tied baie Oe

In prosecution for first degree mur-
der, charge which recited statute giving

: ae
gree, the killing must be wilful, deliberate jury power to recommend life impris

der conviction.
i 50. ment upon first degree mur
and premeditated. Gen.St.1949, § 83 Re a faty Wak atailory saiey aio

death, subject only to condition that jury

nian ASR in absolute discretion could recommend life

Conduct of defendant, who had placed imprisonment and that such recommenda-
loaded revolver beside himself on seat of tion should be made upon a consideration
stolen automobile and, while. being ques- of all the evidence, was proper. Gen.St.
tioned by police officer, released safety 949 § 9351; Gen.St.1953 Supp: § 2463¢.
catch on gun, freed hand brake of automo-
mobile and then shot officer, was wilful, 7. Criminal Law €>483
premeditated and deliberate and constitut-
ed murder in the first degree. Gen.St.1949,

§ 8350.

r
1. Homicide €=22(1)
To constitute murder in the first de-

In prosecution for first degree murder,
question asking physician to state differ-
ence between defendant’s conduct and that
3, Homicide €>286(3) of a normal person was too general.

Charge, which emphasized that proof 8. Criminal Law €>485(1)
of: wilfulness, deliberation and premedita-

indis-
‘on, beyond a reasonable doubt, was 1n r mn
peduarte to conviction for first degree mur- questions asking psychologist for his oP!

. . . : ° h
der, which pointed out the test for distin- ion concerning oo of Patan Jae
ishi ld be expected from defendant }
hing first and second degree murder, cou ns
ey which stated that defendant’s mental ferent situations called for pure spect

condition at time of shooting was a vital tion.

In prosecution for first degree murder,

STATE v. DONAHUE Conn. 365
Cite as 109 A.2d 364

9. Criminal Law €=470

In prosecution for first degree murder,
court properly excluded answers to two
hypothetical questions, asking psychologist
for his opinion on whether defendant had
acted in a deliberate, wilful and premedi-
tated manner when he shot police officer,
since it was in jury’s province to determine
whether defendant had so acted.

Albert L. Coles and Philip H. Smith,
Bridgeport, for appellant (defendant).

Lorin W. Willis, State’s Atty., Bridge-
port, with whom, on the brief, was Otto js
Saur, Asst. State’s Atty., Bridgeport, for
appellee (State).

Before INGLIS, C. J. and BALDWIN,
O'SULLIVAN, WYNNE and. DALY,
Jj.

BALDWIN, Associate Justice.

The defendant has appealed, after a trial
to a jury, from his conviction on a charge
of murder in the first degree. He.assigns
error in the refusal of the trial court to
set aside the verdict, in the charge, in the
finding, and in rulings made during the trial.

We shall consider first the denial of the
motion to set aside the verdict. The jury
could reasonably have found the following
facts: On Friday, February 13, 1953, about
9 o'clock in the evening, Officer Ernest
Morse of the Connecticut State Police was
found lying in the westbound lane of the
Merritt Parkway in the town of Trumbull.
He was suffering from a wound inflicted
by a bullet fired from a revolver. He died
shortly thereafter.

The defendant, age twenty, was living
with his parents in Arlington, Massachu-
setts. He was on parole from the Concord
reformatory in that state. About, 5 o’clock
in the afternoon preceding the shooting,
he stole an Oldsmobile sedan in Brookline,
Massachusetts, and set out for New York
City, where he had arranged to meet a
young woman at 9:30 that evening. He
Placed on the seat beside him a revolver

which he had previously stolen, loaded with
bullets he had also stolen. About twenty-
two minutes before nine the defendant
stopped at a gasoline station on the Wilbur
Cross Parkway in North Haven. After he
left the station he drove at a high rate of
speed. Officer Morse saw him and gave
chase. He overtook and stopped the de-
fendant in the town of Trumbull near the
Stratford line. The officer parked his car
off the pavement in front of the Oldsmobile.
He alighted and approached the Oldsmobile
on the driver’s side. He asked for the de-
fendant’s license and registration. The
defendant, having no license, handed the
officer his wallet. While the officer was
looking at the wallet the defendant picked
up the gun from the seat beside him, took
the safety catch off and leaned over and
released the hand brake of the car. At
this point the officer said, “Hey.” The de-
fendant pulled the gun and shot him. The
officer fell to the ground, The defendant
replaced his gun on the seat and sped away.
He left the parkway in Trumbull, aban-
doned the Oldsmobile, stole a Mercury and
proceeded toward New York on the Post
Road. Recognized and pursucd by the
police, who had been alerted, he quit the
Mercury in Greenwich after a burst of
machine gun fire and ran and hid in the
loft of a garage. Discovered, he surrender-
ed. The revolver with which he had shot
Officer Morse was found in the garage
where he had been hiding.

[1,2] To constitute murder in the first
degree, the killing must be wilful, deliberate
and premeditated. General Statutes §
8350; State v. Dortch, 139 Conn. 317, 323,
93 A.2d 490. The defendant, at the time
he shot Officer Morse, was on parole from
a penal institution. To be apprehended
with a stolen automobile would mean the
termination of his parole. He had placed
a loaded revolver on the seat beside him
when he left Brookline in the stolen auto-
mobile. While the officer was questioning
him, he released the safety catch on the
gun and freed the hand brake, prepara-
tory to dashing off in the car to escape
arrest. Such conduct spells wilfulness,
premeditation and deliberation. State v.

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366 Conn.

Dortch, supra; State v. Smith, 138 Conn.
196, 202, 82 A.2d 816; State v. Palko, 121
Conn. 669, 676, 186 A. 657; State v. Sim-
borski, 120 Conn. 624, 629, 182 A. 221. If
the jury refused to find. that the defendant
was mentally incapable of committing a
wilful, deliberate and premediated killing,

- and if they had been properly instructed re-

garding the consideration of the testimony
offered to establish that fact, and its legal
effect on their verdict, a verdict of guilty
of murder in the first. degree was inevitable.
The motion to set aside the. verdict as
against the evidence was properly denied.
We now consider the assignments of
error addressed to the charge. The defend-
ant did. not testify in his own behalf. He
offered evidence to prove the following
facts: He is the oldest of three children
born of respectable parents. His father
has continuously held a responsible execu-
tive position. ‘His mother, a schoolteacher:
before her marriage, has been a good home-
maker and housewife. His brother’ and
sister have grown up as good and obedient
children. The family has always had a
comfortable home in good surroundings.
In his childhood, the defendant’ was un-
usually active and energetic but. was irre-
sponsible and impulsive, in his conduct.,’ He
had no-affection for his parents in spite
of their efforts to. win his confidence and
love, At timés he showed deep hostility:
toward them. His conduct in nursery and
grade school was not good. When he ap-
plied himself he did well, but he did ‘not
choose to apply himself. He took no-part
in sports because he was a poor loser. He
gave up piano lessons because he would
not practice. In his early teens he under-
took: the hobby of constructing model air-
planes. He later turned to radio, working
alone in the attic of his home, where a place
was provided for him. It was thought that
he was showing~real interest and some
aptitude in this field until it was discovered
that a’ television set he represented as
having been made by him was in fact stolen.

His criminal career began with the theft
of a jukebox from a hotel. This precipi-
tated a police investigation which . dis+

109 ATLANTIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

closed that he had stolen the materials for
the radios he had. constructed. He. was
presented in several town courts and placed
on probation. _ Arrested in connection with
the theft of-an automobile, he was sub-
jected to a further period of probation.
On recommendation of the probation officer,
the parents consulted Dr. Philip Quinn, a
qualified psychiatrist,. who ‘examined and
treated the defendant. While under treat-
ment, he was arrested for kidnapping and
attempting to rape a young girl. In April,
1952, after two years’ confinement at the
Concord reformatory, he was released. His
family had: moved the previous December
to a new-home some distance from the old
one in order.:to, give him a fresh start.
The defendant went to work where his
father was employed. During this period
his father ‘ discovered’ a revolver in his
possession. ''After some ‘difficulty he surren-
dered it to his parents. The defendant was
later admitted to college, having completed
high school studies while in the reforma-
tory. In college he did very well for a time
but ceased to apply ‘himself. His grades
became poor. While at college he made the
acquaintance ‘of a young man and they
went out together socially. This young man
observed him as retiring, overly mature,
a boy who did not enjoy sports or mix with
the college crowd.

“ Shortly after the first of January, 1953,
the defendant, obtained employment at 4
pharmacy .in Boston where “he worked
evenings and week ends. On February 11,
he made an appointment to meet a young
woman in New. York. the following Friday
night at 9:30. He had met her previously
while in the company of his college friend.
On Friday, February 13, he left home, pre-
sumably for work in the pharmacy. He
later called his mother to say that he was
going to a party that evening.’ Instead,
he stole the Oldsmobile in Brookline and
started for New -York City.

Dr. Quinn, who treated the defendant
from November, 1949, to February, 1950,
diagnosed ‘his condition then as “primary
behavior disorders with neurotic traits.”
The defendant: showed signs of nervous-

Ral ee

STATE v. DONAHUE *°* *" Conn. ~~“ 367
Cite as 109 A.2d 364

ness, tension, anxiety concerning himself,
concern over his appearance and a feeling
of .insecurity.: The troubles he got into
were impulsive acts and in ‘retrospect he
knew the difference between right and
wrong. Dr. Quinn again examined the de-
fendant:in the county jail in Bridgeport on
May 13, 1953. He diagnosed his condition
as a character disorder called “psychopath-
ic personality.” . This is a term applied to
a group of reactions characterized by a
lack of insight and judgment, hostility, ag-
gressive behavior, egocentricity and lack
of emotional concern. A psychopath may
know what he is doing and yet, simultane-
ously, act impulsively. Dr. Quinn could
not say whether at the time of the shooting
the defendant knew what he was doing or
whether he was’ acting impulsively: and
without deliberate: premeditation or judg-
ment. .Dr. Larry Hemmendinger, a quali-
fied clinical psychologist, also conducted a
series of psychological examinations of the
defendant at the’ county. jail. He found
that the defendant had an intelligence quo-
tient of 130, which is superior. In simple
situations the defendant was able to do ex-
ceptionally well... When .the test became
more difficult he acted impulsively, his abil-
ity to use his intelligence was lost and he
acted under emotional forces without ra-
tional control. .Dr. Hemmendinger stated
that the defendant’s' condition: affected his
ability’ to reason, or to think out a course
of conduct. At the time he shot the ofh-
cer, the defendant knew the difference be-
tween right and wréng in’an abstract sense
but was unable to apply, or to act upon,
this knowledge, -In° Dr. Hemmendinger’s
opinion, the defendant is an impulsive, ego-
centric person who does not learn from
experience or react with the normal, ex-
pected, emotional reactions.' His behavior
is characterized by impulsivity. Upon the
evidence, the defendant maintained that he
was not guilty of murder in the first de-
gree because he had not formed a delib-
erate and premeditated intent to kill.

The defendant did not claim that he was
insane. He did claim that by reason of
his mental deficiencies or the abnormal
condition of his mind he was guilty of mur-

der only in the second degree. The error
assigned is the alleged failure of the court
to present this issue properly to the jury
‘and the withdrawal of it from their con-
sideration. ‘ In passing upon these claims,
we must bear in mind that the crime
charged was that the defendant “wilfully,
‘deliberately, with premeditation and malice
aforethought, did shoot and kill” Officer
Morse. In its charge, the court empha-
sized that’ proof of wilfulness, delibera-
tion and premeditation, beyond a reason-
able doubt, was indispensable to a convic-
tion of murder in the first degree. The
-court explained to the ‘jury that murder
under our law is divided into two degrees,
first and second, that only a wilful, delib-
erate and: premeditated killing is murder
in the first degree, and that all other kinds
of. murder constitute murder in the second
degree. The court pointed out specifical-
ly that these terms furnish the test for. dis-
tinguishing between murder in the first and
murder. in the second degree. It charged
that the jury could find murder in the first
degree only if there were “mind enough
and will enough on the part of the perpe-
trator to form a specific intent to choose his
course upon consideration and especially
to form his purpose and put it into action,
and mind enough and will power enough
and reasoning power enough to plan and
arrive at the specific design and intent to
kill and. to carry out that plan.” The court
discussed the time necessary for delibera-
tion and premeditation and pointed out that
a killing committed in a sudden burst of
passion or uncontrolled anger: lacked the
element of deliberation. It then charged
that “a killing by one who for any cause
at the time the act was committed was in-
capable of conceiving and carrying into ex-
ecution a deliberate plan to kill or was
mentally incapable of intent or premedita-
tion or who was beyond the power of self
control at the time lacks the necessary ele-
ments of murder in the first degree.” The
court called the attention of the jury to the
claims made by the defendant and told
them that his mental condition at the time
of the shooting was a vital consideration.
It specifically said that “[t]o be the subject
of punishment one must have mind and ca-

oh Hf 8

VITEV OS,

Bln ermir

SCHOOL oF LAW

HE HAD BEEN CONVICTED OF MOLESTING
LITTLE GIRLS. HE HAD BEEN PAROLED.

BUT THE URGE HAD NOT BEEN STIFLED

AND HIS PANIC HAD EVEN INCREASED

OLESTING

PAROLED.

N STIFLED

CREASED

by JOHN CAMERON

WATERBURY, CONN., JUNE 3, 1957

m@ The new girl in town was named
Gaetane Boivin. The name alone would

‘have -attracted a certain amount of at-

tention among the youth of Waterbury
but, as it was, there were other things

too that made them take a long second

look at Gaetane as she walked down the
street. She was a tall, long-legged girl of
17, very pretty and also—they learned
—very shy. Part of the shyness came
from the fact that she did not speak
English very well. She had come to
Waterbury with her family from the
little Quebec town of Lac Megnetic in
French-speaking. Canada.

The Boivin family was large (nine
children) and very devoted to one an-
other. Gaetane took part-time jobs do-

_ ing light housekeeping to help out, and

at night she took courses in English at
the Waterbury high school.

In Lac Megnetic, Gaetane had known
everybody and, until she came to Wa-
terbury, had little idea what it meant
to have to make new friends. She found
that in her new surroundings everybody
was a stranger and very busy, and that
friendships were hard to come by when
you didn’t know the. language very
well . . . especially hard if you were a
little shy to begin with.

The young men decided to put off
making her acquaintance until she got
to the point where they could talk to
her more easily. They contented them-
selves, meantime, with just looking . . .
which was also a- pleasure in Gaetane’s
case.

After several months in Waterbury,
Gaetane made. a few friends . . . but
to most she. remained a beautiful girl
with an exotic name and an aura of
mystery. ...

The mystery became full fledged and
official on May 10, when Waterbury po-
lice received a call from Gaetane’s fa-
ther. His voice was tired and worried.
He told them that his daughter had not
come’ home the night before and that
he was very concerned. Could the police
help? The desk officer took down the

continued on page 51

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Meanwhile, Edgar Falk’s alibi was
verified completely.

No trace had been found of the girl’s
lunch box or her watch, and although
discarded screwdrivers by the dozen had
been picked up, none seemed to have
been stained with blood.

THEN. on Friday, about dawn, a. po-
liceman patroling Wolf Hollow Road
in Glenville, New York, near Schenec-
tady, spotted a 1937 sedan with Con-
necticut markers parked at the side of
the road. A man badly in need of a
shave was asleep in the car, which was
packed untidily with all sorts of
possessions.

The trooper roused the man and
asked for his identification. He said he
was John Spinoza, 26, of Simsbury,
Connecticut.

On Monday, the day Bee Jay was
killed, he said he was in Howe’s Cave,
near Schenectady, and on Tuesday in
Pittsfield, Massachusetts.

In the car were an assortment of
clothes, a toy pistol and several comic
books. -

Spinoza was taken to Schenectady
and Sheriff Harold Calkins (no rela-
tive of Connecticut Sergeant Calkins)
notified Captain Clarke in Bristol.

Connecticut State Policeman Ernest
Schrader and Bristol Policeman Edward
Egliskis were sent to Schenectady to
talk to the man.

That same day, Friday, Sergeant Cal-
kins decided it was time to have an-
other talk with George Davies. With
Bristol Detective Daniel MacPherson,
he went to Davies’ trailer in Thomaston.

Davies had done nothing untoward
in the several days during which he
was kept under constant surveillance,
and he was affable.

“Still checking up on me?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Calkins. “I wish you'd tell
the truth.”

“I did,” Davies protested.

“No,” said Calkins, ‘you lied to me
the other day. You didn’t go to Hart-
ford to look for a job. You were in
Plymouth Monday morning.”

“Who says I was there?”

“Never mind who says so. What were
you doing there?”

Davies declared, “I wasn’t there. I
might have driven through on my way
to Hartford but that’s all.”

“Okay,” said Calkins. “So you drove
through. Let’s take a ride to Bristol.
The Captain wants to talk to you.”

Davies made a gesture of resigna-
tion. “Let me wash up first.”

He went into the bathroom. Calkins
and MacPherson heard the water run,
then a minute later Davies emerged.

The trip from Thomaston started in
silence, neither officer wanting to ask
any questions en route to Bristol. They
had been on the road about ten min-
utes when Calkins noticed that Davies
appeared to be dozing. The Sergeant
shook him, but he did not respond.

“‘He’s in a stupor,” Calkins exclaimed.
“Step on it and head for Bristol Hos-
pital!”

In Davies’ right trousers pocket, Cal-
kins found an empty bottle. It bore a
druggist’s label.

The car roared over the roads and
when it reached Bristol Hospital the
officers dragged Davies out and into the
building. A few minutes later, a doc-
tor was pumping out the man’s stomach.

A telephone call to the druggist dis-
closed that the empty bottle had con-
tained nembutal capsules, a sedative.
Obviously, Davies had taken advantage
of the few moments while he was in
the bathroom to swallow several, enough
to affect him almost immediately.

The quick action of the two officers
had saved his life and doctors said the
man would be none the worse for his
experience but he would have to stay
in the hospital at least overnight.

The next morning, Saturday, Davies
was pronounced physically able to leave
the hospital. Captain Clarke author-
ized a charge of breach of the peace
lodged against him in connection with
the apparent attempt to commit sui-
cide and he was held under arrest.

Hours of questioning brought no ad-
mission from Davies. During the night
guards found him trying to hang him-
self with a noose fashioned from his
own shirt.

At six o'clock Sunday evening, May
19, as Sergeant Calkins was about to be

‘relieved for a few hours’ rest—he had

gone almost six full days with only cat-
naps—he suggested to Captain Clarke,
“Let me make one more try to get the
truth out of him.”

Clarke agreed.

“Why don’t you get this thing off your
mind?” Calkins asked the man. “You've
tried to kill yourself with sleeping pills
and you wanted to hang yourself. An
innocent man doesn’t do those things.”

Davies made no response.

“Your conscience will bother you as
long as you. live unless you tell the
truth,” Calkins persisted.

Davies stared at the Sergeant for sev-
eral seconds. Finally he said, “Give me
a cigaret.” Calkins handed him one.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”

Soon, Chief McCarthy, Captain
Clarke, County Detective Laden and
other officers arrived in response to
Calkins’ urgent message. Wolcott Police
Chief Whalen and State Police Com-
missioner John D. Kelly followed. -

OR several hours the officials re-
mained closeted with Davies. At
12:45 a. m. Monday, May 20, they
emerged with Davies, his face drawn in
deep lines, his eyes red. He covered his
face with his hands as he was taken to
another room.

Chief McCarthy and County Detec-
tive Laden made a brief announcement;
“George James Davies has made a de-
tailed confession to the slaying of
Brenda Jane Doucette.”

The details came later. According to
the version of Davies’ statement as re-
lated by the authorities, this is what
happened:

On Monday morning, May 13, Davies
was roaming around the Falls Mountain
area in his car when he saw a little girl
approach in the distance. He pulled
over to the north side of the road and
got a bumper jack, which he quickly
slipped under the rear of his sedan.

When Bee Jay was almost abreast of
the automobile on the other side of the
road, he called to her and asked her to
get him a tool in the car.

The child, shy, refused and was about

to continue on her way but Davies-

shouted to her and promised she
wouldn’t be hurt. The right door was
open; she crossed the road and leaned
in to look for the tool.

Davies ran around to the side and
pushed the child inside, slamming the
door. It stuck; he knew it would. She
couldn’t get out. He ran to the left
side, got into the car and drove away.

Davies drove about three miles south
to Beacon Heights Road, the fright-
ened child screaming louder and louder.
Panicky lest someone hear, he stopped
his car on a dead-end road. He dragged
the little girl from the sedan.

“She began to fight again,” the police
version quoted Davies, “and I was
scared. I don’t know what made me do
it but I choked her with her sweater.”

Then, he said, he took the screw-
driver and plunged it into her body re-
peatedly. He hid the girl’s body and got
back into his car after taking her lunch
box and watch.

That, authorities said, was Davies’
story. At dawn Monday, May 20, he
accompanied officers and reenacted his
crime. He led them to culverts in Wa-
terville and Plymouth, and police re-
covered the screwdriver and lunch box,

,exactly where they claimed he said he

had discarded them.

Davies was returned to Bristol,
charged with murder on a coroner’s
warrant, quickly arraigned and ordered
held in the New Haven County Jail with-
out bond pending an inquest.

Chief Inspector Bendler of Water-
bury, notified of the man’s admissions,
still searching for Gaetane Boivin,
asked for permission to question him.
Arrangements were made for May 21.

That afternoon Charles Williams,
nineteen, was hunting in the Mattatuck
Forest of Waterbury when he saw what
appeared to be a bundle of clothing in
a ditch. He approached; it was a body
in a white dress with a printed umbrella
design.

Officers had difficulty reaching the

scene. The paved section of Greystone #

Road ended a half mile away.

The body was in a bad state of de-
composition and recognition would be
impossible, but from the clothing offi-
cers knew at once that at last they had
found what had happened to sixteen-
year-old Gaetane. The dress was white
with blue, umbrella-like figures. She
wore white bobby socks and a pair of
loafers. Gaetane’s mother had de-
scribed her daughter’s clothes as such.

Doctor Edward H. Kirschbaum, Medi-
cal Examiner, estimated that the girl
had been dead more than a week. Be-
cause of the deterioration, he could not
determine the cause of death in a
cursory examination.

The place where the body had been
found was only three miles southwest
of the wooded area where Bee Jay
Doucette was slain.

In the hospital, the autopsy was be-
gun immediately. First, positive identi-
fication was established from a gold
friendship ring and a dental plate.

Then Doctor Kirschbaum reported
that despite damage caused by choking,
death was not due to strangulation.
Gaetane had died as a result of about
30 thrusts with a weapon about three
inches long, an ice pick or a screw-
driver. Twelve of them had penetrated
the lower left lung and three had gone
into the heart.

The deadly parallel was apparent.
Now, Bendler had to see George Davies.

Davies was taken from the New Haven
County Jail to the Bethany barracks
of the State Police.

It didn’t take long. One glance at the
slain girl’s white cotton dress with the
blue designs was enough, and soon, po-
lice said, the whole story came out.

CCORDING to Deputy Coroner
Healey, Davies said that on the
morning of May 9 he had seen Gaetane’s
“Situations Wanted” advertisement in
the Waterbury Republican.

He called the number listed in the ad-
vertisement and Gaetane answered the
telephone.

Davies arranged to pick her up at
9:30. He did and drove her along
Cherry Street to North Square, then up

_ North’ Main Street to Chase Avenue,

Homer .Street and then to Thomaston
Avenue. He said little to her, for she
spoke little English and he didn’t know
any French.

The girl was not suspicious of his in-
tentions, he said, and he continued to
Greystone Road.

Beyond the trestle, he said, he stopped
his car and tried to draw her close and
she slapped his face. :

Incensed, he said, he seized her throat
with his hands and pressed hard for
some time; just how long, he could not
remember. He got a screwdriver and
stabbed her, then started his car again
and drove over the almost impassable
terrain for about a half mile.

He pushed her out of the car there
and stabbed her again and again, leav-
ing her in the ditch.

Davies told this story with little emo-
tion, police said, and later went with
them and reenacted this crime, too,
leading them to a wooded spot where he
said he had thrown the second screw-
driver. It was there.

John Spinoza, of course, was absolved
in the case. >

Davies was returned to the New
Haven County Jail to await further.
action.

On May 28, 1957, he was indicted on
two counts of murder for the slaying of
Brenda Jane Doucette and Gaetane
Boivin.

The names John Spinoza, Fred

Archer, Vincent Boynton and Edgar

Falk, as used in this story, are fictitious. a

ys HUA, 3s

ab 530590

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eee

SikE a; tore vee

* ss Se a pe
oe aa a ee ET AES RTE

Two weeks after the pretty French Canadian disap j
peared, her body was Her job ad was red b h
found here and a confession obtained from a man already behind bars. should have wort "Tas ditaauiciona”” lolol.

TWICE ... THE SAME SCREAMS, SAME PANIC, SAME SCREWDRIVER

Officer Walter Martin points to spot in woods where nine- Id’ Di
body was found. With him, Officer T. R. Cocca and Trooper M. T Conroy. isan penapver of Beekda wae-pobrell tn

informat
,sound |
about, |
vestigate
The co
involved
and ma
When h
any hel;
to the ]
mation.
Mr. a
nervous.
the offic:
informat
The B
“Wher
ter?”
Mrs.
her hust
morning
at work :
had onl
sult of a
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come ho:
a note f
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work be
eleven a
The. not
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calls anc
late,” tl
stayed <
knowing
her at al
‘Do y
detective
Mrs.
graph of
before.
“Does
“No,”
plained
chance ti
had com
a few gir
dated.
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picture.
any boyf
The B:
The de
his pocke
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“She mig
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forgot to
The pa
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“Boys
asking fo:

—&. CALKINS

vho lived in the farm-
ike a grave, doesn’t it?
pose is buried there?”
it and find out,” came
zgestion. This was
of the boys ran home
few minutes later the
spade biting into the
n the clearing.
‘'t had been removed
when suddenly one of
i sharp cry.
foot! A man’s foot
realized what they had
rys set to clearing away
Presently most of the
i to view. Then, unable
horror any longer, the
) the farmhouse where
out their story to the
ado he marched to the
iled the police.
later Policeman Earl
panied by a citizen, P.
_ arrived at the farm in
e four boys led them to
newcomers approached
looked over the corpse.
‘It it. Rigor mortis had

n dead very long, Earl,”
Know who he is?”

led soberly, his gaze in-
- all the details. “Yes.

STARTLING

He was brought into the station not so
long ago on a gambling charge. He was
fined twenty-five dollars. He’s Salva-
tore Bonelli.”

“He sure got it, didn’t he?”

Reynolds nodded again. The man’s
head was riddled with bullets. “Of
course, it might be a gang killing,” he
said, “but gangsters usually just dump
their victims out somewhere without
burying them.”

O’Brien straightened up and looked
around at the dry, sandy ground. A few
feet away the tracks of automobile tires
were visible. “Look, Earl. There are
the marks of some car tires. Let’s see
where they go.”

The two men, stepping cautiously to
avoid marring any tracks, followed them
along for some distance toward the main
thoroughfare. Part of the way to the
street they discovered a good impression
of the worn tire treads. Officer Rey-
nolds found a board and covered it up.

“This may help us when the state

police -get here,” he said.

Returning to the corpse, they waited
until Dr. Frank F. Simonton, the medical
examiner, arrived.

Under his direction the two men com-
pletely exhumed the corpse, digging
carefully to avoid injuring it. Then the
medical examiner made a thorough ex-
amination. The cause of death was im-
mediately apparent. Six bullet holes
were found in the head. A seventh bullet
hole was discovered in the man’s back.

“There’s no question about this case, is
there, Doc?” Reynolds asked.

DETECTIVE

“Not likely,” Dr. Simonton replied,
“although, of course, I can’t tell which
bullet actually caused death until I per-
form the autopsy.”

“Any idea how long he’s been dead?”

Dr. Simonton shrugged. “Not long.
Let’s see. It’s a little after eight now.
Offhand, I’d say he must have been
killed about six o'clock.”

“Only two hours ago?” Reynolds
queried. “Any chance that he might have
been buried alive?”

“That’s hard to tell,” the medical ex-
aminer said, “until the autopsy. If
there’s any evidence of suffocation, then
that’s a distinct possibility.”

Reynolds turned to the boys, who
stood, gaping at the officers, a few feet
away.

“Did you boys hear an automobile
drive away from here this morning ?”

They shook their heads.

“We didn't see or hear anything,” one
of them spoke up. “When we came along
here we just saw a mound of fresh dirt.
We were curious about it, that’s all.”

“That’s fine, boys,” Reynolds ap-
proved. “If it hadn’t been for you, the
chances are that a murderer might have
gotten away with this, The fact that
you found the body so soort is going to
make it easier for us to find him.”

Soon the first group of state police-
men arrived, coming from the Enfield
Barracks near by. They were com-
mandet! by Lieut. Gene S, Lenzi. At the
same time Police Chief William J. Flem-
ing, of Thompsonville, rolled up to the
scene. The first arrivals were followed

This youth wanted money. He believed
the answer to his problem lay in murder.
He took his “payoff” when he shot Bon-
elli, then robbed and buried the victim.

a short time later by County
Detective Joseph F. Mitchell,
of Hartford County, and experts
from the state police headquar-
ters in Hartford, including
Lieut. Frank V. Chameroy, the
state police identification spe-
cialist.

Chameroy got busy at once
making a plaster cast of the tire
print. At the same time other
troopers were busy searching
the locale, looking for anything
which might have a bearing on
the crime.

Under the direction of Lieut. Lenzi,
troopers went through the clothing of
the dead man. In his inside coat pocket
they found his wallet. In it was his social
security card, showing that Salvatore
Bonelli, 61, of Thompsonville, was em-
ployed in a near-by manufacturing con-
cern making war goods.

“How much cash is there in his
wallet?” Chief Fleming asked. “He had
the reputation of carrying a large sum on
his person at all times.”

The state trooper opened the flap of
the wallet, then looked up inquiringly at
the chief.

“He may have had that reputation,”
he said dryly, “but his wallet’s empty
now.”

“There’s the motive for this, then,”
Chief Fleming said. ‘(He was robbed.”

The state trooper continued his search
of the victim’s clothing without finding
anything else of interest.

“The robbery could be camouflage,”
Reynolds observed, “for some other
reason. Revenge, perhaps.”

Chief Fleming nodded soberly. “Could
be. Bonelli was known as a gambler.
He might have welshed on a bet.”

“That’s an angle to check on,” Lenzi
said. ‘‘We’ve had a break in the quick
discovery of this killing. Now we've got
to capitalize on it.”

cea half a dozen state
policemen, Lieut. Lenzi ordered two
of them to go to Bonelli’s home and in-
terview the members of his family. At
the suggestion of Chief Fleming, two
other troopers accompanied Officer
Reynolds to the downtown district to
check up on Bonelli’s associates in the
community's night life.

‘We can’t stop with that,” Lenzi said.
“We've got to look into every aspect of
this man’s life. Somewhere we’re bound
to find the reason for this killing.”

Acting on this observation, he dis-
patched the remaining two troopers to
the defense plant where Bonelli worked
to make inquiries among his fellow
workers and his employers.

A few minutes after they left a man
approached the group and sought out
Lenzi. “I own a garage down the line
here in Thompsonville,’ he said. He

a ay

{Oo et ag

BeCARO, Carlo

woods outside

Elm Street in Thompsonville,

Conn., a small city near the Massa-
chusetts border. The autumn air was
sharp and they shivered. It was early
Saturday morning, Sept. 25, 1943.

At Thompsonville’s outskirts, the boys
stopped in at a farmhouse. Here two
more lads about their own age were
awaiting them. A truck bound for Haz-
ardville was expected along soon, and it
would pick them all up. With the Christ-
mas season drawing near, the boys were
going to earn some extra money by pick-
ing tobacco.

T HE two boys walked briskly along

Four boys asollng through the

hompsonville
Conn., saw a fresh mound of
earth. They dug into it, uncover-
ing the body of Salvatore Bonelli,
right. County Detective Joseph
F. Mitchell (below) found the
death gun and its missing part.

James, wh, elec. CTSP (Hartford) May

Time passed at the farmhouse with
the youthful quartet growing more im-
patient by the minute as the truck failed
to show up. Eager to find some release
for their restless energies while they
waited, they quickly agreed to one of the
group’s suggestion that they take a short
walk in the near-by woods.

Talking and laughing, they set off
gaily. They had not gone far when they
came to a little clearing at the end of a
narrow road which jutted off Elm Street.
They started to cross it when they
saw a mound of freshly dug earth.

“I’ve never noticed that before,” said

3, 1944

CHARLES E. CALKINS

one of the boys who lived in the farm-
house. “It looks like a grave, doesn’t it?
What do you suppose is buried there?”

“We can dig in it and find out,” came
the prompt suggestion. This was
seconded and one of the boys ran home
fora shovel. A few minutes later the
sound of a sharp spade biting into the
earth resounded in the clearing.

Not much dirt had been removed
from the mound when suddenly one of
the boys uttered a sharp cry.

“Look! It’s a foot! A man’s foot!”

Now that they realized what they had
uncovered, the boys set to clearing away
the earth quickly. Presently most of the
body was exposed to view. Then, unable
to contain their horror any longer, the
boys ran.back to the farmhouse where
they stammered out their story to the
farmer. Without ado he marched to the
telephone and called the police.

A short time later Policeman Earl
Reynolds, accompanied by a citizen, P.
Edward O’Brien, arrived at the farm in
a police car. The four boys led them to
the grave. The newcomers approached
it carefully and looked over the corpse.
Gingerly they felt it. Rigor mortis had
not yet set in. ©

“He hasn’t been dead very long, Earl,”
O’Brien said. “Know who he is?”

Reynolds nodded soberly, his gaze in-
tently absorbing all the details. “Yes.

STARTLING

He was brc
long ago on
fined twent
tore Bonelli
“He sure
Reynolds
head was
course, it n
said, ‘“‘but ;
their victir
burying the
O’Brien
around at tl
feet away t!
were visib]
the marks
where they
The two
avoid marri
along for sc
thoroughfa:
street they «
of the wor
nolds founc
“This m
police -get
Returnin
until Dr. F:
examiner, <
Under hi
pletely ex!
carefully tc
medical ex:
amination.
mediately
were found
hole was d
“There’s
there, Doc

DETECTI\

Here is the woodland in which a murderer hastily interred his
victim’s body. The killer’s route into the glade is described by the ¥.
dotted line. He left the road, opposite page, right, drove into the &
lane, buried Bonelli, then came out again to continue his journey. ey

held out a wet, pink-streaked handker-
chief. “I found it this morning. When
I heard about the murder I thought at
once it might have some connection with
it.”

Lenzi took the sodden cloth. “Where
did you find this ?”

“Well, it was this way,” the garage
owner explained. “When I opened up
today I discovered that the water in the
testing stand I have for checking inner
tubes for leaks was all bloody. I tipped
the stand over to fill it with clean water
and there was this handkerchief.”

“What time do you open up?”

“Seven-thirty,” the garage man re-
plied. “I was a little late this morning,
though.”

Lenzi nodded thoughtfully. He handed
the handkerchief over to Lieut. Chame-
roy for preservation and turned back to
the garage owner.

“Seven-thirty?” he repeated. “And
the boys found the body about eight.
The medical examiner puts the time of
death at about six o'clock. Well, that
narrows the time down for us, all right.
Did you see anyone at your garage?”

“No. This testing stand is outside.
Anyone could have used it.”

“That shows whoever shot Bonelli got
a lot of blood on him,” Lenzi commented.
“So much that he had to stop and wash
it off. Well, that’s fine. Much obliged
for your co-operation.”

County Detective Mitchell, who had

been going over the ground closely,
came back to Lenzi.

“Whoever committed the murder,” he
said, “tried to dig a grave several other
spots. Look over there. And there.” He
pointed to places where the dirt had
been displaced for a few inches before a
rocky ledge forced abandonment.

Mitchell returned to his intensive
search of the locality, disappearing from
time to time in the leafy shrubbery which
lined the old cart road. After some time
he raised a shout which brought the
police officers to his side.

“Here’s the murder gun!” Mitchell
exclaimed. He held it out in his hand,
using a handkerchief to protect whatever
fingerprints might be on it. The police
officers regarded it closely. The revolv-
ing bullet chamber was missing. Mitchell
held the gun to his nose and smelled it.
“This is the one, all right. You can still
smell the burned powder.”

“Where’s the bullet chamber?” asked

Lenzi.
. “It must’ve dropped out,” Mitchell
said. “Or maybe the killer took it out.
We'll find it, It should be somewhere
around,”

Lenzi examined the gun. It was a .22
caliber revolver, of a type which usually
held seven bullets, He nodded with sat-
isfaction. That agreed with the medical
checkup on the body. The corpse had
been riddled with seven slugs. That
meant the murderer had emptied his gun

roa
al oe

into Bonelli and then had thrown it away.
He wrote down the serial number. Later
he would have that checked with avail-
able records. Then he handed the gun
to Chameroy.

“Take this, Frank,’ he said, “and
check the ballistics. You can get the bul-
lets from the medical examiner.”

Mitchell, meanwhile, was continuing
his quest. It was not long before he re-
turned to the death scene. In his hand
was: a bullet chamber. Carefully they
put it into the revolver. It fitted per-
fectly.

“Well, that takes care of that,”
Mitchell said with satisfaction, “When
we get the name of the person who
registered the gun, then we'll have some-
thing.”

Lenzi shook his head dubiously.

“Don’t count on that,” he warned.
“You know what the Connecticut law is.
Only a gun which is carried on the per-
son has to be registered. A man can
keep a revolver in his home and no one
would ever know because there wouldn’t
be any record of it.”

“That’s right,” nodded
“Well, let’s hope for a break.”

The policemen who had been detailed
to check with the dead man’s family were
the first to report back to Lieut. Lenzi,
who had gone with the other investiga-
tors to the Thompsonville police head-
quarters,

Mitchell.

STARTLING

Bonelli,
rated from
dead man’s
had been ki
time. From
learn, Mrs,
ship of any
many mont
bility, they
any clue in
lead to the

“Did yc
woman ?” a:

The office

“There’s
have becon
went on. ‘A
look like th
would have
anyway. S
about Bon:
would help 1

After the:
over the fac:
The most
was that tl
Bonelli’s box
known to |
large sums
Lenzi was «
as the moti
that the m
knew the de
his custom.

The fact t
in an isolat
Bonelli bee:
how had tk
happened tc
kind of a pl:
a rendezvo'
early in the
expect. The
for their pre

He wond
reverted to
been on his

DETECTI\

n had thrown it away.
serial number. Later
t checked with avail-
1 he handed the gun

ink,” he said, “and
You can get the bul-
:al examiner.”
‘hile, was continuing
10t long before he re-
h scene. In his hand
nber. Carefully they
volver. It fitted per-

kes care of that,”
1 satisfaction. “When
of the person who
then we'll have some-

head dubiously.
n that,” he warned.
he Connecticut law is.
is carried on the per-
zistered. A man can
his home and no one
yecause there wouldn’t
nodded Mitchell.
‘or a break.”
who had been detailed
lead man’s family were
back to Lieut. Lenzi,
h the other investiga-
psonville police head-

STARTLING

Bonelli, they said, had been sepa-
rated from his wife for some time. The
dead man’s attentions to another woman
had been known to his family for some
time. From what they had been able to
learn, Mrs. Bonelli had had no relation-
ship of any kind with her husband for
many months. There was little possi-
bility, they reported, that there could be
any clue in this situation which would
lead to the murderer.

“Did you interview this other
woman ?” asked Lenzi.

The officers shook their heads.

“There’s the chance that she might
have become jealous,” the lieutenant
went on. “Although, at that, this doesn’t
look like the kind of a crime a woman
would have committed. But talk to her,
anyway. She might know something
about Bonelli’s acquaintances which
would help the investigation.”

After they had left again Lenzi went
over the facts they had uncovered so far.
The most pertinent item, he decided,
was that they had found no cash on
Bonelli’s body at all, even though he was
known to be in the habit of carrying
large sums of money with him, That,
Lenzi was confident, pointed to robbery
as the motive. And in turn it showed
that the murderer was somecéhe who
knew the dead man well enough to know
his custom.

The fact that the body had been found
in an isolated spot puzzled Lenzi. Had
Bonelli been killed on the spot? If so,
how had the murderer and his victim
happened to go there? It was not the
kind of a place anyone would choose for
a rendezvous. Nor was the time so
early in the morning, what you would
expect. There had to be a sound reason
for their presence in the isolated spot.

He wondered if Bonelli might have
reverted to one of his old customs and
been on his. way home from an all-night

DETECTIVE

gambling session. If that were not the
case, then there was only one other ex-
planation for Bonelli’s being out at that
hour. And that was because he was
going to or coming from work.

Lenzi snapped his fingers in satisfac-
tion. That was it. That had to be the
answer. He reached for the telephone
and called the officers he had sent to the
plant employing Bonelli. Finding them
there, he instructed them to find out how
Bonelli usually got to work. If, he added,
he shared a ride in someone’s car, they
were to find the men with whom he rode
and bring them in for questioning.

Ak he had hung up, the: troopers
who had been checking on Bonelli
among the gambling fraternity reported
in. They had, they said, drawn a blank.
Bonelli had been absent from the games
lately, spending most of his time at work.
There was no one they had talked to,
they said, who knew of any recent inci-
dent which would have led anyone to
seek his life.

Lenzi nodded. That was what he had
anticipated. The next move was to check
on the people with whom Bonelli had
been working and with whom he had
been riding to work,

It was nearly noon when the state
troopers who had gone to the manufac-
turing plant returned. With them was
a young man who, the troopers said,
had ridden to work with Bonelli.

“As you probably know,” Lenzi told
him, “Salvatore Bonelli’s body was
found this morning. He had been shot
seven times and apparently had been
robbed. What do yon know about it?”

“Nothing, sir,” the young man replied.
“T didn’t see him this morning. I took
the bus to work.”

“You did?” Lenzi demanded. “Why
was that?”

“Well, it was this way. We rode with
Carlo DeCaro, who always picked us up.
Anyway, yesterday DeCaro told me that
if he and Bonelli didn’t show up to call
for me, I was to take the six-thirty bus
to work. When they didn’t come I caught
the bus. That’s all I know about it.”

Lenzi turned to the troopers. “What
about DeCaro? Why didn’t you bring
him in?”

“He didn’t report for work this morn-
ing,” one of them said.

“Where does he live ?” ‘

The trooper gave him the address they
had obtained at the plant.

“I want you,to go there at once,”
Lenzi instructed them. “Find DeCaro
and bring him in. If he isn’t there, wait
for him. I want to talk to him.”

Turning back to Bonelli’s erstwhile
ride-sharer, the lieutenant asked: “What
can you tell us about Bonelli? Did you
know him very well?”

He shook his head.

“We understand he carried a lot of
money with him. Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. I guess everybody in the
plant knew that. He liked to flash his
money. Three weeks ago I asked him to
cash my pay check. He dragged out a
roll of bills and counted it. He was car-
rying more than two thousand dollars !”

Lenzi continued questioning the youth
but was unable to get any more informa-
tion from him, At length he was per-
mitted to leave.

Satisfied that they were on the right
track, Lenzi instructed his men to learn
everything possible about DeCaro. They
found out that he was but 19, and the
son of a respected businessman in
Thompsonville. While he had not been
an outstanding student in school he had
never shown any sign’of mental defi-
ciency or of moral turpitude. He did not
have a police record.

The officers dispatched to the DeCaro
house soon reported back by telephone.
Carlo, they said, had left to go to work
at his usual time, a few minutes before
6 that morning. He had driven his car
and nothing had been seen or heard of
him since then. There was nothing in
his room to indicate where he had gone.

Not content with inactivity while
awaiting DeCaro’s return, Lenzi ordered
troopers to check with tire dealers in
the city to see if any of them could iden-
tify the tire threads which had been found
at the scene.

The troopers quickly reported that
they had a lead. A tire dealer reported
that DeCaro had come in a short time
earlier that morning and had the front
tires on his car removed. He had spares
with him and after putting them on he
had the old ones thrown in a large
scrap heap to be salvaged.

Although the troopers attempted to
locate the discarded tires, they were un-
able to find them.

The dealer was unable to shed any
light on DeCaro’s plans. The youth, he
said, had not been communicative and
he had not thought to inquire about his
unusual action in disposing of the tires.

Lieut. Chameroy phoned from Hart-

[Continued on page 63]

semen

h a vittuous woman,

in affeétion fr

wifhes of frie
to. America,

em his ear

divines

&
Rs

o
re
th, Poca

se PE aie: co
a's -— ~: a as "
impiety. s.') wif

: red moft fenfible: . He fpoke in mot feel-

reas of thé‘dreadful ftate of thofe who indulge
n-thefe vices—~That they not only deftroy repula:

om and health, and difqualify for the confidence

‘mankind; but lead to every other fin, and pro.

ike a Holy God to give up the finner ta the moft
wiul punifhments, in this and another world.

..Many reports have circulated concerning fup-
pofed crimes committed by this man, which are

abtlefs without foundation, . It was common for
m in his feafons of. intoxication, to.

oth in words and aétions, as: is. ufual in deus

eople; but. there is no evidence that when free
m:liquor he was ae fous or dangerous. '».7
HE man whom he murdered was one of his.

ids and companions, and the fatal affray arole, -

nally from Mntoxication, |

,
7 vitbiar ° .
= ee BSS ee SE Gh. ER

RHAPS none will queftion that accidental in.
ication, leffens the: dliminality of the violence
né ig an iftational hour. ‘The tafe is far differs
with wilful and habitual. drunkards. Thefe
erfons, even if they lofe memory, mutt have been

often informed of their own abufe and violence,
‘They ought to~confider, that taking the bottle is:
taking the dagger ; and though they have not any.

agai :
ours.

tage

Wee SES
< 5A
At 3

20
ot inn hb, a a ht MMs op fs on anny eral
the public, an d to habitual ‘dsuah ds = , xh : 3 z sored, Me in the laft part of his life appear
place ow in a ftate of confinement. Had thie, ipa to be very rong wigs 8
work-houfe, it might have Rycsemecton of tig He uniformly {poke of himfelf, a3 a creature
halter. eh decom abies him fromy the’ ipuilty and juftly condemned, and that nothing but

| ees CRE “infinite mercy through the blood of Chrift, could

Trovucn it b ia | Se ae ud | fave him ; and appeared ftrong in a belief that he
long lived a victout” life. tnt for Saks Dern “ t “did rely on this mercy, and approve the character.
pee nae grants it to magnify the (ibccien: ahd og’ ona saan Aceh: sgt : ‘ <
ea i oun and teach ué8 to feek hig >Tuz diftindion, which sen ofter: niake: erween
| | poe eee Mittle and great fins, appeared to. him oe ga
he often faid, that among all his fins of heart ~
‘life, he never had committed one that’ was.
when confidered as againft an infinite God,

_ ‘Ensis hoped, that this man-was sit a PP Z
‘Common inftances of trué tepenta ee aa il

MS, frome thé Kestantho- ue 4s 5 SAPS ak onduct was very decent and proper thro’ the

converfe arid pr > eae Ae, ‘of execution. In going to the place of death,
. ea het sfaid that he felt himfelf ftrangely ftrengthened
“OF tte tice hae lc © both in body and mind: ahd altetbedsall-ee ‘the:
P vice. ee geneeann God. | ae
‘ Arter having on the {caffold confeffed hisirre,
> ligious life, warned the fpeétators againft thofe vi- -
. PeSiiger stat © ces which ruined him, and declared himfelf free
as well ne : ig Wi » from any murderous intentions againft M‘Iver, the.
n¢ | ppemtence was executed, — eo a!
Ht commited the names of his connexions in
oS ve : , ~Great-Britain, to the Rev. NarHan StRone and
penitents ; and nga age x. the falvation of Rev. ABEL Fur, Minifters of the Prefbyterian
him fo long while he had iiesch with ms sus iba anf ~ Churches in Hartford, to whom any who are ins i. eit
ia the pratice of in, NOM PAYER. MER terete Ln taking an Inquiry concraing him may

ba het

- =

P82: - i a4 Ps: iad . een -

shoei cations
SA RES ED

scvinenincitttitiledis nti

your heart apaint an ‘ | ; a eee |
tor him 3 for he who. doit 4s (le ee ‘ Z). , # a. 3 on eS a Be rath oe
“dk : tot ee dorsi diosdarsdioe Grol eb oirant pee

taal

orgiven. Feel as tho
but your own ; mules. - -
"Nee the ted tt aoa sHORT ACCOUNT
ris: ne Lord go with you Aya 4g ae eS ot a aa %
ae Lie a bumble nine tenn piano. ne a | OF THE LIFE OF
: ; and when your eyes are clofed in dey RICHARD DOANE

ma
y God have mercy on your foul... AMEN.
3 ede Crvmw ar mrmsELR ye

L "

ALso OF THE STATE OF 1s MIND DURING THE.
_.! -rimE of tre Won tiwaicent;

AND AT HIS DEATH:

MHE man who was lately executed by the nanie

* executed December 14th.—The General Affembly, ©
‘on his application at their October Seffion, répriév-
ed:him until June roth, 1797; at which time he
“was executed for the murder of DanizL M‘Iver.
Cd

* | He gave the following account of himfelf -—,
"That he was born in a large city of Great-Britaing”
«in the year 1755, of reputable parents.—That :
father was a man of activity and bufinefs ; his.tho-=:
her, apparently, a woman of piety and.wttich de~

' voted to the duties of religion. He was inftrudted

* Mill unforgiven. Chrilt’s promifes in the gol

*
a an ad 3 <1. 55 ae

if you be faved. - If you feel as though there eve a ph ted ss ae ; Pores
as been, or now js, any thing in you-deferving of EER ee aces ane Bee

God’s favor ; if you think your ran eh prepa te thould ma Singieee eal he,

form any kind of challenge on God; this. would” 4 the Lord ™ Facer 3 : y aye ee ee

prove you deftitute of true Chriftian humility .and Saving faith is a receiving of Chrift, as glorious 2

s nature, whole character and-offices.—To 4

msde. 5

are many and glorious ; but you have no right
place any dependence on thefe, of being ever h
BY 3; unlefs your heart hath complied with.the co
ditions on which they are made... They are ma
only to a holy repentance, and other gracious.
feGions of the fame moral nature., Se m
will in fome fenfe repent, when. he.meets the bi
fruits of finning ; but this is more properly'calk
mourning: for A A punifhment than for t i.

* qnoft excellent es of his-m }
pg of God's law, and choofe it as. the, nto
will fay his providence is.right—you wilh re-

joe thi be sedge; and Have no defire to take the

affections, tho’ you know it cond

iy ‘is no évidence of hi |
~ ing ee ment, is no eyides © government from his hands.

Tr your repentance be holy and fincere, you wilt iftian exer es; which y< ayers 2
mourn for your fins, more on account of the dif. 7 mement to try yo ° =o ¢:

“poifefs thefe exerciies, is the only certain:

honor done to God, and his kingdom, than for the = { God’s mercy to you, and that you are prepared

fhame and condemnation. it brings on yourfelf.— ~

i itent man; tho”
You will hate it as unreafonable—as contrary toy. to die. If you have become M Be eachinete, i¢ will
the moft folemn moral obligation—-and bafe in its ‘confcious of your own total u Re aes ts bun
very Nature. st ; a ‘be a pleafure to you to pray to tod, ane." ms

“ble yourfelf before him in the deepeft expreflions

; a eo fit 4 few:
' A holy love, doth not arife from an apprehen. of felf abafement.—Prayer to. God is: the moftule-

tre ‘ < : Ff ga: ‘te eae S -
fion, that God will beftow great benefits on jou *” - ful.manner in big hes ae Lie er e es
perfonally.—To love-God, only becaufe we think” mainder of your li — nai ale’ vou: feeGod, a... r
he loves us, is what-every unforgiven ; unholy fin- ‘_ to your view 5 and the mo

the more’ truly alfo you will fee yourfelf, and feel eee “al

her may do. The infinite perfection of God’s na- your guilt. Look to him to forgive-a finer, whe

ture, law and government, is the reafon for which

eni i dt] ; hing but to be eternally caft off. ae ‘
nerve pesiteat Nov Mim ) and if he foppeRQO CAME eerey and ie ongivenciagf yonr i, Kage So Se
‘ : : ~ fake of Jefus-Chrift.. Tf: you have: gts : :

EE es ae te ea” ORES TE REQ TS oo
Cae TMT Meaty MEE ns a
FS, Bees, tee

Vib Y28

aac

URS. POLI wins
» STRUGGLE 10
~~ FREE CONVICT

ba. Longello Gets Lib-
- erty From Board of Par-

“dou ee Confession Is
Read,” Saree

eee 2. ots ©

: c tererohe. Satter? a. long extended
effort Mrs, Sylvester Ze. Poli, wife of

the ‘theatrical:. magnate,. had her
‘hopes realized, when the Board of
Pardons «at: Wethersfield prison yes-
,terday granted . .@>+ pardon: to. Luigi
-Longello, 29, years*of ake of New Ha-
ven, who was serying.a life sentence.
. The confession, ‘and the 3 translation
from the Italian ‘in ‘which: it was
“Written, was presented by Mrs. *Syl-
i vester, Zz Poli,--who- appeared: before
jthe board with a :personal plea. She
:received: the letter through the mails
“six days-after ‘its signerg had been
‘executed, but it. had. never | before
‘been. used in. the - “almost yearly.” pe-.
titions for. clemency... Ree

‘Toiit the-three mien ‘who: hed ‘act=

“s vally committed ...the.: crime, admit-

‘ted that’ Longello’. had. had no’ part
inthe affairs: *. s,

‘Mrs. Poli’s? piea supplemented that
oe: Philip. Troup,. who made‘a stirring
appeal before. the. board: -for the -re-
: ase of his, client.. “Attorneys “David

J, McCoy and Kenneth Wynne; coun-
sel for two of.the-men implicated in
‘the slaying,.° also.._‘addressed the
board. -They declared. that from their

Enowledge of-~ the case ney beitaye |

the man innocents.”

The.-: tailor, Goldstein, was. black-
jacked and shot to death in a hold-
up. which had been” planned in the
councils of the underv.orld held at a
notorious hotel, the: Napoli, in Water
street, near the railroad station.

* Three men were the actual particiz
‘pants, and Awey. were. convicted of
‘Irst. “degree : “gpourder = rand. hanged,
| They-were Longeho’s older brother,
Carmelo; Frank. Durso, ° New’ York
gangster, “and. Carmine’: Lisenello. ates

The proprietor” of, the hotél,° “Car.
mine Battiato,: 50,: ‘pleaded - guilty to
-manslaughter and ‘wg: sent.to prison.
for -15*yyears.i3 While:, at Wethersfield;
he figured: in’ an ‘attempt, to: brea: out,.

| but; ‘the: ‘efforts “were: “frustrated - ~andd

he-is’stiltzin . the prisoni::’ Na” ae v8. |
-Longello: was implicated - whe: ‘the

: gun found ‘:near- the murder scene-

was! ‘identified as his.- “He - declared:
that-his: brother had-taken the: re-t

| volver without’ his. knowledge, bur

after a bitter trial] > he- was convicted
of second degree murder and sen-
teniced“t6 spend the rest of his. natu-
ral life’ behind: the. gray. wal!s ed the
up-state penitentiary. ~ ; :

_.. Those. who won pardons se Gio
‘vanni. Fodararo, 34, of Southington;
Luizi Lanzillo, 31. of: Néw Haven;
John Baptiste Rosa, 52, of Waterbury;
Simon A.G. Salsbury, 49, of Norwich>
all-of whom, Were* serving life sen-
tences for murder-in the second’ de-
gree; and‘ Giacomo Sbaroglo. G4, of
Groton,. serving: 14 to 15 years for
manslaughter. Those who won com-

mutations += were + Albert Voicht,
Bridggport, sentence of 12 to 15 years
for manslaughter, reduced to 7 to 15

years; and Gus Sclafani, Stamford,

sentence.of 10 to 12 years for man.

; slaughter, reduced to 7 tn 19 vaare

EET Reet

DUSSO,
hanged (Connecticut )

—,

LANZILLO and PISANERLLI,

Tedarares aut & NYT

Whites,
(West Haven) 6-17-1918

“.

28 RITES OF EXECUTION

cerns that the newly risen nation would rapidly fall. Thomas Cope, a
prominent Philadelphia merchant, offered a typical expression of these
worries in his diary. Cope confided that “virtue is said to be the basis of
a republic. If so, I fear ours is fast approximating toward its grave. . .
Moral virtues are giving place to gross depravity, licentiousness & cor-
ruption.” Social anxieties did not abate after the war was won; Cope
penned his thoughts in 1801. Already sensitive to the instability of re-
publics, social leaders found in events such as the Shays’ and Whiskey
rebellions additional evidence that the virtue and order of the people had
not been secured to their satisfaction.*

The messages transmitted on execution day expressed these elite con-
cerns heightened by war and the creation of a new polity. At the execution
of Moses Dunbar in 1777 for treason, Nathan Strong, pastor of the first
Church at Hartford, delivered a sermon in which he denounced vice and
decried actions he thought contributed to the subversion of civil harmony
and the corruption of those virtues essential to winning the Revolutionary
War and forming a government. A “prodigious concourse of people” heard
the minister lament “that so many are insensible to the veneration and
punctual obedience due to the laws of the land”:

That people are not far from destruction who disobey the public acts of
their own government—who endeavor artfully to elude the institutions of
their own legislature—who think themselves better judges of safety, and
the means of preservation than the collected wisdom of the whole—who
are generally become so avaricious as to prefer the smallest interests of
their own, to the most capital and sacred interests of the state... . Let
such persons . . . be warned by the proceedings of this day and do no
more so wickedly. . . . Is there not reason to think, that those who know-
ingly injure the State by fraud, avarice and oppression, would plunge their
swords into its bowels, if they had courage to face danger? . . . [They]
commit those political sins which must be punished by the halter and the
gallows. . . . When you look thereon, learn the venerableness of state and
civil government—the sacred nature of the laws made to protect liberty
and property, and our obligations to obedience.°

Strong’s explication of the civil meaning of the execution relied on
language that was essentially Whig and republican, and had its roots in
seventeenth-century New England notions of moral obedience to divine
government and the jeremiad tradition. His image of swords driven into
bowels echoed John Wilkes’s speech in Parliament against permitting En-
glishmen “to sheath their swords in the bowels of their fellow subjects.”
When he denounced those who, like the criminal, chose avarice over the
interests of the nation, Strong expressed a fundamental tenet of republican

ats 5 a :

The Design of Public Executions 29

ideology—public virtue demanded the sacrifice of private interests for
the common good. Those who did not comply, Strong argued, must be
severely punished.°

Strong intended his sermon as a warning to spectators that individuals
such as Moses Dunbar, who battled the state, must lose. He expected
citizens to “love . . . venerate . . . obey. . . honor” the law, not “elude

. . disobey . . . injure” the country. Many civil and religious leaders
argued that only public executions could control the disordering effects
of independence, war, and the establishment of government. “To attain
the end of civil government is it not . . . necessary to. punish the vi-
cious?” asked one participant at Harvard’s commencement in 1787. Only
by zealously guarding against the corrupting power of criminals would
the new Republic be protected from internal invasion at the very moment
it was besieged by external enemies. Only the death penalty, they in-
sisted, could preserve virtue and, in so doing, secure the survival of the
Republic.’

The execution of two rebels, John Bly and Charles Rose, at Lenox.
Massachusetts, in December 1787 affords a prime opportunity to probe
further the message of civil order transmitted on execution day. In 1786
disgruntled citizens, many of them farmers who were deep in debt, heavily
taxed, and facing loss of their property through foreclosure, rose in armed
protest throughout western Massachusetts. These regulators closed down
courts within the commonwealth and fought troops who marched west to
battle them. Defeated at Springfield in February 1787 by a government
force of several thousand men, the rebels dispersed but continued to har-
ass citizens linked to the goverriment. The insurrection, known as Shays’
Rebellion, subsided by the summer of 1787.°

Most of the condemned Shaysites received pardons or commutations
from the Governor, but not before prompting a discussion over whether
or not the State should execute captured insurgents. At Northampton on
June 21, 1787, the entire “parade of death” to the gallows was enacted
until the sheriff read a reprieve for convicted rebels Jason Parmenter and
Henry McCullough. James Sullivan, who defended several of the insur-
gents, argued for clemency for Parmenter on the grounds that “peace and
tranquility could be restored without sanguinary examples.” The mock
execution, he later told the executive council, “was so far from exciting
Opposition to legal authority, that a gloomy silence and solemn awe at
the power of government were universally exhibited.” “Even Britain,”
the counsel remarked, “whose Sanguinary disposition daily gluts the grave
with legal consignments” offered clemency in similar cases. Sullivan con-
Cluded that, if he thought for a moment that the hangings would excite

he didn’t
vas? How
ed on the
with him?
made an
‘ment that
been ar-
1€ murder

the Prose-
several of-

. came an-
‘one had
iacted the
uur of the

\rrone be-
was con-
Pancies in

God; He
sins,” the
Aarrone.

at he ad-

hnool some
ful Friday
he lovers’
t and she
and Mar-
1e dragged
dlaced her
away. He
othes, and
id pocket-

lome and
attended
had hap-
called him
ll the time
: dy
out

wes ith.
nus, where
of murder
Fake, who
le Bergen
ary action.
\il reading
vas Edgar
iy 28, was
vst degree,
ly carries

uth Starr
h a friend,
o suspect,
nd of the

ade all the
home ask-

‘ up. Mar-

an adult.

ychiatrists

procedure
¥

ty grand
rone, and

that fur-
made.

age 16)

an, Falk
nk rarely,
vorked for
gh to sup-
Chevrolet
often had
el, parked
o be read-

2 Law had

he had
nd he was
ased after
of annoy-
re was not

da-
old
morning,
had been
igatuck, a
s rooming
up.

port sick,”
s well, be-

ere 2
«alee mesea cane

fit Pie wnlinesiibe FNL ae til

Cees

idea

thd be Seen ot

pail CSD Te vino me

AREA RA hai SF rn tase

Never before had Clarksburg, W. Va., known a killing as horrible as that of Charlene Vilain. From left, Chief
Amsler; the parents, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Vilain, and Mrs. Alvene Laurie, last to see Charlene. See Page 20

cause we didn’t know about his jail rec-
ord until a few days ago, and some of
the women in the plant have complained
about him.”

Since Falk had not taken his clothes,
and he had a rather extensive wardrobe,
officers staked out the rooming house
around the clock. An alarm for his
pickup for questioning had gone out
through the state.

Davies’ career was much like Falk’s.
Sergeant Wilbur E. Calkins, who had
been with the State Police for many
years, had investigated Davies on sev-
eral occasions. Once was in the Sum-
mer of 1952, when complaints were
made against Davies involving two
girls, one aged nine, the other ten.

Davies was married, father of four
children. He was convicted and sen-
tenced to three years in the state prison
in Wethersfield. He was found guilty
largely on the evidence supplied by Cal-
kins.

On September 3, 1953, a complaint
was filed by a woman that a man had
tried to lure two girls, one of them hers,
into the woods.

Davies had been released on parole
a little more than three weeks earlier.
He could not be linked to that incident,
however.

While he was in prison, his wife
divorced him, another parallel with
Falk’s case.

Calkins set 6ut to find Davies to see
what he knew, if anything, about Bee
Jay’s death. In Thomaston he soon
learned that Davies had been married
again. His second wife, a dark-haired
woman of 36, was located. They had
Separated after a year, she said, because,

He beat me a half-dozen times. I left
him a month ago.”

During their marriage, she said, they

ad lived in a trailer behind Davies’
rtd home on Fenn Road, Thomas-

- “He was crazy about his children,”
Pp Said. “But life with him was a series
t arguments. He’s got a terrible
€mper.”

Sergeant Calkins went to the home of
Davies’ father, Richard Davies, 73-
year-old retired factory worker. Davies
had adopted George as an infant.

Calkins found George Davies in a
small green trailer parked in the back
yard. A 1950 Pontiac was nearby.

“Hiya, Sergeant,” Davies said to him
cordially. ‘“What’s on your mind this
time?”

“What makes you think anything’s on
my mind?” Calkins countered.

“Well, you’ve never paid me a visit
unless you thought I was mixed up in
something.”

It was true, of course. Calkins asked,
“What have you been doing with your-
self lately?”

“Job hunting, and it isn’t easy.”

Davies, five feet seven inches tall and
weighing 133 pounds, was extremely
mild-mannered, a man nobody would
have looked at twice in a crowd.

“Have you been in Bristol recently?”
the Sergeant asked.

_“I drove through the town Monday on
my way to Hartford. Why?”

“What time?”

“Early. About seven o’clock. Why?”

Ignoring the man’s query, Calkins
continued his questioning. “What time
did you get to Hartford?”

“Around eight, I think, maybe a little
earlier. But, Sergeant, you’ve got some-
thing on your mind. Why do you want
to know?”

“What did you do in Hartford?”

“I looked for a job.” He had made
the rounds of several places, he said.

He gave addresses and described the
layout of the personnel offices. >

Afterward, he said, he had driven to
Waterbury to apply at some plants
there.

“Is that your car?” Calkins inquired,
pointing to the Pontiac.

Davies nodded.

The Sergeant walked over to the car.
Though it was unlocked, the right door
stuck. Calkins tugged at the door,
opened it and looked inside. He saw
nothing to create suspicion.

Calkins left, advising Davies to “stick
close to home.” He got into his police
car and as soon as he was out of Davies’
sight he communicated with State Po-
lice Headquarters in Hartford by radio,
requesting a verification of Davies’
story.

State Policeman John Kenney was
one of those assigned to interview per-
sonnel department employes of the
Hartford plants. i

Meanwhile, at Calkins’ suggestion,
troopers were directed to tail Davies.

Thomaston police corroborated the
story told by Davies’ second wife, re-
porting that they, had been called on a
couple of occasions after the couple had
argued bitterly.

$¢1 4 HAD a series of run-ins with

her,” one of the officers said, “and
we read the riot act to him. He stayed
pretty much away from town when we
told him not to bother her. We told
him we wouldn’t fool around with him;
we'd throw him in jail if he didn’t keep
away from his wife.”

On Wednesday, May 15, troopers
caught up with Edgar Falk as he re-
turned to his rooming house.

Falk’s story was that as he had started
for work on Monday morning he de-
veloped a headache and then nausea,
and decided not to go to his job.

“I dropped into a drugstore and had
something to settle my stomach, but it
didn't do me any good,” he said. “Then
I met a couple of pals and we drove to
Bridgeport. We hit a couple of bars and
I guess I had too much to drink. I’m
not used to it and I couldn’t take it.
First thing I knew, I wound up in a
room. I stayed there until this morning
and came right home.”

He denied he had been in Bristol at
any time in the past month, and gave
the names and addresses of his buddies.

Officers went out to look into his
story.

Before they could get back State Po-
liceman Kenney reported that if George
Davies had been in Hartford looking

for a job on Monday he could not have
been at the plants the trooper had
visited.

For one thing, he had not filled out
an application, and at two of the places
all persons looking for work were re-
quired to complete routine question-
naires. Fi

At another place an application was
on file but it was dated on a day in
April.

.Canvass of other firms in the Hart-
ford area showed that Davies had made
application at various times, but not on
May 13, the day Bee Jay was slain.
Obviously, he had tied.

In Plymouth, a little community be-
tween Thomaston and Bristol, a woman
who ran a restaurant reported that a
man answering Davies’ description had
been in her place on the morning of
May 13.

“It was about half-past seven,” she
declared. “He came in and had a cup
of coffee and read a newspaper for about
fifteen minutes. Then he tried to talk
to me in a manner I didn’t like, and I
told him to get out.”

The man left, she said, and she saw
him get into a car.

A day later, she continued, she saw
the man sitting im an automobile across
the street from her restaurant. “He had
his face buried in a newspaper but I
noticed that he looked up every time
children passed on their way to school.”

Suspicious, she said, she took down
the license number of the man’s auto-
mobile.

The registration was that of George
Davies’ car.

If the woman was correct in her esti-
mate of the time she said Davies had
left her restaurant on Monday, May 13,
he could not have reached Hartford,
approximately 22 miles away, by eight
o’clock, as he had said.

But he could have reached the neigh-
borhood of Allentown Road, where Bee
Jay had been seen last, in fifteen min-
utes. That would have put him there
around eight o’clocs

¥ "I don't know what
a he do :
ee ice quote
this man, a father
himself, as saying

Jesh Ei corte aca

ete 3

hESC NRE RE

eee RS SAF

Little Brenda was there, her green
sweater wrapped tight around her neck,
her clothing otherwise undisturbed. She
was dead.

Soon Wolcott Police Chief Martin
Whalen, Bristol Chief McCarthy, State
Police Captain Victor Clarke and a half
dozen local policemen were at the scene.

It was a considerable distance south
of where the Doucettes lived, in the
opposite direction from the school.

“She never would have come here by
herself,” said Whalen. “That means
she was in an automobile.”

Mr. and Mrs. Doucette, who had been
waiting anxiously for news at their
home, were notified that their daughter
had been found. They made formal
identification of her body.

In the glare of police-car headlights,
officers looked for the child’s lunch box.
Others hastened to the nearest dwell-

. ings, some distance away, to learn if

anyone had seen a strange car any time
that day.

In response to an alarm sent over
the State Police radio, Doctor Irving S.
Platt arrived shortly, as did a dozen
additional officers including technical
men from State Police Headquarters in
Hartford, about 22 miles away.

They set up powerful floodlights while
Doctor Platt made a preliminary ex-
amination. b

“This little girl was killed,” Platt said.
“Make the time between half-past eight
and half-past ten this morning. She

was strangled and stabbed with a thin, °

rectangular weapon, perhaps a screw-
driver.”

There was no blood at all on the
ground near the slain girl, indication
that she had been killed elsewhere,
driven to the bushes and dumped out
and abandoned.

OLICE searching the area found

nothing that could have been used
as a weapon. Nor did they find the
lunch box or the wrist watch she had
been wearing.

When he completed his examination,
Doctor Platt added, “I can find no evi-
dence of a morals offense.”

“But who else would kill a child of
eight?’’ Chief Whalen asked. “It must
have been a degenerate.”

The body was taken to Waterbury
Hospital for an autopsy. Barricades
were set up to keep curious persons
away from the area and several officers
remained to continue their search and
guard the immediate scene.

In Bristol, Clarke ordered a study of

Connecticut automobile registration
records in a hunt for a blue and white
car of recent make, and owned locally
—the car Judy Petosa said she had seen.

Less than 20 miles south, in Water-
bury, Connecticut, Police Headquarters
hummed with excitement over the slay-
ing. For officers there had been search-
ing since the night of May 9 for a pretty,
dark-haired French Canadian girl of
sixteen, Gaetane Boivin.

Gaetane had lived most of her life in
Lac Megnatic, Quebec. One of nine
children, most of whom now were mar-
ried, she had received her early edu-
cation in a convent in that little town,
and in 1953 she had been taken to
Waterbury with her parents, Mr. and
Mrs. Joseph E. Boivin, and a brother,
Jean-Marc, now fourteen.

She knew little English; her friends
were from the French Canadian fam-
ilies in the city. On Thursday, May 9,
a classified advertisement inserted by
her had appeared in the Waterbury Re-
publican, a morning newspaper. It was

‘a simple ad, reading:

“French Girl—Desires light
housekeeping by day, or mother’s
helper. PLaza 4-5748 or 52 Cherry
Street.”

That morning her mother had left
for work at eight o’clock. Gaetane had
told her she planned to be home all day,
hoping for some telephone calls about
the job.

Several times during the day, Mrs.
Boivin had telephoned the house but
no one answered. When she returned in
the evening she found a note from her
daughter, written in French, stating
that she had received a call from a
woman and was taking a job to do some
housework.

However, Gaetane had taken no pock-
etbook or makeup.

When several hours passed without
word, Mrs. Boivin called police. They
had found no trace of the girl.

For the next three days several tele-
phone calls came in for Gaetane, all of
them from a man who refused to leave
his name.

Mrs. Boivin reported the calls to Chief
Inspector Joseph R. Bendler, who told
her, “The next time he phones, tell him
your daughter has gone to the store and
will be back in ten minutes. We'll try to
trace it. Just let us know as soon as he
hangs up.”

Such a call came on Sunday evening,
May 12, Mother’s Day.

Mrs. Boivin did as instructed, she told
the man Gaetane would be back in ten
minutes and immediately notified
Bendler.

“He tried to disguise his voice,” she -

said, “but I recognized it. He’s the same
one who called before.”

A half hour later another call came.
Police and telephone company officials
tried frantically to learn where the man
was calling from. But Mrs. Boivin
couldn’t keep him on the phone; he
hung up before the trace could be
effected.

Now, with a killing not far away,
Bendler feared that the same thing had
happened in Waterbury.

Could the same man be responsible?
Who?

The modus operandi was familiar.
Too frequently, girls and young women
have been lured to tragedy through
promises of non-existent jobs.

Bendler knew, as did Captain Clarke,
that morals offenders fall into no set
pattern. One victim of the same man
oe be a child, the next a teen-age

rh. , :

In Bristol, the roundup was under-
way. State Police, local officers and
county detectives brought to the Sta-
tion men of many descriptions, from
those in their early 20’s, well dressed
and clean shaven, to graybeards in
tattered clothes.

There was Fred Archer, for example,
a tall, good-looking man of 29 who lived
in Litchfield County with his. parents.
Archer, who never seemed to be able to
hold a job for long, had served a term
as a Peeping Tom back in 1951. Re-
leased, he went to New York and was
arrested and charged with exposure.
After another short jail term, he was
freed and returned to Connecticut.

T2e after time, he had been picked up
for questioning in connection with a
variety of investigations but he always
had been able to supply an alibi. To
most of the officers his was a familiar
face. There was nothing outstanding
about him, nothing loud; in fact, his
manner was shy and courteous, as if he
were afraid of his shadow.

Archer drove a convertible, a rela-
tively new one purchased for him by an
indulgent mother. So far as his record
showed, he never had picked up a girl or
@ woman in hiscar. Instead, he peered
into windows and bought pin-up maga-
zines by the dozen.

On the one occasion when he had
been arrested in Connecticut, he had
stood on a trash barrel in a neighbor’s
back yard, straining his eyes to peer be-
neath the shade, which was drawn
within two inches of the sill.

The young woman inside, about to
dress for a date, became suspicious that
she was being watched. She switched
off the lights, raised the curtain quickly
and saw Archer. She called the police
and he was caught easily.

In the past year or two he always
seemed to be near when a morals offense
was committed but managed to avoid
being identified. .

Now, because of his reputation, he was
picked up again. His car was stacked
with pin-up pictures.

Monday, he said, he had slept until
ten in the morning and then drove his
mother to a beauty parlor. He waited
outside in his automobile, reading his
magazines. His mother corroborated his
statement; police had to release him.

Another man with a history of pe-
culiarities was Vincent Boynton, who
had served three short jail terms for
annoying women. A short, balding man
of 45, he most recently had worked as
a timekeeper in a factory. His trouble

“Have you seen a little girl, a blue-eyed blonde, in a green sweater?"
police asked everyone along that road the day Brenda Jane disappeared

‘

with the law stemmed from his prac-
tice of riding in crowded buses, holding
a@ newspaper with one hand and allow-
ing his other hand to stray. He got off
with a suspended sentence the first time
but when he repeated the offense soon
afterward he wasn’t so lucky. Another
incident involved his “absent-minded”
encounter with a woman in a depart-
ment store when he pretended to be
looking at something to one side and
walked directly into her path. His final
brush with the police came when he
stole from a department-store counter
—of all things—a woman’s brassiere.

Boynton was married and had two
children.

He, too, had an excellent explanation
for his actions on Monday morning. He
had been in Bridgeport Sunday night,
playing cards, and stayed there over-
night so he could be in one of the fac-
tories the first thing Monday morning
to apply for a job.

NE by one, the stream of men with
known or suspected peculiarities
poured into the Bristol Police Station.
Most of them were employed in jobs that
required little technical skill. Many were
known to be undergoing psychiatric
treatment for some form of mental or
emotional disorder, their problems not
regarded as sufficiently pronounced to
meet the legal definition of mental ill-
ness. Most of the men were married
and many had children. A few of the
worst offenders had served long terms.
As they shuffled in or walked in
jauntily, some fearing the ordeal of in-
terrogation, others apparently delighted
to be in the limelight again, Captain
Clarke watched them in indignation.

“How many potential killers do we
have?” he asked. “What’s wrong with
this world? Why can’t we do some-
ot about these men before a child

ies?”

Chief McCarthy shrugged. He of all
the officers there had known little Bee
Jay with the golden hair. “I wish I
knew,” he said. “I wish to Heaven I
knew!”

Through the night and the next day
50 men were brought in. Forty-three
were cleared and released. Seven gave
alibis that could not be either verified
or disproved; officers were assigned to
watch them. Two more men on the list
police had made up could not be found
immediately.

The death of little Bee Jay was publi-
cized in newspapers throughout New
England, and in other states as well.
Radio and television stations carried re-
ports, with a plea for information about
a@ blue and white car. -

As a result, late Tuesday night two
men who worked in Bristol appeared at
the Station.

“That blue car is mine,” said one.
“In fact, one of your policemen was at
my home this morning asking about me.
My wife told me about it by phone this
afternoon.”

He explained that every morning he
drove to work, taking a neighbor as a
passenger. “Here’s my neighbor,” he
said. “Yesterday morning I went off
without my lunch. I realized it when
we were on our way, so I turned into
that driveway and then backed out and
went home again. That’s all there was
to it.”

Clarke had a couple of technicians
inspect the automobile and he and his
friend were permitted to go. They had
reported for work on time Monday
morning and the car bore no traces of
blood, of recent washing or of grass or
weeds, inside or out, to indicate it had
been driven into the woods.

(Continued on Page 62)

iy ee Tees

SAitSss Ss

The Walking Lineup

Night After Night, They Walked Past the Gro-
cery—The Chicago Police and Their New-Found
"Friends". Would One of Them Be Identified
As the Customer's Killer?

A Gambling Man

He'd Bet on Anything, at Any Time, West Se-

ae Ye OS

wanted to ask him again about Ronnie,
especially about his actions on the night
they went to New York.

“He certainly didn’t act any differ-
ent from any other time,” Holm said.

Patiently, the officials drew from him
a story of his acquaintance with Mar-
rone, for whom he had the greatest
respect.

“Recently, he got me interested in a
young people’s group,” the boy said.
“On Thursday night we had a meeting
in Lodi and I went there with Ronnie.”

“Thursday, the day before yester-
day?” Calissi asked.

“Yes, that’s the day. We had a meet-
ing and the news was out that some
girl’s body was found. We didn’t know
who it was, of course.”

On the way home, the boy continued,
they decided to drive by the lovers’ lane.

“We drove down to the place,” Holm
related, “but the area was roped off
and we couldn’t get near it.

“I remember saying to Ronnie, ‘Gee,
I had an awful dream about Starr the
other night. I dreamed something bad
happened to her.’ He told me he hoped
it hadn’t. We drove back to Ronnie’s
house and his mother was there and the
three of us prayed that the dead girl
wasn’t Starr.” ‘

Calissi stared at the youth for several
seconds, then asked, “Are you positive
you were near the place where Starr
was found?”

“Absolutely. Some people were there.
There was a lot of excitement.”

Late Saturday night, Galda and Cal-
issi got another piece of information. A
neighbor of Ronald Marrone said that
on Saturday morning, May 18, he had
seen the youth giving the gray Plymouth
sedan a thorough washing.

“It was fairly early in the morning,

-and he was really doing a job on the

car. He scrubbed it, outside and inside.”

All through the night, the officials
compared notes, brought in friends and
classmates of Ronnie and Starr and
went over the stories they already had
given. They were unanimous in saying
that Marrone appeared calm and
friendly at the opening of the school
session Friday afternoon, May 17, and
was his usual immaculate self, his hair
brushed neatly.

“But he just about made it in time,”
the youth said. ‘He got in right on the
button.”

At seven o'clock Sunday morning, two
detectives picked Ronnie Marrone up
at his home and drove him to the Prose-
cutor’s office in Hackensack.

There, Calissi and Galda questioned
him again. This time they wanted an-
swers to specific questions. What about
those two young children in Lodi? Why
had he asked Starr what she was going
to do in the shopping center?

And more: Why had he quoted her
as replying it was none of his business?

Why had he told authorities he didn’t
know where the lovers’ lane was? How
was it that Starr disappeared on the
only day she ever was alone with him?

Three hours later Galda made an
announcement, a simple statement that
Ronald Paul Marrone had.been ar-
rested in connection with the murder
of Ruth Starr Zeitler.

Marrone was hustled from the Prose-
cutor’s office and taken with several of-
ficers in an automobile.

Then, some time afterward, came an-
other announcement—Marrone had
confessed the slaying and reenacted the
crime, taking police on a tour of the
route he took with the girl.

As Galda told the story, Marrone be-
gan his statement after he was con-
fronted with the many discrepancies in
his original story. f

“Tll make a statement to God; He
will forgive me for all my sins,” the
assistant prosecutor quoted Marrone.

This, Galda said, was what he ad-
mitted:

He met Starr near the school some
time after 11:30 on the fateful Friday
morning and drove her to the lovers’
lane. They had an argument and she
resisted him. They struggled and Mar-
rone strangled the girl. Then he dragged
her body from the car and placed her
on the ground some distance away. He
returned to the car, got her clothes, and
tossed them with her books and pocket-
book near the body.

He hurried away, drove home and
washed, went to school and attended
classes as though nothing had hap-
pened. When Starr’s father called him
he offered to help, knowing all the time
the girl was dead. And after the body
was found, he talked in school about
getting up a fund to buy flowers with.

Marrone was taken to Paramus, where
he was arraigned on a charge of murder
before Magistrate Laverne M. Fake, who
ordered him remanded to the Bergen
County Jail pending grand jury action.

Ronald Marrone went to jail reading
his Bible. In the same jail was Edgar
Smith, who on Tuesday, May 28, was
convicted of murder in the first degree,
a verdict which automatically carries
the death penalty.

Like Vickie Zielinski, Ruth Starr
Zietler had accepted a ride with a friend,
someone she had no reason to suspect,
only to meet death at the end of the
ride.

The mystery of who had made all the
telephone calls to the Zeitler home ask-
ing for Starr was,not cleared up. Mar-
rone’s voice was not that of an adult.

On Wednesday, May 29, psychiatrists
examined Marrone, a routine procedure
in capital cases in New Jersey.

On May 31, the Bergen County grand
jury indicted Ronald Marrone, and
Prosecutor Calissi announced that fur-
ther psychiatric tests will be made.

attle, Washington, Police Heard. Would He Bet
He Couldn't Be Traced After the Bank Robbery?

Before the Fire

Mrs. Beyerlein's Body Was Inside the Still Smok-
ing Little Rock, Arkansas, Store. But Her Hus-
band's Was Across the Street. How—

2 RAR

re
A 2

"How Many — 2 (Continued from Page 16)

Meanwhile, an autopsy report by A tall, good-looking man, Falk
Doctor Joseph O. Collins, pathologist smoked moderately and drank rarely,
at Waterbury Hospital, corroborated then only wine or beer. He worked for
the earlier findings of Doctor Platt. short stretches, just long enough to sup-
Brenda Doucette had been choked and _ port himself. He drove a 1951 Chevrolet
stabbed. Her body bore 22 wounds,.all and his file showed that he often had
starting near the left side of her chest been seen sitting at the wheel, parked

eo ag
ca Soee so caneee

eX ae a A be
’ Shs. .
a oes <

‘iN
en

That Big September OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
Will Be on Sale Thursday, August 1, With One Exciting,
Authentic and Last-Minute Fact-Detective Story After

WES HQEM
RoE, a aie

< :
Dead

and abdomen, inflicted with a fine rec-
tangular instrument which Doctor Col-
lins also said could be a screwdriver.
The two men officers had not been
able to find were Edgar Falk, 33, and

near a school and pretending to be read-
ing a newspaper.

His first experience with the Law had
come when he was sixteen; he had
thrown stones at small girls and he was

Ce ty ae

HR
>
a:

George J. Davies, 38, both with records sent to a reformatory. Released after
of offenses involving little girls. a few months, he was accused of annoy-
Falk had served a little more than a_ ing a girl of ten but the charge was not
year of a three-year term in 1953. On _ proved.
his release in 1954 he went to New Jer- Falk had faded from sight. His land-
sey without obtaining permission from lady reported that he had left in his old
his parole officers and was returned to automobile at 7:30 Monday morning,
Connecticut to finish his sentence. He ostensibly to go to work. He had been
now was free. Married and the father due on the job at 8:30 in Naugatuck, @
of two children, he had been divorced seventeen-mile drive from his rooming
while in prison. He recently had re- house, but he had not shown up. e
married, but this lasted only a few “He didn’t even call in to report sick,
weeks. said his foreman. “It's just as well, be-

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OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

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A
“k AN!

Voltz had spoken—the suitor for
Grace Groome’s hand and possibly
Jack Welton’s rival.

The detective chief told his col-
league. “Welton took Mrs. Groome out
first. Then when she left him in the
taxi, she probably came back to Four-
teenth Street and met the other fellow,
either by accident or design.

“Then she might have wanted to go
back to Mrs. Willson’s again. He went
with her. They walked part way
through the park. This killer might
have taxed her with fickleness. He
might have been intensely jealous and
slugged her. Anyway, that’s the way
I begin to see it. Jack Welton was tell-
ing the truth, as we’ll find out, when
‘he said he couldn’t locate Mrs. Groome
again that night.”

He swung around to the liquor
dealer. “Ever see that blue-shirted
customer before?”

The man nodded. “Yes, plenty of
times. But I don’t know his name.”

“If he comes in here often, he must
live in the neighborhood. That’s some-
thing, anyway. Thanks, we may call
on you to identify him.”

Outside, Barrett regrouped his de-

tectives, giving them the description .

of. the suspected killer. “Go up and
down this street,” he told them, “and
fina out whether anybody else saw this
bloodstained man Saturday night.
Bring all the witnesses back to this
liquor store. We’ve got to get his iden-
tity fixed quickly. He may sober up
and scram.”

The detectives split into squads and
began combing the bars, restaurants
and other places the blue-shirted man
might have frequented. Within half an
hour Murray and Felber reported
back.

“Quite a few people saw that man,”
Felber said, “but none of them seems
to know his name. All recall his shirt
front was full of blood. We found one
fellow who told us our suspect is a
radio repair man.”

Barrett seemingly was lost in
thought. “I’ve got another hunch,” he
told the waiting officers. “I think this

AUTHENTIC DETECTIVE CASES

fellow may have kept drinking all
through Sunday. In that case, he’s too
sick to go to work today. We’re going
to take the classified telephone direc-
tory and call every radio shop in the
area, describing this man. If he’s not
at work, we’ll find out very quickly.”

He mentioned the name of a hotel
down the street. “We’ll take over the
phones in their lobby and start to
work. Let’s concentrate on the shops
right on Fourteenth Street first.”

For the next half hour, the tele-
phoning went on. Then Sergeant Mur-
ray came up with pay dirt. “He works
for a shop just two blocks away,” he
told Barrett, giving the name of the
place.

Barrett signalled Flaherty, and with
Murray and Felber they went directly
to the radio store. The proprietor ac-
knowledged that he had identified an
absent employe over the phone.

“You must mean John Morton,” he
said. “John didn’t show up for work
this morning and I was just going
around to his house to see what’s the
matter with him.”

Barrett cut in. “Where does Morton
live?”

The employer named an address on
Meriden Place.

TVE minutes later, in his furnished

room, a bleary-eyed man awoke to
find four police officers standing by his
bed. One of them—Captain Barrett—
was holding a pair of dark trousers
and a blue shirt, both badly blood-
stained.

“Get up and dress, Morton,” he said.
“You’re under arrest on a charge of
murder.”

Hardly able to comprehend them,
the man dressed. In another hour,
John Walter Morton, 39, a bachelor,
sat in the office of Assistant District
Attorney John Fihelly and faced a
gruelling examination. Also present
were Assistant District Attorney John
Burke, Coroner A. MacGruder Mac-
Donald, Captain Barrett, Lieutenant
Flaherty and Sergeants Murray and
Felber.

Morton admitted knowing Grace
Groome and quarreling with her over
associating with Jack Welton. He told
of accompanying the woman to Con-
necticut and Tilton avenues, where
they quarreled. Instead of going up to
Mrs. Willson’s apartment, as they had
intended, Mrs. Groome suggested a
walk through the park to “talk things
over.”

“She kept abusing me,” Morton ad-
mitted, “and I hit her. But she was
alive when I left her. She was sitting
on a bench and crying.”

That was as far as he would go. “I
never murdered her,” he kept insist-
ing. “She was alive when I left her.”

But the prosecutor arraigned him
before U.S. Commissioner Needham
C. Turnage on August 31 and Morton
was held without bail on a charge of
murder. On September 2, a coroner’s
jury held him responsible for the
death of Grace O. Groome, exonerat-
ing Jack Welton, who was released.
Morton’s indictment quickly followed.

Morton laughed at the charge. “T’ll
be out fixing radios again within a
month,” he told his cellmates at the
District of Columbia jail.

But so convincing was the police
case against him that on Monday, De-
cember 6, 1943, after a four-day trial,
a jury, deliberating but forty minutes,
found him guilty of second degree
murder. Eight women sat on the panel
which brought in the verdict.

Morton seemed stunned. He shook
his head uncomprehendingly when
Chief Justice Edward C. Eicher asked
him if he had anything to say.

On Friday, December 10, 1943, the
radio repair man heard himself sen-
tenced by Justice Eicher to a term of
from twenty years to life. His lawyer
has filed an appeal from the jury’s
verdict which has not yet been heard
as this is written.

The names of Jack Welton and
Theresa Willson are fictitious to pro-
tect the identities of persons inno-
cently involved in a murder investiga-
tion.—Editor.

‘

(Continued from page 41)
ing out. Maybe some of those slugs
have been recovered.”

With Lenzi and Doyle, he went to
St. Francis hospital, where Dr. Louis
P. Hastings, noted pathologist of that
institution, was completing the post-
mortem examination. He had some

very interesting news for the officers.

“Bonelli was shot seven times,” he
told them. “There were six wounds
in his left side, below the heart, and
one in the left side of his face. This
ranged upward and would have been
rather quickly fatal. However, there
are also signs of suffocation which

also contributed to this man’s death.”

The detectives gasped. “Buried
alive?” Mitchell blurted.

Dr. Hastings nodded.

The officers were about to make
comment, when the pathologist went
on. “Here’s something important,” he
said. “I got six of those bullets out

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AUTHENTIC DETECTIVE CASES

of his body—the one in the head
splintered and was useless for tests.
Of the six, three are short—the snub-
nosed type—while the others are
extra long, possibly rifle ammunition.
All, I believe, are about .22 calibre.”

He laid the six slugs out for the
detectives to see.

Mitchell wiped his brow. “The first
thing to find out is whether they were
fired from that pistol we recovered.”

Returning to Thompsonville with
the slugs, Mitchell dispatched a
trooper to the Hartford laboratory of
Chameroy. “You'll find the gun we
picked up there; see if these match
up,” he told the officer.

Back at headquarters with Doyle
and Lenzi, Mitchell learned that
Ernesto Pugglio, located by Fleming,
disclaimed any knowledge of the
shooting, saying he was home in bed
until nine o’clock that morning. “I’m
checking,” added the chief.

In the next breath, however, he
relayed some information Pugglio
had given him. “He told me Bonelli
had another fight with two men down
at the tavern about three nights ago—
fellows who come from East Hart-
ford.” The chief gave the names.

Mitchell was enthusiastic. “That’s
a pair of birds we’ve got to talk to
right away. I'll get the state police
over to East Hartford to run them
down.”

E had completed his telephone

call when a man walked in.
“Hello,” he said to Chief Fleming,
‘T’ve got something here for you.”

While he was undoing a newspaper-
wrapped package, Fleming introduced
the newcomer as the operator of a
gasoline filling station in Thompson-
ville.

“I came to work this morning about
eight o’clock,” the operator said in
the explanation of his visit, “and saw
that the water in my tire testing box
was red. I kicked the box over to
fill it up fresh and this fell out.”

His parcel unwrapped at last, he
showed the detectives a man’s blood-
stained handkerchief.

“It means our killer washed his
hands in’ the tire testing trough,” he
said, “and then discarded this hand-
kerchief.”

He looked for an initial but could
find none. “Maybe there’s a laundry
mark or some other. clue,” the de-
tective said. ‘This looks like another
lab job for our friend Chameroy.”

He summoned another trooper and
started him on his way to Hartford
with the handkerchief.

As the trooper went out Patrolmen
Reynolds and O’Brien came through
the door, escorting a tall, slim youth.
“Here’s Guinetti,” Reynolds said.

The youth stood eyeing the group.

“What's this all about?” he demanded.

Mitchell didn’t answer him.
“Where's that gray coupe?” he asked
O’Brien.

The officer nodded to the front of
the building. “Outside,” he said, “but
it looks as clean as a whistle.”

Doyle and Lenzi got up and went
out. Then Mitchell asked Guinetti,
“Where were you today around 6:30
or seven o'clock?”

“Home in bed until eight o’clock,”
Guinetti said, “then up in Hartford
at nine to take an insurance examina-
tion. Why, what’s the matter?”

“We'll see,” Mitchell merely said,
going outside and joining the others.

There he found Doyle inspecting
the floorboards of the gray coupe,
Lenzi examining the tires. Both shook
their heads dubiously.

“There’s a gummy substance be-
tween the boards,” Doyle told the
county officer, “but it might just be
grease.”

Lenzi stood up. “All four tire treads
are the same,” he said. “Remember,
the murder car had two different tires
on it.”

“Yes, but this fellow could have
changed tires someplace,” Mitchell
persisted. :

Lenzi examined the lugs on the
wheels, finding them rusted and dirt-
caked. “I don’t think so. Besides, the
upholstery hasn’t a mark on it. No-
body was ever shot in this machine.”

Mitchell, taking a quick look, was
forced to admit the premise. “Send
Guinetti on his way,” he said.

The men who had quarreled with
Bonelli in the tavern had not been
found. The check on Pugglio disclosed
that he was eating breakfast at ap-
proximately nine o’clock, having just
risen. A neighbor, calling to talk to
the man about repairing a fence,
found Pugglio in his bathrobe. He, too,
seemed in the clear.

“So we're still not getting any
place,” Mitchell confessed. “Any_ of
you fellows got ideas?” Before they
could answer, the telephone rang.
The caller was Chameroy, who asked
for Mitchell. The county detective did
a lot of listening, then hung up.

“Chameroy says that’s target am-
munition Bonelli was shot with,” he
explained. “Who shoots at targets
around here?”

The question was directed at Chief
Fleming, who thought a moment be-
fore replying.

“There’s a gun club over in Enfield,”
he said. “They’ve got quite a mem-
bership, mostly from around these
parts.” -

HE next morning, Mitchell, ac-
"hl conumekie by Lenzi and Doyle,
drove out to Enfield.

Making inquiries, they finally ar-

AUTHENTIC DETECTIVE CASES.

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AUTHENTIC DETECTIVE CASES

rived at the home of the gun club
secretary.

“We're checking on a pistol that
might belong to one of your mem-
bers,” Mitchell told the man. “Of
course, we've very little to back it
up, but we’d like to make certain.”

“Got the gun with you?” the secre-
tary asked. é

Mitchell shook his head. “No, but
I have its number. It is 142,867.”

The club secretary checked the
records and came back with a name
written on a slip of paper. “That
pistol is owned by Al Phillips who
lives in Thompsonville,” he said.

The investigators thanked him and
left. On the way, Mitchell pointed out
to the others. “It may not be the
murder gun. Chameroy hasn’t com-
pleted his tests yet. But we'll just see
what Phillips has to say.”

He glanced at the gas guage. “We'd
better fill up.” He turned in at the
next station and while the tank was
being filled he noticed a stack of used
tires. On a hunch, he questioned the
proprietor.

“Anybody in since yesterday for a
change of tires?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Yes, one fellow
drove in and got two better tires for
his rear wheels. Left the old ones.”

“Let’s see them,” Mitchell said
casually. He took out the sketch which
had been made of the tracks at the
murder scene. His manner changed
abruptly when he compared it with
the tires which had been left. “Look
here,” he called to the others. “These
seem to match!”

His colleagues crowded around and
agreed excitedly. They almost held
their breath as Mitchell asked the
station owner, “Were these tires left
by a fellow named Phillips?”

The man shook his head. “No. Fel-
low’s name was DeCaro.”

“DeCaro!” the officers chorused.

Mitchell voiced their next thoughts.
“That’s funny,” he finally remarked.
“The gun is owned by Phillips, yet
DeCaro’s car undoubtedly was on that
dirt road. Could it be we’ve got two
men in on this instead of one?”

Lenzi cut in. “How about DeCaro’s
alibi? We found out he was in Wor-
cester around 9:30 and that’s 70 miles
from here.”

Mitchell calculated rapidly. “Pretty
close figuring, if he was the one; but
he could have made it. Let’s see this
Phillips fellow.”

Phillips was located with Chief
Fleming’s aid. “We want to talk to
you about a .22 gun,” Mitchell be-
gan. “You own one?”

Phillips nodded. “Yes, a rifle and a
couple of pistols. That is—’ He sud-
denly stopped, then asked, “Anything
wrong?”

Fleming said, “A pistol registered

in your name with the gun club was
found out in the Elm street section
yesterday, where Mr. Bonelli was
murdered. We think your gun did it.”

Phillips flinched as though struck.
Then after a moment’s reflection, he
said, “So that’s why—”

He cast his glance around the group.
“T think I can tell you about that gun.”

About a week before, he began, a
friend came to him and said he
wanted to borrow or buy a pistol.-An
acquaintance, he explained, was going
on a hunting trip to Maine and needed
a weapon.

Philips said he had no guns to Jend
out, but would sell one if the price
was right. He showed the friend the
.22 calibre revolver and told him he
could have it for $15.

“That fellow said it was kind of
steep, but he’d try to raise the mon-
ey,” Phillips went on. “I didn’t hear
any more about it for a few days, but
a few nights later—I guess it was on
September 24—he came back with
the cash and I let him have the gun.
I also gave him enough ammunition
to load it.”

“Long and short cartridges?” Mit-
chell demanded.

“Yes.”

“Who was this friend you sold the
gun to?”

“Carl DeCaro.”

Tension dropped from the gathered
officers. Mitchell broke the silence.

“Pretty clever, setting up that
elaborate alibi. I can see now how he
arranged it. If it hadn’t been for those
few mistakes he made, he might have
gotten away with it.”

Lenzi nodded. “Yes, he wasn’t care-
ful about those tire marks and where
he left the pistol.”

Doyle interrupted, “But he tried to
cover up the tire mistake, realizing
too late that his car had left marks.”

Mitchell shook his head. “No, I
think that was part of his plan. After
leaving the tracks, he deliberately had
his tires changed, figuring we might
make a check and he’d be in the
clear.”

Immediately several calls were
made to Worcester in the hope of
locating DeCaro. Then two troopers
were dispatched to his Park avenue
home.

HEY had just arrived when a

dirt-streaked machine pulled into
the yard and an exceptionally large
youth stepped out from behind the
wheel. The two troopers, who had
been told by Fleming that DeCaro
weighed 289 pounds and was strong
as a bull, were prepared.

But DeCaro made no attempt to
resist. Instead, he evinced surprise
that uniformed men should be waiting
for him. :

“What’ve I done now?” he asked.

They were noncommittal. “The chief
just wants to see you,” he was told.

One man took DeCaro in the police
_car, the other driving the youth’s
machine. This, the officers noticed,
was spotlessly clean. Could the de-
tectives still be on a false trail?

Mitchell was among the first to
notice this. “Nice new slip-covers you
have, DeCaro,” he remarked. Then,
his face darkening, the detective
snapped, “Rip those things off!”

The slip covers were quickly re-
moved, revealing a front seat badly
stained with a dark substance.

“Bonelli’s blood, eh, DeCaro?”
Mitchell said. “I suppose you thought
you could get away with this!” d

The big youth bit his lip but said
nothing.

At headquarters, as the day prog-

*ressed, DeCaro was confronted with

the pistol, now proved to have been
the murder gun; with Phillips, who
repeated his story about the sale; with
two tires taken from his car and with

tia fe ie

_DISMEM

SPREE lta sah

(Continued from page 9)
hours in which the crime could have
been committed without detection—
the two hours in the forenoon during
which the yard man had been away
from the house.

Was there a tieup between the vic-
tim’s hurried departure in the car and
the murder? Had this unknown
woman driver lured the cantor’s wife
to her doom? Since it was obvious
that robbery was not the motive, why
would a woman implicate herself in
such a ruthless slaughter? What was
to be gained?

Was there a connection between her
and the slayer? It was evident this was
the work of a man. The very state of
the dismembered body indicated it
could never have been performed by
the hands of a woman.

The inspector pondered over the
victim’s relatives in Poland. Could it
be Nazis? This sadistic method sound-
ed like a typical political crime. It
might even explain the presence of the
mysterious woman driver. A fanatic
Nazi needed little more motive than
perverted fanaticism to take part in
such a horrible plot.

Had Schwaczkin told all he knew?
In the stress of excitement, had he
forgotten some vital bit of information
which would point to a quick solu-
tion? Twenty-four hours had already

AUTHENTIC. DETECTIVE CASES

a handkerchief which bore a laundry
mark identified as his.

Stony-faced as this parade of evi-
‘dence and witnesses passed before
him, the big defense worker, who was
rejected in the draft because of over-
weight, finally wilted and confessed.

He admitted hiding the murder loot
in a Worcester park. Then he accom-
panied the officers to the spot and dug
up $1508.

DeCaro was brought to trial before
Judge William F. Comley and a jury
in Hartford on November 30, 1943.
They found him guilty of first degree
murder on December 16.

Judge Comley passed sentence im-
mediately. DeCaro was condemned to
die in Wethersfield’s electric chair.
No date was set and an appeal from
the verdict is still to be heard by the
State Pardons’ Board.

The names of Willson, Guinetti,
Pugglio, Paul and Phillips are ficti-
tious to protect the identities of per-
sons innocently involved in a murder
investigation. The Editor.

te We

RED CORPSE

aay Aaa ee

elapsed and every additional hour
gave the killer more time to make his
escape.

Franks questioned the grief-stricken
cantor again and again. He had the
husband repeat the story of the pre-
vious day’s events, checking the tim-
ing carefully.

T 6:30 Schwaczkin left the house

to attend sunrise services at the
Synagogue and then proceeded to his
offices. At 8:15 his wife telephoned to
tell him of a change in her plans.

Mrs. Schwaczkin was in good spir-
its. She was going to a luncheon and
committee meeting at the Jewish
Community Center consequently she
wouldn’t be home at noon time.

Jeff Lowe had been sent by Mr.
Schwaczkin to help around the house.
The handyman had been there many
times before and had also been em-
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was known to be trustworthy and a
good worker.

When the cantor returned home at
12 o’clock, it was evident that no
household chores had been done.
Breakfast dishes were stacked in the
sink, no lunch was prepared for him.
A noise in the basement attracted his
attention. He called down and Lowe
answered. ‘Nike

The hired man inquired about Mrs.

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FASCIMAT

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specting them, said the impressions
could be lifted.

“They're kind of distinctive too,”
he said. “Two prints, both different
treads. The car ought to be easily
tabbed, once located.” He made
sketches of the treads before starting
the work of lifting them.

“We're on the hot trail of a killer
who can’t be far away,” Mitchell told
the others. He gave orders to several
state troopers to search the woods for
a gun, cartridges or other evidence,
then suggested to Simonton that he
perform a prompt autopsy and remove
the slugs from Bonelli’s body.

“Let’s go up to see Bonelli’s land-
lady and find out with whom he was
riding this morning,” he said to Flem-
ing and Lenzi.

When the three officers reached the
place, Salvatore Bonelli’s landlady
could give them little information.
She had not seen Bonelli leave that
morning, so presumed he had gone
to work in his usual way—riding in
a car owned by Carl DeCaro, with
Johnny Paul as the second passenger.

“What about DeCaro and Paul?”
Mitchell asked Fleming.

The chief responded, “Just local
boys. Let’s see what they know.”

T the defense plant, they learned
A that Paul was at his bench, but
DeCaro hadn’t reported. “Call Paul
out here,” Mitchell told the personnel
manager.

Chief Fleming greeted the defense
worker, who was known to him.
“How’d you get here this morning,
Johnny?” he asked firmly.

The man seemed puzzled by the
visit of the three officers. He said,
“Why, on the six o’clock bus—that is,
6:20 out of Thompsonville. DeCaro
couldn’t come this morning. He had
to go up to Worcester, Mass., to see

a relative who’s sick in a hospital.”

The faces of the investigators fell.
If this was true, they were following
a blind lead.

“Do you know whether DeCaro ac-
tually went up there?” Mitchell de-
manded.

Paul shook his head. “No, I don’t.
But he told Bonelli and me yester-
day that he thought he would, saying,
‘If I don’t show up at my usual time
tomorrow morning, you fellows bet-
ter take the bus.’”

“And he didn’t show up?”

“No; I waited on my front porch
until 6:15, then walked down and got
on the bus.”

This story, all realized, could be
easily checked.. The bus driver or
some of the passengers probably could

‘verify Paul’s statement and a call to

Worcester undoubtedly would sub-
stantiate or disprove the DeCaro

angle. Where would the investigators
be then?,

“What's it all about?” Paul asked
suddenly. He went white when told
of the murder.

Mitchell said, “Know a reason why.
someone should kill him?”

Paul nodded slowly, “Yes, that
money he carried. One day, about
three weeks ago, I asked him to cash
a check for me. He took a small box
out of his inside pocket and showed
me a flat pile of bills. ‘There’s $1,500,’
he told me.”

None of the investigatérs had seen
a cardboard box such as Paul de-
scribed, substantiating the theory that
robbery was the motive for the crime.
Unless, of course, someone killed the
man for revenge and took fhe money,
too.

Paul was excused and Fleming, ac-
companied by the other officers, left
to check his story. It took them but
little time to ascertain that he was
telling the truth. The bus driver re-
membered picking him up on the 6:20
trip.

From headquarters they telephoned
Carl DeCaro’s house on Park avenue
and learned that the youth, who was
only 19, had indeed driven to Wor-
cester earlier that day.

“What time did he go?” Fleming
asked.

“He set his alarm clock for four,”
replied the relative. “I didn’t see him
start, but his car was gone from the
garage when I got up at six.” .

Fleming hung up. “DeCaro seems
out,” he announced.

The three investigators pondered

PROSECUTION

District Attorney Hugh M. Alcorn, Jr.,
successfully conducted the trial and
sent a killer to the electric chair.

the problem. The way matters stood,
it appeared that Salvatore Bonelli, on
his way to catch the bus that morning,
had been picked up by some other
motorist, one who either knew about
the bankroll carried by the elderly
defense worker or who saw the man
display it after entering the machine.

“Whoever did it,’ Mitchell ob-
served, “has a badly bloodstained car
and probably bloodstained clothing.
He could hardly have lifted his vic-
tim out of the machine and placed
him in the grave without getting badly
mussed up. We've got to find that
can”

“Yes, but how?”

Mitchell drew on his pipe. “There
are a couple of possibilities,” he con-
cluded. “Someone may have seen
Bonelli getting into that car and can
identify it, or some absentee down at
the plant might have been the killer.
Someone who worked with Bonelli
would have been in a better position
to know about that bankroll than an
outsider.”

Fleming put in, “It was common
gossip that Bonelli carried that
money.”

“Anyway,” Mitchell insisted, “we
ought to start digging out both angles.
And here’s another thing: Although
DeCaro told his relatives he was go-
ing to Worcester, how do we know
he got there? We’ve got to check with
that hospital. Got the name?”

Fleming nodded and reached for
the telephone. “Yes,” he said, then
gave the information to the operator.
In a few minutes he had the con-
nection and was talking to the hos-
pital authorities. When he hung up,
his face reflected the seeming hope-
lessness of this avenue of inquiry.

“DeCaro has been there and left,”
he told Mitchell.

The latter looked down at his wrist-
watch and saw that the hands stood
at 9:45. And that hospital was 70
miles away.

TATE Detective John J. Doyle
S joined the group. He had been
sent from Hartford by Commissioner
Edward J. Hickey to assist in the in-
vestigation.

Having just come from the murder
scene, where Lieutenant Frank Shaw
and Chameroy were still at work and
the three troopers were futilely hunt-
ing a gun, he was familiar with the
case.

Mitchell told Doyle about their
proposed moves, and the state de-
tective had a plan. “We'll split,” he
said. “There’s four of us. Fleming and
I will check on any absentees at the
plant; you and Lenzi can question
some of the residents along Elm
street. We can’t afford to lose any

time on this case. A killer with $2,000
could get a long way off.”

The others agreed and the plan was
put into effect. Fleming and Doyle
quickly discovered, in checking with
the personnel manager again, that
Rand Willson and Joseph Guinetti
were the only workers absent that
day, besides DeCaro and Bonelli.

“I know them both,” Fleming told
the other officer. “Guinetti has been
in trouble before.”

A quick follow-up disclosed that
Willson was ill in bed at home, but
Guinetti was out
somewhere in his
car, having left the
house before seven
o'clock.

While this was
going on, Mitchell
and Lenzi were
making progress on
Elm street. They
found a woman
who saw a man
about Bonelli’s size
and age obtain a
ride from a motor-
ist in a gray, cloth-
top coupe.

“I just saw it
from my window
around 6:30
o’clock,” she added,
“so I wasn’t close
enough even _ to
recognize Mr. Bo-
nelli, whom I’ve
seen a few times.
But it surely looked .
like him.”

No one else who
had seen the gray
coupe could be found, but the two
officers attributed this to the early
hour of the morning. However, they
hustled down to police headquarters
and flashed an alarm for cars of this
type, asking close inspection for
bloodstains.

Fleming and Doyle came in and
reported on the missing Guinetti.
Mitchell received this news with keen
interest. “What kind of a car does he
own?” the detective asked Fleming.

The police chief called the defense
worker’s home. He reported back, “A
gray Chevvy coupe.”

Mitchell snapped his fingers. “The
alarm’s out for a car like that,” he
said, “so Guinetti may be picked‘ up
at any minute.” He glanced at his
watch. “But if he’s not found by three
o’clock, we'll start looking for him
personally.”

At the county detective’s sug-
gestion, Patrolmen Reynolds and
O’Brien were dispatched to keep a
watch on Guinetti’s house, with orders
to bring the youth in immediately if

he returned home.

“What next?”
Detective Doyle
‘asked Mitchell.

“That gun,” the
county officer an-
swered. “Of
course the killer
will toss it out
somewhere, prob-
ably as soon as possible. Likely to
have done so already. Suppose we go
back to Elm street and see how those
troopers are making out?”

Doyle and the others agreed. But
before leaving, Mitchell asked if Sal-
vatore Bonelli had ever been in any
trouble. It was revealed that he once
had been in a tavern brawl.

He noted the name of the man who
had made the complaint—Ernesto
Pugglio. “An Italian,” he noted.

“Sicilian,” the chief corrected.
“Bonelli came from Sicily, too—
though that was 30 years ago. He’s
lived here ever since.”

Mitchell became thoughtful. He
mused, “I wonder if this thing could
go all the way back to the old coun-
try? Some persons harbor a grudge a
long time. With six or more bullets
in him, Bonelli could have been the
victim of vengeance. Can you find this
Pugglio?”

Fleming nodded. “I think so. He
usually hangs out around a tavern just
about a block from here. Bonelli used

HEADS
Detective Joseph F. Mitchell directed police hunt for the
war worker's slayer who had buried his victim alive. The
murderer (left) was swiftly tracked down, despite alibi.

INVESTIGATION

to go there, too. Maybe the boys in
the place would know something.”

“Maybe they would. Suppose you
start checking that angle while we
go looking for the gun?”

When Mitchell arrived at Elm street
with Doyle and Lenzi, they discovered
the three troopers had made no
progress. The county detective or-
ganized a search which would take
them from the murder scene all the
way into town.

“We're going to reconstruct the
route that killer took,” he said, “and
search every inch of the road, both
sides. Doyle, you take two men and
comb the right side; Lenzi and I,
with another, will scour the left. Sing
out if you find anything of impor-
tance.”

Two hours later it was Mitchell
himself who gave an exultant shout.
In a ditch on Broad Brook Road, not
far from Thompsonville center, he
picked up a .22 calibre pistol, its
cylinder missing. Although search for
this went forward for another hour,
it was not found.

“Maybe Chameroy can fit another
cylinder into this and fire some test
shots,” he told the others. He handed
the weapon, wrapped in his handker-
chief, to a trooper, saying, “Run this
over to the lab. Tell Chameroy to look
for prints and to rig it up for test
shots. I’ll see how the autopsy’s mak-

(Continued on page 70)

icin td repentance, and to esta the world
fuck 4 ftate of peace, as is the beft probation for
eternity. All who haye net a-true deck mt vad
God; ‘ate under his difpleafure. He doth not
fetve ‘becaufe he is pele with raged Their di

anged the

time will "Yoon come, eishét in “thie, or ‘another

world, when the judgment of God will go forth» ‘
againft them, to fhow his ‘own holinefs, and to

| make his ‘Qwa ees betel ay
& Ae cog

is in

hi red -with the princi See | §
Soin CHA: eek d,

thitig.* The ingredients oF a hell, both prefent.and |
future, are in its very nature. | Why are not the %

finners ‘of this world perfectl miferable: beings at. a

this moment? Not becadte eir principles do not
: lead: to it; but God to anfwer his infinitely wile
urpofes, holds them from it:* Sin admits-n0 ha
inefs in the enjoyment of God, nor im a view of
his law and government. It deftroys peace of com.
{cience and that inward harmony, which makes _
eXiftence bleffed. It counteraéts allfocial faliciey,

‘turning men’s hands and«héarts againft one ang-

ther. While a finful creature: dreads God ag his
Judge, he’ ought to dread himfelf as the immediate »

nftrament. of his own wretchednefs.. He: carries .
in his own bofom the caufe and means of his‘un~
happinefs, and there can be no fafety to him in

his own principles. Inftead of thinking hard of ~ ”

God, for thofe evils which his fins bring upon him,

- takes place in civilized fociety, and

hitherto saat hin from utter ruin. = ‘3

re the phe en nature -of finful principle
general: but. of feyeral: particular kinds of fin,
Shak are very prevalent among mankind. Ins
mperance is a finful habit, which ruins a
mnber of mankind, and leads joes cok ih
. the 8
ed ry sn m coniceace wi

: Though ‘
denied any speak malicious i intention of mur -
; aks in moft feelin terms of the danger |
int *Fiaweniog God, weet
perate life. He tr traces back Naat ‘of his ¥

packs pees, fpeci

p bringing him to this cafe And he is only” ond of
thoufands of mankind, wha have come fo

7 ame end by the fame meansy. -A mind jntox- -
Hear with liquor, is prepared to, ‘mingle with, the
~moft impure. and abandoned compaiions, - and to
ommit any vislence. Almoft every violence that
family unhappi-

nes. Axe be traced to istineale as their caufe,
‘How many rational creatures it turns into Deafts
y.!, how many’ families it cloaths with rage
: Jeprives of bread! how es it difturbs th¢
“ootherwife ks nei anyat
“brings to tie on the haa

an unchatte, Wy ies 2S

,
e

ee \

this world are mott wonderfully appointed.» The :

: ftate of probation in which men are placed, forbids : RS a:
the full execution of jultice upon them.—This. “eathons and appetites :—Who having fuf ie Mi ee cel dat
would be inconfiftent with fuch, ufe of means ag- derite there is a God, go thro’ days and year@in
are appointed unto repentance; {till if there were: forgetfulnefs of him; in impiety, profanenefs, thinks S
no judgments they would wholly forget God. - He © ang only of time, the world’ and prefent amufes — twee
therefore appoints his judgments in wonderful wif © Wents:—To thofe who do ‘not-redlize their obli- . ~ saat
dom, fo as not to prevent a ftate of trial, and af: ation to live forthe glory of their maker :—To a
the fame time remind us that the wages of fin are il whofe minds are fo much ‘taken tp with Se,
death. There are fo many of God’s judgments. efent things, as to “forget théy “are foon to die Se.
on fin, that if our hearts are fet to do evil becaufe |é6me into} Jeniaht Pothole whe liv wath.
the full punifhment is not fpeedily executed, the.’ yf prayer and -in néglect: of the inititetion of fe —
conduct is moft unreafonable, His, judgments én; and to’all who have not a fitpreni¢’ love of
are as a light that goeth forth, confirming the fen, i his lawand government.—The great defem
tence of his law, that. the wages ,of fii are deathy fuch perfons, ig; they Have not that holinéfs,
. They haye been fo from the beginning, and ar mercy and knowledge of God ~in' thgjr hearts and
bcfore'our éyes'on this folemn occafion, ragtice, in which true obedience confifts. Being
Bi bee a a aoe aes ah ee Sika A a feffinive of a true love of God, and carnal and
In further deferibing thofe whom God reproved, «7 1 if their teale difpofition, and unfeeling of
ke fays, they like men tranfgrefled the covenant, te oral “obligati 78 fringe they te nereommit
and dealt treacheroufly again{t him.—-A finful lifege Peek of thole crimes that hruft be punithed by thé
in the greateft part of thofe who indulge them- and ‘of civil»juttice, AeA rears slang es
felves, may fitly be called treachery. In fome ge- ee & Ne epetiante: 5
neral fenfe, they profefs to believe he is God, and A want of love and obedience to God implies 4
promife to obey him; but where the heart is dil. ” heart capable of any other crime. He who fails in
obedient, and his charaGer and law are not rev; — Jove, and is unjuft and treacherous to his God is ;
erenctd and loved, the whole is a treacherous Pros: certainly, by the Savis difpofition, capable of ris ma »
feflion ; and if thofe who make it, ae ever brought - mity-and treachery to his fellow-creatures. And
te fee God and themlelves truly, they will be fen * then we fee very many, who give no evidence of
fible it is the cafe, » Ge Tar delight in God ; it muft be imputed to fpecial
2 ‘was | “divine refpeét and care, that we are not much oft- + *
Tue. charaéter drawn in the context applies toa ~éner calléd to fuch folemn fcenes as are before us > *
great watlety of perfons. To thofe who again > this day.—When we look on an ynhappy mam
. knowledge ive in the vicious indulgence ofstheiy... ‘ od hat Jefe t0 expofe himfelf to t is. death,

2 8: 4
a 8 oe, kA i
iets of, Se aeitaleeag Py eee
aes WE "hatter -
2 ee bap 8 7

_ e a fs epee Wes Paes ers. Ase Bis A Meigs ‘ots Jae
it ae Rez oy eee Sr ee ae 3 pe are) ei
tre er Es oe ne 2
: f a
gat ee
- 2

5 pie bos ie
he. ree

+o - 4 *s ¢ s asascar saan " =e ie *

_maaAy fouls it ruins for both worlds !-Thofe, whe Ealbyour fins, you may go by: this primi Bae is

Ge themfelves up to this fin, rathly defy all poft Mme Pyou are appointed, to a Reaven-of gloriowwand e-
ible mifery. This prevailing vice, is greatly pros Glee ternal happinefs. If you have truly f ve
moted by tipling houfes an dram -fhops, wher as
the incautious gradually acquire a habit whicly

riches of divine grace in Jefus Chrift and the foes.
com of divine leve will be glorified in plucking:

proves their ruin. Every fuch place is: a deep es as a brand out of the burning, from that vici-.
vil'in fociety, and a nurfery fol murder end dale j inconfiderate and prayerlefs like, in which you
nal'tuin. [do not know’ afiy way in which thé acknowledge you have generally lived. If you
civil autho can make themfelves more worthy

of refpedty or do greater good to. the ‘public, wha:
are placed under :

>» faith.. But.as your eternal ha

= ou cannot review: matter, Loc
to°God, that he’ would - ten offia eo

To! n e remarks for your all ance. ee Taleb mae ad ns ¢.

goodnefs of Godis an acknowledged trath; butthi®
. } goitig‘to happiness

another world as he doth in this. — Your doétrinal’
Linairledge will not fave; for the heart is often ve-.

ry bad, where the underftanding is well indoétrin- |
-ated.—Your own righteoufnefs will not fave you ae:
or certainly, you have nothing of your own, but’ a
~ a life of fin to prefent before your . udge,—-vifible. a,
'-° fins, and “a heart’ full of fin and forgetfulnefs of,” ey
A a. re gofpel—pure formes

ight
he prefent nature of
finy-atd the more awful jadgments of God on fuch’
#8 live and die unreformed. > ~ - :

FRE I am in the laft place to apph ‘“ elf-to the wedi
Brg whovis foon to die, > se! ~ pea Tell

My unhappy Fellow-Creatare; 9 td
I call you unhappy int the: fight of wen, as one”
whom the holy providence of God-appaint® to at
‘Phominios death. ‘There is, neverthelefs, room’
- or Raid sheng happ rin the world to which
Dee ou aretoon going. It is the glary of the pofpel. that:
aX i proctabé fulvation to the chict of repocni ee
_-Rers, thro’ Jefus Chrift. ~ If you have repented c be A

Epa ced
ted,

‘ et

tinder the.fentence of human laws, we are condenié”
ned by the divine law. The goodnefs of the beft -
hath been too much like a morning cloud. It i”
God’s providence and not our own natural difpge«
fitions, which hath preferved us from punifhab
crimes, There is no fafety in that evil heart, which #
deals treacheroutly towards God, by not loving =
him; and which is deftitute of an Bia,
knowledge of his fanétifying grace. If we are.
fanctified by his holy fpirit, fovereign grace hath
done the work; and if not fanctified, the only
eaufe which preferves, is that Almi ghty power, |
which means to uphold a certain degree of oer
in, the world... The bet prefervative i is-mercy.a
ledge. of God. Thefe.in-our text, flan a
oppofed to faerifice and burnt. offering.
means a holy conformity to the divine goodnelyy
and a fanctifying knowledge of God and his coms
mandments. ‘This is a divine temper of the ‘f 4
which refifts temptation—makes fin appear hateful!
-—and delights in glorifying God, and doing good -
to men.- The laft, facrifice and burnt offering, as
they {tand oppofed in the text ta mercy and a
ledge of the Lord, mean that general or formal. or
unaffeCting belief of God, his law and our own
ty; and that inconftant attention tothe inftitu.
tions of religion, which are confiftent with a teat. |
er love of the world and its interefts, of ourlelves
and our own lutts, than we have of God bimfelf,
In this, there is little efficacy for prefervation.—

And all of this charaéter, ought to feel that it is S

God’s care of the world and not their own. rincl
ples, which keep them from fudden ruin jn: time

and eternity. In thofe principles of fin which dee. 7

iy God his: vigltgeies, éan find:no, faery
felves ; nor camthere be any fafety. to
ublic fafery in the midft of fuch. pri, fe
aferibed to: the ‘controling power of ‘the Al».
Thighty ; ; and when the time. her either in this
the next world, that the th of his judge

nénts is neceflary. "for Baniy Godl + he will lea
he finner to fhow | a dad meet dle

is dinates 1th He ape ich an imiprovenier
the fubjeét, as naturally arifes, ‘Srban: the pafiag
poet been paraphrafe ‘and from the’ socal i

our. meeting.’ And.1 fhall do. this, Firft, with
arence to the congregation at large. at
Lanes Tenia to the cc ac mia

much God i is difplesied with 118; 3 ‘we are moti,
rae fandtified in| our ‘ene and practice.

mplies pure affections of the heart, our ftate =e :
Be both for, time and eternity." The Some
in. mercies and bounties of providence, are

e God is pleafed with us, for. hee Bebe :

‘both on the good and the evil, the j
! -How, many. ‘angratefal men
8 3. To how many vicious men, con he
‘éommon prefervation of life, even prea
ie fo Ree from the deftrudtig

Grovannt Don Vans O,

November lb, 19/7

November 1b, LUZ

Stephen Luglione,

ve. eae

cd
”
a
*

WO MURDERERS-
| ARE HANGED AT

+, STATE PRISON

Von Vanso and Buglione Pay
‘Penalty for Slaying Simon-
_ elli of New Britain.

Glovanni D’on Vanso and: Ste pl-
réay Buglione, both 22 vears old. |
swho confessed to the murder. of |
“Raffaele Simonblli in New Britain
On the night of Tuesday, Sept 25.
were hanged at the state prison
in Wethersfield early this mornings.
There was no unusual incident: to
delay the execution. Ten minutes |
and thirty-nine seconds 9 elapsed
before Dion Vanso wie offically
pronounced dead by Dr. dwal?
Pt, Fox, the prison physteain. In

rhe case of Buglione, it took long.’

ler, eleven minutes and forty-one |
i seconds petssing belore Y, lrowty
[ Was lowered into the cosket The
hanging was Witnessed by prison
| off icra Ts. clergymen and “newspa-
| permen

; Reprieve Refa-ed.

An eleventh hour attempt was
made to hold up the hangin: 2%
mg when frvends of fhe men
asked that Governor Holcomb |
grant & reprieve on the ground
that the condemned men had im-
plicated an unclé of D’on Vanso
as the real instigator of the crime.
hey declare! that te unele who
lives in New Or nee hired them
‘to come to New Britain and shoot
Simonelli. Prosecuting ’ Attorney
Mugh MM. Alcorn, whe prosecuted |
ithe men at the trial objected ani |
Governor Holcomh refused to
grat any slay

D'On Vanzo entered the death |
chamber at 12:96:48. the trap was
sprung at 12:97:11 and he Wad.
, prongg nied dead ab 12:17:50. Bug-!
ligne entered the chamber af 19 -
| 23.15. the }rap was sprung at i-.-
| 23:29 and ig pro ourbed dcad
at 12:37:49.

George M. Dortch:

Condemned by New London County
Superior Court om Febuary 23, 1950.

, Narrowly reprieved: 2-16-53.

Finally reprieved: 7-11-55.

ae ~~ Sager a ae

|Stonington Slayer Clank:

NEW LONDON, Feb. 23 — (AP)
: A Superior Court jury today con-
| victed George Marvin Dorteh, Jr.,
30, on a firat degree murder charge
‘ arising from the death by astab-
bing of his former landlad Gs

| "The jury of seven worn? and
five men returned its verdict aftet
deliberating about two and a half
houra,

Dortch, of Westerly, R,. r was \
immediately sentenced Ju :
: mi Seis. sewers contended he wee eu.

.| fering trem an “gleohh

A motion to ‘set aside the esediel . At wae the Leak 4 i
waa filed by his attorneya, Joha’J. | der trial ‘eon

|Gallagher of Stonington, and: a |
Walter Flynn, of Westerly. ge

\ Thomas E. Troland to die iw th
| | electrie chair at the Wethersfi
State prison on June 22..

Sentenced to Death i Death in Chair

"The mate ccoun oak. accused Dortch of mur
dering Mra, Dorothy’ Sebastian, 28,
in.the rear yard of her home in
the. Paweatuex senrion of Stoning-
ton- fest Sep: She was found
dead: with. % rants wounds. An ~~

Doles . testified ‘tn’, is’ ‘détense’
that. he: “eh bord ‘and meant th marry

Mra. Sebastian @nd could’ not re-
call ‘ele: aes “had- heppesed.

Slayer’ S

OD Minw es Before Death

;eee

GOVERNOR ACTS:
ON ‘NEW EVIDENCE
WN DORTCH CASE

» .(Centinued from Page One)
tiple own behalf, even when urged ,
y Gov. Lodge. i

pdAttotney Francis F. McGuire df
Rew London told the board Dotrtch
{Eguillty of a “crime of passion” and
eaid His death Ties serve the state
fo good purpo
Fells of. “Disturbed” Childhood
‘He told How Dortch had a “hectic |
= disturbed” childhood because
chstody was divided between
his parents who separated when he
four years old.
vsThe first “major mistake” in
fidetch’s life, McGuire said, was
wiin he went to live in New York
Giis’s Harlem as a youth, and ac-
quired the habit. of carrying a
\uge and drinking.
“The second major mistake, Mc-
Guire added, was when Dortch met
tus victim, Mrs. Sebastian. with
whom he became intimate. Dortch
killed the Pawcatuck woman, he
said, because she was friendly with |
romen. -~ P |
t, McGuire said, Dortch/|
n't even recall stabbing the wo- |
mam he loved because he blacked
from frenzy and alcohol shortly |
re. .
“This was backed by Dr. Louis H. |
Cohen, New Haven psychiatrist,
who told the board he feels sure
there was a “blackout” period dur-
ing which Dortch committed mur-
der.

° Scoffs at Claims
State’s Attorney Robert P. Ander-
son of New London county scoffed

at.claims that the crime was one)

of Passion.

his was.a crime of revenge,” he
said and he went on to reiterate
trial testimony on premeditation.

A state psychiatrist who examin-
ed Dortch the day after the mur-
der testified he was safe and re-
called most of the details of his
crime, Anderson added.

News that his mercy plea had
been rejected was carried to Dortch
in his “death row” cell by Prison
Chaplain Gates and Deputy Warden
George A. Cummings.

“If you do wrong you have to pay
the penalty,” Dortch told the prison
officials.

-Cummings said the slayer ex-
pressed his appreciation for the
kindnesses shown him during his
three years confinement in death
row.

Dortch murdered Mrs. Sebastian
Sept. 3, 1949. He war convicted
Feb. 23, 1950 and sentenced to die
the. week of June 22, 1951. He re-
ceived a stay of execution, pending |
thea. outcome of an appeal to tne
Supreme Court of Egrors. The ap, |
peal was turned doWn-tlast Decem- |
ber-and Dortch was resentenced to,
thé. chair a few days after. |

The warden said he believes ~

‘ Dortch’s last minute escape from
jthe chair sétgs a new. record for

‘closeness.”
| Warden Walker also emphasized
,that the execution was postponed,
that no reprieve had been granted,
Dortch’s execution was set for to-
day or within five days thereafter,
| The deadline will be midnight, Fri;
day. .

The warden would not disclona
; what the new evidence in the nanas
of the governor is, :

Commutation Plea Turned Down |

Dortch’s plea for commutation of
the death sentence imposed for tha
| slaying of Mrs. Doris Sebastian of
Pawtucket, was turned down today
by the Board of Pardons.

“The petition for mercy is ded
| nied,” announced* Common Fleas
Judge Vine R. Parmelee, board sec4
retary, when the board reached its
decision after almost an hour and
= half of deliberation.

For two and a half hours at the
| prison, the five-man board of pay
| dons, including Gov. Lodge, listened
|to pleas for clemency from the
doomed man’s attorneys and mem
| bers of his: family,

“It would have been better if he
had been ‘killed in the war than
have him go to the electric chair."
Dortch’s father, a Westerly R. 1,
refuse coll¢ctor, told ha board.

“Back hdbme,” he continued. “eve
| erybody I. meet, even the whit4
folks, are praying for my junior.
| Men, T hope you'll see things my
|way and don't aend him to the
electric chair.”

Dorteh himself refused to spenk

(Continued on Page Ten)

| chaplain.

GOVERNOR ACTS
NEW EDEN
N DORTCH CAS

Dramatic Scene at Ale
as Last-Minute Stay
Is Ordered «© :*

| NO DETAILS REVEALED

is Turned Down by

Earlier, Commutation - Plea
Pardons Board |

HARTFORD, Feb. 16 — (AP) |
| George M. Dortch, Jr., of Wester
ly, R. I, missed his appointment
, with death ‘tonight by five mine
utes, :
| The 83-years-old convicted killer
| was scheduled to go to the State
' Prison electric chair at 10 p.m}

Five minutes before 10 Governot
‘Lodge called Warden Ralph Ht
Walker and ordered the execution
| postponed; i

New Evidence, ‘Lodge
“The gavernor told me he
| possession of new evidence,” *}

er told newsmen at 10:29
ordered the execution held
cause he feels everything
should be done to give Dortch
' fair chance.” bes

| Plans for the execution”

| complete when the
| was received.

| Witnesses were on nana’ to ba
| the execytion. and Dortch, ; #!

i knew he was scheduled to dip‘!

| five minutes, was apeaking what

| felt would behis last words t

| Rev. J. (Bernard Gates, prisot

The husky killer already) bi
eaten his last meal consisting, th

warden mid, -of ateak,: Frenc§
fried potatoes, salad and atra
berry, shortcake, ;

Deputy Warden George A. Cw
mings ldst no time in breaking th
good pra § to Dortch. Cummings

only a postponement. Dortch,° 0
vicusiy delighted, nodded that
understood. 4
“But it gives mte new hope,”
exclaimed, °
The convicted aldyer “was ;
mediately . transferred. from
death cell, inst outside the exéeal
tion chamber, back to Wis. otd cell
in “Death, ow.” Three other in-+
mates of Death Row were silent
but obvioysly glad to see Dortel
return, Chaplain Gates said.
Dramatic Announcement :
Newsmen and prison officiald
gathered at the prison suspected
that something -had happened when

emphasized\there was ‘no ‘co,

i the execution time rolled by on thg

| er's terse,

clock, Then came Warden Walk.

dramatic announce:
ment, : H

368 Conn

pacity, reason and understanding enough
to * * * judge of the nature, character
and consequence of the act charged against

' him, that the act is wrong and criminal and

that the commission of it will justly and
properly expose him to penalty, and he is
within the law’s protection if his mind is
so diseased or abnormal as to render him
incapable of resisting an impulse to do an
otherwise criminal act.” See State v.

_ Wade, 96 Conn, 238, 242, 113 A. 458.

[3] Near the end of its instructions, the
court charged that the jury might find the
defendant guilty’ of homicide in a lesser
degree than murder in the first degree. It
pointed again to the elements of wilfulness,
deliberation and premeditation and charged
that if any one of these was not established
beyond a reasonable doubt the jury might
find the defendant guilty of murder in the
second degree. It stated specifically: “Tf
you are satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt
that all the elements * * * except the
presence of wilfulness, or deliberation or
premeditation or specific intent to kill, if
you entertain a reasonable doubt that -any
one of these elements entered into the kill-
ing, your verdict should be guilty of mur-
der in the second degree.” The charge
fully complied with the defendant’s re-
quests. ‘It was an accurate statement of
the law and was adequate to guide the jury
in the application of the evidence offered
on the defendant’s claims. State v. Dortch,
139 Conn. 317, 323, 93 A.2d 490; State v.
Saxon, 87 Conn. 5, 16, 86 A. 590; State

v. Smith, 49 Conn, 376, 382; Andersen v. -

State, 43 Conn. 514, 517; State v. Johnson,
40 Conn. 136, 143. ey

[4-6] The defendant alleges error be-
cause the court charged the jury that, if
they found the defendant guilty of murder
in the first degree, under General Statutes,
Cum.Sup.1951, § 1406b, Cum.Sup.1953, §
2463c, they might recommend imprisonment
for life. The defendant challenges the
constitutionality of the statute and the form
of the charge as given. It is fundamental
that no one may question the constitution-
ality of a statute unless he is harmed by
the .application of it. Carroll v. Socony-

109 ATLANTIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

Vacuum Oil Co., 136 Conn. 49, 59, 68 A.2d
299. Before the statute in question was
enacted, the only penalty which could be
imposed upon a verdict of guilty of mur-
der in the first degree was death: General
Statutes § 8351. It is the addition of the
provision permitting the jury to recom-
mend the alternative penalty of life im-
prisonment of which the! defendant com-
plains, claiming that it reriders the whole
statute invalid because it permits discrim-
ination without establishing. standards to
control the exercise of. the jury’s discre-
tion. Obviously, the addition of this pro-
vision has not harmed the defendant in this
case. If anything, it resulted to his ad-
vantage in that it gave him a chance to re-
ceive a sentence of life imprisonment rath-
er than of death. In any event, the jury
did not. exercise the power given to them
by the clause of the statute which he claims
is invalid. It follows that the defendant
has no standing to attack the validity of
the sentence on the ground that the statute
under which it was imposed is unconstitu-
tional. The court read the statute, told the
jury that ‘the statutory penalty for first
degree murder ‘is death, “subject only to
the condition that the jury in its absolute
discretion chooses to recommend imprison-
ment for life,” and that such a recommen-
dation should be made upon consideration
of all the evidence. The defendant’s claim
of error is without merit. Notes, 17 A.L.
R. 1117, 1125, 87 A.L.R. 1362, 1364; 26
Am.Jur. 541, 562; see State v. Zuro Ya-
mashita, 61 Utah 170, 171, 211 P. 360.

[7-9] The defendant further charges
error in the court’s ruling on the offer of
certain evidence relating to his mental ca-
pacity. The questions asking Dr. Quinn
to state the difference between the conduct
of the defendant and that of a normal per-
son were properly excluded. The only
proper function of the medical witness of-
fered by the defense was to’ furnish expert
testimony upon the mental capacity of the
defendant to commit murder in the first
degree. The question propounded was al-
together too general in its scope to elicit
any relevant testimony that would assist
the jury on this issue. Dr, Hemmendinger,

STATE v. DONAHUE Conn. 369
Cite as 109 A.2d 364

the psychologist offered by the defense,
was asked a series of questions to ascertain
what his conclusions were concerning the
kind of behavior which could be expected
from the defendant in different situations.
The court properly refused to allow an-
swers to these questions, upon the ground
that they called for pure speculation. The
defense further propounded two hypothet-
ical questions to elicit an expression of
opinion from the witness as to whether the
defendant acted in a wilful, deliberate and

premeditated manner when he shot Officer’

Morse. These were questions for the jury
and not for the expert witness, and they
were properly excluded. State v. Wade,
96 Conn. 238, 252, 113 A. 458; Underhill,
Criminal Evidence (4th Ed.) pp. 435, 620.
The three other rulings complained of were
correct.
109 A.2d—24 ©

The defendant has excepted to the find-
ing concerning the rulings on evidence
claimed to be erroneous. He contends that
the finding includes argumentative mate-
rial harmful to a proper presentation of
the question involved. We have ignored
the claimed argumentative material. In
reviewing the rulings, we have referred to
the evidence printed in the appendix to the
defendant’s brief (before us for the pur-
pose of passing upon his motion to set the
verdict aside) for a full statement of all
the circumstances. Maltbie, Conn.App.
Proc., p. 102. The defendant’s exceptions
have no merit.

There is no error.

In this opinion the other judges con-
curred.

VITIF CI LITY Ut

Bl aunnie

fi g

DAVIES, George J., white, bamced Connecticut (New Haven-Waterbury) on 10-20-1959,

“How Many Potential Killers...

>”

Not Until Little Brenda Jane Doucette Was Slain Did Bristol, Conn.,
Police Realize How Many Morals Offenders They Knew. And Then—

Brenda Jane Doucette attended
class in the little red brick school-
house was Friday, May 10, 1957.

Like the rest of the children in her
room, the eight-year-old third grader
made a card for Mother’s Day, two days
hence. It was a labor of love. She
decorated it with a hand-drawn carna-
tion, colored it and wrote:

“A Mother’s Day wish to the best
mother in the world is sincerely wished
by your own little girl.”

She signed it, “Love, Bee Jay.” This
was a pet name, from her first two
initials.

There wasn’t a prouder child in all
Bristol, Connecticut, on Sunday when
her mother, Virginia, 29, read the card,
hugged her and thanked her for it.

Her father, Baxter, 30, congratulated
her, too.

Doucette kissed his daughter good-
bye when he left home for his night job
as a turret lathe operator just before six
o'clock Sunday evening. When he re-
turned Monday morning, May 13, he
tiptoed into her room in the frame house
on Town Line Road. She was asleep
and he bent down and touched her fore-
head lightly with his lips.

He was never to see his child alive
again; he was asleep when she left for
school at 8:15.

The family lived a mile and two-
tenths from the Fall Mountain School,
a one-story, two-room building. The
school bus ran within less than 100
yards of the house, along Allentown
Road, but a local ruling provided that
children who were less than a mile and
a half from school couldn’t use it; they
had to walk.

Bee Jay always had company for
virtually the entire distance. Four-year-
old Michele Castongway, too young for
school, waited for her a little way down
the road, walked two blocks with her
and then went home. Judy Petosa, nine,

T= last day blond, brown-eyed

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE,

Bee Jay’s dearest friend, lived a little
farther down the road and they walked
the rest of the way together.

Every school morning, that is, until
Monday, May 13.

At four Monday afternoon, Bee Jay
was due home. She always had been
punctual. Virginia watched through a
window, expecting to see her daughter
skipping along the road, swinging the
red handle of her green and gray metal
lunch box.

Four-fifteen passed, then 4:20 and
4:30, with no sign of the curly-haired
youngster.

“I wonder what’s keeping her,” Mrs.
Doucette said.

Baxter Doucette went out looking for
Bee Jay and her mother telephoned
Pauline Petosa, Judy’s mother. |

Bee Jay hadn’t even been by that
morning, Mrs. Petosa said.

“T didn’t let Judy go to school either
because I didn’t want her to walk alone
down that lonely road,” she said. “We
thought one of the neighbors might
have given Bee Jay a lift. Have you
called the school?”

Virginia telephoned Mrs. Meta Buch,
who taught the third and fourth grades
—22 children in one room. .

“Why, no,” said Mrs. Buch, “Brenda
wasn’t in school today. I thought she
was ill.” Mrs. Buch hesitated. “Have
you called the police?”

Virginia did.

She called Bristol Police Headquarters
and told of her daughter’s leaving home
that morning dressed in an orange
sleeveless blouse, an orange figured skirt
over orange shorts, stockings, gray
sneakers and a green sweater, carrying
her lunch box and a dollar for the
school milk fund and wearing a white-
gold Bulova wrist watch.

Chief Thomas V. McCarthy knew he
couldn’t delay on a case like this. He
ordered a quick check of all accident
reports and hospital records. When

By George Quint

| August, 1957 ° |

these revealed no trace of the girl, he
notified the Connecticut State Police,
the Hartford and New Haven county
detective bureaus and police chiefs of
nearby communities. Then he phoned
fire houses and Civil Defense headquar-
ters. Soon almost 100 men were beating
the bushes and patroling the roads in
and near Bristol.

In the meantime, Baxter Doucette
had stopped at the. Castongway home.
Michele had walked the two blocks with
Bee Jay that morning, as usual, she
said. The last she saw of Bee Jay was
when she waved and went on.

As she returned the wave, she saw
an automobile speeding down the road,
she added.

Doucette went on to the home of the
Petosas.

There, Mrs. Petosa told him that as
Judy was waiting that morning for her
schoolmate, an automobile had turned
into her driveway.

“I told Judy, ‘Look out the window,
maybe it’s Bee Jay,’” the mother said.

Judy, a pretty, brown-eyed girl, had
seen the car. “It turned around ahd
went away,” she declared. “It was a
shiny blue one with a white top.”

“The car left here so fast I. heard
the tires skid in the gravel,” Mrs. Petosa
related.

I fagseste was the only hint of anything
unusual in the vicinity. Along the
route to school, nobody had seen the
missing child.

At ten minutes before eight that Mon-
day evening, the search ended. Charles
Griswold, Arley McDonald, Robert Rus-
sell and Robert Albert, neighbors of
the Doucettes, searching some three
miles south of the missing girl’s home,
spied some bright orange garments be-
neath a bush. It was growing dark, and
in a few more minutes they might have
passed the spot without noticing a
thing.

Special Investigator for ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

Brenda Jane, “Bee Jay", only eight, above, and Gaetane, who spoke little English

“i. ers..stayed away. from jobs.
left their homes.
“There's no sense quitting now.” one

somebody to go off half-cocked and

either kill one of our own men or some
hunter.”

“We'll have a:‘hard time convincing
them of that,” Elliott reasoned, as he

looked out to where campfires and tents°*

dotted the area around the lodge. ‘“‘They
all want a part in this. A lot of those
fellows were good friends of Troy Law-
son.”

. In the morning, the two sheriffs called
a meeting of the searchers and pointed
out the danger of the big posse going
into the mountains again.

“But most important of all, I’m con-
vinced Hibdon can’t stay in the’ moun-
tains,” Britton said. ‘‘He’s spent two
nights up there in the freezing cold
without a coat. He hasn't any food and

I don’t think he’ll try a third night of .-

it. He'll probably try to come back
down .to the highway. There’s a good
chance that he might locate some hunt-
er’s car.”

Britton outlined the plan he and
Elliott had formulated during the night.
The two sheriffs would take a picked
crew of ten men and resume the search

where it had left off the previous .

evening.

“If he’s anywhere up there yet, we’ll
beat the brush and try to run him down
to the highway. That’s where we want
the rest of you fellows. Just take your
cars and cruise the roads. Watch the
side roads and particularly any cars
left by hunters.”

Elliott added to the directions by tell-
ing the volunteers to travel at least four
to a car, with their guns ready, in the
event they should be flagged down by
the killer.

Additional planes were flown in for
the sky search. The road blocks were
maintained and every car was stopped.
Motorists were warned not. to pick up
hitch-hikers or to stop for any reason
while in the area.

URING the day, scores of false tips
came in to the police and posse.

A motorist claimed to have seen a

man walking on the Crescent Lake high-

Avay. Another was seen near Wagon-

tire. A suspicious-looking automobile

was hidden in the brush near Alkali ©

Lake. :
Each report sent cars with armed

men racing to the scene, with no success. ©

At dark the posse came in without
having caught sight of the fugitive
murderer. Road blocks and patrols
continued throughout the night.. At
daybreak the posse left again,

It had rained heavily during the
night and on Sunday afternoon the
posse saw tracks near the top of Dead
Indian Mountain.

.“We’re almost sure they were made
by Hibdon,” Elliott announced when he
returned with the men late Sunday
evening. “It’s freezing up there nights
and the weather is bound to drive him
down. We didn’t see any indication

that he’s shot any game or made a fire.”

. The officers felt certain that Hibdon
would have to make a break from the
mountains to get food.
- Elliott made another appeal on the
radio, this time to the families of hunt-
ers. He asked them to report immedi-
ately if anyone failed to return home at
the time expected.

The Sheriff knew that the threat of
Hibdon raiding a hunting camp was
becoming more and more imminent. He
had gunned down Troy Lawson without
reason. Killing hunters for the food
and clothing he needed so desperately
certainly would cause him no hesitation.

Britton held the same fears, adding:
“And the big trouble is most hunting
parties go out for-a week. We may not
know until someone is reported missing .
and then there’s the job of finding where
they went.”

So the intensive, massive manhunt
continued, with no slacking in the num-
ber or activities of the volunteer posse
members.

Businessmen left their shops. Work-
Farmers

businessman explained. .“Until’ that
killer is caught, no one is safe. He could

-’ walk in on my wife and kids. I’m stick-

ing until we get him.”
At six o’clock Monday ev ening, Wil-
liam Schabener, owner of the Jackpine

‘Motel seven miles south of La Pine,

called State Police Headquarters .in

Gilchrist.

He reported that a suspicious-looking

was seen last,” Aveline said. “He'd have

had to.come .across.the..most..rugged
mountains in this country. It just’

doesn’t seem Possible that he could .
make it.” :

Nevertheless, the officers ‘began to
search along the highway’ and - side
roads for the heavily whiskered man
described by Schabener. It was dark
and the search was difficult.

A Bushee of hunters were in the. area...

man, who identified himself as a hunter,

Up.to the Minute

6s COMieobe up there likes me,” the prisoner said when. -

he heard himself sentenced to life imprisonment for.
his role in a two-state shooting spree which took the lives
of two state troopers.

The prisoner, Victor W. Whitley, was tried in Jennings .

. County, Indiana, for the kidnaping of Deputy Sheriff Clyde

Perkins and holding him hostage during the gun battle .

near Vernon, Indiana, last September 30, in which his
fellow desperado, Ralph Walker Taylor, was slain.

“I was lucky,” was Whitley’s comment as he was led
back to jail to begin his sentence. He faced execution.
However, his luck may be short-lived. Authorities in Scotts-
burg, Indiana, have initiated steps to return Whitley to

Scott County to stand trial for the fatal shooting of Indiana ‘

State Trooper William R. Kelléms.

The story of the chase and gun battle which began with
the slaying of a Michigan State Trooper, Dugald A. Pellot,
and ended after the killing and kidnaping in Indiana,
appeared in the January, 1958, issue of OFFICIAL DETEC-
TIVE STORIES Magazine, under the title, “Two-State
Hunt for the Two-Cop Killers”.

Less fortunate was Donald Keith Bashor, 29, -who died
in the San Quentin gas chamber for the murders of Mrs.
Karil Graham and Mrs. Laura Lindsay in the Wilshire dis-
trict of Los Angeles. —

On the way to his execution, Bashor paused and said:
“T’m glad my crimes are coming to an end. I’m sorry. for

what I did, sorry I can’t make things right. I'm Sorry I.

can’t undo the horrible things I did .
The detective work which led to the arrest of Bashor, a

handsome psychology student, was recounted in the “Case i

of the ‘Bird of Paradise’ Killings” in the September, 1956,
i of OFFICIAL.

Other recent convictions included death. sentences for
George J. Davies; slayer of eight-year-old Brenda Jane

. Doucette of Bristol, Connecticut.. (“How Many Potential

“-

Killers?”, August, 1957); and Thomas J. Higgins for the

hammer slaying of Patricia Ruland in Brooklyn, New York...
Higgins also is ynder indictment for the murder of Dorothy

Campbell, who was slain in a similar fashion (“Then Came

the Second Killing”, July, 1957).

Miami, Florida, George Laris and Spiro Halikas were

ound guilty of conspiracy to kill a: Washington attorney

and were sentenced to serve one year each in prison. The

story of their efforts to hire a killer and the detective work

done to expose the plot, was told in “Two Lives for Sale” in
the September, 1957, issue.

Mrs. Mary Imodean Stout faces a maximum 20-year .

sentence for killing her husband in Memphis, Tennessee.
(“Two Arms in Twin Rivers” in the November, 1957, issue
of OFFICIAL.) The jury found Mrs. Stout guilty of sec-
ond-degree murder for the hammer slaying and dismem-
berment of her spouse which they felt was done “in the
heat of the moment”, when the couple were arguing over
the unpaid bill for her wedding ring. First- degree murder
charges against.Bernt Murphy were dismissed in Salt Lake
City, Utah, on motion of the county attorney. Murphy had
been charged with the murder of Joyce Hickenlooper (‘Two
Killings for Two Years’’, December, 1957) but has been
Sgasnta legally insane and committed to the Utah State
ospita .

‘ included in the police descriptio:

’ have Ferguson in, Lakeview. T)

had come to the motel and asked if he
could buy a razor.

“I told him I didn’t have one,”’ Schab-
ener said. “I think maybe he’s that
murderer they’re looking for up at
Paisley.”

__ Officers Bill Aveline and Avon May-
“field hurried to the motel and obtained
a description of the man. It resembled .

the description they had been given of
Hibdon.

“But ‘it’s more than a hundred: miles
from here to.Summer Lodge where he

Aveline and Mayfield stopped at- the
camps and questioned the men. None
had seen the whiskered “man. All were
warned to be on the lookout for him and
to be on guard if he were sighted.

“We don’t know for sure that ‘he’s the
killer, but just in case he is, we suggest
you keep one man in your party awake
all night,” the officers said... “If he is
the murderer, he’s desperate enough by
now to.kill you for a loaf of bread.”.-

The officers returned to the motel. Pe

“That guy was here again,” Bchab-

ener reported: excitedly. - “He
leave.more.than fifteen.minute

The motel manager said the
-ered man had ‘returned and as

~ a cabin. Schabener had turne

the request with the excuse t)
Water was shut off and health
tions wouldn’t permit, him to r
units until it was fixed.
Aveline radioed in to Klamat.
Additional ..officers.from the
Police and from Britton’s offic
sent to help the patrolmen sear
In the morning, Schabener

ali the hunters staying in his mo OS
the whiskered stranger. who he .

‘around during the night might

murderer the police were search

Among the hunters were He
Broderick .and his two sons, F
Harold, Jr.,.from "Hammond, |

. At three o’clock in the aft
while in the brush, the elder Br
spotted .a whiskered man.

“Put your hands up!” he comn

The man raised his hands |!
vanced menacingly toward the
Broderick called to his. two so
came hurrying up with their r:

The whiskered man said tl
name was Tom Jones and that
a hunter.

““Where’s. your gun?” Pat den

“T lost it.”

“Where?”

“Someplace in the woods. I g:

Pat searched the man and !{
pistol tucked in his belt.

“We think you're that m
they’re looking for.”

“You're crazy!”

-“We'll see.”

“I told you, I just got lost.”

“Then you don’t mind us
you. ”

Taking no chances, the Br
tied up the man with a length
and put him in the back of thei:
truck. The elder Broderick drov

‘his two sons stood guard wit
rifles.

Officer Mayfield was called fi
motel.

“Let me see your left. foot,”

HE man hesitated. Mayfiel
' up the suspect’s trouser le
ankle and foot were deform
scarred by burns. . Ferguson’s }
of. Hibdon’s crippled foot he

wanted man.
Officer Aveline arrived. “Th

plenty of witnesses to identify SS
you still want to say your name
Jones?” ~
“I’m Hibdon. -Let’s go.”
Questioned -by Sheriffs Elli |
Britton in Lakeview, Hibdon
denied killing Troy Lawson.
Later; he gave a statement ac
he had shot the elderly marsha
shotgun. .“I guess I was drt
_ didn’t know .what I was doi
claimed.
_ Hibdon told the officers he |
into the mountains “and had n
100-mile trek to La Pine withc
“I just kept going,” he said. “J
in. the woods enough to know °
ever stopped, I’d go to sleep an
to death. I was hoping to run ir
hunters but I didn’t see any 1
old guy drew down on me with t!
‘District Attorney Julian Hei *
Lake County filed a charge of
gree murder against Hibdo
waived a grand jury hearing a
‘to plead directly in court. oe
. On October 19, 1957, he appe
fore Circuit Judge Charles H. }
Lakeview and asked that he be
to plead guilty to.a charge of
degree murder. The requ

’ granted.

The plea made a life senten
datory and Judge Foster pas:
tence on October 28..

Ferguson pleaded guilty to a »
degree murder. charge on Oct

..~-1957,and-Judge.Foster sentence

_Jife. wapysonimens also.on Nov
“1957. ete .

. governor.
Davies, who lived ina trailer rd

the Naugatuck river in Thomas-}

The girl's body has never been/!
‘found. i

die for his crime. He was-out-
wardly calm as he entered. the

DAVIES, George, whit

(New Mave n/We ate rbury

Georr os Davies )

ier Calm as He-Enters”
Death: Chamber at
State Prison |

WETHERSFIELD. Oct. 20 (AP)
'—George J. Davies, 40, died to-
inight in the électric chair at State:
Prison for the 1957 sex slaying of:

‘a 9-year-old girl.

|. Davies, calm to the end, enter-|
‘ed the death chamber at 10:29 p
‘m. and was declared dead at]
| 10: 35 p.m. after five jolts of zt
, 000 volts each.

{| At’ Davies’ request, state Police,
‘Lt. Wlibur.E. Calkins, a ptincipall
‘Witness at Davies’ 1957 murder |

trial witnessed the execution. r

7 Recants One Confession =
: A half hour before the execu-
‘tion, Davies sent word to Calkins
‘that a confession he had made of |

Fo For r Slaying of Girl, 9

OO en eee ae

“iments before the execution,

e, elec., Conn, SP
)’ on 10-20-1959,

Oct C6 he fr « AN y 194 9.

Davies was visited during’ the

‘dav by the now elderly couple’
‘which adopted .
‘Born on a coal barge in Bridge-

him as a boy.

‘port, Davies did not know his,

| children, but this was denied by:

fe ad

Warden Mark S. — who:
_conferred with Davies a few mo-;

said:
- ‘Davies expressed thanks to the:

[warden and prison officials for),

fn)

‘DAVIES EXECUTED
AT STATE PRISON

(Continued from Page One)

his treatment. He had no other,

pepioprent |

His Last Meal. --~-~---|
Davies ate steak with onions!

_real parents. He was adopted.
‘from an orphanage by Mr. and:
‘Mrs. Richard Davies of Thomas-, ,
: ton. ,

He had asked to see his four;

‘his divorced wife. She left him,
- While he was serving time on a:
‘previous conviction. |

Under state law, a condemned |
man may have three persons wit-!
ness his execution. But Davies,
‘picked only one, Lt. Calkins, who |
‘accepted.

Davies also has Xdmitted slay-
ing another young girl in 1957, 16-!
‘\|year-old.~ Gaetane Boivin, a!
French-Canadian who had adver-|
tised that she was seeking house-;
[Davie work.

Davies picked up the girl, drove:
ll her to Mattatuck forest in Water-'
bury where he made advances
and finally killed her. % |

His trial however was only for!
the slaying of the Doucette girl, |
His defense inctu ed’ an ‘insanity!
|; plea, but Davies was found guilty,

''and .sentenced ‘to death,

Unidentified and
undated Conn
new Spaper sent

‘the slaying of Connie Smith, 10, a:' ‘and a banana split for his last by Hearn,

‘summer camper from Wyoming, |"

was a hoax.
. He said he did not want to go!
'to his death with this confession |
"on his conscience:-Davies had ad-!
‘mitted two slayings, including the
‘one he was tried for.

The Smith girl was the daughter’ ri

of a Wyoming rancher and grand- |
‘daughter ofa former evens

isaw ‘

imeal, |
Gov. Abraham Ribicoff said he.
‘no reason” to intercede in!
the execution of the twice-married|
father of four children who was:
condemned for the 1957 slaying
|Of Brenda Jane Doucette, a nine-
‘year-old Bristol schoolgirl.
Davies, of Thomaston, Conn.,
was convicted of luring the child
into‘his car, choking her and

in Thomaston before. his, arrest, I
this summer told authorities he:
had choked the girl to death and
buried her body “on a bank of,

ton in July, 1952. a %

Investigators searched the place.
Davies indicated without success.

Davies had said he felt he should

execution chamber, . accompanied:

by the Rev. Joseph W. Reynolds, ; :

Roman Catkolic chaplain. ~

He kept his evyes-closed as he.
was strapped in the electric cid
before -about 20 witnesses, includ- ||

ing five newsmen.”

‘then stabbing her with a screw

ithe death sentence. His final plea

river. , |
Twice reprieved, Bawies. ex-
‘hausted all avenues of appeal of

was made only yesterday. before
the State Pardons board. And -he
said -he felt his trial was fair and!
that “I think I should die for what:
I wid .

The executioner was selected,
his identity a secret except that
he is the same man. who put to|
death two convicted slayers ° in!
July 1955. These’ were the fast:
two men to be electrucuted ini
Connecticut before Davies. - '
Public Defender Edward —T.
Carmody of Watérbury visited!
Divies in his death row cell today
and said he was ‘“‘well pleased"
with the condemned man’s. atti-|
| tude.

os
nes
Oy ge

| New dia Spe Court. Febauacy T Tecm. 144. Ht :

C uP, Negro ‘slave of Capt “osaph Tittle oP PP ast teen age es he
for lo/2,/48 race of 15 year eld Diana Parrish, She was

| Apprentice of Benjamin Pardee oF Fast Haven, Tuo Wwemen

| Le gt her Winen She Ceperted the Da AdiE 10 and Confined

| and crfessed. Sh Was dawehtec i So Parnivh of Branford

Tacel Biaaley aned Is oo isis (On ye 2nd ie nis Sun

beiv about half 4 an heuc ne ih the byread frm Benjamin | Pardee : a

Tito East Haven, he saw tCunP Ree OFF From the S@ A
etal hd Me dal Cul? Sad on ea | fence ,

| +Hhet the Seu Diana When he fiyst ey, her Was gy the gyound ,

thot the colled over and 4 got u and ran acess the path “and Catched

| if a stone and seid she Weta ti ‘aff —Sait Cut seit to-her.

mot tell Age Coplted that ste Word have.

GY¥#-+ t fd

bie har ned. het he the Said d¢ seek ee heme) Sail Diana i

that rhe cr red all the wey and Said he Cuff had almost Filled her,

hat ) nent atte ame rtpat she treated |
ort oe seemed aS ey would faint Alli that she Sished and eared

|sobhed, thet he rode so fast when he was a towaed them that

it wal not irRety he could héar Diana Scream.
|

‘Ilan Paresh testified that om the And of October eth Sabhatt Day a
AS She Wits Coming From meetiny alone fh a byrond distan} frem any |

‘bee fhe Said Cutt Came nivade behind her ‘and Catched fiat
Ihe hid avlentty held het.'That che Sereamed As | lad and as lowa as Sha

| could. That the Saiol Cuff said to her Ya have told Stones aber me , |

tha the biel him bé one buct that he SHil"orcrblq held her and she
Wadd Wie ont. ok breath, he thes herdam
: Gnd pull ed Lp her Coat and unbuttoned hit breeches , threatened Geo te

A Rr het if Fhe Would not be Stil that he entered her bady Pair Ais

BEN i
as She cowld 4uess but she was co fy Ptoned thet the Could not fell.

Ihe
That when he dn ‘a her She init bas | “4 A

‘

that one of yours that was seen driving -
along the route that took her to her,

death.”

The suspect’s elderly parents, who
had adopted him when he was 8 years old
and stuck with him through the troubled
years that followed, appeared as the of-
ficers prepared to lead Davies away.
They admitted that earlier statements
placing him at hime during the periods
when two girls disappeared had been
based upon George’s own claims. They
admitted his previous difficulties with the
law and the fact that one wife had divorc-
ed him and another deserted him because
of his ungovernable temper, his inability
to hold a job and continual drinking.

Davies admitted nothing. He asked
only to be allowed to go to the bathroom
in his adoptive parents’ home to shave
and put on a clean shirt before being
taken to Bristol for further questioning.
The request was granted and Caulkins
and McPherson went to the Davies’
house, where they sat talking with the
parents while the suspect went into the
bathroom.

Five minutes later McPherson
became suddenly aware that the sounds
of running water and other movement in-
side the bathroom had ceased. He rose
and went to the door. There was no
answer to his knock. He twisted the knob,
but the door was bolted on the inside.

Caulkins meanwhile ran outside and
around the house to asmall window at the
read. “The window’s locked. He's still in
there,” the state man called. But McPher-
son was already standing back to thrust
his shoulder against the light frame of the
door. ;
Next moment he was in the room,
standing over the crumpled body of
George Davies. On a stool beside the
fallen man was a small bottle labeled
“Sleeping Pills.”

Rushed to the General Hospital in
Bristol, Davies’ stomach was pumped out
and he quickly recovered. He admitted
having taken the six tablets he found in
the bottle of sleeping pills, but refused to
give any valid reason for his act.

Meanwhile a second and more
thorough examination of the 1945 Pontiac
sedan revealed what experts from the
state police laboratories at Hartford said
might be dried bloodstains. Scrapings
were taken and then sent back to the
laboratories for analysis. The police also
found a 3-inch screwdriver that had not
been in the car during a cursory examina-
tion of the vehicle made at thetime
Davies originally was picked up for
questioning.

Booked on: a technical charge of
breach of the peace, Davies was taken to
a cell under guard and allowed to sleep
until daylight on Saturday. There was no
sleep for the state and local officers who
for days had been hunting the murderer
of Brenda Jane Doucette. Throughout
the long night a dozen relatives and ac-
quaintances of the suspect in the

Thomaston-Bristol area were questioned,
while in Waterbury Detective Foley and
Chief Inspector Joseph R. Bender went
once more over the scant clues in the dis-
appearance of 17-year-old. Gaetane
Boivin.

It was learned that an autombile
similar to that of Davies had been seen
near the Boivin home on the morning of
May 9th. Meanwhile Thomaston’s Chief

of Police Thomas Eggleston revealed that‘

Davies had been living in the trailer
behind his parents’ home since his release
from prison in 1953. Divorced while in
prison by his first wife and the mother of
his four small children, Davies married a
Torrington girl soon after he gained his
freedom. But the second marriage, like
the first, had proved unhappy from
almost the beginning. Less than a month
earlier Chief Eggleston had advised
Davies to “get out of town and stay out”
after his second wife left him following
an argument during which he severely
beat her.

Early on Saturday Davies was taken
from his cell after guards reported

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repeated threats te commit suicide. Dur-
ing the next 36 h«
termittent questioning
and state officia’s w!o confronted him
with a mounting pi.e.of physical and psy-
chological evidence;pointing to his guilt.
Finally, late on Sunday afternoon, the un-
shaven, hollow-eyed ‘suspect turned to
the score of officiz': gathered about him
and blurted out the words they had been
waiting for.

“I wasn't just prowling around looking

for youngsters, like you think, but I did
happen to be on, Allentown Road last
Monday morning aitd when that pretty
little blonde came along I suddenly went
nuts and decidedi;to:have her,” police
quoted Davies as sdying.

Davies told how he got out of his car,

placed a jack under the rear bumper to

attract the child’s 2tention, and waited
for her to approac:. ie said he asked her
to help him by getting a screwdriver from
the glove compartrnc: t. The car door had
been left open to ma'« it easier. But Bren-
da Jane, rememberins her parents’ war-
nings, refused. She sizrted on, but chang-
ed her mind after # second plea for help,

: submitted to in- *
vy local, county.

and reached in for the screwdriver.
Davies’ statement continues: “When

she was half-inside the car I slammed the

car door shut. ran around and got in

and drove off. When we passed in front.

of her house later I held her down so no
one would see her. Then I drove out to the
Lovers’ Lane near Wolcott. I stopped the
car and tried to pet her. She was scream-
ing and I| got panicky. I grabbed her
sweater and pulled it up around her neck
and held it tight. When she went limp I
got her out of the car and carried her toa
deserted spot and there I stabbed her a
few times with the screwdriver to make
sure she was dead.”

Davies said he made no attempt to
rape the child and the autopsy report con-
firmed that part of his statement. After it
was over he drove on to a Bristol
restaurant, washed his little - victim's
blood from his hands and face and
ordered a breakfast of ham and eggs and
hot biscuits. He spent the next few hours
drinking in a nearby tavern, then retum-
ed home where he burned his clothing.

After listening to the suspect’s state-
ment the police drove with him to aroad-
side ditch on the outskirts of the Water-
ville section of Waterbury. There they
recovered the screwdriver with a 4-inch
blade that he said he used in the slaying.

Back near Terryville they found the
Doucette child’s red-handled lunchbox
right where Davies said he threw it after
removing the $1 bill her mother had given
her for taxi fare that morning,

Before being taken to the county jailat
New Haven, where he was booked for
kidnaping and murder, Davies was
questioned at length about the missing
Boivin girl and a 10-year-old youngster

_ who had disappeared from a summer

camp on the west side of Litchfield Coun-
ty the year he was imprisoned for
molesting two schoolgirls in 1952. He flat-
ly denied knowledge of the fate of either.
Late Monday Davies was returned to the
county jail while police checked back on
his movements on the day Gaetane Boivin
was last seen alive.

Two days after Davies took police
along the route he had driven with the

» Doucette child a prisoner in his car, a 1%

year-old Waterbury youth was returning
from a fishing trip to an isolated stream
less than four miles from that dead-end
lane when he came upon the stabbed and
strangled body of Gaetane Boivin.
The pretty brunette lay behind &
clump of bushes in the heart of a heavily

’ wooded region known as Mattatuck

Forest, approximately three miles
northeast of the city. Dr. Edward H.
Kirschbaum, Waterbury district medical

, examiner, arrived at the scene with police

before nightfall. He found the girl had
died of manual strangulation after which
she had been stabbed 50 times with 4
thin, sharp-pointed instrument similar t0
that used in the mutilation of Brenda Jané
Doucette. ~
Although the Boivin girl had not bee®

raped, the viciousness of the assault that
ended her life left no doubt as to the

sadistic rage that had motivated her

slayer. :

Within two hours of the discovery of
the crime Inspector Bender, Waterbury
Detective Foley and County Detective
Laden’confronted Davies with the three-
‘inch screwdriver found in his car at the
time he was taken into custody for re-
questioning. It was Dr. Kirschbaum’s
firm opinion that this instrument, unusual
in thatit had a slightly curved point, had
been used in the slaying of Gaetane
within a few hours of the time she was
last seen alive.

Davies took one long look at the
screwdriver, then his brooding dark eyes
saw the bloodstained gray tweed coat
held by Detective Foley. “All right,”
he was quoted saying,” you won't have to
go through it all again. You've found the
body—so I'll tell you now that I did that
one, too.”

In a second signed confession Davies
said he left his home early on the morning
of the 9th, picked up a newspaper in
Thomaston and drove on to Waterbury,
where he stopped in a restaurant near the
Cherry Street home of his first victim.
There he glanced quickly through the
help wanted adds, found nothing to his
liking and turned tothe situations wanted
columns.

And in these he found something to his
liking—a French girl seeking work as a
mother’s helper. That meant, he said, she
probably would be young and good-
looking. He telephoned the number given
in the ad, made an appointment to see her
at her nearby home within the hour, and
“waited a suitable time before driving
around to pick her up.”

“She wasn’t even suspicious when I
told her I needed someone to help care
for my four children and wanted her to
come right out,” Davies allegedly told his
interrogators. “She never did get
suspicious—until it was too late. By that
time [had her out in the country and I was
ready for her when she started fighting
back. I put my hands on her throat and I
choked her for 8 to 10 minutes. Then I
carried her body off into the woods and I
stabbed her till she quit wiggling.”

In Waterbury, on May 28th, a New
Haven grand jury voited two first-degree
murder ingictments against George
foe Davies. He pleaded not guilty to

Brought to trial at Waterbury for the
cruel stabbing murder of little Brenda
Doucette, Davies was found guilty, and
sentenced to die.

With a death sentence in hand, the
State did not press for a second trial for
the murder of Gaetane Boivin, apparent-
ly Waiting to make sure he died for the lit-
le girl's savage slaying.

He did. On October 20, 1959, George
James Davies was electrocuted in Old
State Prison at Wethersfield, Connec-
ticut. oe

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olin, Sous

Carlo DeCaro,

May 3, 1944.

YOUTH, 19, DIES
IN ELECTRIC CHAIR

STATE’S PRISON, Wethersfield,
Mfay 4.—(AP) Carlo Jameh DeCaro,
19, died in the electric chair here
last night, for the murder.of Sal-
vatore Bonelli, 62, of Thompson-
ville last, September. The youthfui
Slayer was the seventh person to
die in the electric chair in Con-
necticut since the state abolished
hanging as a means of execution in
1936,

The portly youth, who weighed
about 3800 pounds, entered’ the
brightly lighted death chamber un-
falteringly at 10:01:20 p.m. and wag
pronounced dead in aghuy less
than six minutes,

With hig chin held high and with
soft prayers on his ashen lips, De-
Caro was accompanied by the Rev.
Thomas P. Londregan. Catholic
prison chaplain, ane @ prison ‘at-
tendant.

He kept his eyes turned away
from the chair as attendants swift-
ly seated him in the device and at-
tached electrodes.

The body was removed to Leete’s
funeral home in Thompsonville
where the funeral was to be held
today,

Warden Ralph H. Walker eaid
the yofith had spent “practically all
day” with his parents, four broth-
ers and a sister’ from Thompson-
ville. .

DeCaro was convicted of shoot-
ing Bonelli .last September while
driving him to their daily work: in
Somers and burying him alive in. a
shallow roadside grave, where seev-
eral boys found the body the same
day. —

Arreatéd that evening, the youth
subsequently confessed the. -crime
and led investigators to a spot in
Springfield, Mass, where he had
hidden most of $1,580 taken from
Bonelli. Police’ found seven bullets
in Bonelli's body, the mingiles
matching a gun bought by DeCaro
only the night before the murder

A Superior court jury of six men
and eix women convicted the youth
of the murder on Dec.- 15, 1943,

-after a trial that had begun 13 days.

earlier. =

ea
3)

PME SANS wie

The ad carried a phone number and
house address.

“My daughter received a call at 7:30
from aman who said he would stop by
the house within the hour to interview
her,” Boivin reported to Detective James
Foley of the missing persons bureau.

“Sometime later my wife heard the
front doorbell ring. Gaetane went to the
door, spoke with someone for a few
moments and came back inside the house
for her coat. She said she had got the job
and was to start work immediately. But
she didn’t say whom she planned to work
for or where she was being taken. My
wife started downstairs after Gaetane
called this information to her, but the girl
was gone before she reached the front
door. We haven't seen or heard from her
since.

Asked if the girl had planned to board
with her new employer, Boivin told the
police that she had not Gaetane had left
her parents home on the south side of the
city with only the clothing she had on, a
light spring dress and a gray tweed jacket.

At the suggestion of police that the
pretty brunette might be involved in a
romantic affair, the Boivins pointed ou’
that Gaetane was convent-raised, spoke
very little English, and had had no dates
since they had come to Waterbury from
their home in Lac Megnatic, a quiet
Quebeck community of 7,000, in 1955.

E; arly on Tuesday morning the police
and volunteers who had combed the area
north of Waterbury for the Doucette girl
on the day before were back at the scene
following radio and television appeals by
Bristol Chief of Police Thomas V. Mc-
McCarthy. It was feared that the missing
Waterbury girl might have been ab-
ducted earlier by the slayer of little Bren-
da Jane and possibly left mutilated and
murdered in the same general area.
Soon afterward, Dr. Collins revealed
that Brenda Jane had died soon after leav-

sing for school, probably from injuries

received at the spot where her y was
discovered. Four of the stab wounds and
penetrated her heart. Although she might
have been strangled into un-
consciousness, before being attacked, the
pathologist believed that the instrument
that inflicted these wounds, a large
screwdriver or similar object, was the
direct cause of death. There was
evidence that pointed to sexual molesta-
tion.

As the searchers started through the
woods seeking a second victim, they
were warned to keep a sharp lookout for
the death weapon, and the lunchbox and
wrist watch the Doucette girl's slayer was
believed to have taken from her. That
day the parents of many children in the
area kept their youngsters home from
school in fear of further attacks.

Meanwhile more than 50 men, rang-
ing in age from their mid-teens to their
‘70's, were picked up for questioning as a

result of a survey of loos’ and state police
files.

Taverns from atford south to

Waterbury and fromm tn= New York state ©

line east to New Hav: were canvassed
by local police in a roundup of possible
suspects. By Tuesday might nearly 100
persons were being ii:2rrogated. A score
of investigators, uncer ‘he direction of
Lieutenant P. Frar-is O'Brien, inter-
viewed the slain Doucette girl's
schoolmates, her teachers and neighbors
of the grief-stricken. fa :ily.

It was learned that ‘.¢ Doucettes, also

of French-Canadian xtraction, had
come to the region “ror: their home in
Maine three years es \icr, at which time
Brenda Jane was e:.cred in the little
school which had been kept in existence
only at the request of the people of the
region who preferredjit to one of the

larger schools in the immediate vicinity.

Doucette said his pretty daughter never
had complained of being molested and
similar reports were received from the
parents of other chi’<ren attending the
Falls Mountain sche). From various
nearby towns, howev«, came reports of
automobiles that had een cruising the
roadways in the region and slowing near
schools from whic’: ‘dren were re-
quired to walk to and from their homes.

Wednesday afternoon Captain Clarke

issued a plea to the public to come
forward with any int: -mation that might
lead to the slayer’s «pprehension. This
plea was followed by an influx of calls
from persons who had seen suspicious-
appearing motorists in the region,’ dis-
covered broken screwdrivers, knives and
other sharp-pointed instruments or,had
found articles of clogmmypions roadways
or in the woods. aR

While local and state men were
delegated to run down the various leads
coming in, detectives at the headquarters
established in Bristol continued to ques-
tion the long list of known and suspected
sex offenders being rounded up in the
three counties. As each man was asked
about his whereabouts on the morning of
the 9th and 13th, a police stenographer
made notes of his replies. After each in-
terview the suspect was freed, with
others to remain within reach. Then other
officers were assigned to check on each
suspect’s alibi and question school
children in the area where he lived on
whether he ever had approached them.

From Waterbury came word that all
efforts to trace te movements of Gaetane
Boivin from the moment she walked out
of her home, exactly one week before,
had proved futile. Local police still
suspected that a secret romantic attach-
ment lay behind the pre*tv brunette’s dis-
appearance, but asked that the police and
public in other localities continue to be on
the lookout for her.

Meanwhile, back at Bristol, Captain
Clarke and Chief McCarthy attempted to
reconstruct the slayer’s movements from
the time he presumably picked up his 8-

year-old victim along the 600-yard stretch
of Allentown Road between the two
neighbors’ homes. There were two possi-
ble routes from that point to the spot
where the body was later found, both
along little-used roads leading to well-
traveled Route 69 between Bristol and
Waterbury. Midway is the village of
Wolcott, near where Brenda Jane died at
the hands of a sadistic killer.

Tracking back along these possible
routes taken by the abductor, the police
sought in vain for some clue to the man’s
identity. Residents of the region were
questioned and motorists who had taken
those roads during the early hours of
Monday morning were asked to report
anything that might be of help.

Shortly before 7 p.m. on Friday, »

Daniel McPherson, a husky 34-year-old

' Bristol police officer who, six months

earlier, had been promoted to
probationary detective, was going over
the stenographic notes taken during the
questioning of suspects brought in aftera
check of police files on convicted sex
offenders. Suddenly he turned to
Sergeant Wilbur Caulkins of the state
police, who sat going over other aspects
of the investigation.

“Say, Bill, didn’t you pick up a guy
over in Thomaston several years ago for
molesting little girls?” McPherson in-
quired thoughtfully.

“Yeah, fellow named Davies,” the
other replied. “He drew three years, but
was tumed loose, after doing the
minimum, a year and a day at
Wethersfield State. Understand _ they
brought him in again this week for routine
questioning in the Doucette case.”

“That's right, I have the report on his
interrogation in front of me,” McPherson
went on. “And I see he claims to have
been in a Bristol tavern drinking from
about eleven o'clock on Monday morning
until late in the day. Gives the same alibi
to account for his time during the period
of the Waterbury girl's disappearance
and says that he didn’t leave his parents’
home in Thomaston until after 10:30 a.m.
on each of these days.

The state man looked over the report
and remarked that his fellow officers had
checked the suspect's statements and
appeared to be satisfied with his story.

McPherson nodded in agreement, but
hurried on, “It's not the alibis that interest
me,” he said. “It’s the description of the
1943 black sedan that he admits driving
on the day of the murder. If youll
remember, the ‘two fellows who drove
back and forth along Allentown Road a
just about the time the Doucette girl was
last seen alive both told us of having seef
a car of that general description in the
area. And less than two weeks ago we
received a teletype request to be on the
lookout for just such a car, after a woman
storekeeper between here an

Thomaston reported a guy hanging

around Plymouth School, trying to make
apickup. The Suspect, a slim, dark guy in
work clothes, called from his car to a cou-
ple of young girls as they were leaving the

‘school. But he got away before the kids

could get his license number. Their
description of his car fits that driven by
your Davies, though.”

“And was that the only description
they could give on the driver of the car?”
inquired Caulkins with interest. “Just a
small, dark fellow in work clothes?”

McPherson turned to a stack of rou-
tine reports that had come over the police
teletype system from surrounding com-
munities during the past two weeks. A
few minutes later he extracted a sheet
from the pile before him and read slowly:
‘Suspect is about 40 years of age, with
dark brown, bush hair, thin build and ap-
parently below normal height. Wearing
dirt-encrusted work shirt open at the
throat, unshaven, appeared to be under
the influence of liquor when see loitering
about Plymouth School. Drives small,
dark sedan about 1940 to 1945 model
Connecticut plates, License number not
noted.”

The state police sergeant stood with
creased brow as he listened to the Bristol
detective’s report. “Well,” he said at last,
“the description certainly fits Davies and
he lives in Thomaston, a couple of miles
from Plymouth School. He's already put
in one prison term for molesting young
girls. He’s in his late 30s now, thin, dark,
underweight and, unless he’s changed,
still careless about his dress.”

“So what are we waiting for?”
Caulkins was on his feet and halfway to
the door as he spoke. McPherson caught
up with himas he slid behind the wheel of
his car outside. Less than 20 minutes later
they drove up to the small frame home of
73-year-old Richard Davies and his 71-
year-old wife, Kate, on Fenn Road at the
edge of the village of Thomaston.

The state and local officers circled the
couple’s home and went to a housetrailer
at therear. Outside the trailer stood a 1945
dark green Pontiac sedan. Inside the
trailer a pale yellow light glowed.
Caulkins stepped toward the entrance.
The door was opened and a short,
hatchet-faced man with uncut, rumpled
hair stood framed in the doorway.

“Hello, George. Remember me?”
Caulkins said.

There was neither surprise nor ap-
prehension in the thin-faced man’s husky
voice when he replied. “I’ve seen and
talked with so many cops during the last
few days that it’s hard to remember any
Particular one of you.” George James
Davies, 38-year-old ex-convict and un-
employed machine tool worker, stared at
the officer sullenly.

“I picked you up back in 1952 for
Molesting a couple of little girls her in
Thomaston,” Caulkins reminded him.

And now I’m here to take you in for

questioning about another little girl—a
8irl who disappeared after a car a lot like

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Reynolds and P. Edward

O’Brien dug with their bare
hands at the loose earth. When the
face of the man buried in the make-
shift grave came into view, they re-
laxed, panting.

The man.was dead. The stiffened
features and the bullet hole in the
side of the head left no doubt about
that. But the body. was still slightly
warm; the breath of life had left it
not long before.

“No good,” O’Brien said. The offi-
cers rose, brushing the loam from
their uniforms. He added, “The vthers
will be here soon. Let’s look around.”

The patrolmen surveyed the wood-
ed scene off Elm street, in Thompson-
ville, Conn., not far from the city of
Hartford. Playing boys who had found
the fresh mound of dirt from which
a man’s foot protruded had sounded
the alarm at 8 o’clock that morning of
September 25, 1943.

The swiftest response had been too
late. Now the officers moved slowly
about the area. A moment later,
neynolds called, “Here's something.”
He pointed to a set of clear tire tracks
in the soft dust. Being careful not to
disturb them, the officers continued
their search which was rewarded with
a brown tobacco pouch, a tan eye-
glasses case and a pair of broken
spectacles.

They were placing the articles in
the police car when Dr. Frank F.
Simonton of Enfield, Hartford County
medical examiner, drove up. Reynolds
obtained spades from a nearby farm-
house and the body was fully re-
vealed.

When the loam was brushed away,
Reynolds gave an exclamation of sur-
prise. “It’s old Sal Bonelli,” he said.
Bonelli, a resident of Thompsonville

for 30 of his 62 years, was well known

FP reynotss Patrolmen Earl

A Buried Corpse and a Bur- < ~
ied Treasure Net a Killer

BY J. HOYT CUMMINGS

in the area. Recently, he had been
working in a defense plant.

“He hasn’t been dead long,” the
medical examiner said. “But whoever
killed him was anxious to do a thor-
ough job. He’s been shot six or seven
times.”

Patrolman Reynolds added, “I hear
he’s been walking around with a big
bankroll.”

HE distant’ screaming of sirens
Wace their attention, and, looking
up, the trio saw three cars approach-
ing. Reynolds ran forward and halted
them before they could get all the
way into the lane. He pointed out the
previously discovered tire tracks.

The arrivals included Police Chief
William J. Fleming of Thompsonville,
County Detectives Joseph F. Mitchell
and Lieutenant Gene S§. Lenzi, com-
mandant of the Enfield state police
barracks.

Chief Fleming recognized the
corpse, and his theory regarding the
motive was. the same as his officer’s—
robbery. He turned to the doctor.
“Been through his pockets yet?”

Simonton nodded. “Yes—a pen-
knife, a cheap watch, three keys and
$28.94 in cash.”

The police chief shook his head.
“If what I heard is correct, this man
never had less than $2,000 in his
pocket. He often cashed checks for
other workers.”

Dr. Simonton told the investigators
that Bonelli had been shot at least six
times in the left side with a small-
calibre revolver, that the man hadn't
been dead more than an hour or two,
and that he probably had been buried
alive.

Detective Mitchell viewed the small
spots of blood surrounding the grave.
“Left side, eh?” he muttered. “That
could mean he was shot in a car,

AUTHENTIC DETECTIVE, Spring,
magaz ine.

dumped out here and hastily buried.
What would he be doing in a machine
around, say, 6:30 in the morning,
Fleming?”

The police chief knew the answer.
“Riding to work. I've often seen him
mornings with a couple of other fel-
lows—sort of a share-the-ride prop-
osition.”

“Know the other lads?”

“We can find them. They both work
at the same plant and live in town.”

Mitchell looked thoughtful. “We'll
have to talk to them,” he said. “But
maybe someone else picked him up
this morning.”

Patrolman Reynolds now drew
Mitchell’s at-
tention to the
tire prints in
the soft dust,
and Lieutenant
Frank y.
Chameroy, in-

GRAVE
Two boys taking a short-cut

’ through the woods were sur-

prised by the sight of a
man's foot projecting from
the sand. When police dug
up the grave, they discov-
ered the still warm body
of war worker Sal Bonelli.

19hh.e

STATE POLICE
Lieutenant Frank V. Chameroy, ballis-
tics expert, identified the lethal bul-
lets as target ammunition, similar
to that used in a local gun club.

4: t

*H6T *€ AeW Uo (pxogzseH) *uuIOD *oeTS Soz $8

DAiBATTISTA,, Frank, white, hanged Conn, (Gapfford Co) 2-21- a

1930.06
Unnamed, undated
Connecticut news-
paper article sent ! |
by Dan Hearn.
GROCER EXECUTED
|

‘DiBattista Hanged For Killing!
Hartfoyd Man During
Holdup.

| HARFFORID Fe). 2). (AP) Frank
ns Di Rattieta, gB-year old Hartford
Riaenan hanged in Wethersfield |
are wean early bodey for pe fa-:

sitet of Rempel Kana, 6
ang ha oD BLP ped YARNEFY |

Mohn inh phird wy. fipee ff
“ha Slap Shayhts ) phe py ean
Mh Mott ii ™ Pa L LAW a,
Wy) Ny: ¥h A i" PT Hina? WA” Wy

TRI Wie Hen ‘Wy Hine pe JL rhe BD
tie

war Ae Wh nae
WBA MP MIT AN RAY Y eg

7 i ib jut hs hhet digs TF i van” & aad

beta Yt yyy! ‘nah site Mi er

shbn W.8 ne he fil nile NG 4, fi fer’

I Le me Mis i iNe Had erin

| i might ferys, yan Ii! aS fie ype t., diet

png b cron Mew OP GI fin tlie fi
Ty,

fief
i He son iI Wwe palin nfitk Hustinken ;
aay Db {ie death, Bie Hagh neen priv theses
a to wer on dark frie “uit ne fi
vehit® shiltt, |
Radiarol! ed oa few Minutes after
Ge danef bem slot in oa strumele with |
ON, Hntt{sta. ‘fhe vouth fine entered |
fhe store atid opened the cash regiater, |
when the ‘ttorekeeper came fontniteg
| {rom A oe, room. He was roprieved |
ifwice while an appeal was betng tiken |
ltram his couviction. His last chance |
| tor escape wars lost Inaf week when the |
‘state board. of pardons? declined to |
hcommute his sentence to life imprison. |
hainent, Be |
| He had heen convicted three times |
of robbery in New York City, }

‘yo a ae me

Ps x ¥ a
\ PS. tie"
; a f 2, ix * °
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ties Ne * é a R ey ee : oa
> ee yaaa Lay pee a NR 6 . ab > - th Ui 5 ie» ay » am
> 4 Shes sk 8 oe ot , .
7 ‘ ¢
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ae ; P “; “cay Tue exbeuTion oF 5 ee
= » . : toe adi ibteen= einer ey "
; “A - 4 ~ 5 3, ,
) ok | Pe RICHARD DOANE.”
iar oF ae Md. gag? Mae ain suey Seren ate sd
esi - : ? —
e * RAIL REI SOS RRS, TARE

HOSEA vi. 6.

Pe oes “or I defire mercy and not facrifice, and the knowledge

revgie fig ee Spat ea a _ of Gop more than burnt offerings.* 20> -s :

oe : e. sapere : * i. di ; oN 2
Scie, by she poronumesgetre

nhappy man, who is to be executed this day
He confiders himfelf held up before mankind, "as:
‘a warning of the bitter confequences of fins and
= the danger of living immorally and thoughtlefs of ©
God. - He his defired me to employ,the prefent | =
{hort opportunity, which we have for religious wors
ip, both in advifing him for his folemn appear-
nce before the tribunal of his Judge, and in re-
mindiag: thofe who are fpectators, that unlels we .

ae me = am ¥ —T

* The preacheris fenfidle that many will fuppofe the text improyirr. for
he occafion. {twas ghofen by the prifover, and he could not be fo we
piéafed with another... hat be fuppofed Divine tight,
an aftonithing view of God's mindy in rea

sfepent we fhall all likewife perifh ; and that € des alt ireacheroufly again mes festa af deleipdon
who forget God, and difobey his commandm oa their conduct, as it was feen’ by the ey: sof Om-
though they may efcape an ignominious énd in thig pifeience,. Our text alfo deferibes the: temper
world, muft in eternity expect to meet evils m . © and pradtice’ to which forgivenels is ‘enco yuraged,
dreadful than the pain or fhame of an executi For ta defire merey more than Jierip ; and the boon

by the hands of men. nj we of God more than burnt offerin os a erts and ®

owledge of God, in this paflage, mean true
> “holinefs and a conformity of heart to the moral
© eharadter of God, and fpiritual obedience to his
mmandments. © The men “whonr our text “re-

THE ogcafion is very: folemn and affeding.
hope we may improve the hour in receiving
ftrudtion from this fpeétacle, and in earneft pra
that the man who is foon to die, may find’ mer
and falvation in God before whom he Bess fos .
come, | oe Seca

inns a xs | a

bow = 3 peice day. They fomerimes Rented ort Ries
saan ‘ae ture of which my text ie ‘a ty f. fed | a religious life, and from thefe tranfient ‘refo- ~ Se eae
oof men 5. the eafon-of 1c if sAutions: off an awakened hour, they hoped God

would be merciful ; but God fays, their prone

aemieeeraec. and the
ai -seadideration was as the morning They and as -

"of his judgments.

I fhall, Firft, paraphrafe the text in conne nnexi
with the context.

ments, and were ge . conf eration, by 4
“melancholy fpetacle of the dafiger in, as
gre at the ara moment. = God hewed eke by eo er
his prophets—He warned them by the minifters)
‘of religion, of the end to which they muft come ~*~,
“without repentance ;—He flew them by the words" 1,
‘ef his mouth,—by his law and threatnings, ~de-
nounced the certain confequences of forgetting ;
>. him and his commandments. Becaufe judgment woth
.-againtt their evil works was not inftantly executed, aa a
they determined God to be like themfelves, and
jioned: there, was no evil to come. . To teach them

there was an ght to O come, his a peck of ca

SECONDLY, make fuch an improvement a as 1

-turally arifes from the ‘paffage and from the o¢ a
cafion of our meeting. ee

In the verfes before the text God fays, OF.
pbrain what fball I do unto thee? O Judah what

fag cloud, and a¥ the carly dew it paffeth away
Therefore have I hewed shin by my Stone pu joa
Hain them by the words of my mouth : and thy-gud

ments areas the light that goeth forth. «
men have tranfereffed the’ covenant, there

DOsaNE, Richard, hangedHartford, CT 6/10/1797

as “aoth, 199%

aT THE z ExEcUTION! oF:

sas

irae OF FHE woRTH papsny Tan} ANCHURER

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Far
at

L800?

I gave you this item from an "execution sermon" I located at the Library of
Here is some background. HS

WEJr.:
Congress.

from:

-DUNBAR, MOSES (June 14, 1746-Mar. 19,
1777), the only person ever executed in Con-
necticut for treason, was born in Wallingtord,
Conn., the second of the family of sixteen chil-
dren of John Dunbar and his wife, Temperance
Hall. The father was a Congregationalist; and
Moses wrote that “my joim*ng myself to the
church [of England] caused a sorrowful breach
between my Father and myself.” About 1760 the
family removed to what was then a part of

Waterbury, Conn., now Plymouth. In 1764 Mo-
ses married Phebe Jerome (or Jearom) who
lived in that part of Farmington, Conn., which
-is now within the city of Bristol; and they estab-

lished there their marital home. In the same |

year, “upon what we thought sufficient and ra-
tional motives,” he and his wife left the Con-
gregational Church, in which both had been
brought up, and declared themselves of the
Church of England. In Connecticut at that time
the little Episcopal churches, served by mission-
aries sent from England and feeling themselves
oppressed by the dominant Congregational au-
thorities of the state, were practically unanimous
in opposing the movement for American inde-
pendence, and in supporting the cause of the
King. The record book of the early Episcopal
Church, which is preserved in the Bristol Pub-
lic Library, bears on its title-page the significant
text : “Fear God; Honor the King.” This church
Moses and Phebe Dunbar attended, and in this
book are recorded the baptisms of their children.
On May 20, 1776, Phebe died, having borne sev-
en children of whom four survived. Soon after,
Moses married Esther Adams.

The Revolutionary War was now in full prog-
ress, and Dunbar was already an object of sus-
picion. “Having spoken somewhat freely on the
subject,” he says, “I was attacked by a mob of

about forty men, very much abused, my life

Dictionary of American Biography

threatened and nearly taken away, by which mob
I was obliged to sign a paper containing many
falsehoods.” Soon after he says that he was taken
vefore a committee of the Sons of Liberty “and
by them ordered to suffer imprisonment during
their pleasure, not exceeding five months.” When
he was released he fled to Long Island where
Lord Howe was in command of the royal army,
enlisted in the King’s service, and received a
commission as captain. He was given the dan-
gerous errand of persuading other young men to
enlist for the King. He procured the enlistment
of a youth bearing the patriotic name of John
Adams, but was betrayed to the officers of the
state of cticut, was committed to-jail_at

treason. He was convicted and sentenced to be
hanged, and the sentence was carried out, Mar.
19, 1777, on a hilltop near Hartford, where the
buildings of Trinity College now stand.
After his death his wife with her step-chil-
ren, and one child of her own, left Connecticut
¥ “ ia, as did man y-
alists of New England. More than a century af-
ter his death, an old house in Harwinton was
pulled down, and in the débris of the garret
were found two papers, copies of letters written

by Dunbar in the Hartford jail on the night
before his execution. One was a letter, of an
intimate and tender character, to his children;
the other was a longer document, and contained
an account of his life and a defense of his reli-
gious and political fa‘th. Both are heroic in
temper and strongly charged with religious feel-
ing.

[This article is condensed from an extended mono-
graph by Epaphroditus Peck, published in the Coun.
ilag., VIII (1904), 129,297. Jos. Anderson, The Town

and City of Waterbury, Conn. (1896), I. 434-36, gives
the full text of Dunbar’s letters mentioned above.]

E. P—k.

ord, and was tried in January 1777, for ~

\
/

abies:

a? ie t te ¢ ARE? Fah ; is + yi: ORES ay > ’ " Lyf Sea
# ne . i ap

Pie
4

. DUNBAR, M.ge8s white, executed Hartfordy/ Connecticut, on March 19, iT?T.

(Brom Jeseph Anderson's (ed,) HISTORY OF WATERBURY (1896); New Havent Price & Lee Co.)

HISTOR Yy OF WATERBURY.

434

report for the Assembly (which is printed in American Archives,
he received 180 votes for nomination for election, as iver
Assistant; was appointed “to procure fire-arms and gun-locks to le
made and manufactured in the colony;” and he was at the head ist %
committee of five gentlemen who were “severally, or in conjting.
tion, to search after lead mines, and report any discovery to the Geese
ernor,” «who was to report to the President of Congress. foe
Waterbury furnished at this time a conspicuous martyr—why =. |
died, devoted to the Church of England. It seemed absolutely ;
necessary to find a victim whose death should prove a powerfy}
object lesson to the Tories,and to the political prisoners who filleq
the prisons. Moses Dunbar was the man selected. The tragedy
and the pathos attending his dying will forever appeal to the hear:
of an American—be he the descendant of Whig or of Tory. While .
in prison and under sentence of death, Dunbar made an attempt tv:
‘escape. Elisha Wadsworth was arrested, fined £40, and sentenced to.
one year’s imprisonment for assisting him. Wadsworth, in his own |
defense, said that “he did not assist him, but simply followed him
out”—that Dunbar “effected his own escape as far as he went.”
Wadsworth was released from prison, Oct. 14, 1777, on paying costs
and taking the Oath of Fidelity.’
About 1880, in the removal of an ancient house in Harwinton,
the following document—containing the farewell words of Moses
Dunbar to his children, and to this world—was found.
The “Cause” must indeed have been a sacred one, that re-.__
quired the sacrifice of the man, whose last words were the fol- \
lowing : by Pee tan
My Curpren: Remember your Creater in the days of your youth. Learn your
Creed, the Lord’s prayer, and the ten commandments and Catechism, and gv t®
church as often as you can, and prepare yourselves as soon as you are of a proper :
age, to worthily partake of the Lord’s Supper.. I charge you all, nev@r to leave the":
Church. Read the Bible. Love the Saviour wherever you may be.
I am now in Hartford jail condemned to death for high treason against

of Connecticut. I was thirty years last June, the ryth. God bless you.
ber your Father and Mother and be dutiful to your present Mother.

(A true copy—written by Moses Dunbar).

the Stat@ =. —
Remem:.-

The last speech and dying words of Moses Dunbar, who was exer
cuted at Hartford ye r9th March, A. D., 1777, for high treasom.
against the State of Connecticut. ae
6, Dwas
My F athe’.

f the same
Aiwest ta
Mar

I was born at Wallingford in Connecticut the ryth of June, A. D. 174

the second of sixteen children, all born to my Father by one Mother.
John Dunbar, was born at Wallingford, and married Temperance Hall o
place, about the year 1743. I was educated in the business of husbandry.
the year 1760, my father removed himself and family to Waterbury—where:

}

<WATERBURY IN THE REVOLUTION.

ss , 1764, I was married with Phebe Jearman of Farmington, by whom I had
en children—four of whom are now living. ‘The first year of our marriage my
“r, and I, upon what we thought sufficient and rational motives, declared our-
e Church of England—the Rev. Mr. Scovill being then missionary at
Waterbury. May 20th, 1770, my honored Mother departed this life. She was a
~ ae of much virtue and good reputation, whom I remember with the most
gratitude for the good care and affection she continually showed me. My
myself to the church occasioned a sorrowful breach between my Father and
which was the cause of his never assisting me but very little in gaining a
stihood—likewise it caused him to treat me very harshly in many instances, for
“which I heartily forgive him, as well as my brothers, as I hope for pardon from my
E Godand my Saviour for my own offences. I likewise earnestly pray God to forgive
Seem through Christ. r :

From the time that the present unhappy misunderstanding between Great
“Britain and the Colonies began, I freely confess I never could reconcile my opinion
“4athe necessity or lawfulness of taking up arms against Great Britain. Having
‘spoken somewhat freely on the subject, I was attacked by a mob of about forty
‘men, very much abused, my life threatened and nearly taken away, by which mob

1 was. obliged to sign a paper containing many falsehoods. May 2oth, 1776, my
wi s deceased, in full hope of future happiness . . . . The winter preceding
‘this trial had been a time of distress withus . . . . I had now concluded to
“Hive peaceable and give no offence, neither by word nor deed. I had thought of
‘entering into a voluntary confinement within the limits of my-farm, and making
proposals of that nature, when I was carried before the Committee [of Inspection
‘of Waterbury ?] and by them ordered to suffer imprisonment during their pleasure,
‘got exceeding five months. When 1 had remained there about fourteen days the
anthority of New Haven dismissed me. Finding my life uneasy, and as I had
‘reason to apprehend, in great danger, I thought it my safest method to flee to Long
i ¥aland, which I accordingly did, but having a desire to see my friends and children,

i being under engagement of marriage with her who is my wife—the banns of

marriage having been before published—I returned, and was married. Having a
dt to remove my wife and family to Long Island, as a place of safety, I went
the second time, to prepare matters accordingly. When there, I accepted a
eaptain’s warrant for the King’s service in Col. Fanning’s reg't. I returned to
Connecticut—when I was taken and betrayed by Joseph Smith, and was brought
Aefore the authority of Waterbury. They refused to have anything to do with the
Faatter. I was carried before Justice Strong and Justice Whitman of Farmington,
and by them committed to Hartford, where the Superior Court was then sitting.
i wis tried on Thursday, 23d of January, 1777, for High Treason against the State
Connecticut, by an act passed in October last—for enlisting men for General
mye, and for having a captain's commission for that purpose. I was adjudged
guilty and on the Saturday following was brought to the bar of the court and
ved sentence of death. The time of my suffering was afterward fixed to be
agth day of March, 1777—which tremendous and awful day now draws near,

F must appear before the Searcher of hearts to give an account of all the
isdone in the body, whether they be good or evil. I shall soon be delivered

all the pains and troubles of this wicked mortal state, and shall be answerable
li-Seeing God, who is infinitely just, and knoweth all things as they are. I am
Persuaded that I depart in a state of peace with God and my own conscience.
Reta.’ but little doubt of my future happiness, through’ the™nierits of Jesus Christ.
x have sincerely repented of all my sins, examined my heart, prayed earnestly to

Peete:

E Vin itis caine Hicbianth: aati

Se Ee ee Oe ee ee

g
aes’

‘myself wholy to the disposal of my Heavenly Father, submitting to His Dis.

HISTORY OF WATERBURY.

God for merey, for the gracious pardon of my manifold and heinous sins, I Pesiern
ee

p - ‘ : : ‘ ie
will. From the bottom of my heart I forgive all enemies and earnestly pray G, i

to forgive them all. Some part of Th—— S——’s evidence was false, but [ heart},

forgive him. and likewise earnestly beg forgiveness of all persons whom [| have

injured or ofended. Since my sentence I have been visited by sundry worthy.
ministers of the Gospel, who have discoursed and prayed with me—among whom
are the Rev, William Short of Hartford. The Rey. Wm. Veils of Simsbu y, my
fellow prisoner on account of preaching in favor of the British government, ha,
been indefatigable in affording every possible assistance to prepare me for my
terrible Exit. He administered the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper to me the Sun.
day before I was to be put. to death. To these gentlemen, as well as all Others
who have shewed me kindness I give my most sincere thanks. I die in the pro-
fession and communion of the Church of England.

Of my political sentence I leave the readers of these lines to judge. Perhaps it
is neither reasonable nor proper that I should declare them in my present situation
I cannot take the last farewell of my countrymen without desiring them to show
kindness to my poor widow and children, not reflecting on them the manner of my
death. Now I have given you a narrative of all things material concerning my
life with that veracity which you are to expect from one who is going to leave the
world and appear before the God of truth. My last advice to you is that you,
above all others, confess your sins, and prepare yourselves, with God’s assistance,
for your future and Eternal state. You will all shortly be as near Eternity as I
now am, and will view both worlds in the light which I do now view them. You
will then view all worldly things to be but shadows and vapours and vanity af
vanities, and the things of the Spiritual world to be of importance beyond al}
description. You will all then be sensible that the pleasures of a good conscience.
and the happiness of the near prospect of Heaven, will outweigh all the pleasures
and honours of this wicked world.

God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, have mercy on me and.

receive my spirit. Amen, and Amen.
Moses Dunsar,

Hartford, March 18th, A. D., 1777.
[A true copy by Sylvanus Cooke. ] =

It is believed that Moses Dunbar was hung from a tree that
stood on the hill, and on or near the site of the Trinity College
buildings. It is said that Moses Dunbar’s widow, when an aged
woman, pointed out the tree to her friends, saying: “That is the
tree on which my poor first husband was hung.” It is said that at :
the moment when the execution took place a white deer sprans

from the near-by forest and passed directly under the hanging vie A :

tim. This tradition is pretty firmly established. Dr. Bronson telts
us that “the gallows in a public place was kept standing for a loné |
time as a warning to others.” ae

In January, 1777, John Slater, who was constable, took up >**
runaway Tories at Waterbury and guarded and transported the: t®

ad
+ . oe Js ari
Hartford, dy order of authority,” receiving twenty-five pound:

i On : ‘ . 4 mee
fourteen shillings for his services. In February, two thousand !

. 4860 Stratford Ave.

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“Let’s not go through it all again,” the suspect told Det. McPherson. “I did that one,

CONNECTICUT
SEX SLAYER

Once he had lured them into his car, the killer needed 22

screwdriver thrusts to kill one girl, 50 for another

Her newspaper:

, BY ROBERT BENTON

AL.

CFS 7

SCORE TWO FOR SEX FIEND
(Continued from page 23)

time or another dated the pretty
French girl. Men in the evening class
attended by Gaetane were questioned.
The student who had moved to Long
Island was located, but he was soon
cleared when he was able to prove that
he had been at his job in New York
during the interval of time in which
the brunette disappeared.

As the massive hunt got under way,
the heartbroken Boivin family waited
mournfully in their home for some
word about their missing child. They,
too, by now realized the sinister im-
plications in the case. Gaetane might
be already dead, her abused and rav-
ished body hidden in some secret grave
which might never be discovered. The
alternative was almost as frightful to
contemplate—captivity by some sex
fiend who even now might be subject-
ing her to unspeakable abominations
and torture.

The weekend passed with no new
developments. Then, on Monday, an-
other mysterious disappearance was
reported by a family in Bristol, seven
miles to. the northeast of Waterbury,
and just across the line in Hartford
County. The neat, gray home of Mr.
and Mrs, Baxter Doucette stood by it-
self on the crest of a gentle slope over-
looking Town Line Road which di-
vided Bristol from neighboring Terry-
ville. Had the Doucettes lived on the
other side of the road, Brenda Jane,
their cute 8-year-old little daughter,
could have gone to school in Terry-
ville, driving there daily on the school
bus which stopped at the corner. As it
was, the golden -haired youngster at-
tended Fall Mt. School, a mile and
four-tenths to the north, on Allentown
Road.

By Connecticut law, only children
living at least a mile and a half from
school are entitled to ride there on
school buses. Being shy the required
distance by a scant one-tenth of a mile,
Brenda Jane had to walk to school
every morning.

RENDA Jane had breakfast on

Monday and her mother packed
the little girl’s lunch box. A few min-
utes after eight, the child said goodbye
to her mother and her 4-year-old
brother, David, and started on her way.
‘Mrs. Doucette watched her pretty
child, lunch box in her hand, trudge
the hundred yards that would take her
‘to Allentown Road.

When Brenda Jane reached the in-
tersection, she turned left, as usual. A
few steps farther on, she stopped at a
neighbor’s house to pick up another
‘little girl, still too young for school,
who sometimes walked a short distance
with her.

A blue and white convertible passed
them as they neared the first bend.
Neither child paid it any attention.
Brenda parted from her younger com-
panion who turned and went back

home. Brenda Jane continued on her
way.

Some six hundred feet farther on,
around the next bend in the road, a
schoolgirl, aged nine, was waiting out-
side her home for Brenda Jane to show
up. The two children walked to school
together every morning.

As the nine-year-old stood there, the
blue and white convertible came tear-
ing along. It made a quick turn in a
driveway and then raced back in the
direction from ‘which it had come. The
waiting girl didn’t notice who was in
the convertible, and her mother who
was in the back of the house heard the
noise the car made but didn’t see it.

The minutes passed and the girl rea-
lized that it was getting late for school.
She kept peering down the road but
the figure of Brenda Jane failed to
come around the bend. Finally decid-
ing that her friend was not going to
school that morning, she went back in-
doors. She was already late for class
and her mother decided to keep the
child at home. She didn’t want her girl
taking that long walk alone.

Fight BIRTH
DEFECTS

In the two-room schoolhouse where
Brenda Jane was a third grader, the
child’s absence was duly recorded. The
day passed and it became time for the
youngsters to go home. Mrs. Doucette
waited for: her daughter in the tidy
gray house on the hill. The child didn’t
appear. By a quarter of five, Mrs. Dou-
cette was almost out of her mind with
worry and she put through a frantic
telephone call to the Bristol police sta-
tion.

Chief Thomas V. McCarthy prompt-
ly got in touch with one of the staff
in charge at the small country school,
and soon learned that the Doucette
youngster had been marked absent. Al-
though she had started out for school
in the morning, she had never reached
there.

This day-long absence of an 8-year-
old was clearly a matter of deep con-
cern and the chief wasted no time in
organizing search parties. Police, fire-
men, and civilian volunteers responded
rapidly to his call for help, and bands

of searchers from Bristol, Terryville,
and Wolcott spread over the country-
side. They plunged into the thick
woods, combed through the brush,
made their way down into scrub-grown
gulleys, waded along creekbeds, and
probed the dark depths of deep wells.
From Bethany Barracks, state cops
brought a brace of bloodhounds. Given
the scent from the missing child’s
clothing, the dogs dragged their train-
ers along Allentown Road and crashed
through the dense stands of trees on
either side without picking up the
spoor. In the deepening dusk, their
deep-throated baying floated eerily
over the fields and thickets. ;

There was no letup with the coming
of night. As news of the hunt swept the
community, more and more volunteers
swelled the ranks of the posses until a
small army of almost two hundred
were’ looking for the little girl. Flash-
lights and lanterns, like swarms of
oversize fireflies, fluttered over the
hills. Police cars, cruising slowly along
lonely roads, raked the brush as they
passed with the probing beams of their
swiveling spotlights.

The grim search came to an end
shortly after eight o’clock, that Monday
night. Three searchers looking for the
child in Wolcott Township swung off
Allentown Road to explore Beacon
Heights Road which ran barely a quar-
ter of a mile through the thick woods
around Spindle Hill.

Studying the brush on either side of
the road as they went along, the men
noticed a patch of trampled and brok-
en weeds. They decided to investigate.

They floundered through the heavy
undergrowth to a clump of trees. About
fifty yards from the road they found
Brenda Jane Doucette.

The child was lying ‘in a twisted
heap among the tall weeds. A green
sweater was knotted tightly around her
throat. The breast of her orange col-
ored dress was crusted with blood from
a welter of wounds.

Soon a dozen official automobiles
were sirening along Beacon Heights
Road to the clump of trees screening
the tiny corpse. Besides the swarm of
state troopers and Hartford County
officers who gathered in the woods,
there came a large group of police from
New Haven County. Wolcott, where
the body was found, was in New Haven
County, although the Doucettes lived
in Hartford County.

Thus, New Haven County Detectives
Thomas Laden found himself investi-
gating another perplexing mystery, the
second sex atrocity to flare in his baili-
wick in four days.

HAT blonde, blue-eyed little Bren-
da Jane was the victim of a sex
fiend was never in doubt for a moment,
once the officers got a glance at the
mutilated little body and heard Deputy
Coroner Frank J. Healey Jr. voice his
observations as he knelt beside the
child.
“The person who did this,” Healey

Son Oe

said with horror in his voice, “really
went hog wild. She’s been stabbed
maybe twenty times.”

“Was she molested sexually?” Chief
McCarthy asked.

“It doesn’t look like it,” the deputy

coroner said. “The child’s clothing is
still intact. Probably the guy got scared
when the child screamed and resisted
him, and he lost his head and killed
her.”

The others agreed that only a sex
motive could explain the brutal slaying.
But how had the child come to fall into
the clutches of the sex-mad monster
who had snuffed out her life?

“Obviously, since he brought her
way out here,” Laden declared, “he
must have had a car. The youngster
started out for school, this morning,
walking north to get there. We find
her body three miles south of her
home.”

“And since she never got to school,”
Lieutenant J. Francis O’Brien, of the
State Police, said, “he must have ab-
ducted her before she got there this
morning.”

This conjecture was in keeping with
what Deputy Coroner Healey had to
say. From the temperature of the
corpse, it was his belief that the mur-
der had. been committed some ten
hours at least before the body was
found.

An ambulance took the child’s body
to Waterbury Hospital and Healey
said he would have Dr. Joseph O. Col-
lins, a pathologist there, get busy at
once on the autopsy.

Then the officers began searching
the scene for clues, handicapped
though they were by the darkness.
They looked for the death weapon and
for the child’s missing lunch box, a
green and gray metal affair with a red
handle. Neither of these articles, nor
any other clues, was found.

News of the gruesome sex slaying
got around fast. Although it was too
late for the evening papers to headline
the story, radio and television carried
reports of the loathsome atrocity to
every corner of Connecticut. Tips,
many of them only misleading, bom-
barded the authorities. Neighbors of

the Doucettes came forward with what —

they knew.

From the one family the officers
learned that Brenda Jane had never
reached their home to pick up her
schoolmate. The mother of the child
who had walked Brenda Jane part of
the way along Allentown Road told
what she knew. The two youngsters
had separated just short of the first
bend in the road. The other girl waited
beyond the second bend. Between the
two spots was a stretch of lonely road
about six hundred feet long. It was
clear, then, that the slasher had come
upon the child somewhere along this
six hundred feet of Allentown Road.

It was of prime importance, there-
fore, to locate the blue and white con-
vertible which was traveling that sec-
tion of the road about the time Brenda

Jane was there. It had passed her and
her little companion. Waiting outsige
her home, the nine-year-old had seen
it make a quick turn in her driveway
and hurtle back in the direction from
which it came.

Unfortunately, neither of the two
youngsters could say who was in the
car. They knew only that it was blue
and white and looked fairly new.

An all-out search for this car was at
once begun. Armed only with a sketchy
description, city, county, and state po-
lice checked all blue and white con-
vertibles they could find. They in-
spected public and private garages,
they stopped such vehicles on the road.
They asked questions at gas stations.

While police were hunting the con-
vertible, other officers began going
through the criminal files for the names
of known sex offenders. They were
particularly interested in perverts who
had molested children.

The extensive probe was directed by
Chief McCarthy, Detective Laden, and
Captain Victor J. Clark and Lieutenant
J. Francis O’Brien, of the State Police.
They set up field headquarters in the
Bristol station house, and kept scores
of subordinates busy running down
leads,

Dr. Collins was able to give the po-
lice a preliminary report of his autopsy
findings on Tuesday morning. Brenda
Jane, he said, had been strangled and
was quite possibly already dead be-
fore she was stabbed. In any event, the
stab thrusts would have killed her were
she still alive. The doctor had counted
twenty-two of these murderous thrusts!
Six of them had penetrated the heart.
The killer must really have gone ber-
serk with bloodlust as he struck with
insensate fury, plunging his weapon
again and again into the breast of the
hapless little girl, That weapon was
described by the pathologist as a “fine
rectangular instrument, very likely a
screwdriver.” The child had not been
taped.

ETECTIVE Laden, involved in
two fmajor probes, wondered if
there could be a link between the
cases. The. fate of Gaetane Boivin was,
of course, still unknown, but all the
circumstances indicated that, like the
Doucette child, she, too, had been ab-
ducted in the morning, an unusual time
for a prowling sex criminal to operate.
And it was likely that she, too, had
been taken off in an automobile. More-
over, the child’s body had been found
only three miles north of Waterbury.
Aided by the Waterbury police, La-
den began inquiring of the neighbors
of the Boivins whether they had ob-
served a blue and white convertible on
the day of Gaetane’s disappearance.
No one was found who had.

In Bristol, the hub of the many
pronged probe, there was intense ac-
tivity as officers brought in sex deviates
for questioning. On Tuesday, alone,
more than twenty were screened and
released when they could not be

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miliar with the territory,

know that it is useless to call
on rural New England families
before 9 o’clock on a Monday
morning. The men are busy with
their farm chores, or hurrying off
to their work in the cities and in-
dustrial towns of the region. The
women are. busily -preparing
breakfast, putting up lunches and
doing the weekly wash. During
these early daylight hours there
is little traffic along the winding
country roads except for school

| ae SALESMEN, fa-

buses and the automobiles of -

country residents employed in the
scattered settlements. Because in
most areas there are regulations
requiring children living less than
a mile and a half from their
schools to walk to and from their
classes, many youngsters may be
seen trudging along these de-
serted roadways. However, many
parents hesitate to send their
children out during the cold sub-
zero winter weather and attend-
ance continues sporadic wéll into
the early spring when the north

A UN NR 8 a

e wind and cold rains lash the coun-
tryside. For this reason an ac- ee
curate resume of weather condi- =
tions in any given locality might wad YK
easily be obtained by checking the = ale 4 : jee ” 4 4 a hee
attendance records of the many ae wee A : gma 7D Sf Psa ea
too.” one- and two-room schoolhouses. Dr. Kirschbaum (l.); after viewing second victim, quickly identified murder weapon

Her newspaper ad brought a fatal reply

Throughout New England the Mon-
day morning of May 13th, 1957, dawned
cold and cloudy with a sharp wind out
of the northeast threatening heavy
showers. Baxter Doucette, who lived
with his wife and two children on
Town Line Road west of Bristol in

Central Connecticut, left as ‘usual for’

his job -with a tool company in West
Hartford at 7:30 o’clock on that dreary
morning. Before leaving he instructed
his wife to keep their 9-year-old
daughter home from school if the
rain started to fall before ‘she was due
to leave half an hour later. Her health
was important, too, he insisted.

The Doucettes lived a mile and a
quarter ‘fromthe two-room Falls
Mountain schoolhouse on the outskirts
of Bristol. Efforts to have their older
child transferred to a school farther
away, to which she could be taken by
bus, had proved fruitless. But the
father was resolved that his little girl

should not walk through rain and cold
to reach her classes.

At 8 o’clock Mrs. Doucette glanced
at the darkening skies from the veran-
da of their neat frame home, estimated
that it would be some time before the
rain started falling, and turned back
to the pretty brown-eyed girl at her
side. ‘Now, take your luncheon and
hurry,” she admonished the child.
“Your little friend will be there at the
turn into Allentown Road to join you
and you mustn’t keep her waiting on
a day like this. If you both run you'll
reach school before the downpour.”

Mrs. Doucette added that the child
would find a $1 bill in her lunchbox.
If it was raining at 3 p.m. when she
was dismissed from school, she was to
call a taxi in town.

Ten minutes later Brenda Jane
Doucette marched up to the front door
of a house near the intersection. There
she expected to be met by a little

linked to the outrage.

Tips continued to pour in. One came
from Plymouth late on Tuesday even-
ing. The woman proprietor of a res-
taurant there had reported a suspicious
acting man to the police of that town
which was only about three miles west
of Bristol. She had seen the man on
several occasions outside her eating
place. Seated at the wheel of his
parked car, the man would read a
newspaper. But when children passed
by on their way to school, he would
raise his eyes and watch them intently.
On the very morning of the murder,
she said, the man had been drinking
coffee in her place, leaving about a
quarter to eight.

When she read accounts of the slay-
ing on Tuesday, she notified the police.
She had actually gone to the trouble
of noting down a description of his
automobile and the tag numbers. The
Plymouth cops passed the information
along to Chief McCarthy in Bristol.

A check of the state’s motor vehicle
registration records showed that the
car—a black, two-door 1950 Pontiac
sedan—was registered to one George
J. Davies, of Fenn Road, Thomaston, a
town a couple of miles west of Ply-
mouth.

Trooper John Kenny was handed the
job of questioning Davies, and on Wed-
nesday ‘afternoon the state cop drove
to Thomaston. Davies, it developed,
was unemployed and at home. He oc-
cupied a trailer which was_ parked
about fifty yards behind the house of
a relative. The house was a trim little
place set close to Fenn Road. The
lawn was neat and the backyard where
the trailer rested was picturesquely
wooded. The trailer was small and
green. As Kenny was directed to the
trailer he heard a pair of parakeets in
the kitchen,.and a small black dog ac-
companied him to the trailer in back.

Davies, a man of 38, was blonde and
rather good-looking. He was of medium
height, slim and compactly built.

“What do you want?” he demanded
of the trooper, eyeing him sullenly.

“I’m just asking questions,”
trooper said calmly.

“Like what?”

“Like where you were on Monday
morning, and what you were doing.”

“I went to Hartford to look for
work.”

The trooper studied him closely.
“We have information,” he told him,
“that you were in Plymouth. You were
seen leaving a restaurant there at a
quarter of eight.”

“I did drop in there for some java,”
Davies admitted. “Then I drove to
Hartford.”

“Over U. S. 6-202?”

Davies nodded.

“That would have taken you right
through Bristol about eight o'clock,”
Kenny pointed out. “Just about when
the Doucette girl disappeared.”

“I had nothing to do with that,”

Davies said hotly. “I went right on
through to Hartford. I got there before

the

half past eight.”

Kenny performed some rapid mental
calculations. Hartford was about fifteen
miles beyond Bristol, to the north. The
child’s body had been found three
miles south of Bristol, in Wolcott. If
Davies had detoured to abduct the
little girl and drive her to the south,
he could hardly have arrived in Hart-
ford by eight-thirty.

“If you could prove it, it would
probably put you in the clear,” Kenny
admitted. “Where did you go in Hart-
ford?”

“The Colt Firearms Company,” Da-
vies said. “About half past eight I ap-
plied for a job there.”

He provided the names of other
firms he claimed he had Visited on
Monday. The trooper noted down the
details of the man’s alibi and then took
a look at his 1950 Pontiae. He had to
admit to himself that the black sedan
could hardly have been mistaken for a
white and blue convertible.

EFORE leaving Thomaston, Kenny
went to the local police station
and spoke with Chief Eggleston. Egg-
gleston and his aides revealed that
Davies was known to them as a chronic
troublemaker. His constant quarrels
with his wife had brought him con-
tinually to the attention of the law.
“It got so bad,” the chief said, “that
we finally had to read him the riot act
and warn him to keep out of town. He
did for a while and then showed back.
At last his wife got sick and tired of
all the trouble she was having with
him, and a month or so ago she walked
out on him.”

The Thomaston cops had one other
possibly significant piece of informa-
tion. Back in 1952, Davies had been
charged with molesting two Plymouth
girls, aged nine and ten, in Thomas-
ton. Given a one to two year jail term,
he had been paroled from Wethersfield
State Prison in August, 1953, after
serving ten months of his sentence.
Since then, he had been knocking
around, working only occasionally.

Kenny drove back to Bristol and
handed on his information to his su-
periors. The chief investigators agreed
that Davies was a man to be looked
into, and Kenny was instructed to fol-
low through on the lead and check his
alibi.

There were other suspects. Some
fifty sex deviates had been dredged up
in the search of the area, and six of
them were still under investigation. In
custody also was a man from Schenec-
tady, New York, who had been found
sleeping in his car outside of Water-
bury. Searching the automobile, the
officers found a toy pistol and an as-
sortment of comic books. The man
could give no clear account of his
movements on Monday morning. He
said that he had quit his job about nine
days before and had been bumming
around since.

On Thursday, Trooper Kenny drove
to Hartford to check the alibi of

George James Davies. The state cop’s .

first stop was at the Colt Firearms
Company. Questioning the personnel
manager, the trooper learned that there
was no record of an application for a
job by the suspect.

“Applicants fill out a blank before
they are interviewed,” the manager in-
formed the cop. “No one is interviewed
unless such a written application is

first filed. We have ‘no record of this -

Davies applying for a job on Monday.”

To doublecheck, Trooper Kenny
spoke with the various interviewers

and none recalled talking with the .

Thomaston man. As the trooper made
the rounds of the other Hartford firms
named by Davies, he was told the same
thing. The suspect had not been at any
of those places on Monday.

Back in Bristol, another develop-
ment made Davies even more of a sus-
pect. The blue and white convertible
was now eliminated as a factor in the
probe. The owner of the car came for-
ward, and brought with him two
friends. All were men of impeccable
character and reputation, heads of fam-
ilies and respectable wage earners.

They explained that they had been
on their way to work when the con-
vertible was observed on Allentown
Road. One of the men had forgotten
his lunch box and they had returned
for it. This explained their hasty about
face in the driveway. .

Davies’ black Pontiac now figured
strongly in the probe. He had admitted
driving it through Bristol at about the
time the child was abducted. Now, with
his alibi smashed, he became the top
suspect in the case.

In studying the. background of the
man, State Police Sergeant Wilbur
Calkins recognized him at once. Calkins
had actually worked on the investiga-
tion of the charge that Davies had mo-
lested the two Plymouth youngsters in
1952. Moreover, the sergeant had
picked him up for questioning in a
suspected homicide. It was a case that
had hit the headlines in 1952. Con-
stance Smith, the 10-year-old daughter

of a Wyoming rancher, had vanished
from a Lakeville girl’s camp on July
16th. In September, Davies had been
grilled and claimed that he had been
working in a garage the day of the dis-
appearance. His two-month old alibi
could not be disproved and he had
been released. No trace had ever been
found of the missing Connie Smith.

Because of his experience with Da-
vies, Calkins was given the job of tak-
ing him into custody for questioning
in the Doucette crime. Accompanied
by Detective Dan McPherson, he went
to the trailer on Fenn Road on Friday
morning.

Davies received the two officers in
the living room of. his relation’s home
His face was pale.

“Can you wait a minute?” he asked
the cops. “I want to go to the bath-
room.”

Davies left the room. The two offi-

DR iia io

ee.

a inact a in aa

“tages

cers looked at each other with troubled
glances.

“I don’t like this,” Calkins said.
“Let’s go after him.”

Followed by McPherson, Calkins
hurried to the bathroom to look for
Davies. The blond man was standing
before the opened medicine cabinet.
He had a small bottle in his hand.

“Drop it!” Calkins roared.

Before the state cop could grab the
bottle, Davies put his hand to his
mouth and swallowed. Calkins wrested
the bottle from him and studied the
label. The flask contained sleeping
tablets,

“How many of those did you take?”
McPherson demanded.

“Six,” Davies told him defiantly.

“Come ons Mac,” Calkins snapped,
“let’s get this joker to the hospital.”

Hustling the prisoner into the police
car, they turned the siren loose and
burned rubber all the way to Bristol
Hospital. There the doctors went to
work on the suspect with a stomach
pump. An hour later he was declared
out of danger.

He was kept under medical care
overnight and on Saturday morning he
was brought to Bristol headquarters to
be grilled.

NABLE to explain his fake alibi,
U he nevertheless claimed that he
had nothing to do with the murder of
Brenda Jane. Again and again the cops
questioned him about his whereabouts
from eight to half past nine on Monday
morning. More and more discrepancies
in his account became apparent.

Meanwhile, the Pontiac had been
impounded and technicians were giving
it a microscopic examination. On the
front seat they found specks of dis-
coloration which they believed to be
blood. Scrapings were taken and for-
warded to the state police lab.

Three times on Saturday night Da-
vies threatened to hang himself and
he was carefully watched. Then, on
Sunday night, came the big break. Da-
vies confessed that he was the man
who had waylaid and murdered little
Brenda Jane Doucette.

In his statement, Davies said he
spotted the youngster as she was walk-
ing along Allentown Road on Monday

morning. He stopped his car and hur- .

tiedly placed a jack under the bumper
to make her believe he had a flat.
When she came alongside the car, he
called her and asked her to hand him
a screwdriver from the car’s interior so
he could loosen a hub cap. She hesi-
tated but finally walked to the open
door and reached in for the tool. He
pushed her inside, grabbed the tool
from her and put it in his pocket, then
slipped behind the wheel and sped off.
The frightened child was whimpering
all the way to Wolcott, and as the car
turned into Beacon Heights Road, she
was screaming. It had been the man’s
intention to attack her, but he panicked
at her outcries. He stopped the car
and put his hands around her throat

until she went limp. Carrying her into
the woods, he stabbed her repeatedly
with the screwdriver and then knotted
her green sweater around her throat.

Removing her gold wristwatch, “he
took off in the car. Her lunchbox was
on the floor where she had dropped it.
He tossed the lunch box away into a
culvert in Plymouth, and the three-inch
screwdriver into another culvert in
Waterbury. The wristwatch he decided
to dispose of, too, hiding it in a trash
container in a public comfort station
in Waterbury. He spent the rest of the
day hanging about restaurants in Wa-
terbury.

On Monday morning, May 20th, a
party of officers left Bristol with Da-
vies and he led them over the route he
had taken on the day of the murder.
The lunch box and the screwdriver
were recovered, but the watch was not
found. Then he was lodged on a coro-
ner’s warrant in New Haven County
Jail.

The investigation was still very far
from concluded. There were a lot of
questions about the Constance Smith
disappearance that the officers wanted
to put to Davies, and Detective Laden
was still very much concerned about
the fate of Gaetane Boivin, four days
before the murder of the Doucette
child.

Davies steadfastly denied any
knowledge of these two cases as the
cops kept grilling him through Monday
and Tuesday. Then, on Tuesday even-
ing, came another sensational develop-
ment. A youth hunting in Mattuck
Forest in the northern outskirts of
Waterbury, near the Wolcott town
line, came upon the decomposing body
of a woman in a ditch off Greystone
Road.

Deputy Coroner Healey, Detective
Lieutenant Cavanaugh, Detective
James Foley, and County Detective
Laden hastened to the scene. The dead
woman was fully clothéd and the dress
she wore jibed with the description of
that worn by Gaetane Boivin.

While Dr. Edward H. Kirschbaum,
the county medical examiner, began
the autopsy, the officers took the dead
woman’s clothing to the Boivin home
on Cherry Street, in Waterbury. There
the articles were identified by the
grieving family as those of Gaetane.

By Wednesday morning, the medical
examiner was able to supply the offi-
cers with a preliminary report. Gae-
tane, he announced, had been stabbed
thirty times. Twelve of the thrusts had
penetrated the upper left lung and
three the heart. The weapon used had
been a “fine rectangular instrument,
possibly a screwdriver.” The remains
indicated that Gaetane had also been
manually strangled.

The similarity between the Boivin
and Doucette cases was apparent even
at first glance. Both had been strangled,
both had been stabbed repeatedly with
a “fine rectangular instrument.” The
bodies had been found in the same
stretch of woods, less than three miles
apart. The officers were convinced that

the same sex fiend had dealt out death
to both victims.

They went to New Haven to pick up
Davies, and drove him to Bethany
Barracks. Perhaps because he was used
to talking by now, Davies made little
effort to deny that he was the slayer of
Gaetane Boivin.

HE prisoner related that about
seven on Thursday morning, May

9th, he bought a paper in Thomaston
and then drove to Waterbury. He set-
tled down there over a cup of coffee to
read the want ads, but didn’t find any
offer of a job which interested him.
Then he began skimming over the ads
in the Situations Wanted—Female col-
umn. There he came across Gaetane’s
insert. From a gas station he called the
Boivin home and spoke with the
French girl. He told her he had some
housework he wanted done and made
an appointment to discuss it with her
at nine-thirty. When he reached the
apartment, he identified himself as the
phone caller and got the girl to ac-
company him to his automobile so he
could take her to the job. There was
very little talk on the ride because of
Gaetane’s unfamiliarity with English.
At no time did the girl seem to suspect
his intentions. Then, on Greystone
Road, he drew up and attempted to
assault the teenager. Only then did she
become aware of his intentions. She
resisted with all her strength, pushing
him back and slapping his face. Stung,
Davies seized her by the throat, chok-
ing her with his bare hands for about
eight to ten minutes. Then he got a
four-inch screwdriver, like that which
he later used on Brenda Jane, and
thrust it repeatedly into the pretty
brunette’s left side.

With the body in the car, Davies
drove over almost impassable terrain
for a half mile before he pushed the
girl into the ditch where the hunter
found her.

Following this second confession, the
police began to prepare the evidence
in the two macabre sex slayings for
presentment to the grand jury. Digging
deeply into the background of the
bestial killer, they learned that Davies
had actually sought psychiatric aid
back in 1953. After his parole from
prison, he had visited the offices of
Dr. John S. Staneslow. :

“He was one of those sexual psycho-
paths,” the doctor said after the arrest
of his former patient for murder. “They
are as a rule emotionally immature,
not grown up, and have not the ca-
Pacity to live with adults.

“As a result they pick on young
children whom they feel superior to.”

Tension eased when news of the con-
fessions got around. Parents were re-
lieved to know police had the sex fiend
who had taken the lives of Brenda
Doucette and Gaetane Boivin in cus-
tody. They were satisfied he would kill
no more. They were right. George J.
Davies was tried and found guilty as
charged. He was electrocuted on Oc-
tober 20th, 1959, *

had drawn a blank. No one would ad-
mit to having seen Bonelli the previous
evening. Everybody was keeping mum.
Furthermore, a search of his bachelor
quarters on Belmont Street indicated that
he had returned home the night before.
The bed had been slept in, the troopers
reported. )

“But that isn’t’ conclusive proof,”
Mitchell pointed out. “Bonelli lived alone,
and a lot of men who live/alone are in

the habit of not making their bed for ~

days. It could still be possible that he
did not return to his home last night.”

ENZI looked at him. “On the other
hand, it could alsg be possible that

he did sleep at home and later met ‘some-
one who killed him in,the early morning.”
“Yes,” admitted Mitchell. He shook

his head. “This case is going to be tough °

—unless we get a break. The killer, who-
ever he is, apparently didn’t make a mis-
take.” \

“He wasn’t killed in his house, any-
way,” said O’Brien. “There’s no blood,
no evidence of anyone cleaning up. I’ve
a hunch he was killed right there in the
woods,”

“Well; keep going,” Mitchell ordered.
“Round up all the gamblers in town.” He
turned to Fleming. “You-can help, us
there, Chief,” he said. “You know who
they are.”

The round-up wads quickly effected
and a parade of men, suspected of hav-
ing known and gambled with Bonelli,
streamed into headquarters. The check

proved fruitless. All those quizzed estab-.

lished unshakeable alibis, including
Kearns and Mantillo. All were sub-
sequently released. The hours wore on,

and the harried police inspectors had to.
admit they were no closer to a solution

than before. Cd
At mid-afternoon, Lenzi and Mitchell,
accompanied by Dr. Simonton, drove to

Hartford to ‘witness the autopsy on.

Bonelli by Dr. Louis P. Hastings, path-
ologist. Chameroy and Shaw were also
on hand.

Once the riddled body was washed, it
was determined that Bonelli had been
shot seven times at close range. Six
slugs had crashed into his head, while
one had entered the chest. The slugs
were from a .22 caliber revolver, ‘it was
ascertained. The bullet wounds were ‘all
on the left side of the body.

“It’s beginning to look,” said Mitchell,
“as though the killer drove Bonelli into
the woods, drew his gun and fired the

shots at. him without warning. Bonelli.

may have been ear-marked for murder
long before.” ns

“Then he must have known the man
who killed him quite well,” Lenzi pointed
out. “He’d never have agreed to go with
him to that lonely spot if he didn’t trust
him.- He must have been g friend.”

Mitchell nodded. “You're right,” he
agreed. “I think we'll discover that some-
one Bonelli trusted, brutally shot him
down.” He shook his head. “But how
to find him is another problem.”

Meanwhile, back in Thompsonville,
Trooper Lawrence continued to comb
‘the scene of the crime for possible clues,

‘

When the plaster cast Chameroy’ had
made of the tire mark hardened, Law-
rence removed it and proceeded to make
a house-to-house canvass, of the’ neigh-
borhood in an attempt to match it up.
Although Lawrence realized he :was

confronted with a slow, tedious task, he ©

had no alternative. In/lieu of a tangible

clue, he was forced to do it the hard way.

So far, the police had! nothing but’ the
tire mark to:go'on, and tracing it to the
murder car meant a desperate fight
against time. Once the killer—provided

he was still in the neighborhood—dis-

covered what was going on, he undoubt-
edly would change the tires on his car.
This killer was bold and smart,’and only
‘a bad break in the person of the four
boys had prevented him from syccessfully
covering up the murder completely.

As Lawrence slowly worked his way
along Elm Street, he noted a car speed by
in the distance. It was a long, black se-
dan, and the trooper gave it only a cur-
sory glance, ‘There were many such cars
being: driven to the scene of the murder,
= of them packed with curious towns-

‘folk. = *

Lawrence painstakingly continued his
methodical check. He examined the tires
on car after car, but none of the patterns
matched up with the plaster cast he was
carrying. It looked like a hopeless task,
‘and the killer was as far removed from
capture as before. at

After reaching the end of the street,
Lawrence turned and started back to
the scene'of the crime. As he neared the
entrance tothe wagon road, he again no-
ticed the long, black sedan approaching
from the opposite direction. It was roll-

ing slowly, as’ though the ‘driver was-

looking for something. Suddenly, it
‘wheeled about and was driven ‘quickly

‘ out of sight.

This ‘time, Lawrence commenced to
‘wonder. ‘The car had not! been close
enough to note the license numbers or

the driver, butshe was curious as to the

reason:this particular’ vehicle had twice
been spotted near the scene of the mur-
der—and within the hour. It looked lik
- more than a coincidence,
Lawrence was-a highly trained police
officer. He knew, from experience, that
a killer. will often_return to the scene of

the crime—largely because he develops:

a bad case of nerves and is compelled to

on his trail. .

reassure himself that the police are not’:

Remorse, on the other’ hand, ‘seldom
.. plays a part in these visits. ee i

Seeing this same car twice was only a

little thing, but. the, trooper. knew’ that: >

just such seemingly insignificant items

“are often instrumental in the cracking of
a difficult case. It was only a hunch, but
it could be possible that’ that was ‘the
murder car. Lawrence decided: to in-
vestigate further.

Proceeding to the’ MacKay home, he
questioned young Hugh. “Did you by
any chance see a long, black sedan drive
by here this morning ?” he asked.

The boy. looked at him in’ perplexity.

Gee, I saw a lot of cars,” he said, :'
“I know,” said Lawrence patiently.
“But this car was long and black.'! As a
‘ AX j : b

ne ri

gs i 4 i
matter of fact,’’ he continued, shooting in
‘the dark, “it might have come by three
or four times. Think,” he urged the boy.
. .The -lad’s face suddenly brightened.
“Yes, I did,? he said. “I did see a car
like that. It was a long, black Buick. It

me by here about three times this
pa at I. think I saw it come Ly again
this afternoon, too.’

Feeling now that perhaps he was on
the track of something big, Lawrence.
asked casually, “You didn’t get the li-

..cense number by any chance, did you?”

The boy confessed that he hadn’t but

- added that he had noticed that the upper

half of the headlights on the big Buick
had been painted blue. “And the grille
on the front was broken,” he said ex-
citedly.

Lawrence nodded. “And the driver ?”

he asked. “Did you get a look at him?” ©

The boy slowly shook his head. “All
I‘happened to notice was that he looked
pretty fat,” he said.

Thanking. the boy, Lawrence started /

back toward the wagon-road. The troop-
er’s trained police mind continued to
work. The boy had mentioned_ blue
headlights, a broken grille. Lawrence
was convinced, somehow, that that par-
ticular description should mean some-
thing to him. He continued to ponder.
Where? he asked himself. When?

_Then it came to him—suddenly. He
recalled now that a few weeks before,
while on duty in this sector, he had
stopped just such a car—a Buick long
and black, with blue headlights and a
broken grille. It was operated by a
tremendously stout boy—and that
checked, too. The driver gave his name

as Carlo J. DeCaro, of 71 Park Avenue,

Enfield. He had been stopped because
he failed to carry a registration plate on
the front of his car.

Yes, it looked like DeCaro, Lawrence.

reasoned, The MacKay lad had stated
that this particular car was operated by
a fat man. DeCaro most certainly was
fat. It was unlikely that there were two
Buicks—both of them long ‘and black,
with blue headlights and broken grilles
—operated by fat men in this vicinity.

H's mind stifl clicking back to the in-
cident of a few weeks before, Law-
rence recalled that the DeCaro youth had

. been unusually surly and ill-tempered—

a“bad actor. And now. he had returned
to the scene of ‘the murder several times

«within a few hours. It might not mean a

thing, Lawrence realized, but there was

: that hunch, He was determined to play

_it out. \

Once he reached the grave in the pine
grove, Lawrence promptly furnished De-

_ tective Doyle with his information and

suspicions. “It isn’t much,” he said, “but
we do know that this DeCaro drove by at
least five times.”

Doyle nodded. “It might be a lead,” he
admitted, “although he might just have
been curious. There’s no proof of his
complicity, of course.”

“Granted,” said Lawrence.
still think we ought to check,” he added
doggedly. 2

Jumping into his car, 'Doyle speeded

-~
ie
wore

ie os ng ¢ eke

“Buf I

to DeCaro’s‘home
in plain clothes, t
semble a police of
the humble Ne
door,
It was op™*
Carlo here?” aske
The girl shook
Doyle that she wa
had gone to Sp
mother, who was c_
that city, she saic
“T see,” said I
when he’ll be back
“T don’t knov
“Maybe this even
Doyle hesitated
additional fact he

' this girl, but he I

her. Her brother
He decided, finall

“Where is Car
asked casually. “]
long time.”

The girl, assum
of her brother, an
the Sommersville

Doyle blinked.
the information
against hope he \
had been employe
There was little «
two had known e:
hunch was comme
real lead.

EAVING De
next speeded
ersville, several m
tifying himself, he
the personnel dire
“Did DeCaro -
ing?” he asked.
The answer w:
DeCaro’s day off.

“And ho bo
the detecti

“He was id
the personnel dire
check in,”

Doyle nodded.
to work?”

“Bonelli didn’t
man, “TI think De
up in his car ever:

Doyle hesitated
question. A great
securing the righ
about DeCaro’s
slowly. “How di
then ?”

“T think DeCa
Over ‘anyway,” re}
rector. .

That was all D
Now he had the tic
established, at le:
met Bonelliearly tt
still no proof, but
hot lead. Doyle r
ville, and at a po
met Lawrence and
gave them his rep:

“I think you’ve
John,” he-said to
go over to DeC:
around,” he cont
you can, what he d

,*
ae,
Le

By EUGENE: PAWLEY.
ed apm | ome
ane

t ’

Alibi for murder: “I just wanted on
mibney to get married and thought killing
Shi >was the easiest way to get hold ot ity”

CONFESSED SLAYER— °
.“ An the above photograph he is Naan pointing "ents th
/ “the spot where he iyo his Meee hye victim.

“SAL” BONELLI—
‘He died violently because
he carried the savings of
a lifetime in, his pocket.

gin
hree
boy.
ned.
. car
«x. It
this
gain

as on
rence.
he li-
you?”
’t but
upper
Buick
grille
id ex-

iver?”

him?” —

|. “All
looked

started +
> troop-
iued to
sd blue

awrence

@:
der.
en?
nly. He
; before,
he had
lick long
ts and a
ed by a
and that
his name
< Avenue,
{1 because
n plate on

Lawrence
had stated
perated by
tainly was
» were two
and black,
ken grilles
vicinity.

k to the in-
-fore, Law-
) youth had
tempered—
ad returned
-veral times
not fhean a
it there was
ined to play

2 in the pine
irnished De-
rmation an

he said, “but
9 drove by at

be a lead,” he
ht just have
f of his

nee. “But I

ck,” he added

Joyle speeded

to DeCaro’s‘home on Park Avenue. Clad
in plain clothes, the detective didn’t re-
semble a police officer as he approached

the humble home and kfhocked on the -

door.

It was opened by a young girl. -“Is
Carlo here?” asked Doyle.

The girl shook her head. She told
Doyle that she was Carlo’s sister. Carlo
had gone to Sptingfield to ‘visit his
mother, who was confined in a hospital in
that city, she said.

“T gee,” said Doyle. “Do you know
when he'll be back ?”

“T don’t know,” teplied the girl..

“Maybe this evening.”

Doyle hesitated. There was still one.

additional fact he wished to extract from

- this girl, but he had no desire to alarm

her. Her brother was probably innocent.
He decided, finally, to risk it.

“Where is Carlo working how ?” he
asked casually. “I haven’t seen him in a
long time.”

The girl, assuming Doyle was a friend
of her brother, answered proniptly. “At
the Sommersville Mills,” she said.

Doyle blinked. This was it! This was
the information he had been hoping
against hope he would receive. Bonelli
had been employed at that same plant.
There was little question now that the
two had known each other. Lawrence’s
hunch was commencing to shape up as &
real lead.

5 Figen DeCaro’s home, Doyle.

next speeded to the plant in Som-
ersville, several miles away. After-iden-
tifying himself, he proceeded to question
the personnel director.

“Did DeCaro work here this morn-
ing?” he asked.

The answer was no. This had been
DeCaro’s day off.

“And how about Bonelli?” inquired
the detective.

“He was scheduled to work,” replied
the personnel director, “but he failed to
check in.” 7°

Doyle nodded. “How did Bonelli get
to work?”

“Bonelli didn’t own a cat,” said the
man, “I think DeCaro used to pick him
up in his car every day.”

Doyle hesitated before asking the next
question. A great deal depended on his
securing the right answer. “And how
about DeCaro’s days off?” he asked
slowly. “How did Bonelli get to work
then ?”

“T think DeCaro used to dtive him
over ‘anyway,”” replied the personnel di-
rector. a

That was all Doyle wanted to know.
Now he had the tie-up. It was tentatively
established, at least, that DeCaro had
met Bonelliearly that morning. There was
still no proof, but it was a lead—a red-
hot lead. Doyle returned to Thompson-
ville, and at a point in Summer Street
met Lawrence and Trooper Coleman. He
gave them his report.

“T think you’ve got something here,
John,” he-said to Lawrence. “You two
go over to DeCaro’s house and look
around,” he continued. “Find out, if

you can, what he did this morning. Then

“Tl bring

wait for him and brin him in. I'll get
word to Mitchell and ensi.”

. Arriving at DeCaro’s home, the troop-
ers ascertained |from the sister that De-
Caro: had left home, at six-thirty that
morning. They exchanged glances. The
time checked. It had been determined
that Bonelli had been murdered either
late at night or early in the morning.

“What time did he get back?” asked
Lawrence.

about half-past eight,” replied the ,

girl, She gazed at them apprehensively.
“Why are you asking me these questions
about my brother ?”

“Just a routine check-up,” said Cole-
man soothingly. ,

Continuing to’ question the girl, the
troopers discovered that DeCaro had
changed his clothes upon returning home.
He had informed members of his family,
according to his sister, that he intended
to look for a better job.

“May we look at the clothes?” asked
Lawrence persuasively.

After hesitating briefly, the girl

brought out the clothes her brother had.

taken off. The troopers examined the
garments carefully. They included a
pair of khaki trousers, a green sports
shirt—from which the sleeves had been
ripped out—a tan leather jacket and a
pair of brown shoes and socks.

~ On the left leg of the trousers was a
spot that resembled blood! '

When‘ Doyle drove into the yard, the
troopers apprised him of their discovery.
the clothes in for laboratory
tests,” said the detective. He informed
the girl the clothes were being confis-
cated, then drove off to Hartford to re-
port to Acting Captain Mulcahy. -

Lawrence and Coleman remained at
DeCaro’s home, awaiting his return from
Springfield. The time passed slowly.
DeCaro’s sister, as well as other members
of the family, were becoming obviously
restive under this unrelenting surveil-
lance.

The troopets were called upon to ex-
ercise all their tact to prevent them from
becoming hysterical with anxiety.

The minutes wore on. Still no sign of
the suspected youth. It was nearing
seven in the evening, almost twelve hours
after the discovery of the body in the
grave, when Lawrence suggested to Cole-
man that perhaps DeCaro had become
suspicious and had decided to make for
parts unknown. ms

“Tt’s beginning to look that. way,”
agreed Coleman. “Tf he doesn’t show
pretty soon, we'll have to put the alarm
on the air.”

“We'll wait another half-hour,” de-
cided Lawrence. “We're not sure he’s
actually involved. It’s still a long shot.”

Five minutes later, a black Buick se-
dan drove into the yard. The upper half
of the headlights were painted blue. The
grille was broken. Behind the wheel was
a fat youth. He got out of the car. and
lumbered rapidly toward the house.

“Hello, . Carlo,” ‘said Lawrence non-
chalantly, “Remember me ?”

- DeCaro nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But
my number plate’s on now.” He gazed
at the troopers with unblinking eyes.

“Good,” approved Lawrence.

“But

we'd like you to come downtown with us.

Mind?”

“No, I don’t mind,” said DeCaro

calmly.

Ostensibly unruffled, he stepped
the police car.
as he was driven to headquarters.

into

He failed to utter a word

didn’t bother to ask why he was being

taken down.

He was, so\far as Lawrence

and Coleman could judge, completely un-
perturbed. The ‘two troopers began to
wonder if their long shot was a dud.

A’ POLICE Headquarters where
they were awaiting the return
of Mitchell and Lenzi, Coleman at-
tempted an experiment. There were S€v-
eral ‘‘wanted” sheets on the desk. Cole-
man selected a few photos of criminals
hunted for murder and placed them where

DeCaro could look at them.
The fat boy’s expression faile

d to

change. He looked at the sheets without

interest and refrained from speech.
minutes ticked by slowly.

Then Troopers Panciera and Esposito ~

came in. After bringing them up to
Lawrence suggested they go out

The

date,
and

bring down DeCaro’s car. “You might

look it over,” he said.
A few moments later, a call
through from Mulcahy in Hartford

_ informed Lawrence the benzidine

came
. He
test

had been applied to the spot on ‘DeCaro’s
trousers. It was definitely human blood,

he reported.

Lawrence and Coleman went into a
huddle. “I think this just ‘about ties it
up,” said Lawrence. “Ten to one it’s

Bonelli’s blood.”
Coleman nodded. “We'll wait
Mitchell and Lenzi get back.”

until

The two inspectors arrived a few mo-
iments later. After they were given the
facts, they took DeCaro into an inner

office. There he was quizzed. Pr

esent

were Mitchell, Lenzi, Lawrence, Cole-
man, Hotchkiss, Patrolman Reynolds and
Enfield’s Prosecuting Attorney, Francis
Fahey. Detective Doyle arrived a few

minutes later.

Mitchell led the questioning, but De-
Caro held firm under the relentless at-

tack. He insisted he had not even
Bonelli that morning, steadfastly d
owning a gun. :

seen
enied

Mitchell persisted, set verbal pit-falls
for DeCaro, crossed him up time and
time again. ‘Although detected in several
falsehoods, DeCaro maintained his tn-

natural composure.

Then Mitchell produced his trump

card. “How about that blood-spot on

your trousers >” he snapped.

“T cut myself,” said DeCaro calmly.
He displayed a finger with a freshly-

healed cut. °
The police officials were halted

for a

moment, but then came the break.

Trooper Panciera knocked on the

door

and asked to see Mitchell.. When the
county detective stepped into the adjoin-
ing room, Panciera told him of an im-
portant discovery he and Esposito had

made.

“We found a pool of congealed

“We examined DeCaro’s car,” he said.

blood
67

ate

under the cushion on the front seat. The
cushion also is stained, and reeks with
the odor of cleaning fluid. There are new
slip-covers on the seat.”

Armed with this additional evidence,
Mitchell again confronted DeCaro. “We
know you killed Bonelli!” he said. “We
have the proof!”

Then DeCaro broke. “Yes, I killed
him!” he cried. He buried his face in his
hands and sobbed, “Nobody likes nie !”

After the youthful murderer recovered
somewhat, he related the sordid tale to
the police investigators. He said he had
wanted to marry a girl, but needed the
necessary funds. Knowing that Bonelli
usually carried large amounts of money

on his person, he decided to kill and rob ©

him.

The night before the killing, he pur-
chased a Hunter’s Model .22 caliber re-
volver for fifteen dollars. He told the
seller he was going to hunt rabbits. Then
he drove to his home, where he made
additional preparations for his fiendish
deed,

He put the gun, loaded, in the trunk of
his car. He placed a shovel in the trunk,
too. Then he removed the rear seat from
the car and went calmly to sleep.

Early the next morning, he met Bon-
elli, who expected him to drive him to

filling station by giving his rifle to the
proprietor in lieu of ration coupons, had
abandoned coupons, had abandoned the
stolen Ford when a tire went flat, and
had continued his’ journey in another
stolen car.

He was nabbed late that Wednesday
afternoon in Van Wert, Ohio, by Police-
man W. L. Clay, who took him to head-
quarters, where Police Chief M. L,
Kennedy promptly notified the Michigan
authorities.

Sheriff Muehlenbeck came for him.

PENDING the sheriff’s arrival, he was
locked in a police cell, and the nonde-
script little dog that had been his constant
companion on his 300 mile wandering
since Monday afternoon followed him
into the cell and crawled up on the bunk
beside him.

At that moment—and .afterward, too,
for that matter—this shaggy little half-
breed dog was the only friend that
Edward had.

Chief Kennedy said to him: “Is there
anything you want?”

“Yes,” the boy said quietly. “I would
like to have a Bible.”

The chief got a Bible for him, and he
sat silently in his cell reading the Scrip-
tures and fondling his faithful dog till
the sheriff came.

“Edward,” the sheriff said to him, “did
you kill your mother and little sister ?”

work. Instead, DeCaro drove down the
lonely wagon-road, after telling the man
he intended to kill, that he had been out
the evening before and had left the rear
seat of his car in the pine grove. He
wanted to pick up the seat, he explained.
The doomed man, noting that the seat
was missing, accepted the story without
question.

Stopping the car in the pine grove,
DeCaro got out, went. around to the
trunk and got the gun. Then he stole
back to the driver’s side of the car, raised
the revolver and pumped seven shots into
the elderly man, It was at sun-up.

Then he removed the shovel from the
trunk and dug the shallow grave. Bon-
elli was still groaning as he tumbled him
into the hole and covered him with sand.

As the police officers listened with
horror, DeCaro told how he had gone
over the blood-stained cushions with
cleaning fluid, and then purchased new
slip covers in Springfield.

“I told the man I had been shooting
squirrels when he asked me about the
blood,”’-the obese murderer said.

Then he changed the tires on his car,
returned to his home and there donned
new clothing. However, he was so nerv-
ous, once he realized the body had been
discovered, that he was unable to resist

The boy closed his Bible and looked
up calmly. In the pale light his face was
a thin white wedge. “Yes,” he said with-
out emotion,

“Why did you kill them?”

“T don’t know.”

“Didn’t they treat you right?”

“They treated me,” he said, “even bet-
ter than I deserved.”

“You never quarreled with them?”

“Never.”

“If you won’t tell me why you did it,”
the sheriff said, “tell me how you killed
them.”

Still speaking in his calm, unemotional
voice, the boy then made this amazing
confession :

“Monday afternoon I was in the horse
barn, I had my rifle. Mother came out
to the barnyard from the house. I poked
the barrel of my rifle through a crack in
the wall and shot her.

“She fell down in the snow and didn’t
move. I went out and dragged her body
into the woodshed and threw a burlap
bag over it. Ther I went back to the
barn and waited for Esther.

-“‘When Esther came out looking for

Mother I shot ‘her the same way, and '

took her body to the waodshed and laid
it beside mother’s,

“Then I waited for ‘Arlene. I meant
to kill her, too, as soon as she got home
from school, But she brought a flock
of kids with her, and I never got a chance,

The Strangest.Crime

[Continued from page 21}

driving by the scene of the crime again
and again. In the late afternoon, he drove
to Springfield to see his mother.

“And how’ about the gun?” asked
Mitchell.

“I threw the cylinder away,” said De-
Caro. “The frame must be still in the
woods,”

“And the money you stole?” asked
Mitchell.

“I got scared. and threw it in the

’ tiver,” said the cold-blooded: killer.

DeCaro was brought to the scene of
the crime, where the frame of the murder-
gun was recovered by Mitchell. Later,
DeCaro admitted he had buried the
money in a wooded area of Forest Park
in Springfield. -

He was brought to the spot and re-
covered the money for police. They
found $1,508.00 in the hole.

Charged with first degree murder, De-
Caro was found guilty by a jury in
Hartford Superior Court on December
15, 1943. Judge William Comley sen-
tenced him to die in the electric chair.

On May 3, 1944, Carlo J. DeCaro, 19,
paid the supreme penalty at the Con-
necticut State Prison in Wethersfield.

For obvious reasons, the names Oscar Kearns
and James Mantillo are fictitious.

So I took my gun and dog and walked
away from the farm.”

“And you can’t tell me why you killed
your mother and little sister ?”

“No, sir. Something kept urging me
to do it. I kept thinking about it for
hours. That’s all I can tell you.”

That was all the sheriff could get from
him, and it was hard to get even that
much, for he refused to speak unless
spoken to, and then only in the briefest
way.

Wy HERE is little more to tell of this
Strange case, except that the boy was
taken back to Michigan, with his devoted
dog still following him. He attended
the funeral service in the little country
church where he had been a devout wor-
shiper, and he looked with no show of

emotion upon the faces of his mother.

and sister whom he had slain in cold
blood.

He was then arraigned before Justice
of the Peace Arthur Clements in Sag-
inaw and bound over to Circuit Court
without bond, charged with first degree
murder, and was later sentenced by Cir-
cuit Judge James E. O’Neill to life im-
prisonment.

But the psychiatrists, if not the police,
will puzzle over the case for many a day.
For it is now, and always will be, one
of the great enigmas of crime.

halls, the bull-r
blinking at the p!
as the governor
paper which me:
For a few w
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up and down th
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thousands of c
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made a terrible
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persons, it rocke
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were the McNan
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The brothers \
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cused of attemptin
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Pes:

ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA — A former Army
colonel and World War II. hero, who once
commanded U.S. occupation forces in Rome,
went berserk and shot to death his wife, his
84-year-old mother-in-law,: then himself.

Coroner Edward P. Silk said neighbors told
him that former Lt. Col. John Samuel Arnold,
who was discharged for a nervous disorder
four years ago, “resented” his mother-in-law.

Coroner Silk ruled the deaths a double
murder and a suicide, saying that Colonel
Arnold apparently “went out of his head.”

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA—Each of the
30 times in the past six years that the date was
set for his execution, David Almeida beat the
electric chair by last-minute reprieves. The state
finally decided not to press for the death pen-
alty after Almeida pleaded guilty to slaying an
off-duty policeman during a super-market holdup.
The killer's new sentence: life imprisonment.

HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT — The State Su-
preme Court unanimously upheld the first-
degree murder conviction and death sentence
imposed on John B. Donahue, 22, for the
killing of a state policeman.

Donahue, oldest of three children of a re-
spectable Arlington, Massachusetts family,
started a teenage criminal career by ‘stealing
a juke box from a hotel, progressed to kid-
napping and attempting to rape a young girl;
that crime sent him to the reform school. On

February 13th, 1953, Donahue killed state ©

policeman Ernest Morse on the Merritt Park-
way. Donahue had stolen a car and was driv-
ing to New York to see.a girl, when Morse
stopped him for speeding. Donahue killed the
officer with a stolen pistol.

Next step: a date will be set for Donahue’s
execution in the electric chair.

me DETECTIVE \ ra .
VU Ee

- WASHINGTON, D. C. ‘— Secret Service agents

arrested two men and a woman for printing
$250,000 in counterfeit $100 bills.

U. E. Baughman, Secret Service chief,
said the bills were “inferior” and printed in
the woman’s home in Miami, Florida.

Arrested were Farmer on Thomas, 28,
Miami, printer; William Gardner, 31, Opa-
locka, Florida, auto salesman; and Joan St.
Clair, 39. Baughman said the trio admitted

passing $4,000 of the money in various South- .

ern cities before coming to Washington.

LANSING, KANSAS — The leet number of

prisoners (15) to be received in a single day in .

many years arrives at Kansas State Prison. Hand-

. cuffed and hiding faces,the prisoners are marched

inside-the prison walls. Convictions were for crimes
ranging from first-degree murder to parole revoca-
tion. In foreground is guard John Cameron, follow-
ed down walk by Deputy Warden Laurance Potts.

BRONX, NEW YORK — A phony doctor who
gave physical examinations to several women
in their homes drew a sentence of one day-to-
life in prison under a new law dealing with
sex offenders. Francis J. McCabe, 28, a
salesman, was originally charged with at-
tempted rape,.carnal abuse, and felonious
assault. Later he was allowed to plead guilty
to second-degree assault. He had three pre-
vious arrests as a Peeping Tom.

McCabe will undergo ‘psychiatric treat-
ment and be released when prison psychia-
trists ‘decide he has overcome his psychosis
or whatever it is that’s bothering him” said
Bronx County Court Judge Eugene G. Schulz.

The’ judge praised the new law, stating it
enables courts for the first time to prescribe
psychiatric treatment along with a: prison
term. “This is a big step forward,” he said.

Pane erase = S

STATE OF CONNECTICUT

DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY
DIVISION OF STATE POLICE

May 21, 1981

Ronald C. Van Raalte

Arlington Heights Police Department
P.O. Box 584

Arlington Heights, Illinois 60006

Dear Sir:

Our records indicate that during the 78 year history of the Connecticut
State Police Department three (3) troopers have been killed by gunfire
during the performance of their duties.

Nine (9) others died on duty as a result of accidents, traffic or
health related incidents.

The troopers you are concerned with were:

Trooper Nelson, killed 4/6/28 \ -_)
Trooper Morse, killed 2/13/53
Trooper Stoba, killed 8/6/62 TC

Sincerely yours,

dl ae

Major Donald Nurse
Bureau of Staff Services

Phone

294 Colony Street, Meriden, CT 06450
An Equal Opportunity Employer

Fed = KI LLE D A ee) p i POLICE RECORD'S PHOTO REPORTS

On February 13, Patrolman Ernest Five sailors on leave from their ship docked at Newport, R. I., saw the prone body of the patrolman ly-
Morse chased a speeding car in ing on the pavement near his car. They thought he had suffered a heart attack, but they had presence
Greenwich, Connecticut. Morse fi- of mind enough to try to use the radio in the police car. They repeated H-167, the only thing the dying

nally overtook it and walked to patrolman said. The message was picked up by the Westport barracks and within a few minutes state
the car. He was greeted with gun- police were at the scene where Morse lay dying. And within twenty minutes the great manhunt, with
fire, and died a few minutes later. over 250 state police taking part, started.

Commissioner Edward J. Hickey took charge of the manhunt. Morse was
a popular member of the State Police, and many policemen off duty
volunteered to aid in the search for the killer. The manhunt came to an
abrupt end in Greenwich when a youth driving a 1952 Mercury, stolen
from a Greenwich resident, crashed into a concrete abutment. The
young man refused to answer questions.

The youth gave his name as John Donahue and it took eight hours of
consistent grilling to get him to break and confess he shot Patrolman
Morse. His father said that his son had a violent temper and the only
explanation for his shooting of Morse was his anger at being chased
by a police car. He was locked up, charged with murder, and is now
awaiting trial for the killing.

___DONAHUE, John B., white, 33, elec. Conn, (Fairfield) July 18, 1955.

Qacorston

DEN/sab Administrative Services

STATE OF CONNECTICUT

DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY
DIVISION OF STATE POLICE

August .375: Debi

Ronald C. Van Raalte

Sergeant

Arlington Heights Police Department
Illinois 60006

Dear Mr. Van Raalte:

The additional information you have requested can be
found below:

Tpr. Nelson handgun
Tpr. Morse handgun
Tpr. Stoba rifle

"NO" in each case.

Tpr. Nelson - traffic stop while officer riding
motorcycle and attempting to stop armed robbery
Suspects.

Tpr. Morse - traffic stop when he approached
speeding motorists' car.

Tpr. Stoba - when making an arrest for a domestic
disturbance.

Tpr. Nelson - unknown
pr. Morse - EKlectrocution
Tpr. Stoba - Life in Prison

For this information you might try contacting Mr. Bernie
McLoughlin, Assistant Chief or JoAnn Mogensen, Chief,

Retirement Division, 30 Trinity Street, Hartford, Ct.
Phone 566-5639.

Sincerely yours,

eee Nuvi

Major Donald E. Nurse
Commanding Officer

Phone
100 Washington Street - P.O. Box 780, Hartford, CT 06101

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find his wife star-
t the deserted and
side. Beside her
little boy of four,
her, David Arthur.
ty, county and state
ed on the area and
‘h along the lonely
ugh adjacent wood-
A brace of blood-
iany Barracks was
onda Jane’s clothing
Allentown Road on
a Jane had taken
from the youngster
her to the straight
Meanwhile the fran-
d of Brenda Jane’s
aighbor that she was
lone.”
<e her at all,” Mrs.
authorities. “Brenda

as not afraid of a

: anything’else had
or, she -surely would:
t to me before leav-
‘her added ‘that his
nor student in the
tall for her age, was
ad much too shy” to
ide from any passing
ithin an hour, as the
tinued to pace ailm-
wrth along the straight
itown Road, it was
nust have been lured
assing car and carried

ym the réad’s vicinity.

earch near her murder site

‘

. last

left breast.

At 7:30 that evening, with nearly

‘100. officers and volunteers spreading
over an ever-widening area, the search .

came to an abrupt and tragic end.
Four of the Doucettes’ neighbors who
joined the search found Brenda Jane’s
strangled and mutilated body. in .a
brush-filled ditch in a heavily wooded

“area nearly three miles from her hdme.

The child’s body, still in the neatly: —
starched, orange-flowered. dress she’
had put on for school that morning,
lay jackknifed’in a shallow. ravine
200 feet off a seldom-used dead-end
lane known as Beacon Hill Boulevard,’
near the Wolcott-Terryville township’
line in the northwestern corner of New
Haven County. Beacon Hill Boule-
vard, actually a single-lane dirt road,

intersects with Allentown Road a quar- .

ter of a mile west of the spot where
searchers found the body. ‘

Wrapped tightly about the girl’s
slender neck was the green sweateér~
her grandmother had knitted for her.
birthday. Her undergarments.
were. splashed with blood and: disar-
ranged, but’ Dr. Irving’S. Platt, the
coroner’s medical examiner, said there
was no indication of rape.

Examination of the frail body re-
vealed 22 stab wounds, four in, the ‘
All, said Dr. Platt, were
inflicted with a thin, rectangular in-
strument. Brenda Jane’s oblong green
and gray metal lunchbox was missing,
as was a dime-sized gold wrist watch
with a gold expansion bracelet.

State police investigators, working
under the direction. of Detective
Thomas Laden, were unable. to find
footprints because of the heavy foliage
covering the immediate area, but it
was believed the girl had been @ar-
ried from an automobile parked at
the end of the lane. At. this point
there were numerous tire marks in

-the soft; water-soaked . roadway, left:

by the cars of couples who for years .

had used the spot as a lovers’ rendez-

vous. ;
‘As Coroner Frank Healy Jr., assisted «

by Dr. Joseph O. Collins, a state pas ;

thologist, prepared to perform ian :
autopsy at Waterbury Hospital late.
Monday, Detective Laden learned that
a blue and white convertible had been
seen speeding along Allentown’ Road
between the néighboring homes: that
morning. The 6-year-old child said _
she had seen the car as she turned to
retrace her steps after parting from,
Brenda Jane. Sometime later, the.
mother of Brenda’s schoolmate re-
ported, she had observed the same
vehicle brake to a stop, pull into her
driveway, back out and speed\ west-
ward along Allentown Road in the
direction from which it had come.

An immediate alarm went out for
the car as Captain Victor Clarke, com-
mander of the Bethany Barracks,
issued orders for the arrést on sus- ~
picion of all known and suspected sex

offenders ‘in New. Haven, Hartford and

Litchfield Counties.
Meanwhile the police in Waterbury,
15 miles south of Bristol, learned of

the Doucette girl’s murder and im- -
- mediately intensified their search for.

a teenager who: was missing from her
home in that-city of 100,000 popula-
, tion. On Friday, May 10th, _just three
days before’: ‘Brenda. Jane was last
" seen.alive, Joseph E. . Boivin, a French-
Canadian engineer who recently had
moved to Waterbury with his wife and
nine. children reporte éd the disappear-
ance of his pretty
Gaetane..
i “At 8:30 A.M. on the SNeviogh day the
17-year-old girl had received.a tele-
phone call in answer to a classified ad-

vertisement in the Situations Wanted —

columns of a local newspaper. ‘This
ad, - inserted by Gaetane, read:
“FRENCH GIRL—Desires light house-
keeping by day or mother’s helper.”

» The ad carried a: ‘phone, number and

house address. . ~

“My: daughter received a “eal at 7: 30
from a man* who said he would stop
by the house within the hour ‘to in-
terview her,” Boivin reported to De-
tective James Foley of the. missing
persons bureau. “Sometime later my.
wife heard the front doorbell ring.
Gaetane went:to the door, spoke with
someone for a few moments and came
back inside the house’ for her coat.
She:said she had got'the job and was
to start work immediately. But. she
didn’t say whom she planned to work
for or where. ‘she was being taken.
My. wife ‘startéd downstairs after
Gaetane called this information to her,
but the girl. was gone before she
‘reached: the front door. We haven’t
seen or heard from her since.”

Asked ‘if the girl had \planned to
board with her new employer, Boivin
told. the polite that she had not.
Gaetane had left her parents’ home
on the south side of the city with only
_ the clothin® she had on,,a light spring
- dress and a gray tweed jacket.

‘At the suggestion of police that the
rete brunette might'be involved in
a romantic affair, the Boivins pointed
out that Gaetarie was convent-raised,
spoke very little English, and had had
no dates since they had come to
Waterbury from theit home .in Lac
Megnatic, a quiet Quebec community
of 7,000, in 1955.

Early on Tuesday morning the
police and volunteers who had combed
the area north of Waterbury for the
Doucette girl on the day before were

back at the scene following radio and —

television appeals by Bristol Chief of
Police. Thomas .V. McCarthy. It was
feared that the missing Waterbury girl
might have been abducted earlier by
the slayer of little Brenda Jane and
possibly left mutilated and murdered
in the same general area.

Soon afterward Dr. Collins revealed

brunette: poepativer,

He possessed a Jekyll-Hyde personality

that Brenda Jane had died soon after
leaving for school, probably from in-
juries received at the spot where her
body was discovered. Four of the stab

~ wounds’ had penetrated her heart. Al-

though she might have been strangled
into unconsciousness before being at-
tacked, the pathologist believed that
the instrument that inflicted these
wounds, a large screwdriver or similar
object, was the direct cause of death.
There was evidence that pointed to
sexual molestation.

“Find the death weapon,” urged Dr.
Collins. “There’s every possiblity you

‘will find the murderer’s fingerprints

on it. The man you’re looking for is a
deranged sadist and‘ monsters of his
type rarely take the precaution to
wipe away their fingerprints from the
weapons they use.”

As the searchers started through the
woods seeking a second victim, they
were warned to keep a sharp look-
out for the death weapon, and the
lunchbox and wrist watch the Dou-
cette girl’s slayer was believed to have
taken from her. That day the parents
of many children in the area kept their
youngsters home from school in fear
of further attacks. Dr. Collins’ warn-
ing that a mad sadist was at large, and
would probably strike again if not ap-
prehended, resulted in special guards
being placed in the vicinity of outlying
schoolhouses and along lonely road-
ways traveled by children not eligible
to use school buses to their -schools.

During the next 48 hours irate and
alarmed (Continued on page 66)

(Continued from page 66)
each of those days, when he started out
to look for work.”

The state man looked over the report
and remarked that his fellow officers had
checked the suspect’s statements and ap-
peared to be satisfied with his story.

McPherson nodded in agreement, but
hurried on, “It’s not the alibis that in-
terest me,” he said. “It’s the description
of the 1943 black sedan that he admits
driving on the day of the murder. If
you’ll remember, the two fellows who
drove back and forth along Allentown
Road at just about the time the Doucette
girl was last seen alive both told us of
having seen a car of that general descrip-
tion in the area. And less than two
weeks ago we received a teletype request
to be on the lookout for just such a car,
after a woman storekeeper between here
and Thomaston reported a guy hanging
around Plymouth School, trying to make
a pickup. The suspect, a slim, dark guy
in work clothes, called from his car to
a couple of young girls as they were
leaving the school. But he got away be-
fore the kids could get his license num-
ber. Their description of his car fits that
driven by your Davies, though.”

“And was that the only description they
could give on the driver of the car?” in-
quired Caulkins with interest. “Just a
small, dark fellow in work clothes?”

McPherson turned to a stack of routine
reports that had come in over the police
teletype system from surrounding com-
munities during the past two weeks. A
few minutes later he extracted a sheet from
the pile before him and read slowly:
“Suspect is about 40 years of age, with
dark brown, bushy.hair, thin build and
apparently below normal height. Wear-
ing dirt-encrusted work shirt open at
the throat, unshaven, appeared to be
under the influence of liquor when seen
loitering about Plymouth School. Drives
small, dark sedan about 1940 to 1945 model,
Connecticut plates. License number not
noted.”

The state police sergeant stood with
creased brow as he listened to the Bristol
detective’s report. “Well,” he said at last,
“the description certainly fits Davies and
he lives in Thomaston, a couple of miles
from Plymouth School. He’s already put
in one prison term for molesting young
girls. He’s in his late 30s now, thin, dark,
underweight and, unless he’s changed, still
careless about his dress.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Caulk-
ins was on his feet and halfway to the
door as he spoke. McPherson caught up
with him as he slid behind the wheel of
his car outside. Less than 20 minutes
later they drove up to the small frame
home of 73-year-old Richard Davies and
his 71-year-old wife, Kate, on Fenn Road
at the edge of the village of Thomaston.

The state and local officers circled the
couple’s home and went to a house-trailer
at the rear. Outside the trailer stood a
1945 dark green Pontiac sedan. Inside the
trailer a pale yellow light glowed. Caulk-
ins stepped toward the entrance. The
door was opened and a short, hatchet-faced
man with uncut, rumpled hair stood framed
in the doorway.

“Hello, George. Remember me?” Caulk-
ins said.

There was neither surprise nor appre-
hension in the thin-faced man’s husky
voice when he replied, “I’ve seen and
talked with so many cops during the last
few days that it’s hard to remember any
particular one of .you.” George James
Davies, 38-year-old ex-convict and unem-
ployed machine tool worker, stared at
the officer sullenly.

“I picked you up back in 1952 for mo-
lesting a couple of little girls here in
Thomaston,” Caulkins reminded him. “And

now I’m here to take you in for question-
ing about another little girl—a girl who
disappeared after a car a lot like that one
of yours outside was seen driving along
the raute that took-her to her death.”

The suspect’s elderly parents, who had
adopted him when he was 8 years old and
stuck with him through the troubled years
that followed, appeared as the officers pre-
pared to lead Davies away. They admitted
that earlier statements placing him at home
during the periods when two girls disap-
peared had been based upon George’s own
claims. They admitted his previous diffi-
culties with the law and the fact that one
wife had divorced him and another de-
serted him because of his ungovernable
temper, his inability to hold a job and
his continual drinking.

Davies admitted nothing. He asked only
to be allowed to go to the bathroom in
his adoptive parents’ home to shave and
put on a clean shirt before being taken
to Bristol for further questioning. The
request was granted and Caulkins and
McPherson went to the Davies’ house,
where they sat talking with the parents
while the suspect. went into the bath-
room. ;

Five minutes later McPherson became
suddenly aware that the sounds of running
water and other movement inside the
bathroom had ceased. He rose and went
to the door. There was no answer to his
knock. He twisted the knob, but the
door was bolted on the inside.

Caulkins meanwhile ran outside and
around the house to a small window at the
rear. “The window’s locked. He’s still
in there,” the state man called. But Mc-
Pherson was already standing back to
thrust his shoulder against the light frame
of the door. Next moment he was in the
room, standing over the crumpled body
of George Davies. Ona stool beside the
fallen man was a‘ small bottle labeled
“Sleeping Pills,”

Rushed to the General. Hospital in Bris-
tol, Davies’ stomach was pumped out and
he quickly recovered. He admitted hav-
ing taken the six tablets he found in
the bottle of sleeping pills, but refused
to give any valid reason for his act.

Meanwhile a second ‘and more thorough
examination of the 1945 Pontiac sedan re-
vealed what experts from the state police
laboratories at Hartford’ said might ‘be
dried bloodstains. Scrapings were taken,
and sent back to the laboratories for
analysis. The police. also found a 3-inch
screwdriver, that had not ‘been in. the
car during.a cursory examination of the
vehicle made at the time Davies original-
ly was picked up for questioning.

Booked on a technical charge of breach
of the peace, Davies’ was taken to a cell
under. guard and allowed to sleep until

- daylight on Saturday. ‘There was no sleep

for the state'and local officers who for days
had been-hunting the murderer of Brenda
Jane Doucette. .Throughout: the long night
a dozen relatives and acquaintances of the
suspect in the Thomaston-Bristol area were
questioned, while in Waterbury Detective
Foley. and Chief Inspector Joseph R. Ben-
der went once more over the scant clues
had in the -disappearance of 17-year-old
Gaetane Boivin. — ,

It was learned that an automobile similar
to that of Davies had been seen near the
Boivin home on the morning of May 9th.
Meanwhile Thomaston’s Chief of Police
Thomas: Eggleston revealed that Davies
had been living in the ‘trailer’ behind his
parents’ home since his” release’ from
prison.in 1953. Divorced while in prison

. by his first wife and the mother ‘of his

four small children, Dawes’ married a

Torrington girl soon after he gained his

freedom. ‘But the second marriage; ‘like

the first, had proved unhappy from §al-.
most the beginning. Less than ‘a month

kay eh

earlier Chief Eggleston had advised Davies
to “get out of town and stay out” after
his second wife left him following an argu-
ment during which he severely beat her.

Davies’ second wife described him as a

_ Jekyll-Hyde personality who was fond of

his children, but would not work, refused
to pay his bills and frequently abused her
and the children. On the day before little
Brenda Jane’s brutal murder, Mrs. Davies
had received a Mothers’ Day bouquet from
George, with a card bearing the cryptic
message: “To my loving wife whom I'll
never see again.”

Dr. John S. Staneslow, a_ psychiatrist
whom Davies had consulted following his
release from prison, described the suspect
as “a sexual psychopath who is emotion-
ally incapable of dealing with adults and
for that reason is liable to pick on young
children to whom he can feél superior.”
Davies had told him three years before,
reported Dr. Staneslow, that he “needed
help,” but he had shown no violent ten-
dencies and was obviously making an ef-
fort to restrain his abnormal instincts at
the time.

“Persons of his type, however, might
find a sexual gratification in hearing a
child’s anguished screams, and _ stabbing
would not be unusual if their victims re-
sisted,” said the psychiatrist.

Early on Saturday Davies was taken
from his cell after guards reported re-
peated threats to commit suicide. During
the next 36 hours he submitted to inter-
mittent questioning by local, county and
state officials who confronted him with a
mounting pile of physical and psychologi-
cal evidence pointing to his guilt. Finally,
late on Sunday afternoon, the unshaven,
hollow-eyed suspect turned to the score of
officials gathered about him and blurted
out the words they had been waiting for.

“I wasn’t just prowling around looking
for youngsters, like you think, but I did
happen to be on Allentown Road last Mon-
day morning and when that pretty little
blonde came along I suddenly went nuts
and decided to have her,” police quoted
Davies as saying.

Davies told how he got out of his car,

placed a jack under the rear bumper to at- ©

tract the child’s attention, and waited for
her to approach. He said he asked her to

‘help him by getting a screwdriver from

the glove compartment. The car door had
been left open to make it easier. But
Brenda Jane, remembering her parents’
warnings, refused. She started on, but
changed her mind after a second plea for
help, and reached in for the screwdriver.

Davies’ statement continues: “When she

was half-inside the car I ran up and gave.
her a heave. I slammed the car door shut:
and ran around and got in and drove off. |

When we passed ‘in front of her house lat-
er I held her down so no one would see
her. Then I drove out to the ‘lovers’ lane

near Wolcott. I stopped the car and tried’.

to pet her. She was screaming and I got
panicky. I grabbed her sweater and pulled
it up around her neck and held it tight.
When she went limp I got her out of the

car and carried her to a deserted spot and '

there I stabbed her a few times with the
screwdriver to make sure she was dead.”

Davies said he made no attempt to rape
the child and the autopsy report confirmed
that part of his statement. After it was
over he drove on to a Bristol restaurant,
washed his little victim’s blood from his
hands and face and ordered a breakfast of

ham and eggs and hot biscuits. He spent |
_ the next few hours drinking in a nearby |
tavern, then returned home where he.

burned his clothing.
After listening to the suspect’s statement
‘the police drove with him to a roadside

ditch on the outskirts of the Waterville

section of Waterbury. There they recov-

,ered the screwdriver with a 4-inch blade

that he said
near Terryv
child’s red-h

Davies said he th
$1 bill her mothe
fare that mornin *

Before being t:
New Haven, wt
kidnaping and n
tioned at length
girl and a 10-yea v
disappeared fron
west side of Litc!}
was imprisoned {
girls in 1952. He
of the fate of eitt
was returned to }
lice checked bac
the day Gaetan¢
alive.

Meanwhile the
Connecticut check
investigation foll
on July 16th, 19
stance Smith. T}
YMCA camp at I
hitchhike into ne
where along the
traveled she presu
a passing motorist
officers and volun
for weeks, and
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Wyoming governo

Two days after
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the stabbed and st
Boivin.

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classmate, who daily accompanied her
from that point to the little brick
schoolhouse at the end of tree-lined
Allentown Road.

“Judy’s not here to meet me,” Brenda
told the housewife. “And I’m afraid
to go on alone.” A heavy roll of thun-
der sounded as she spoke. Lightning
flashed across the lowering sky.

“Now, there’s nothing to fear about
a little bad weather,” the woman re~
assured her. “I'll have one of ‘my
youngsters walk with you to the be-
ginning of the straight stretch, in the
road. From there you can see Judy’s
house. I’m sure you'll find she is out
in front waiting for you.” ;

Some 200 yards down the road and
five minutes later, Brenda Jane parted
from her neighbor’s 6-year-old daugh-
ter. In front of her lay 600 yards of
clear roadway. At the end of that
stretch was the house where her
schoolmate Judy lived.

The threatening storm was not re-
sponsible for Judy’s failure to meet
her friend that day, however. The child
had overslept and by the time she was
through with her breakfast and ready
for school her mother realized that
Brenda must already have passed the
house where. they usually met.

“You can wait for Brenda Jane here
in front of the house,” the mother told
her §8-year-old daughter. “Tf she’s
not here soon itll mean her mother
has decided to keep her home, so you

can stay out of school too.” And when
Brenda had not appeared by 8:45 she

Pretty Brenda vanished on her way to
'

school.

concluded the child was not going to
school that morning. She told her
own little girl to come back inside.

Busy with their Monday chores,
neither she nor the woman who lived
at the intersection thought again of
their neighbor’s youngster. Late that
afternoon they received telephone calls
from Mrs. Doucette, inquiring if
Brenda Jane had stopped at the home
of either woman after school was out.
Both said that she had not.

Mrs. Doucette’s apprehension turned
to genuine alarm. when she learned
that her daughter had failed to meet
her schoolmate that morning. It was
now 4 P.M., an hour past the time when
the child usually returned home. A

third call was put through: to the ©

schoolhouse and the principal told the
worried mother that her daughter had
not arrived at school.

“Half the children didn’t come to-
day because of the weather,” the prin-
cipal said. “It never occurred to me
that anything could have happened
to Brenda Jane. Are you sure she did
not stop off to visit along the way?”

Subsequent calls to the homes of
other schoolmates failed to turn up a
trace of the missing girl and her
mother’s alarm reached: the point ot
near hysteria as she put through a
final call to the factory where her
husband was employed. Baxter Dou-
cette was in contact with the Bethany
Barracks of the state police within
_moments of hearing from his wife.
After he gave the alarm he rushed

Later, Trooper Conroy (2nd I.) led Wolcott officers

back to his home to find his wife star-
ing fearfully out at the deserted and
darkening countryside. Beside her
stood a wide-eyed little boy of four,
Brenda Jane's brother, David Arthur.

Soon a score of city, county and state
police cars converged on the area and
a widespread search along the lonely
roadways and through adjacent wood-
lands was launched. A brace of blood-
hounds from Bethany Barracks was
given a sniff of Brenda Jane’s clothing
and set off along Allentown Road on
the course Brenda Jane had taken
when she parted from the youngster
who accompanied her to the straight
stretch of road. Meanwhile the fran-
tic parents learned of Brenda Jane’s
statement to the neighbor that she_was
“afraid to go on alone.”

“That wasn’t like her at all,’ Mrs.
Doucette told the authorities. “Brenda
Jane certainly was not afraid of a
little thunder. If anything else had
been worrying her, she -surely would
have mentioned it to me before leav-
ing this morning.”

The child’s father added that his
daughter, an honor student in the
third grade and tall for her age, was
“too intelligent and much too shy” to
have accepted a ride from any passing
motorist. But within an hour, as the
bloodhounds continued to pace aim-
lessly back and forth along the straight
stretch in Allentown Road, it was
agreed that she must have been lured
or forced into a passing car and carried
forcibly away from the road’s vicinity.

in search near her murder site

At 7:30
100 officer
over an eve
came to
Four of the
joined the s
strangled a
brush-filled
area nearly

The child
starched, o
had put on
lay jackkni
200 feet off
lane known
near the W
line in the n
Haven Cour
vard, actual
intersects w
ter of a mi
searchers fo
Wrapped

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her grandm
last birthd
were splash
ranged, but
coroner’s me
was no indi
Examinati
vealed 22
left breast
inflicted wit
strument. |
and gray me
as was a dl!
with a gold

>" poli
~ under the
Thomas Lac
footprints be
covering the
was believe
ried from
the end of
there were
the soft, w:
by the cars
had used th«
vous.

‘As Corone
by Dr. Jose;
thologist, p
autopsy at
Monday, Det
a blue and v
seen speedir
between the
morning. T
she had seer
retrace her
Brenda Jan
mother of
ported, she
vehicle brak
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ward along
direction fro

An immec
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issued order
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aN i tance seen snes case
< 1 ihe gee \

Connecticut
Sex Slayer

(Continued from page 17)

parents clamored for a change in the school
bus laws and many announced that they
would not allow their children to return
to school until the slayer was appre-
hended. Meanwhile more than 50 men,
ranging in age from their mid-teens to
their 70s, were picked up for question-
ing as a result of a survey of local and
state police files.

Taverns from Hartford south to Water-
bury and from the New York state line
east to New Haven were canvassed by
local police in a roundup of possible
suspects. By Tuesday night nearly 100
persons were being interrogated. A score
of investigators, under the direction of
Lieutenant P. Francis O’Brien, interviewed
the slain Doucette girl’s schoolmates, her
teachers and neighbors of the grief-
stricken family.

It was learned that the Doucettes, also
of French-Canadian extraction, had come
to the. region from their home in Maine
three years earlier, at which time Brenda
Jane was entered in the little school which
had been kept in existence only at the re-
quest of the people of the region who
preferred it to one of the larger schools
in the immediate vicinity. Doucette said
his pretty daughter never had complained
of being molested and similar reports were
received from the parents of other chil-
dren attending the Falls Mountain school.
From various nearby towns, however,
came reports of automobiles that had been
cruising the roadways in the region and
slowing near schools from which chil-
dren were required to walk to and from
their homes.

Early on Wednesday the owner of the
blue and white convertible spotted on
Allentown Road at the time of Brenda
Jane’s disappearance appeared voluntarily
at search headquarters in Bristol. He iden-
tified himself as a Terryville resident and
said he had been on his way to work in
Bristol on the morning of the 13th, with
a companion who suddenly noticed that he
had forgotten to bring his lunch.

“We pulled to a stop and turned, then
speeded back to pick up his lunch,” the
driver of the car related. “That must
have been at about 8:20. I remember
passing one car—an ancient dark sedan
coming along pretty fast from the op-
posite direction, but neither of us saw a
little girl walking along the road.”

Convinced that the man was telling the
truth, the police freed him after checking
his story. Meanwhile state officers, still
searching vainly for the death weapon and
articles taken from the victim, rounded
up two other suspects near Cedar Lake,

‘several miles from the isolated spot where

the body was found. The couple, a Bridge-
port woman of 24 and a Milford man of
23, were found sleeping in an old black
sedan at the lakeside. They admitted
having driven out there early on the day
before and remaining overnight.

After hours of questioning the two were
charged with trespassing, breach of the
peace, lascivious conduct and vagrancy.
But there was nothing to connect them
with the murder of the Bristol schoolgirl
or the disappearance of the Waterbury
teenager. Both were freed on bail, pend-
ing their appeaypance in court. ~.

Wednesday afternoon Captain Clarke
issued a plea to the public to come for-
ward with any information that might lead
to the slayer’s apprehension. This plea was

followed by'an influx of calls from per-
sons who had’ seen suspicious-appearing
motorists in the region, discovered broken
screwdrivers, knives’ and other sharp-
pointed instruments, or had found articles
of clothing along roadways or in the
woods.

While local and state men were dele-
gated to run down the various leads
coming in, detectives at the headquarters
established in Bristol continued to ques-
tion the long list of known and suspected
sex offenders being rounded up in the
three counties As each man was asked
about his whereabouts on the morning
of the 9th and 13th, a police stenographer
made notes of his replies. After each
interview the suspect was freed, with
orders to remain with reach. Then other
officers were assigned to check on each
suspect’s alibi and question school chil-
dren in the area where he lived on
whether he ever had approached them.

On Thursday the searchers, after spend-
ing day and night in the woods since the
previous Tuesday. morning, abandoned
their efforts to locate. the missing weapon
and other articles. From Waterbury came

S .

THE BABE IN THE BED

An unemployed Bronx barmaid> re-
cently learned the hard. way that fairy
tales are not for cops. When a. young
Bronx couple returned to their home
after a week end. visit they found an
unexpected visitor curled up in their
bed, nibbling crackers and fruit.

"What are you doing here?” the
husband demanded, f

"I'm tired,". was the yawning reply.

"Look! She's wearing my housecoat
and slippers!"' the -wife cried. "Call ’
the cops!" f

At. the police station the intruder
explained that, looking for a place
to rest, she entered the’ apartment
through a _dumbwoiter ‘shaft, But the
would-be Goldilocks got little sympa-
thy. Charged with burglary, she was
committed to Bellevue Hospital for
mental examination.

—B. C. Deane

word that all efforts to trace the move-
ments of Gaétane Boivin from the moment
she walked out of her home, exactly one
week before, had proved futile. Local
police still suspected that a secret ro-
mantic attachment lay behind the pretty

brunette’s disappearance, but asked that

the police and public in other localities
continue to be on the lookout for her.
Late in the day word. was ‘received

from Schenectady,” New York, 100 miles

northwest of Bristol, that a suspect was
being detained in that city. Found sleep-
ing in a light blue sedan bearing Con-
necticut license plates, an . unshaven,
drawn-faced man of 26 was arrested on
the outskirts of Schenectady earlier in the
day, after admitting that he was from
Simsbury, 20 miles north of Hartford.
Two days before, according to the pris-
oner’s admission, he had driven ‘west on
Route 6 through Bristol, within a mile of
the slain Doucette ‘girl’s home.

Two. officers were dispatched to Sche-

nectady, after it was learned a toy pistol
and two comit books, in which there were
illustrated stories about kidnaping, had
been found in his 1945 sedan. Upon their
arrival they were told the man had quit
his job as a bookkeeper for: a Simsbury
garage nine days earlier, because he “got
tired of working.” Since then he had
driven to Utica, New York, passing near
Bristol on his first trip westward, and
returned to New England by the same
route. After several days in Pittsfield,
Massachusetts, he had started west again,
stopping at Howe’s Cavern in New York
State early on the morning of the 13th.
It took the Connecticut police less than
two hours to establish that the suspect
actually had visited the cavern near
Schenectady at about the time of the
Doucette girl’s abduction, and one more
suspect was marked off the long list of
possibilities. Before returning to Con-
necticut on Friday, however, the two in-
vestigators saw the Simsbury man sen-
tenced to a 15-day jail term for vagrancy.
Meanwhile, back at Bristol, Captain
Clarke and Chief McCarthy attempted to
reconstruct the slayer’s movements from
the time he presumably picked up his
8-year-old victim along -the 600-yard
stretch of Allentown Road between the
two neighbors’ homes. There were two
possible routes from that point to the
spot where the body was later found,
both along little-used roads leading to

well-traveled Route 69 between Bristol

and Waterbury. Midway is the village of
Wolcott, near where Brenda Jane died at
the hands of a sadistic killer.

Tracking back along these possible
routes taken by the abductor, the police
sought in vain for some clue to the man’s
identity. Residents of the region were
questioned and motorists who had taken
those. roads during the early hours of
Monday morning were asked to report
anything that might be of help.

By Friday night the authorities admitted
that the investigation was at a virtual
standstill. Two other suspects taken into
custody because of past offenses against

- minors were charged with other crimes

as a result of the investigations into their
movements at the time of the little Dou-
cette girl’s murder, but Captain Clarke
admitted they were no nearer to knowing

_ the slayer’s identity than they had been

within an hour after discovery ‘of the
crime.

Shortly before 7 p.m. that night Daniel
McPherson, a husky 34-year-old Bristol
police officer who, six months earlier, had

-been promoted to probationary detective,

was going over the, stenographic notes
taken during the questioning of suspects
brought in after a check of police files on
convicted sex offenders. Suddenly he
turned to Sergeant Wilbur Caulkins of the
state police, who sat going over other
aspects of the investigation.

“Say, Bill, didn’t you pick up a guy
over in Thomaston several years ago for
molesting little girls?” McPherson inquired
thoughtfully.

“Yeah, fellow named Davies,” the other
replied. “He drew three years, but was
turned loose after doing the minimum; a

year and a day at Wethersfield State. Un-
‘derstand they brought him in again this

week for routine questioning in the Dou-

cette case.”

“That’s right, I have the report on his
interrogation in front of me,” McPherson
went on. “And I see he claims to have
been in a Bristol tavern drinking from
about 11 o’clock on Monday morning until
late in the day. Gives the same alibi to
account for his time during the period of
the Waterbury girl’s disappearance, and
says that he didn’t leave his parents’ home
in Thomaston until after 10:30 a.m. on

(Continued on page 68)

starring

ITH siren shrieking, the police car wove in and
out of the morning traffic in Thompsonville, Con-
necticut, and headed out into the open country.
Police Chief William J. Fleming, at the wheel,
kept his eyes steadily to the road, while County Detec-
tive Joseph F. Mitchell, Lieut. Gene S. Lenzi, com-
mander of the State Police Barracks at Enfield, Lieut.
Frank V. Chameroy, identification expert, and Lieut.
Frank Shaw, photographer, grimly silent, drew deeply
on their cigarettes.
The sedan had just entered Elm Street on the out-
skirts of the town. Adroitly maneuvering it past a line
of cars, Fleming turned it onto the highway to Hartford.

A few minutes later, they reached a country lane and.

the chief slowed down. “It’s only a half a mile from
here,” he said. »

Soon they came upon another assemblage of cars
lined up along the narrow dirt road down which they
had come. Fleming brought the car to a stop and the
officers jumped out.

A Thompsonville patrolman, Earl Reynolds, met them.
“It’s over there in the brush,” he advised. ‘Doctor
Simonton’s giving it the once-over.”

Dr. Frank F. Simonton, the Hartford County Medical
Examiner, stepped aside as the new arrivals approached.
Then they saw the man’s body resting face down in the
shallow grave. :

‘He was shot several times at close range,” the doctor
said. ‘“I’d place the time of his death no more than
two hours ago.” -

Detective Mitchell looked at his watch. “It’s ex-
actly eight o’clock now,” he observed. ‘That means he
was shot at about six. Any idea who he is?”

Chief Fleming had the answer to that one. The

JOHN J. DOYLE— ;
This Connecticut State Detective assisted with the
probe into the brutal murder of aged defense worker.’

morgue attendants had
turned the body over

gasped in surprise as
he saw the victim’s fea-

Thompsonville since—
let’s see, well since
about 1912 or 1913.”

(The date of his mur-
der was September 25,

JOSEPH F. MITCHELL— 1943.)
He directed hunt for killer “Know where he
who buried his victim alive. worked?”

“Well, he’s been

working in a defense plant since Pearl Harbor. I’ve
seen him on his way to work many a morning, Good
old guy. You'll find folks around here that have known
him ‘for thirty years, and they'll all tell you ‘he was
okay.”

“Was he always alone when you saw. him going to
work?” :
_ “No,” Fleming replied.
couple of other men—a sort of share-the-car proposi-
tion. I’ve heard Bonelli didn’t believe in banks and
carried a big roll with him at all times.” He turned to

Patrolman Reynolds and asked: “Been through his

pockets yet?” :
Reynolds nodded... “We found a pen-knife,.a cheap
watch and twenty-nine dollars in cash.” |

and the police chief~

tures. “It’s old Sal
Bonelli!” ‘

“You sure?” Mitchell
queried.

Fleming nodded.
“Positive! Salvatore
Bonelli. has: lived in ©

ye"
“He was always*with a’

LIEUT. GENE S. LENZI— ‘
He was one of the first officers on the murder scene,
stayed with the investigation until killer was trapped.

Fleming shook his head. “There’s your motive,
Mitchell,” he said. “Somebody found out about Bonelli’s
dough and bumped him off for | ata

The county sleuth viewed the surroundings with
experienced eyes. “Sure looks like it,’ he agreed.
“The man-was shot in a car and dumped here. Consider-
ing the doc’s estimate of the time, he might have. been
buried alive. Let’s look around and see what we can
find.”

The officers moved slowly and deliberately about the
wooded scene. A moment later, Lieutenant Lenzi cried
out: “Here’s a fresh set of tire tracks.”

The others joined him immediately. ‘“They’re dis-
tinctive impressions,” Lieutenant Chameroy observed.
“Two tracks, but the treads are different. They should
be easy to trace once they’re tabbed.”

“Can you lift them?” Lenzi asked.

The identification expert was skeptical. “I don’t
know, he replied. “The ground’s pretty dry to hold
a moulage; but I can try. However, I’d like Shaw to
shoot them first, then I can sketch the tread pattern.
That will give us something to work with in case the
moulage fails to pick up the impressions.”

HILE Chameroy and Shaw were thus engaged,
Detective Mitchell turned to the others. “We're

~on the trail of-a killer who has only two hours start,”

he said. “That means he can’t be too far away.”
He proceeded to give orders to the State Troopers

and local patrolmen to search the woods for a gun,

cartridges or other evidence, and suggested to Doctor
Simonton that he hurry the post-mortem and remove
the. bullets.from Bonelli’s body. ;

Facing Fleming and Lenzi, he concluded: “Let’s visit
Bonelli’s landlady. Maybe we can find out who he
went riding to work-with this morning.”

But the
to them
told them.
as usual-

“Does Di:
asked.

“Yes, Jos
thing wror

Her ques
Fleming
on this on:
Bonelli was
with him?’

“Looks 1
‘Someone e!

“We'll sc
they know

PON 1
three
was at
ported. S
Mitchell s
sonnel] offi
Fleming
to him
he asked
Puzzled

TIRE-TRE!
They have
mever mor

er scene,
, trapped.

motive,
t Bonellfs

ngs with
.e agreed.
Consider-
have. been
at we can

about the
.enzi cried

iey’re dis-
observed.
hey should

| “T don’t
iry to hold
ce Shaw to
ad pattern.
in ease the

is engaged,
rs. ‘‘We’re
cours start,”
vay.”

te Troopers
for a gun,
d to Doctor
und remove

“Let’s visit
ut who he

But the boarding-house proprietor was of little aid
to them. “I didn’t see Sal leave this morning,” she
told them, ‘‘so I presume he went to work the same way
as usual—riding in Carl DeCaro’s car.”

“Does DeCaro have any other passengers?” Mitchell
asked. ' :

“Yes, Joe Paffo rides regularly with Carl. Is any-
thing wrong?”

Her question went unanswered as Mitchell addressed
Fleming. ‘Looks like a couple of the local boys are in
on this one,” he said. ‘Who else would know that Sal
Bonelli was accustomed to carrying large sums of money
with him?”

“Looks that way,’’ Fleming conceded. ‘But maybe

‘someone else picked up Sal this morning.”

“We'll soon find out,” Mitchell said. ‘“Let’s see what
they know.”

PON their arrival at the concern which employed the

three men, the investigators learned that Joe Paffo
was at his machine, but Carl DeCaro hadn’t re-
ported. Stating the nature of their visit, Detective
Mitchell suggested that Paffo be brought to the per-
sonnel office. '

Fleming greeted the defense worker, who was known
to him. ‘How did you get to work this morning, Joe?”
he asked.

Puzzled by the visit of the police, Paffo hesitated but

TIRE-TREAD PRINTS—
They have served as clues in many crime cases, but
never more effectively than in this murder mystery.

Ss
a

only momentarily. ‘I came in on the six o’clocs bus.”
he replied. ‘DeCaro didn’t show up, so I grabbed the
bus.”

The investigators were chagrined at this news. They
wondered if they were following a false lead.

“How come DeCaro didn’t pick you up as usual?’
Mitchell asked.

“DeCaro told us last night not to wait for him if he
didn’t show up at the regular time,” Paffo replied.
“He said something about going to see a sick relative
in a Worcester hospital.”

“But you don’t know whether DeCaro actually went
there?” Fleming demanded.

“No, I don’t,’ the man returned. “I waited for him
until a quarter after six this morning, then walked to
the corner for the bus.”

Paffo’s story, the investigators knew, could easily be
checked. No doubt the bus driver or even some of the
passengers probably would verify his statements. A
call to the Worcester, Mass., hospital would either dis-
prove or substantiate the DeCaro angle.

Suddenly, Paffo asked, ““‘What’s this all about? What's
wrong?’’’ ;

The man turned pale when Detective Mitchell told

- him about Sal Bonelli’s murder.

“Do you know any reason why someone would kill
the old man?” the detective inquired.

Paffo nodded quickly. ' “It’s the money Sal carried.”
he said. “I remember he had about. fifteen hundred dol-
larg with him when he cashed a check for me three
weeks ago. He carried it in a small box.”

None of the officers had seen (Continued on page 65)

hoot-
show-
tT. The
lty of
nallot,
before
rison-

r tell-
young
1son-
1ed to
m and
> said.

James
Curry
sment
r the
tioned
f Miss
-lent
of

co-
lest

ony

DETECTIVE

a box such as Paffo had described, and
this confirmed their earlier theory that
robbery had been the motive for the
murder—unless someone had killed
Bonelli for revenge and had taken the
money as an afterthought.

Mitchell thanked Paffo for the in-
formation and departed, with the
others, to check his story.

It was only a matter of minutes
when the officers ascertained that the
man was telling the truth. The
Thompsonville bus driver remembered
picking him up on the 6:20 a.m. trip.

Chief Fleming, Lenzi and Mitchell,
returned to headquarters. Fleming
telephoned DeCaro’s home on Park
Avenue and discovered that the 19-
year-old youth had indeed driven to
Worcester first thing that morning.

“Any idea what time he left?” Flem-
ing inquired.

“I’m not sure about that,” the rela-
tive stated. “I didn’t see or hear him
leave, but his car was gone when I got
up at six-o’clock.”

The police chief replaced the in-
strument in its cradle. ‘Carl DeCaro
seems to be in the clear,” he an-

nounced to the others. “He left for
Worcester sometime. before _ six
o’clock.”

The three officers pondered the
problem confronting them. It ap-
peared that Salvatore Bonelli, on his
way to get the bus that morning, ap-
parently had been picked up by some
other motorist bound for the defense
plant; a man who either knew about
the money carried by the elderly vic-
tim or who saw Bonelli display his
good-sized bankroll after entering the
vehicle. :

“It’s my guess,” Mitchell theorized,
“that Sal Bonelli was killed in the car
that left the tire tracks in the lane.
And whoever committed this crime
had a badly bloodstained car and, in
all probability, bloodstained clothing.
I doubt very much that he was able to
lift his victim from the machine and
place him in the grave without getting
blood all over his clothing. Our im-
mediate concern is to locate such a
car.”

The others concurred with Mitchell’s
summarization. “It’s highly possible
that’s the way it happened,” Fleming

—h.

SLAIN SCHOOLGIRL

: ee ,

Los Angeles—Dolores Fewkes, 16-year-old schoolgirl, whose body
was brought to the Pasadena police by Gerald Welch, aged 18,
her boy-friend. The police said Gerald had told them that he
shot the girl twice, then beat her to death with the gun, and
that he had planned suicide but found he had lost his nerve.

4 4

BURIED VICTIM ALIVE!

Continued from page 41

conceded. “But how do we proceed in
locating that murder car?”

Mitchell puffed on his pipe for sev-
eral moments before he replied: “The
murderer can’t be anyone else but
someone employed at the same plant
with Bonelli. Such a person would
have been in a position to know about
the victim’s bankroll. That person
might be an absentee from the plant
at this very moment. Then, of course,
there’s the possibility that someone
had seen Bonelli getting a lift this
morning and can identify the vehicle
for us.”

“Then we_ should explore both
angles immediately,” Fleming put in.

“Right. But here’s another thing.
We have only the word of DeCaro’s
relative that he was going to Worces-
ter, but we don’t actually know that
he got there. A man’s life has been
taken and we can’t afford to leave
anything to chance. Better check on
this right away.”

Chief Fleming nodded and reached
for his phone, then gave the necessary
information to the operator. In a few
minutes the connection was made and
Fleming was talking to the Worcester
Hospital authorities. When he hung
up, his be reflected the hopelessness
of this phase of the probe.

_“Carl:DeCaro has been at the hos-
pital and has already left,” he told
Mitchell.

The county detective looked up at
the wall clock above Fleming’s desk
and noted that the hands stood at 9:45.
And Worcester, Mass., lay 70 miles to
the northeast.

| Spleen Sar ys speculation was inter-
rupted by the arrival of Detective

. John J. Doyle, attached to the Special

Service Squad of the Connecticut
State Police. Col. Edward J. Hickey,
dynamic chief of the State Police,
sent the investigator from Hartford to
assist in the murder probe.

Having been at the murder scene,
where the State policemen were still
at work, Doyle was familiar with the
various phases of the case. Now De-
tective ‘Mitchell explained to him the
various moves being contemplated.

“Good idea,” Doyle agreed. “‘There’s
four of us here, and we can split up.
Chief Fleming and I can cover the de-
fense plant and ascertain the number
of absentees today. You and Lieuten-
ant Lenzi can canvass Elm Street and
question its residents. A killer with
several hundred dollars in his posses-
sion can go a long way. So we'd better
hop to it if we’re ever to catch him.”

The four investigators left to exe-
cute their assigned tasks. Chief Flem-
ing and Doyle hurried to the defense
plant and checked the roster of em-

‘ployees with the personnel manager.

They learned that, in addition to Bon-
elli and DeCaro, Tony Blasi and Gus
Rennick had not reported for work.

“I _ know both men,” Fleming told
the State detective. “And this Blasi
has been in trouble before.”

A check on these two men revealed
that Gus Rennick was a legitimate
absentee, being ill and in bed when

Pe ALAR en ea

like balloons of fou ns they braced
themselves fot thre potiiel Of plates

Bul none came. And they found no
sinn of the fupitive

hen Patrotnuan Pete nnd Patrolman
Peter Hylenski, working as a beam,
came to a small garage about 100 yards
from the gram school, ‘The door
was slightly ajar.

“What do you think?” asked Bria.

“Bet's lake a look.”

‘The door creaked as they pulled it
open and stepped warily into the ga-
rage. If their man were in there, if he
decided to use his gun, they'd be sit-
ting ducks.

A car Was parked in the parane.
Otherwise it appeared to be empty.

The prying! beams of the officers’
flashlights poked here and there—but
nothing.

“He's not here, I euess,” said Bria.

» Hylenski turned to go—and then his
flashlight, beam focused on the hood of
the car.

“Hey, look at that!” he whispered.

In the dust on the hood and fender
were the vague forms of foot-prints.

drawn hig own gun. Th he; : ashlight.beams..jerked upward.
mive hem a ma P ane Kylee Pen :
ak ROL Rakin,”

said Hicke
garage.

“He could be up there at that,” sal
Bria. “Stay put, and I'll get the
others.” t

WoO minutes later, Bria was back

with Greenwich Police Chief John
M. Gleason, Deputy Chief David W
Robbins, Detective Captain Jamies re
Healey and more than 25 officers.

Gleason gave orders crisply. “Sur-
round this garage. If the fellow is in
there, we're going to bring him out
dead or alive.”

Another minute, and the men were
posted.

“Let's go,” said Gleason.

- Told by Three

ison Street. We were sure that he lived
in the building there—but just where
and what was his name? We had to
make sure in some way.

Hansen is a Six footer, over 200
pounds, and a nervous man might
readily assume he was @ detective and
fly the coop should Harry go in asking
questions. That became my job. In
the car we had an old blue cap, stiff-
visored, such as the New York police
> used to wear. Also we had a few badges,

all of which said nothing. How many
times I used that cap while being some
sort of building inspector. or such is

I put a big badge on the cap, said
- Wadge containing the words, “City of
- New York”, but nothing else, and I.

went into the house as an agent for the

Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
- Animals. At every door IT asked whether
the family had a collie dog, saying,
“Some little boy: was bitten yesterday.”
I even insisted on going through the
. yooms to see if the dog was hidden
around the place. 4

Up on the fourth floor I finally found

the fellow who had been with Florence.
-I went through the rooms, questioned:
everybody, and learned that the family
“name was Tolla and the first name of
.« Alex’ companion was John.
_ Soon as I heard John Tolla it regis-
tered, and I had no heart to look farther
‘ for that imaginary dog. I did finish,
_ just for appearances, should anybody
> on that fourth floor be keeping tabs.
+ Getting back on’ the street, I gave
.. Hansen that John Tolla name and it hit

him likewise. Ear A era
4 “He's. on that list of punks you
-- brought back as having been in and
questioned. What goes here anyway?”
Harry asked... —

Tolla had ‘been previously arrested
and was on parole, so we could and did
get his picture from the Gallery. Those

The three ollicials, with Bria and
Itylernli, moved boldly info the garare.

“You're surrouneedkh” Chbeuon
shouted at the loft. “There Gre KUILS
wit nround yout Come down!”

Nilenee dend silence

Were they on the wrong track after
nll? Was that loft, empty?

Chief CGileason ti fed upgnin, Silks ine
your last chance! Come down or we'll
riddle you with bullets!”

Silence. and then a voice sounded
from the loft:

“Don't shoot! I haven’t got a gun!
I surrender-—I give up!”

The chase was all over.

A slim, hatless youth in a gray over-
coat scrambled down from the loft and
was seized by the police officers. A
quick frisk- but he was clean.

“Where's your gun?” Gleason de-
manded. i

“J haven’t got a gun.”

“What did you do with 1 da

“T never had one.”

Gleason turned to Bria. “Search that
loft.”

The search was productive. Under a
mattress, Bria turned up a .32-caliber

411 loft Wastup. then@ae x2 ¢ matic pistol.
The officerstirduert top Ubi wnat ned Ges og AWMEN Gleason aokedntd FORE Erngstterse, ‘with ranking
“Rares want poten barr, othe you h. sa “po C

Dect Morente y

Wa tetused boréplys*o-7 wt “Nt

At Police Headquarters in Greenwich,
the youth clung for awhile to his
decision not to reveal his identity.

Finally, however, he admitted that
he was John B. Donahue of Arlington,
Massachusetts.

Massachusetts authorities were ad-
vised and Donahue was taken to the
barracks at Westport. There Com-
missioner Hickey and Major Carroll,
once they received word from
Massachusetts, confronted him with
what they claimed was a criminal
record in that state.

And Donahue broke, confessing to the

Talking Killers (Continued from Page 29)

took our insurance agent friend up toa
WPA project, the then new East River
Drive. By tailing Tolla we had found
that he worked there three days a week.

Soon as the agent got a gander at
Tolla he was positive. “He is the man
who held the gun while I was robbed.
No “almost sure” on this occasion, He
was positively certain.

Now we had two suspects to follow
and needed help. Working in the same
office with us at the time was Detective
Arthur Giddings, now a Captain on the
Homicide Squad. If there is a more
accomplished’ sleuth. than the -highly
enlightened, ‘thoroughly, . competent
Giddings, I hope the name will be for-
warded. I will pay my own expenses
just to look at the man, no matter
where he is located. What Arthur
‘doesn't know about murder and the
ways of murderers wouldn't be worth
the time to study.

Anyway, he joined us and was a great
help, taking up the tailing of Alex Flor-
ence with Hansen sticking to John Tolla
and me trying to stay available to assist
either by setting up 4 series of telephone
numbers they could call and get me.

Giddings took a few trips with Tolla,
then changed to Florence.

Thus he made the first call in mid-
afternoon of January 3. -He was tail-

ing Florence around East Thirteenth’

Street near Second Avenue and wanted
me at once. Driving up there, I found
Arthur a couple of blocks away. We
had a hurried conference in which Gid-
dings told me, “You better stick around.
This bum is tailing an insurance agent
right now.” :

“you think a job is coming off this
afternoon?” I asked him.

“rt don’t know, but he followed this
collector right from the office. Maybe
he’s just lining him up, maybe the other
bums will show up. Who knows?” Until
after five p. m. Florence trailed around
with the apparent victim-to-be, right

, back to the insurance-company office.

Then he went on home. -

shooting Of Proopet Marne and bo (heft
of the car he had abandoned, Hickey
claimed tater

Marly Ghat morning Of Mebruary iA,

1953, Donahue was taken to ‘Prumbull LEARN
Pollee Henclquarters and hooked. He IN SPAI
was then appabitiedd te Probout Powh

Court. time!

The case was continued, and Com- 7
missioner Hickey insued the following
statement:

“John Donahue, twenty, reformatory Capital, de
parolee of Massachusetts enpaned in gates latent
stealing automobiles by means of a’ lations quickly ’

trained THOUSAND:

jumper, is held for the murder of Ernest
Morse. Donahue has confessed the
slaying to the Commissioner and State
Police Major Leo F. Carroll.”

A slug recovered from the body of | —-

‘Morse was rushed to Hartford along

with the gun. There State Police Licu-
tenant Frank V. Chameroy made
ballistics tests.

Meanwhile, State Troopers searched
for the ejected shell casing along the
side of the Merritt Parkway, at the
scene of the brutal shooting of Trooper
Morse

Book and Lesson Somple
International Dx

1701 Monroe ~
Washi

glare from rear—
lasting, all-steel
dash. Air locked

urists, salegmer

On Monday, February 16, funeral | — socp omy imect #RO
services were_held in New Haven for | __ Fits any model ‘49 th 's2
. | types. Also fits “48 Buick, Ch:

lofticialy': ftoms, tlnawehouk..the 4. gy
statecin

On Monday; February 23, 1953, Dona-
hue was again arraigned in Trumbull |
on charges of assault with intent to kill |
and theft of a motor vehicle—the Mer-
cury sedan. Represented by Attorney
Leon RisCassi of Hartford, he waived |
examination and was ordered held for
grand jury action by Judge Irwin
Friedman.

Donahue was then remanded to Fair-
field County Jail in Bridgeport, without
bond, where, as this issue of OFFICIAL
DETECTIVE STORIES goes to press,
he is being held pending further action
on the charges against him.

That night, Hansen, Giddings and I
had another conference—what to do?
We could of course keep right at it and,
from the way things were shaping up,
have a good chance of trapping these
bums right in the act. But there is al-
ways danger in that, Should you run
into gunfire, the man you hope to save
can be put in the middle and shot,
perhaps killed. Or you might have to
kill the robbers, and in this case we
would then be able to prove nothing in
the Hoffman affair, assuming that we
were on the right track. ae

In ‘the complex, thousand-things-to- M
be-considered business. of being a de~-
tective, disagreements are frequent.
Hansen’ and myself had quite a few. °
Never anything on 4 personal basis—
always on method to be used or some-
thing similar, . 8
IN THIS affair, Giddings said, “Grab

right away before anything else can
happen.”

Hansen, the man with patience to
outwait any criminal who ever lived,
wanted to delay a bit more. “We'll

robbing somebody.
talking point with them. Don’t forget
that Florence and Tolla were both
brought in and questioned by the Dis-
trict Attorney and then released.”

“Right, Harry,” Giddings agreed, “but
what does that prove? To me, nothing
except that one or all of them are good
talkers. Perhaps too much so‘or you
never would have picked up a line on
them.” :

Going along with Arthur Giddings on
any theory he has regarding the ap-
prehension of killers, produces a very
high batting average. So, while I had
in mind the fact that we had no evi-

paiyel .colars: grey. bh

. 9
and model of car and ¢

in-attendance to.pay. tribute. vortee Ag ust O-matic
P.O. Bor

‘9133, Dept. $83

Neu

Coa:

utual Br

p.m.E
7P

THI

dence against these two bums in the "Starring C

Hoffman case, I voted to grab. At the
worst I was confident we would be able
to have them identified for robbery of
other agents. That would ibe some the
satisfaction for all the hard work.

for

tive Lieute

OFFI:
Outste

Hickey turned to Carroll. “I still
1ink he could have stolen another car
» make his getaway in. And, if he did,
’s likely he took one that was parked
1 this street. Right?”

“Right,” said Carroll. {“We'll “find. .

ut.”

Troopers were instructed to call at
very house on Sunrise Avenue—and, if
unrise failed to give them what they
anted, on other streets in the vicinity.
heir task: To discover if a car had
en stolen and if the owner of the
Idsmobile was around.

AEANWHILE, Hickey, Carroll and
Pastore returned to Westport Bar-
\cks and phoned Massachusetts au-
.orities. The registration card for the
Idsmobile showed that it was owned
‘ - man in Dorchester, Massachu-
“It's possible that this is not the right
wr,” Hickey said. “We'll have to keep
ir alarm out for the other one,-too,
st in case.”

Word from Massachusetts revealed
at the Oldsmobile had been stolen in
orchester earlier that same evening,
s number not broadcast yet.

“That settles it,” Hickey declared.
t's possible two stolen cars were in
is area but it’s not probable. I think
orse was chasing the Olds.”

“But if this fellow has hopped into
other car,” Carroll reminded him, ,
e may be gone by now. We don’t
‘ve a single clue to his identity.”

“I doubt that we'll find any prints,”
id Hickey. “If he gets away our only
pe is to turn up something in Dor-
‘ester. But let’s wait and see what
learn in True" d

And they waited, and hoped, and
paer (a hoped—and the minutes
: y.

And then, shortly after midnight,
ord was flashed to the barracks at
estport. Troopers in the Sunrise

% . Hi

The sailors at far left are Von Essen,
Mulvey, Styranovsky, Sacharsky, Jansen

The search ended abruptly
in this musty garage loft :

This boy allegedly. wanted
an automobile, not a life

Avenue area jn Trumbull had turned
up a Bridgeport man, John Gulinsky,
‘who had been visiting friends in Trum-
bull and who, when questioned by the
police, discovered that his black Mer-
cury sedan was missing,

It bore Connecticut license No.,
3T732. pes: .

Messages went out to all men on pa-
trol and to all men on the road blocks:
Keep watching for Massachusetts 169-
749 but look also for Connecticut
3T732. The killer might have switched

cars. ; , {

Another tedious and anxious period
of waiting ensued for the men at West-
port. Barracks, More time went by.
The killer could have taken the Mer-
cury as early as ten p. m. ‘Had he made
use of those two hours to:slip through?

Then, abruptly, the pace of the man-
hunt was stepped up in tempo.

‘

After daylight, officers walked miles from the shooting scene in
their search for the death qun or shells it might have ejected

Bridgeport Patrolmen Carl Gustaf-
son and Dominic Costello, on duty in a
prowl car, spotted a speeding sedan
pulling out of the Park Avenue en-
trance to Ninety Acres Park.

It was the Mercury.

The police officers made a fast U turn
but the car had too long a head start.
It turned into the Parkway, bound for
near-by Easton, and was lost.

Hickey, when he received word at
Westport Barracks, was elated. ‘‘We’ve
got him bottled up! He's trapped
now!”

“Unless,” Carroll reminded him, “he
decides to ditch the Mercury, too, and
grab still another.”

“If we can keep him on the run he
won't have a chance.”

The fugitive had been pinned down
in this southern. sector of the state, and
troopers from other areas were ordered

in to patrol the roads and highways,
with Hickey, at Westport, stationing
them carefully.

One of the most important posts,
Hickey realized, was at the Nianus
River Bridge on the Boston Post Road
near Greenwich. Two men were sta-
tioned there with orders to flag down
every car.

T ONE a. m. headlights bore down
on those two officers.

In the road, they waved their flash-
lights in wide, slow circles, signaling
the driver of the car to stop.

But the driver didn’t stop. He didn’t
slacken his pace. If anything, he in-
creased it.

Then it was at the bridge, the motor
a high, thin roar in the frosty, early-
morning air, crashing the road block,
and through, rushing toward Green-
wich.

It was the wanted Mercury!
‘(Continued on Page 60)

Che extortionist who had sent Doc-
Bryan with the ransom money to

: theater in Oakland failed to make

further contact after accusing the
her of “tipping the police”.

fad he been the kidnaper?

edge concerning Stephanie, Holstrom
said: “No matter how fantastic it may
seem, we welcome any information
whatsoever.”

But no one could have foreseen the
fantastic development that occurred on

fad it been Stephanie's fingers the Friday evening of July 15, 1955. .

“Georgia has a good voice,” Abbott
said. “I think she regrets not having
gone on the stage instead of taking up
beauty work.”

“I know,” Dezman said. “I’m going to
go down and hear you, Georgia, What
are you going to do?”

vice-station operator saw protrud-

Nhat was the answer?

the case.
in additional 800 persons had been

: case,
Nith the aid of other authorities,
re than 600 gray Chevrolets and
itiacs of the years 1950 and 1951

Burton W. “Bud” Abbott, a 27-year-
from the trunk of the car in Keyes? old war veteran and an accounting stu-
dent at the University of California, was
\fter two months of investigation, at his rented home at No. 1408 San Jose
: Berkeley police announced that Avenue in Alameda with his wife
re than 1500 persons had been Georgia and their four-year-old son.
2stioned concerning clues and leads Living with them was Abbott’s mother,
Mrs. Elsie Abbott.

Bud had cooked the dinner, for his
estigated for actual involvement in wife worked in a beauty salon in
Alameda. They had a guest, Otto

“I’ve worked up a number of the good
old flapper days back in 'twenty-nine. I
think I have some old cloche hats in the
basement and if I shorten one of my
skirts and let down the waist line—
where is that box of old clothes; Bud?”

“Over in the far side where the
shelves are. Want me to get it for you?”

“No. I'll find it. You boys just relax
and take it easy.”

A short time later, Mrs. Abbott came

ce examined and their owners ques-
aed and the tracing of cars was still
itinuing. >
3ulletins on the case had been sent
over 3500 law-enforcement agen-.
3.
ND in addition to the volunteer time
donated by thousands of persons,
small staff of the Berkeley police
i piled up over 3000 hours in ovér-
ie work. - ;
3ut aside from finding Stephanie’s
mch book, which revealed no clues
jer the microscope, and the uncon- | |
ned reports that Stephanié had been |
n struggling in a car with a man,
: police had no clue to how she had
appeared, what had happened to her
where she might be.

its pledge and in every issue printed
copy of the circular containing the
‘cription and the photograph of
‘phanie.

*ublic interest in the case began to

She Oakland Tribune remained true ’ | ia “This Wrist Watch for Ten Gallons and Freedom”.

ne. :
nly an occasional crackpot letter

3 received. On July 5, a postcard ,
3 sent from South San Francisco |
h the demand: “If you want your '
ld back send me $2000. I'll send you |
2tter when to send and where.” But
follow-up was sent.

dn July 16, the Berkeley police re-
ved a postcard also sent from South

1 Francisco. It. stated simply:
— I settle my a-count to-

ivery effort was made to trace the
ssage to see if it could be in some |
y connected with the case. {
a “s the Stephanie Bryan case be
vi ~
dr would time erase every clue? |
whe wind and the rain and the sun
ald pack solid the covering of a-
ely grave in some mountain canyon.
iss would grow again on the dis-
bed earth and leave no trace to show
it had been opened to conceal a
ily secret. ‘
ind the kidnaper of the schoolgirl
st have been a stranger. Three
aths of questioning everyone who
{ ever known her made the police
itive of this fact.
femories would grow dim, significant
ts be forgotten. Only in the aching
i of the hearts of her parents and
brothers and sisters would a
mory of the pleasant little school-

_ Up to the Minute

FoR seven years the electric chair in Wethersfield State Prison,
: Wethersfield, Connecticut, was quiet and unused while no one in
the little New England state was executed... ; :

During the Summer, however, the chair’s idleness came to an
abrupt end. Within a period of four days, three men were put to
death, all of them for murder.

First to go was. William J. Lorain, one of two found guilty of
the 1952 hitch-hike‘slaying of George Zgierski of Hartford. His
Partner in crime, John Petetabella, is serving a life sentence. The
story of the discovery of Zgierski’s body and the detective work
done to identify and capture the killers appeared in the December,
1952, issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine, under

neh eee nce enna ca

John B. Donahue, 22, was next, electrocuted for killing Con-
necticut State Trooper Ernest Morse February 13, 1953, when
_ Morse stopped him ina stolen car on the Merritt Parkway. “ ‘Massa-
' chusetts One Six Nine ...’", the detective story behind this case,
was published in the May, 1953, OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES.
Last of Connecticut's ill-fated three was Robert Malm, sex’
.killer of eleven-year-old Irene Fiederowicz on December 9, 1953.
“ ‘He Never Did Kill Before’ ”, in the March, 1954, issue of OFFICIAL
DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine, told of the intensive detective
work that brought about Malm’s arrest. ‘ ‘ !
In California and Florida, meanwhile, other murders brought ||
life sentences rather than death. -Julio Grasso and his stepmother, 4
Mary, were given life imprisonment for their part in the instal-
ment-plan killing of Julio’s father and Mary’s husband, Joseph :
Grasso, in the Grasso tavern near.Redwood City, January 12, 1955.
Patricia Perry, waitress in the tavern, received a shorter sentence
‘for second-degree murder for complicity in the killing.
This case, “But Joe’s Mirror Didn’t Tell—”, was published in ,
‘the May, 1955, OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES. : ut
Thomas McDonald, who killed Bert Bishop in Bishop’s Miami
Beach, Florida, apartment January 5, 1955, also received the benefit
of a recommendation of mercy’by a jury and went to prison for life.
The April, 1955, OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine
‘published the detective story here entitled “Who's the Killer in No.
122” : ; ;
Another Californian, Daniel Nahmens, who killed the woman
he planned to marry, Melvina Chisman, during a quarrel, was
sentenced to one year for manslaughter. “‘Are Three Inches of
Evidence Enough?’”, in the July, 1955, OFFICIAL DETECTIVE
STORIES, gave the detective work behind this case.
_ Since the detective work done on all these cases actually was
‘completed long before final sentences were meted out, the stories
were published while they were still current, pending final word on
such sentences. To keep readers up to date when this occurs, this
department is published regularly on these pages.—The Editor, ~

remain.
How much of this stuff on the
phanie case shall I keep?” O’Meara

ed Chief Holstrom. “I’ve got a oe a 44-year-old retired Navy
ef.
Dezman’s wife owned the beauty shop
here Mrs. Abbott worked. Mrs.
Dezman was at a cosmetologists’ con-
vention in Louisville, Kentucky.
aaner “I’m cooking steaks out on the patio
We're going to keep going over and ’ye just built,” Abbott invited his friend
t that stuff. We may be passing up of five years. Abbott had built the patio
rout knowing something that could out of rejected cedar blocks from a
pencil manufacturer as an anniversary
present for his wife. “(Come over and ©
see how I make me as parol a
Dezman accepted. agreed e
{ wouldn't say that. All I know is dinner had been excellent. Later in the

dle locker filled with reports.”

Every scrap of it,” Holstrom said.
But some of it is just reports from w
S and screwballs. If we keep it

There's no ‘if’,” Holstrom said firm-

duce a real lead.”

You’re still confident we’re going to
1e up with an answer, aren’t you?”
feara asked.

at]

— up the stairs calling: “Bud, Bud,
ud—”

“What is it?” Abbott asked in alarm,
noting that his wife’s face had drained
white and she was highly nervous. .

“Bud, what is the name of that girl
they have.been looking for? The one
that is in the newspapers all the time?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Why?”

“Wasn't it Stephanie Bryan?”

EZMAN said: “That’s it. I’ve been
reading about the case.”

“Look at this!” :

Mrs. Abbott held out a large red

te never going. to stop trying. One evening, about eight o'clock, Mrs. purse. Inside was a smaller red wallet-

shese days, somehow, there’s going Abbott excused herself from the group
ve a break. When it comes, we're conversation saying: “I’m going to
‘ rummage around in the basement and
arly in the investigation, when he find something to make a costume. The
| broadcast an appeal for help from ‘ cosmetologists are putting on a show
one who had any inkling of knowl- here next week. : I’m doing an act.”

2g to be ready.”

type purse that held a number of
identification cards all bearing the
name of Stephanie Bryan.

“Where did you find - it?” Abbott
asked.

“In that old box of clothes.”

y 7 LA /' iA

“How could it have gotten there?”

“I don't know. But I do know it wasn't
there about a month ago. IT wont
through it then looking for something.
How long has she been missing?”

Dezman sald: “About three months,
I believe. Look, you shouldn't touch any
of that stuff. If it does belong to the
girl, the police will want to examine it.”

“The police?” Mrs. Abbott cried. “Do
you think we should call them?”

- “Of course we should,” Abbott said.
“T'll look up the number.”

Mrs. Abbott notified the Berkeley
police.

The officers raced out to the house.

The identification cards and the
small purse definitely belonged to
Stephanie Bryan. But there had never
been any mention of the larger red
purse.

As soon as O'Meara arrived on the
scene, he telephoned the Bryan home.
It was then he learned that the large,
red purse belonged to Mrs. Bryan.
Stephanie must have taken it with her
to school and Mrs. Bryan had ‘not
known that it was missing.

How did the purse get in the base-.

ment of the Abbott home? .

“We've lived here for more than a

year,” Abbott told the officers. “I
haven’t any idea how the girl’s purse
could get into our basement. We don’t
know the girl-nor her family. And to
my knowledge, we don’t know anyone
who knows them.” :
' While the officers questioned the
Abbotts and Dezman, Holstrom called
in Doctor Paul Kirk, noted criminolo-
gist at-the University of ‘California, to
examine the purse and help conduct a
further search of the basement.

Doctor Kirk has conducted more
than 500 criminal investigations and
recently was employed on the notorious
ro ada Sheppard case in Cleveland,

oO. ;

The basement of the house was
connected to a garage. Half of the
basement was cemented and the other
half left unfinished with a dirt floor.

“How could the girl’s purse ever get
into the box of old clothes?” the officers
asked repeatedly of the Abbotts.

“I don’t know,” Abbott repeated. “The
garage door is never locked. Someone
might have come in from the outside.”

“How about the election?” Mrs.
Abbott asked.

She explained that the garage had
been used as a polling place at the May
24 city election. More than 500 persons
had voted there.

OULD one of them have discarded

the purse?

But why put it in a place where it
would surely be found sooner or later?

“Canvass the neighborhood,” Hol-
strom ordered his detectives. “And we'll
get a list of all the people who voted
here. We'll investigate all of them, too.
And we'll get a list. of every friend of
the Abbotts who ever visited their
house.” .

Abbott was questioned about his car.
Did he own a 1950 or 1951 gray Chevro-
let or Pontiac? . '

“No, but I did own a ‘forty-nine gray
Chevrolet,” Abbott replied.

“How long ago?” 4
“I sold. it about a month ago.” Hi
gave the officers the name of a city fire-
man to whom he had sold the vehicle.

“Locate it and have it impounded,”
Holstrom told his men. “We'll give it a
complete laboratory check.”

As the questioning went on, the frail,
scholarly-looking; Abbott told the offi-
cers: “I know this looks bad for me,
finding the girl’s purse in the basement
of my house. But all I can tell you is I
don’t know how it got there and I’ve got
nothing to hide. I'll do everything
possible to help.”

“Would you take a lie-detector test?”
O'Meara challenged.

“Willingly,” Abbott answered. “I have
nothing on my conscience.”

“How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Any time you say.”

“Can we search your house?”

,“As much as you like.”

“What about digging into the base-
ment where it isn’t cemented?”

“I think you had getter get permis- -

sion from the owner if you’re going to

On the other hand, a number of the
officers were strony ty Inclined to the
theory that the Naylor woman had been
killed by a maniac or someone mentally
abnormal, Didn't Sturty fl this frame?

Atter futile tests trying to establish
whether the man was right- or left-
handed, Captain Kenealy ordered the
Suspect toa cell, Detectives then began
trying to find where he lived, which he
had described vaguely as being a
“white-washed building down on Penn
Avenue”.

Meanwhile, a merchant on lower
Baltimore Street, shown a photograph
of the black umbrella, recalled that he
had sold two of these articles to one
man—a shipyard worker by the name
of Alvarez or Alveriss. He wasn’t sure
which. :

“He’s been in here before,” he in-
formed Detective Joe Meenan, “Big,
beefy fellow. Always telling corny
jokes. I asked what was the idea of
buying two umbrellas—that was over a
week ago—and he says the groundhog
told him there’d be forty days of rain.
Some joke, hey?”

QuIcK questioning along the spraw]l-

ing waterfront brought Meenan in-
formation that one Car] Alvarez worked
at a dockside terminal not far from the
huge McCormick spice factories.

And Alvarez, a big man indeed, with
a tuft of curly hair on top of his glisten-
ing, bald head, roared with laughter
when the grim-faced detective con-
fronted him.

“I get it! You think old Carl been do-
ing that stabbing and stealing behind
my umbrellas?" He chortled. “Take
me down and give me the third degree,
please, Mister! It'd be a holiday after
my wife!”

“We're not laughing these days,” re-
minded Meenan coldly. “Come on, why
did you buy two umbrellas at one
crack?”

Quickly sensing that the detective
was in no mood for jokes, Alvarez be-
came serious. “I’m sorry. I know you
boys got something tough in that lady’s
killing. But those umbrellas—well, it
was just a gag. I got a buddy down at
Lynchburg. We used to be in the same
squadron overseas. He writes me it
rains almost as much at Lynchburg as
in England, so I send him the two um-
brellas. Hey, wait a minute—” Alvarez
broke off, dug a huge hand into a@ rear
pocket, yanked out his wallet. “Here,
here’s the insurance receipt.” He ex-
tended the flimsy slip of Paper, dated
January 13, 1953, ;

Not entirely satisfied, Meenan drove
back to Headquarters and telephoned
the alleged recipient of the umbrellas,
He promptly confirmed the whole weird
affair. :

And so what had ‘seemed like a
scorching lead fizzled out.

Further disappointments kept piling
up for the harassed investigators. Not
a shred of incriminating evidence
ould be found against Castillo, Sturtz,
or any of scores of lesser suspects being
1eld for further investigation. Detec-
tives, after thoroughly checking the
‘ictim’s neighbors and socially promi-
lent relatives, reported that there was

"Massachusetts One’ Six Nine Sten

The officers tumbled for their cars.
\ man was driving the Mercury—they
‘ad seen that much as the car flashed
y. A man without a hat and bent
ver the wheel.

Within moments, several Greenwich
olice cars were in pursuit. The

uarry had been sighted now; he was:

ut in the open at last. The chips were
own.

“HE Mercury was moving fast, but so
were the police cars. It was a wide-

den chase through Greenwich, an ex-

usive suburb favored by wealthy:

mmuting New Yorkers.

One police car pulled closer to the

‘ereury. Greenwich Patrolman Wil-

“stocky man

no knowledge or record. of (he ener
reUle dibrarian: having been threatened
or molested prior to her brutal death.
Plainly showing: his chaprin and dis-
appointment, Commissioner Ober drove
to another mass meeting of Baltimore
citizens at Memorial Protestant Epis-
copal Church and told them: “We are
doing everything humanly possible. We
are not overlooking any clue, no.mat-
ter how slim, and no piece of informa-
tion, no matter how vague . . -"

Net only this, but throughout the
vast metropolis - other concrete
measures were being followed through
with a relentless thoroughness. Knives
and daggers by the hundreds were con-
fiscated and given every laboratory
test. The movements of dope addicts
and persons with known mental ab-
errations were watched, their clothing
studied for any Similarity to the gar-
ments described by the dying victim.

And it all added up to a mocking,
yawning ‘zero,

At Northwestern District Station,
Captain Horton met with hig detectives
to survey the gloomy impasse and chart
out, if possible, further moves.

During the somber discussion, Plain-
clothesman John Boyle, a quiet-man-
nered, usually taciturn person, spoke
up: “Sir, there’s one thing I’d like to
do—with a little help.”

“Such as?” ‘

“Well, I don’t put much stock in this
theory that a criminal always returns
to the scene of his crime. But I've no-
ticed that a lot of these knifers have
a one-track mind. They pick out a
territory and stick to it. We've got in-
formation that a man with an umbrel-
la was seen two or three times in the
Mount Royal section. I’m becoming
more and more convinced. that this
killer will come back. And I’d like to be
around—if he does.”

It seemed like a crazy, futile idea.
But Captain Horton agreed to it. He
assigned Boyle and LeRoy Moody, a
slender, patient and painstaking sleuth,
to go with him. Sergeant Joseph
Hagerty was assigned to cover them
in a patrol car. V

At dark that evening, Boyle and

‘Moody began sauntering along Mount
Royal Avenue. Then along the side
streets, Dolphin, Oliver, Lafayette, Lan-
vale. Nothing. Nothing but residents
getting into their cars. Some visitors

hurrying into Maryland Women’s Hos--

pital. A schoolboy carrying a carton
of soft drinks. ?

The minutes, then hours, ticked by.
Traffic thinned. i

“Looks like it’s a bust,” muttered
Boyle as they turned the corner of John
Street into Lafayette, one Square from
the attack scene.

Moody was about to nod agreement.
Instead, -he jabbed an elbow into his
partner's ribs. “That guy—under the
street light! He walked by us about
five minutes ago on Mount Royal...”

Boyle stared for a moment at the
standing uncertajnly under
the corner light. He wore a black
leather jacket, a white turtle-neck
Sweater and a fatigue-type *cap., He
started up Lafayette; then, becoming

liam Merritt, former Army machine-
gunner, drew his gun. __

The fleeing car entered Cos Cob, a
part of Greenwich, and Merritt pulled
the trigger. ;

A slug ripped into the rear. of the
Mercury. .

Then another, and another. “

Up ahead, the. Mercury weaved as
Merritt, grim-{aced, continued to fire.
All told, he shot thirteen times, reload-
ing his gun. Later, thirteen slugs were
recovered from the Mercury.

A tire blew. At Cos Cob Grammar
School, the Mercury swerved off the
road. and along the lawn, out of con-
trol. It grazed the side of the school
building, ran right over a small tree,

AWwHte OF the two detectives
him, he turned and started to walk the
other way.

Waleliing

THE detectives quickly caught up with
the stocky figure. Moody’s excite-
ment bean to melt as he noted that the
man was young, not over 20. But he
asked, pleasantly enough:
“You seem to be looking for some-
thing, young fellow. Can I help?”
The man had a big, hawk-like nose

above a pencil-thin mustache. He
stared at Moody, then shrugged. “I
was looking for a friend. He said he

lived near Women's Hospital.”

“I know this section pretty well.
What's your friend’s name?”

The youth blinked, as if astonished
by their interest. He bristled. “None
of your business! And I don’t need your
help!”

Moody palmed his badge in front of
the youth, said softly: “Looks to me
you're not sure what you were looking
for.” At the same time Boyle, spying
a bulge beneath the white sweater,
asked:

“Got a boom-boom, huh?”

But when he leaned forward and
patted at the bulge with a deft move-
ment, he discovered it wasn’t a gun. It
was a knife—a knife with a thin, razor-
sharp, six-inch blade.

“This is a wicked-looking gadget.
What're you doing with it?”

“Some awful things been happening
in Baltimore. I carry it around for
protection.”

The headlights of a car suddenly
shone along the street, then advanced.
It was Sergeant Hagerty, who had been
watching the tableau from a short dis-
tance away. Boyle told the man terse-
ly: “Okay, get in.”

At the Northwestern District Station,
the mustached youth said his name was
Robert Lee Terry, and gave his age as
seventeen. He said he was from
Brooklyn, and had been‘ visiting his
sister for the past two weeks. She lived
in the 700 block on South Hanover
Street.

“It’s across town. That’s why I got
lost near the hospital, I don’t know
Baltimore very well,” he explained.

“Who's the friend you were looking
for?” prodded Sergeant Albert Hecht,
conducting the initial questioning.

Once’ more the youth. side-stepped
the question. Instead he said: “If
you’re going to keep me here much
longer, I’d like to call my sister. She
might get worried.” en

As the questioning proceeded, Terry
became more and more evasive. How-
ever, chilling the hopes of the. officers
was the inescapable fact that he was,
much younger than the 35 years given
by Miss Naylor before she died. Nor
was he as heavy as the woman had de-
Scribed. Still, the white turtle-neck
sweater, the knife—

Hecht told Moody and Boyle: “Take
&@ run over to the address he’s given.
See what you can find.”

A little over an hour later Boyle, his
face a pasty white, came pounding
back into the room where Hecht and
Hagerty were still talking to the evasive
Suspect. He jerked a thumb toward the

(Continued from Page 33).

crashed through a steel bicycle rack
and then, bouncing crazily, came toa

‘Stop against a thick tree.

The pursuing officers squealed to a
halt. With drawn guns, they ran to”
the Mercury, expecting to see the ©
fugitive slumped over the wheel. The
impact of that last crash had been
terrific, ,

But the.car was empty!

“He's still moving!” said Merritt in-
credulously, ;

“And he’s still got that gun,” said
Patrolman Lawrence Bria,

“Well, let’s go get him!"

Swarms of police officers formed a
wide circle around the school and slow-
ly moved in toward its center, Back

ae SETS = sete

‘previously had failed to supply convinc-

corridor,
hall.

Moody silently held Up a brown -uned-
orange checked windbreaker, a blue
corduroy peaked cap, a pair of dark
blue trousers. “This is a lot like the
killer's uniform, Sergeant,” he said
softly.

The bleak, red-brick station house
began to vibrate with the fury of
tremendous excitement. Captain Hor-
ton, Inspector Itzel, Lieutenant Hett-
chens and the Police Commissioner
himself hurried to the Place.

Undaunted by the array of top police
power, Terry kept shaking his head,
saying doggedly: “I don’t know what
you're talking about. I didn’t kill any-
body.”

But as a gray dawn spread over the
city, Terry broke wide open.

“Okay, I killed her,” he allegedly
said. “I don’t know why or how it
happened. Maybe it was because she
looked like she was going to scream.”

Shortly after noon, Terry gave a
thirteen-page statement to a circle of
weary police officials that included
Commissioner’ Ober, Inspectors Itzel
and Lusby, Captain Horton, Lieutenant
Hettchens and Sergeants Hecht and
Hagerty.

The police officials claimed he said
that he had. returned to the attack
Scene not to search for another victim,
but to look for the black umbrella
which he had tossed into the ditch. “It
was a good umbrella, I didn’t want to
lose it,” was his simple explanation.

He was quoted as saying that his
motive in approaching the librarian was
to rob her. “But all T got was seventy-
five cents,” he said disgustedly.

This puny sum he supposedly found
in a black velvet purse which the
woman gave him willingly.

By checking with a niece later, the
officials learned that Miss Naylor some-
times carried two purses with her in the
car. Either she had taken the purse
with the lesser sum because she didn’t
want to leave any substantial amount
lying around in the theater, or she had
picked up the velvet purse in error.

Asked what he had done with the
Purse after he had rified it, Terry
allegedly said he had tossed it down a .
sewer. ,

With Terry’s statement at hand,
Police officials promptly emptied the
overflowing cells of the Suspects who

Hecht arose, went inlo the

ing alibis: Castillo and Sturtz were
publicly cleared. ; ~

On January 27, 1953, exactly six days
after the heartless slaying of the popu-
lar librarian, Robert Terry was indicted
by a Baltimore grand jury on charges
of first-degree murder.

He was found guilty March 20, 1953,
with sentence withheld Pending a medi-
cal examination. Defense attorneys
said théy would ask for a new trial.
First-degree murder in Maryland car-
ries death or life imprisonment sen-
tences only.

To protect persons innocent of any
complicity in the slaying of Miss Nay-
lor, the names of Bennie Castillo, Ross
V. Sturtz and Carl Alvarez are fictitious,

. - Read It First In .
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES a?

- .

at Westport Barracks,” Commissioner
Hickey and Major Carroll, in touch by
radio, knew that-this was the show-
down.

A showdown, probably, in a blaze of
gunfire. The officers moved cautious-
ly in, their guns ready, their flashlights *
held wide of their bodies in an attempt —
to mislead the fugitive. The odds were | ;
against them. They were slow-moving °
targets as they pressed on in this grim
and darkened game of hide-and-seek,
with life and death the stakes. The
fugitive, with his gun, might be here,
there, anywhere in the area. He might -
open fire at any moment. - ng

The officers forming the cordon were
tense. Their breaths formed gossamer-

been in their respective homes in the hours
before that. (The police knew that someone
could have picked Brenda up at 8:15 in the

morning, murdered her, and been at work by.

9 o’clock. . . .)

By Thursday, the combined police agencies
had questioned all but four of the 60 known
~sex deviates in the area. Three were known
to have been out of town on the Monday that
Brenda was murdered; the fourth, a. 32-year-
old laborer by the name of Randall Myson,
came in for special attention when police

. learned that he had gone on a two-day binge’

immediately following the’ girl’s death, and
then disappeared. He was known to have rela-

tives in New York City, and police there were -

asked to keep a lookout for him. .

On the following day, Friday, the officers
began going over the list again—comparing

a each alibi against information they had gath-
‘ ered.

To Daniel McPherson, Bristol probationary
detective promoted from the ranks only four
months before, the file on George Davies was
of special interest. For one thing, he had been
among the officers who had questioned Davies
at length last Monday night, and there was
something about Davies’ manner that jeft
McPherson dissatisfied. Then there was some-
thing else—Davies had said that he’d been

they checked the two factories where he
claimed to have applied, neither place could
verify this information. McPherson decided he
wanted to talk to Davies a little more, so he

' and Sergeant Wilbur Caulkins drove over to

/ Thomastown only a few miles away. It was
during the ride to Thomastown that Sergeant
Caulkins recalled that George Davies was the
man he had arrested five years before for mo-
lesting two little girls... .

Davies himself answered the door. “Hello
George,” Caulkins said.

Davies stared. :

“We want you to come back down to head-
quarters to answer~a few more questions,”
Caulkins said.

Davies nodded and smiled weakly. “Come
on in,” he said. “Just let me change my shirt.”
He' went into another room.

The officers stood in the little front room
and listened to Davies moving around. Then
there was silence. McPherson looked through
the doorway. Davies was no-place in sight.
McPherson went into the bedroom, which was
littered with clothing, and opened another
door . . . the bathroom. Davies was leaning
against the bathroom sink, and he tried to
.Stuff something in his pocket.

“What’ve you got there?” McPherson asked,

- holding out his hand. “Better give it to me.”

Davies looked for a minute like he might
refuse, then he reached in his pocket and
pulled out a small bottle. It was empty.

“Sleeping pills??? McPherson asked Davies.

Davies didn’t answer.

“Better call an ambulance,” McPherson
called tg Caulkins. “He swallowed a bottle
of pills!” :

By the time the ambulance got him to the
Waterbury hospital, Davies was pretty grog-
gy. He was taken to an emergency ward where
they pumped out his stomach. Doctors ‘told

questioning for several hours.
Meanwhile, Bristol police headquarters got
a phone call from the New York City police

the description of Randall Myson,” the New

7 York officer said, “but he gave us the slip. We

the officers he would be in no condition for -

department. “We picked up a man answering -

EARN NP rS SC

got him in a bar near his brother’s house in
Flushing and_took him to a precinct house.
We had him sitting in a hallway when three
teenagers picked up as robbery suspects
started a brawl. Myson walked out during
the commotion. His brother told us he might
try to get to his sister’s house over in Jersey
City, and we notified the Jersey -City police
to be on‘the lookout.”

Two hours later, the New York City police
‘called back to say.they. had a phone tip that
Randall Myson had. been drinking heavily and
had-told- someone-in a bar that he knew the
Connecticut police wanted him for “that little
girl in Bristol.”

The case was beginning to narrow down to

a tight little circle of suspects, with Davies .

and Myson looming as the likeliest.
The next day, police began talking to peo-

ple who knew Myson to find out if he had

spoken of the murder. Several people told po-
lice that. Myson had been behaving strangely
for the past several days, but no one could
remember having heard him talk about the
murder. The officers urged them to call police
immediately if Myson tried to get in touch
with them,

THAT afternoon, George Davies was able

to leave the hospital. When he checked out,
McPherson and Caulkins were waiting for
him. “We've still got some. questions we want
you to answer,” McPherson said.

Davies was agreeable.

When they got in the car, they asked him
why he had swallowed the sleeping pills.
Davies didn’t answer .

He was a slightly-built man who worked
rather erratically as,a machinist, When they
got him to police headquarters, he sank into
a kind of lethargy and for the most part re-
fused to answer the officers’ questions,

They took him over his alibi again, and this
time Davies was not sure what time it had
been when he’d gone tothe tool factories to
apply for work.

When told that a check of the employment
offices at the factories showed that he had
gone there in the afternoon, Davies insisted
it ‘was much earlier.-

They decided that they wanted to talk to
him a little longer, so they booked him on a
charge of creating a disturbance in connection
with swallowing the sleeping pills.

When they returned to the questioning sev-
eral hours later, they brought up the subject
of his past record of molesting children.

Davies grew visibly agitated. He insisted,
however, that he’d had nothing to do with
Brenda’s disappearance. a

After checking the record, the detectives re-
minded him that he had said the same thing
at the time he was arrested in 1952.

“They didn’t believe you then, either, did
they, George?” Caulkins said.

Davies didn’t reply. He just put his fists
against his temples and sat staring at an ash-
tray on the table in front of him.

During the next few hours, they talked to
“Davies about his past, his family life, whether
or not he had asked for psychiatric help.

Davies began to talk a little. He said that
his first wife had divorced him when he’d been
sent to prison, and that he had remarried
when he’d. got out. He’d had trouble finding
a job. ;

He also said he had visited a psychiatrist
after being released: from prison, but that he
stopped going after the first few sessions.

In fact, Davies told them quite a bit about

himself, enough for the officers to be sure that
he was a miserably-unhappy man who found
it hard to get along with other people. But
there was something else, too—his extreme

agitation when they talked to him about the ‘

murder,

When they asked him how he’d first heard
about Brenda’s murder, he sat stone still and
refused to answer. This, they realized, was
the subject he couldn’t talk about—and per-
haps the one he couldn’t bring himself to
think about.

For several more hours they hammered '

away at George Davies, asking him almost
any question at all, just as long as it was con-
nected with the murder. Finally, he looked up
and told them: :

“I’ve had enough. I can’t sit here any longer.
T'll have to go through with it—everything—
T'll tell you everything. . .,.”

And then, according to the officers, George
Davies admitted he had murdered Brenda
Doucette!

According to police, Davies said that he was
driving around that morning and ~—passed
Brenda Jane as she was walking to school. He
drove down the road a little farther, then
stopped his car and got out. He took a jack
from the trunk and put it under the car
wheel and pretended to fix a tire until the
child got up to the car. Then, Davies report-
edly said, “I asked her to help me. She re-
fused, and so I asked her to get me a screw-

driver from the front seat of the car. The’

front door was open, and as she climbed in
to get the screwdriver I slammed the car door
shut—it sticks on the right-hand side. I ran
around and got in the other side and drove
away. We passed by her house and I held her
head down with my free hand so no one
would see her. Then I drove to the lovers
lane néar Thomastown. She put up a fight
and screamed and I panicked. . . . I. don't
know what made me do it, but I strangled
her with a sweater. When she went limp, I
drove around for quite a while until I found
a deserted spot to dump the body. Just’ to
make sure she was dead, I stabbed her several
times with the screwdriver. Then I ‘drove
home and changed my clothes, which I
burned... .”

“What did you do with the screwdriver?”
the officers asked. .

“T threw it away in a culvert.”

“What about the gitl’s lunch pail?”

’ “I threw that away, too... not far from
the screwdriver.”

“What did you do then?”

“Well, after I washed up, I went to a res-
taurant and ate lunch... .”

When Chief McCarthy announced the con-
fession, he said that Davies’ - story matched
everything they knew about the case, and that
he would be charged with murder after he
re-enacted the crime. y

On Monday, one week after Brenda was
murdered, several police officers and reporters
drove to the spot where Davies had lured
Brenda into his car. From there, he directed
them over the route he had taken to the

Thomastown lovers lane and then to the spot —

near Bristol (also used as a lovers lane) where
he’d dumped the body..

Throughout. the re-enactment, Davies .of-
fered very little, ‘but willingly answered the
officers’ questions. Then he took them to the

culvert‘ where he said he had thrown the -

screwdriver, It took officers only 15 minutes
to locate the weapon.
“This is it?” they asked him solemnly.

6 a

——aer

Davies said
A few min
lunch pail.”
They all dr
vies was
against. a
Police
police were 1
Randall Myso
the case were
The next c
and police off
the evidence {
Waterbury bo
off into the w
rabbits. He t
the better par
in a clearing,
While smok
the edge of
underbrush. .
When he ha
in that direct
wasn’t until hi
realized what
He stood fre
Started runnin;
When Brist
from the bo
state police w)
The girl, wh
20, had been
was impossibl
died. She was
wearing a blu
shoes. Her clo
inspection offic
the front of h
When an an
taken to Wate
itial medical r
of death as si
that the girl h:
times, and th:
were above thi
These woun
doctors who p
were sma”
stab wou
little Brex
Police baan‘t
tification near

front- of the
Avenue when
Orville Billing
followed by In
Every light i
inside the front
leading across
television to a
and dining ro
and the bath.
At the hallv
two. ambulance
Harold A. Mc]
a welter of b
conscious. Emil
a chair, weepin
Rodden looke
“Gunshot we
interne said. “I
lying here an }

°F ooenligigee tnd

Cars were halted and the occupants questioned in the broad police probe.

He killed twice before the police stopped him.

She was not the type of daughter to allow her parents to
sit home worrying.

In addition to the youngster’s unexplained absence,
there were a number of other odd details to increase the
anxiety of the parents.

in Gaetane’s room, they had found the girls pocket-
book lying on the dresser. The purse contained Gaetane’s
wallet with whatever money she had, and also her vanity
case and cosmetics. It was not like Gaetane to go out
without taking her make-up along, nor would she permit
herself to be stranded away from home without money.

The frightened parents waited until eleven p.m. and then
they called the Waterbury police station. Detective James
Foley and Policewoman Mary Jones hustled over to the
apartment house where anxious friends had joined the
Boivins and were able to interpret for them.

The two officers could sense that they faced something
more ominous than a routine missing person case. They
asked the obvious question: “Did Gaetane have any boy
friends?” ;

The questioning revealed that Gaetane had no boy friends.
Gaetane was a very religious girl whose convent upbringing
had made her shy and diffident, True, she went out occa-
sionally with young men known to the family and to whom
she was properly introduced. One such man whom the pretty
teenager had met in night school had dated her perhaps half
a dozen times, but he had moved from the city to Long
Island, The officers made a note of the young man’s name
and address,

Mrs. Boivin revealed that her first telephone call home
during the day had been put through about ten in’ the
morning. Gaetane, then, must already have gone from the
apartment by that time. She had left the apartment without
money.

When he heard this, Detective Foley cocked an eyebrow
at the policewoman. “What does that sound like to you,
Mary?” he asked.

She nodded gravely. “It sounds very much as if she went
away in an automobile. Otherwise, why wouldn't she take
money with her?”

Foley’s mouth was grim. “That's just the way it shapes
up to me. She got a call or visit about work. The employer
offered to drive her to and from the job.”

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

The spot where Brenda Jane Doucette was found dead is inspected by Lt. J. F. O’Brien and other officials.

Briefly searching the apartment, the officers could find
no signs that violence had been done there. They made
inquiries at the other two apartments in the building and at
neighboring homes along the block. They were unable to
locate anybody who recalled seeing Gaetane during the day
or who had observed any suspicious looking persons or
automobiles near the Boivin home. :

ROM Waterbury headquarters, word went out to all city

prowl cars and all beat cops to be on the lookout for
the vanished girl. The alarm was flashed throughout New
Haven County and surrounding jurisdiction. The state cops
clacked out a description of the pretty teenager over the
maze of their teletype system. Detective Foley and Police-
woman Jones prepared a flyer with Gaetane’s photograph
and a minute description of the clothing she was believed
to be wearing when she disappeared: a blue and white cotton
print dress, light bobby socks, tan loafers, a gold friendship
ring of no great value.

Morgues and hospitals were canvassed, police blotters
checked for accidents and reports on possible amnesia
victims. By Friday morning all these routine avenues of
investigation had been explored in a wide area around
Waterbury. All this official activity produced not the hint
of a clue which might explain the mystery of the French
girl's disappearance.

Foul play was so clearly indicated that Foley and Jones

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

brought their suspicions at once to Chief Inspector Joseph
R. Bendler. Detective Lieutenant Charles Cavanaugh, of the
Waterbury force, and New Haven County Detective Thomas
Laden also sat in on the conference.

“The girl didn’t run off on her own,” Detective Foley
declared flatly. “She just isn’t the type. Besides she didn’t
take any money or clothes with her. Moreover, she speaks
only a few words of English, and by this time we should
have found some trace of her. The way I see it, some sex
fiend latched onto her through the newspaper ad.”

Bendler nodded. “It’s just the way a sex deviate would
work. Degenerates have used the gimmick often enough all
over the country. They get a girl to go with them on the
promise of a job, and the next thing that happens the girl
is found floating in a river or dumped in the bottom of a
ditch. This has all earmarks of a sex trap case. We've got
to handle it like a suspected homicide.”

With the help of the state police, searching parties began
combing fields and thick woods in New Haven County. In
Waterbury, city cops explored vacant lots, weed grown
backyards, vacant or abandoned buildings.

The criminal files of the police in the area were studied
for leads to sex Offenders at large. Dozens of such persons
were brought to headquarters for screening and their auto-
mobiles were closely examined by official technicians.

Officers Foley and Jones made the rounds of local young
men who had at one (Continued on page 70)

or the officers to be sure that
dly-unhappy man who found
long with other People. But
ching else, too—his extreme
hey talked to him about the °

ed him how he’d first heard ~
iurder, he sat stone still and
x. This, they realized, was
uldn’t talk about—and per-
couldn’t bring himself to

ore hours they hammered '
Davies, asking him almost
|, just as long as it was con-
urder. Finally, he looked up

1. I can’t sit here any longer.
‘ough with it—everything—
ching. . .,.”

ding to the officers, George
he had murdered Brenda

ice, Davies said that he was

hat morning and — passed
’ was walking to school. He ~
‘oad a little farther, then
d got out. He took a jack
nd put it under the car
ed to fix a tire until the
. Then, Davies report-
to help me. She re-
- —er to get me a screw-
ont seat of the car. The
*n, and as she climbed in
er I slammed the car door
he right-hand side. I ran
the other side and drove
‘her house and I held her
1y free hand so no one
n I drove to the lovers
wn. She put up a fight
[ panicked. . . . I. don’t
1e do it, but I strangled
When she went limp, I
lite a while until I found
dump the body. Just’ to
ead, I stabbed her several
2wdriver. Then I ‘drove
my clothes, which I

» with the screwdriver?”

n a culvert.”
irl’s Iunch pail?”
y, too... not far from

then?”
ied up, I went to a res-
”

thy announced the con-
Davies’. story matched
about the case, and that
with murder after he

veek after Brenda was
ce officers and reporters
here Davies had lured
From there, he directed
he had taken to the
ve and then to the spot
as a lovers lane) where

‘tment, Davies .of-
ngly answered the
: took them to the
{ he had thrown the —
ficers only 15 minutes

» ked him solemnly,

Davies said yes and then closed his eyes,
A few minutes later, they found Brenda’s
lunch pail.*

They all drove back to Bristol, where Da-

vies was put in a cell with a 24-hour guard
against. another suicide attempt.

Police Chief McCarthy announced that the
police were no longer interested in locating
Randall Myson, and that all other suspects in
the case were completely cleared... .

The next day, while the district attorney
and police officers got to work assembling all
the evidence for the grand jury, a 19-year-old
Waterbury boy took down his rifle and headed
off into the woods around Bristol to look for
rabbits. He tramped through the woods for
the better part of the afterneon, then stopped
in a-clearing, sat down and lit a cigaret.

While smoking, he noticed something near
the edge of the clearing, partly hidden by
underbrush. . . . It looked like a coat.

When he had finished his cigaret, he moved
in that direction to have a better look. It
wasn’t until he was a few yards away that he
realized what it was—the body of a girl!

He stood frozen a moment; then turned and
Started running in the direction of the road.

When Bristol police got the phone call
from the boy, they immediately notified
State police who sped to the spot,

The girl, who couldn't have been more than
20, had been dead for several days, and it
was impossible at first to tell how she had
died. She was tall, with dark hair, and. was
wearing a blue cotton dress with low-heeled
shoes. Her clothing was intact, but on closer
inspection officers noticed small bloodstains on
the front of her dress. é

When an ambulance arrived, the body was
taken to Waterbury for an autopsy. The in-
itial medical report listed the probable cause
of death as strangulation, but also ‘reported
that the girl had been stabbed in the chest 18
times, and that several of the stab wounds
were above the heart. ; !

These wounds had a familiar look to the
doctors who performed the autopsy .. . they
were small and rectangular; identical to the
stab wounds they had seen on the body of
little Brenda Doucette!

Police Hadn't found a handbag or any iden-
tification near the body, so they began check-

ing the girl’s description against ‘the file~ of

missing persons. When they came to the file
on Gaetane Boivin, they, felt sure they were
on the right track. ,

A police: car was sent to the Boivin home,
and Mr. and Mrs. Boivin were taken. to the
Waterbury morgue. When shown the girl’s
clothes, Mrs. Gaetane picked up the blue and
white cotton dress and_ burst into tears, “TI
made this for Gaetane!” she said. “Tt must be
my girl!” :

When shown the girl’s body, both the
mother and the father turned away sobbing.

“It is Gaetane,” the father said. “Why
should they have done this to her?”
"THERE was little question about where po-

lice should begin their investigation, and
they brought George Davies up from. his cell
for questioning,

“We found the body of Gaetane Boivin,
George. Only a few miles from where you left

- Brenda Doucette. Do you want to tell us
about it ?” é

Davies, who had repeatedly threatened to
kill himself during the past 48 hours, turned
his face away from the officers without
speaking. .

“Was it the same screwdriver, George?”

There wasn’t any fight left in Davies—he
slowly. nodded his head. :

“Will you tell us about it now?”

“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice.

Some three hours later, Waterbury police
made the announcement that George Davies
had confessed to the murder of Gaetane
Boivin.

According to Police, Davies said he had
read Gaetane’s advertisement for work in the

paper, had written down the phone number >

and address, and had carried it around with
him for several days. Then, on Monday morn-
ing, he picked up the telephone, called the
girl’s house, and told her he was looking for
Someone to work for him for a few hours.
He said that he could drop by and pick her
up .... which he did. -

It was. the first time he had ever seen her,
He talked with her for. several minutes, and
she agreed to go with him to clean his house
for two hours. After leaving a note for her
Parents, she got into the car with him. He

a
immediately drove her to the clearing and
began making sexual advances as soon as the
car was stopped out of sight.
~ Gaetane fought him off, he said, and they
struggled for a time. Then she began scream-
ing, and he put his hands around her throat
and began shaking her. He kept his hands

' around her throat for “five or ten minutes,”

during which time she stopped struggling,
closed her’ eyes and became limp. Then, to
make very sure she was dead, he stabbed her
with the screwdriver—tHe same one he used
on Brenda Doucette—1i9 times around her
chest and shouldess. Three of the stab wounds
pierced her heart. The wounds, an official sug-
gested, probably all were inflicted after death.

Waterbury police had been wrong. Gaetane
Boivin had not been absent on a springtime
lark. Like eight-year-old Brenda Doucette, she
had died at the hands of a sexual psychopath ~
who was, in the words of the psychiatrist who
had once tried to help him, “emotionally im-
mature, not grown up, and unable to live
with adults—who picked on children to whom
he felt superior.”

The same psychiatrist felt certain that when
Davies abducted the two girls, he was acting
“in a normal fashion for him until he heard
the screams of his victims. When he heard
them scream, he became panicky and acted
impulsively.

“It is also possible,” the psychiatrist con-
tinued, “considering the violence of the crime,
that he received sexual gratification out of the
stabbings themselves. . . .”

Davies had no comment on this angle of the
case raised by the psychiatrist.

Funeral services for Gaetane Boivin and
Brenda Doucette were held a few days apart.
The grieving friends and families of both
children were asked to remember that, “Earth
has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal,”
words which could have no comfort for
George Davies, who, because he still insists
that he intends to take his own life, is kept
in a cell flooded with light and watched 24
hours a day by a Police officer... ,

Epitor’s Note: The name Randall Myson
is not the actual name of the person who was
in fact a participant in the incidents described
in this article.

Mrs. Magoo, Meet Mr. McDaniel

continued from page 17

front of the McDaniel home on Panama
Avenue when Sergeants David Rodden and
Orville Billingsley pulled up. They cwwere
followed by Inspector Darrell Davis.

Every light in the house was blazing. Just

inside the front door, a trail of blood began, -

leading across the carpet, past the blaring
television to a hallway dividing the kitchen
and dining room from two rear bedrooms
and the bath. .

At the hallway entrance, an interne and
two ambulance stewards were working ‘over
Harold A. McDaniel. He lay face down in
a welter of blood, barely breathing, semi-
conscious. Emily McDaniel was crumpled . in
a chair, weeping.

Rodden looked at the doctor questioningly,

“Gunshot wound through the back,” the
interne said. “He’s. in very bad shape. Been
lying here an hour or two—as you can see

from all the blood. We'll have to work fast.”
~ “Can he talk?”
+ “He mumbles a little bit, something about
a woman, but he’s mainly. incoherent.”

“Can I try to question him?” ‘

“I couldn’t take that risk, Sergeant. It
might mean his life. The man needs im-
mediate surgery. I’ve given him a shot of
morphine . . . as soon as it takes hold, we’re
going to. get him to the hospital. . |.”

After McDaniel had been placed in the
ambulance to be taken to nearby Brookside
Hospital, ‘Davis, Rodden and Billingsley
questioned Mrs. McDaniel and the neighbors,

The wife told of her decision to go to the
movies alone that- evening. McDaniel had
let her off in front of the theater in El
Cerrito at about 6:30 -P.M., she said, and
presumably had driven straight home to
- watch television.

She got out of the show about 11:15 P.M.,
but did not telephone her husband because
she met a neighbor who offered her a ride
home. The neighbor had dropped her off in
front of the house and gone on to his own
home... .

Davis. sent an officer to question the
neighbor, explaining to Mrs. McDaniel
that it was a routine verification and did not
mean she was under suspicion in the investiga-
tion of her husband’s murder.

“Were all the lights on like this when you
arrived ?”

“Yes, and that was unusual. Harold likes
to watch TV in the dark—no light at all
except for the picture tube.”

“Tell us exactly what you did.”

“Well, I thought he was still up because
of all the lights, so I knocked on the front
door. He didn’t answer, and I let myself in

The pretty teenager needed a job and placed an ad -
a sadist read the newspaper and promptly hired her

SCORE TWO FOR
THE SEX FIEND

by Waldron Ames

Brenda Doucette set off for school and never returned. Job-hunting Gaetane Boivin put her trust in a stranger.

oh Ae |
aL Ie at eS AS
Nag Salt ok LW ve Te

Medical Examiner Dr. H. Kirshbaum left) stoops over body of Gaetane Boivin who had been stabbed thirty times.

iB WAS A THURSDAY morning newspaper dated May Mrs. Boivin looked at her watch. It was almost eight
9th, published in Waterbury, Connecticut. The pretty o'clock. It was time for her to leave for work, she told her
teenager looked eagerly at the advertisement she herself had daughter, Gaetane, excited about the ad, said she expected
placed in the Situation Wanted-Female column. The ad to wait at home for an answer. '
j read: “French girl desires light housekeeping work by day “Yes, mother,” the girl said. “The advertisement is in the
I or mother’s helper. Plaza 4-5748 or 52 Cherry Street. The paper and I shall have to stay here. There may be calls.”
| pretty jobseeker had no way of knowing that this routine She kissed her mother goodbye and Mrs, Boivon went
ad was to touch off a shocking crime. She was too Young off to work, leaving her daughter alone in the apartment
| and innocent to be aware that not every person responding to on Cherry Street. Later that ‘Thursday morning, Mrs. Boivin
such ads was necessarily a legitimate person seeking to pro- telephoned home but got no answer. She made several more
t vide respectable employment. The Wanted columns are open calls during the day, but was not unduly worried at not find-
| to all who want to read them—the honest and dishonest ing the girl in the apartment. She assumed that the adver-
| alike. Perverts and degenerates have been known to make tisement had brought an opportunity for employment.
i use of the opportunities such ads provide. Gaetane was still out when Mr. and Mrs. Boivin returned
|

f
The French girl in question was shy, convent bred that evening for dinner. Still the parents felt no cause for
Gaetane Boivin, a pretty brunette just 17 years old. Gaetane alarm for the girl had been thoughtful enough to scrawl
checked the newspaper for her ad as she sat at the breakfast a short message on the scratch pad in the kitchen. The note
| table with her mother. Over their coffee the two women said merely that Gaetane was going to do some work for a
chatted gaily in French, for they were comparative new- women.
t

comers to this country. Originally from Lac Megantic,
Quebec, Mr. Joseph Boivin had brought his family to the B* ten o’clock, though, the Boivins were in a completely
} States in 1954 and they settled in Waterbury. They still different state of mind. Always, when Gaetane went out

j found it difficult to cope with the language of their new on a job of baby-sitting at night, she would call home every
} home, and, in fact, both mother and daughter were attend- hour almost to the minute.

ing night school where they were studying English. It was not like Gaetane at all, the anxious parents agreed.

20 HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE 21

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record,” he added significantly. Fleming was questioning the
four boys when Detective Mitchell, accompanied by Harrison
Hotchkiss, from the office of the state’s attorney, arrived from
Hartford. A few moments later, the homicide squad from the
Connecticut State Police Barracks, delegated to the case by
Acting Captain Leo Mulcahy, rolled to the scene.

Lieutenant Gene Lenzi was in charge of the crack detail.

With him were Lieutenant Frank Chameroy, ballistics expert |

and chief of the identification bureau, and Lieutenant Frank
Shaw, head photographer.

They were accompanied by Detective John Doyle and
Troopers John Lawrence, George Panciera, J. Francis O’Brien,
Salvatore Esposito, Harvey Coleman and J. Angelo Buffa,

Chameroy and Shaw, veterans of many a murder mystery,
knew what to do. Setting up his equipment, Shaw methodically
proceeded to photograph the body and scene from every con-
ceivable angle.

Chameroy, apprised of the fresh tire mark by Patrolman
O'Brien, set about fashioning a plaster cast of the significant
indentation in the turf. He was aware, from long experience,
that it might play an important part in the solving of the case.

M ITCHELL and Lenzi, meanwhile, questioned the four boys
closely. They had them go over their story again and
again, checked each boy’s statements against those made by the
others. Then they delved into the background of the murdered
man, asking their questions quickly, snapping them out, aware
always that the essence of a successful manhunt is to jump in
fast, to gain impressions and leads before memories have had a
chance to fade. ;
“Tell me about this Bonelli,” the youthful, but capable, Mitch-
ell urged Fleming.
“He was about 62, I believe,” said the Chief. “He lived here in
Thompsonville for years. He had a wife and several children, but
didn’t live with them. He was known as an inveterate gambler.”

Shortly atter police
had arrived at
scene, a sedan was
seen driving by.

Seeing the car
aroused Trooper
John Lawrence's
interest and he
thought it might be
the key to the solu-
tion of murder.

“Did he have any enemies?” asked the county detective.

Fleming shook his head slowly. “Not that I know of. Of
course, all gamblers may be expected to have a few enemies.
Those are the chances they take. But I know of no one who
openly made threats against the dead man.”

“He must have been killed late last night or early this morn-
ing,” said Lenzi. He gazed at Chameroy, who was making the
plaster cast of the tire markings. “And he was driven in here—
either dead or alive.”

Fleming nodded. “It looks that.way. Cars very seldom come
in here. These marks may have been made by the murder car.”

At that moment, Shaw and Chameroy announced that they
had completed their respective assignments. The body was
placed in the death-wagon, which carried its grisly burden back
to Hartford and the autopsy, scheduled for later in the day.

Mitchell and Lenzi, working fast, handed assignments to their
men. There was an enormous amount of essential leg-work to
be accomplished before officials could begin to hope for a definite
lead. Their men, they felt, might be able to turn up a clue in
this almost clueless mystery.

Two troopers were ordered to search Bonelli’s home, to check

on his wh:
ers were t
squad wa
for possib
Mitchel
Police He
ing house
day—only
“Those
nificant.”
at it, Bon
premedita
‘ Lenzi n
he said, “‘a
ingenious
just sheer
sand.” He
goon. T)
Meanw!
commence:
Bonelli’s r
They clam
“That's
most of tl

Conclusive
of the su:
guilt was
lished wh«
stolen r
was found |}

’

n’t say.”
e lived ?”
k. I saw him

yw long he had
vo weeks,

then went to
tim’s daughter.
spital, she said.
ind Giro. Both
ty knew no one
al,

we run ifto?”

st someone else
”

could go to the
“tall, thin man
.” Cooper’s in-

the victim’s
‘ith a possible

Aurelia was
0 hidden some-
les that money,
expensive dia-
when she dis-
non her hand
ad on Socorro
een valued at

@: but the
ve hidden

lace.
e at least some-
me motivation.
noney told the

ital, things be-
the speed of an
noment, it. left
ping for breath
—

Garcia fest
tees 100 miles
, had come to
ebruary 5. He

ollected his pay -

‘bruary 20. He
there since that
gs, no one there

But the “tall,
‘hich the small
rs fit generally
hospital had of

that he was 27
feet, 11 inches

a the ‘tall, thin
Especially to a

tes too. That .

cture. Further
> him a long,
rrow nose. He
rest of his nose,
‘avy, dark hair

urelia’s friends
help any in the

new no one
who was
from so

find out about
the kept hidden

‘
/

So it ap--

“.

‘

When the officers asked Giro about
Garcia, he just shook his head and
gtunted, “Never heard of him.”

The police at Albuquerque were con-
tacted immediately and asked to check on
the mysterious man, and if he was found,

_to arrest him immediately and hold hjm

for questioning in the murder case.
However, after thorough checking by -
the Albuquerque officers, they wired back

.that they had, been unable to locate any

“Felipe Garcia” there, or to get any trace

of anyone by that namie who had ever
lived there:

Cooper and Martinez stared at one
another. . Cooper took out a couple of
cigarettes. Martinez struck a match.
“Maybe,” Martinez said, “Garcia: isn’t
the guy’s name. And maybe Albuquer-
que isn’t his home. So far, he’s been
pretty slick about his operations here.
Stands to reason he wouldn’t come in
here and use his right name and address,
after making all of these other prepara-

\ tions for the crime.”
nodded. “‘Let’ s go have another -

Coo
talk with Giro.”

They gave Giro the complete descrip-
tion of this “Felipe Garcia” which they
had gotten from the hospital. They
watched him closely as they asked him
questions concerning the “tall, thin mys-
tery man.” But not once did Giro give
them any indication he knew Garcia.

Suddenly, Giro said, “I was in town
that Tuesday night. And I didn’t go to
the show. I went to the bar to get some
wine. While I was there, Aurelia and
Fermin came in. They didn’t see me.
But I saw them. I watched them and
wished that I could talk to Aurelia, but
I knew I couldn’t, so I got up and left.
I went right home. I never saw them
after that.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” -
_ Cooper. asked. .

“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe
it. It does sound fishy, I know. But it’s
the truth, I tell you it is. When I found
out Aurelia had murdered, I couldn’t
think of anything for awhile. I had to
gay something. I made up that story about
the shows.” —«

_ Now the officers didn’t know what to
think, but they decided to hold Giro

‘Both men, visibly shaken, stated that
they had gone directly home, adding that
Bonelli had said that he was going to
try to sit in on a game elsewhere. “We
don’t know whether he did or not,”
Mantillo insisted.

Although the suspécts claimed to have
alibis, Mitchell ordered them held. while
they were checked. He ordered O’Brien
and Buffa to ascertain if anyone had seen
Bonelli after eleven the previous eve-
ning, the time at which Mantillo and

‘ miles northeast of Las, Vegas.

awhile longer. until they found out more
about the mysterious Garcia,

Perez swore «that ‘he knew. nothing
about the man; but when they went .to
see Mrs.:Sisneros, and gave her the com-
plete desqription of the man which the
hospital had furnished, her face clouded
and she stared. for a long time at the

floor, apparently not even listening to ~

what the officers had to say. Cooper and
Martinez caught the sudden change in
the woman’ ’s actions and they knew that

_ something'was about to happen.

Taking. advantage of the psychological
moment, Cooper said, “You know who
we are talking about, Mrs. Sisneros.
Who is Fie?”

The words hit her like a rock. She
sprung tg erect in her chair. “No.

n6, I’m not sure. I don’t know.’

Tee you do!”

The woman swallowed hard. “I
shouldn’t tell you this. It’s so horrible
that I even thought about it, but.

“Ves ?”

“T havea cousin..
tion that you just gave me. He’s tall and
his hair and that heavy frown >. . and

he did used to have some white dogs, I |

remember, but... oh, he wouldn’t kill
Mother like that. He would
“What’s his jname ?
manded.
“Ramon Paditft, Ke
“He live at Albuquerque ?”
“No, he lives at. Trinidad, Colorado,

per de-

Cooper and Martinez didn’t wait for her
to finish her sentence, They had already
taken their hats and were on their way
back to headquarters. Trinidad was 150
Cooper.
telephoned the Trinidad police at once,
gave them the details of the crime and
the complete information about Ramon
Padilla,

Twenty-four hours later, Padilla had _

been arrested and the. Trinidad police
had learned of large sums of money he
had been spending since he came back
from his “two-week trip to rest up.” They
also located irl a pawn shop the expensive
diamond ring which his Aunt Aurelia
had thought so much of. He had had
two white dogs, but he didn’t have. them

Kearns stated they had left the murdered
man outside the restaurant, |

“Tt might be,” he said to Lenzi, “that
he later got into a game and, was killed

. in a row. Either that, or he was killed

by someone who knew he was in the habit
of cartying large sums of money around
with him. I can’t see any other ee
for the crime.”

“How do you figure that ?” asked ae
with interest,

“You've got to look at the victim,” said

. he fits the descrip- ~

‘manded.

any longer. Police surmised he had shot
them.

He was brought back to Las Vegas at
once and charged with the murder of his
aunt who had referred to him, when he
was a boy, as “my sweet little prince.”

The small boy who had kept the two
white dogs identified him, although
Padilla said he never owned any dogs in
his life. The State Hospital authorities
identified him as the attendant who had
worked for them for two weeks then dis-
appeared,

Confronted with all this evidence,
Ramon Padilla asked to make a plea of
guilty to the murder of his aunt. He said
he had been in the Army, but he had gone
AWOL, was caught and given a genera]
court martial. He-servéd seven months
in the Federal. Penitentiary at Leaven-

‘ worth for this crime—desertion.

Before he committed this crime against
his country, his aunt had had him in
her will, but when’she heard of the hor-
rible thing he had done—deserting in
time of war—she had a new will made
and did not even mention him in it. That
infuriated Padilla so. he waited his
chance, came to Las Vegas, hid out until)
the opportune time. On the Tuesday
night of the murder, he went to his aunt’s
home, He waited for her when he found
she wasn’t there. After awhile, he de-
cided she must be at Perez’s home. He
went there and waited, smoked cigarettes
at each place.

He waited there until they came home,
then he slipped out the back door and
watched his aunt. When she left to go
+f her-home, he followed her and killed

er. .

“What about the dogs?” Cooper de-
“How did her’ body get two
miles away, on the other side of town?”

Padilla grinnéd. “I have not the
slightest idea.”

Padilla pleaded guilty to the slaying
before Judge Luis E. Armijo on March
9, 1945, and was immediately sentenced
to from 90 to 100 years in the New
Mexico State Penitentiary.

Note: The names Antonio Giro and Fermin
Peres are fictitious to save embarrassment to inno-
cent persons.

Gambler’ s Luck ..

[Continued from page 39]

Mitchell. “Bonelli was over sixty, well
past the age of love affairs for most men.
He was hard-working. He had no known
enemies. He didn’t drink to excess. His
only love was gambling. It follows, then,
that he was killed because his passion for
cards got him involved in an argument
or because sdmeone coveted his money.”

Lenzi nodded honghataly. “It checks,”

_he agreed.
A few minutes later, O’Brien and.

Buffa came in with their report. They

aged boys walked
tskirts of Thomp-
holiday spirit.

d of the road, one
yund of sand. “T

er, Walter, said

nd began digging
stopped—horror-
to be the hip of a

away the tin cans
perzack brothers,
the wagon-road at

heir eerie story at
uled Enfield, Con-
iief William Flem-

orning of Septem-
roared down Elm
The four excited

e and his compan-
listened intently to
e wooded tract.

O’Brien glanced at the mound, then ordered the boys to con-
tinue scooping out the sand. He was convinced that all: it
contained was an animal buried by some farmer. Then his eye
fell on a freshly-made tire mark, but he was startled by a cry
from the boys. They were staring with unspeakable horror at
a shallow grave! ‘ '

The police officer followed their gaze. Then, case-hardened
as he was, he, too, gulped convulsively at the gruesome sight
that met his eyes.

In the grave, still half-buried by loose, shifting sand, lay
the body of a man. His arms outflung in final agony, his face
and clothing blood-soaked, he lay there—his sightless eyes star-
ing intently at the blue of the autumn sky.

“It’s murder !” the policeman said.

Cautioning the boys to remain on the scene, O’Brien sped
back to Enfield Police Headquarters, where he reported to Chief
Fleming. Fleming, his face creased in grim lines, immediately
flashed the alarm to County Detective Joseph F. Mitchell at
the office of State’s Attorney Hugh M. Alcorn, Jr., in Hartford,
twenty miles away. He also notified Connecticut State Police
Headquarters in that same city. Fleming knew that it was a
case for the homicide specialists.

After picking up a shovel, Fleming and O’Brien, accompanied
by Patrolman Earl Reynolds and Dr. Frank Simonton, medical
examiner, rushed to the scene. The boys, transfixed by horror,
were still poised on the brink of the grave.

Working rapidly, Reynolds soon unearthed the body com-
pletely. Then Dr. Simonton prepared to conduct a preliminary

Lt. Gene Lenzi had
charge of the detail
that cracked the baf-
fling case of slain man,
who was buried alive.

examination. The others watched intently as he leaned over the
body. ;

“This man has been dead only a few hours,” the doctor an-
nounced finally. “He was shot—several times. How many, I
can’t tell as yet because of the sand and the blood. He’ll have to
be washed.”

“Ee was killed and then buried in this grave?” asked Fleming.

The doctor looked at him gravely.’ “He wasn’t dead when he
was buried,” he said slowly. He shook his head incredulously.
“Tt doesn’t seem possible, but there are indications that his heart
was still pumping blood when he was put into the grave. You
can note all the blood. A body doesn’t bleed so copiously after
death. Yes,” he concluded definitely, “this man was buried
alive !”

Fleming approached the grave, stared closely at the blood—
and sand-incrusted face of the dead'man. Finally, he nodded
his head. “I know him. His name is Salvatore Bonelli. I
think he works in the Somersville Mills. He has a gambling

ts. one

pe ant a aS An

detective.
know of. Of
. few enemies.
of no one who

arly this morn-
vas making the
riven in here—

ry seldom come
ie murder car.”
inced that they
The body was
sly burden back
in the day.
‘nments to their
tial leg-work to
pe for a definite
rn up a clue in

home, to check

on his whereabouts and companions af the evening before. Oth-
ers were told to question neighbors in the vicinity, while a third
squad was assigned to a search of the nearby woods and roads
for possible evidence.

Mitchell and Lenzi then got into their car and sped to Enfield
Police Headquarters to await developments and set up a clear-
ing house for incoming information. It was still early in the
day—only ten o’clock,

“Those car tracks,” Mitchell said to Lenzi. “They’re sig-
nificant.” He thoughtfully lighted a cigaret. ‘The way I look
at it, Bonelli was murdered in the car—which would indicate
premeditation—and then brought to the pine grove for burial.”

Lenzi nodded gloomily. “It’s a particularly fiendish crime,”
he said, “and I’ve got a hunch we're up against a cool, devilishly
ingenious criminal. Look how he disposed of the body. It was
just sheer luck that those boys happened to notice the amount of
sand.” He shook his head. ‘We've got practically nothing to
goon. The killer may already be miles away.”

Meanwhile, reports from the troopers assigned to the case
commenced to filter into headquarters. They were discouraging.
Bonelli’s neighbors, the officers heard, were reluctant to talk.
They clammed up under questioning.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Mitchell. “These people,
most of them uneducated, are frightened nearly to death of

The murderer, as
careful as he was,
neglected to remove
the pool of blood that
had congealed under
the cushion of seat.

Conclusive proof
of the suspect's
guilt was estab-
lished when the
stolen money #
was found buried. B%

AMO is 5 SS aS

involving themselves. We'll have to start from scratch.”

He immediately issued orders that the troopers devote their
time to questioning the owners of restaurants and grills in the
semi-rural community. ;

“With:Bonelli a gambler, these fellows will surely know who
he was,” Mitchell pointed out. .

This method brought quick results. Troopers O’Brien and
Buffa returned to headquarters with information that a restau-
rant employee had seen Bonelli the evening before. He had
been with two other men.

“And he was flashing a big roll of bills,” concluded O’Brien.

“Where did they go after they left the restaurant?” asked
Lenzi.

“We don’t know,” said O’Brien. “They left about eleven
o'clock, We’re trying to pick up the men. One was short and
dark and was wearing sharp clothes. The other was also short
and dark—but fatter. He was wearing a Panama hat, even
though it’s almost October.”

“Bring them in,” ordered Mitchell.

With the aid of local police, the two men under suspicion
were picked up within the hour. Their names were Oscar
Kearns. and James Mantillo. Mantillo was the man with the
Panama hat. They protested their innocence vigorously when
they were brought into headquarters.

“Take it easy,” Mitchell admonished. He looked at them
closely. “You knew Salvatore Bonelli?”

The two men admitted they did, adding, under questioning,
that they had last seen him the previous evening. “We first saw
him‘ downtown about five o’clock,” said Mantillo. “He was ‘a
great one for cards, and he asked us if we were in the mood for
a game that night.” '

“Then what?” inquired Lenzi.

“Well, we said we didn’t know. We told him we’d meet him
later at the restaurant and tell him how we stood then. We met
him there at about ten-thirty.” _—

“What did you talk about then?” asked Lenzi.

“He asked us to sit in on a three-handed game, but we couldn’t
see any sense in it,” said Kearns. “Then we left the restaurant.”

“He was carrying a lot of money, wasn’t he?” asked Mitchell
casually.

Mantillo’s eyes flickered uneasily. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said.

The county detective nodded. “Where did you take him?”

“We didn’t take him anywhere—and that’s the truth,” Kearns
insisted. . “We left him outside the restaurant.”

“Then where did you go?” Mitchell was relentless in his
questioning. [Continued on page 65]

Posing as a friend to one
of the suspects, Detec-
tive John Doyle obtained
vital facts from the
suspected man’s sister.

eas oven ee |

DONOHUE, John B., white,

Trooper Ernie Morse received many citations

such as C'm

by five sailors of the United States
Navy.

The story he whispered, of a cruel
and wanton shooting touched off a
great manhunt on the bitterly cold Feb-
ruary night, appropriately enough, of
Friday the Thirteenth, 1953. .

The sailors—Franklin Jansen, Robert
Mulvey, Alex Sacharsky, Myron Styra-
novsky and William Von Essen—were
stopped by the feeble flashlight signal
in the little town of. Trumbull, Connec-
ticut, just above Bridgeport, as they
headed for their homes from the New-
port, Rhode Island, Naval Base.

Mulvey first spotted the distress sig-
nal when they were whipping along the
Merritt Parkway in Jansen’s car, with
Jansen driving. It was nine p. m.

“What’s that?” Mulvey asked.~

Von Essen peered ahead. “Say, it
looks like a man lying beside the road!
He must have been hit by a car!”

‘

T® dying police officer was found

s'n'r Hickey is presenting at right =

Jansen slapped on his brakes and
brought his automobile to a stop close
to the man on the highway. A few yards
ahead he saw another car—a Connecti-
cut State Police auto.

Then he realized that the man on
the road was in the full uniform of a
Connecticut State Trooper.

As the sailors piled out of their car,
the Trooper groaned and rolled over
onto his back. The flashlight he had
been holding slipped from his hand.

“Help me!” whispered the Trooper, a

‘tall, black-haired, strapping man.
“Help me!” :

“He’s hurt bad,” said Jansen anx-
jiously. ;

“My rosary beads,” the Trooper
whispered. “In my pocket.”

Jansen located the beads and placed
them gently in the _cold hand of the
Trooper.

“What happened?” Styranovsky _

asked,

suipemniieionntinaes

The Trooper muttered: “Massachu-
setts one six nine . - Massachusetts one
six nine.,. . Massachusetts .

He whispered: the word and the num-
bers over and over, his voice growing
weaker each time. -

The sailors were bewildered. What
message was the Police Officer striving
to pass on?

Then Sacharsky cried out in alarm:

' “He wasn't hit by a,car! He was shot!

Look at the blood!”

. There was blood, all right, a lot of it.
So much that it had soaked through the
Trooper’s clothes, If he had been shot,

then he was in a grave condition from

a serious abdominal wound.

The Trooper nodded, as though in an-
swer. “Shot,” he whispered. “Massa-
chusetts one six nine. Radio...” -

His voice was fading, growing weaker,

Mulvey ran to the police car and man-
aged, as unfamiliar as he was with this
two-way radio, to talk -with the Con-
ge State Police Barracks at West-
port.

Sergeant Louis D. Marchese took his
message and instantly went into action.
Radios crackled, telephones rang, sirens

moaned up and down the state. A po-.

liceman had been shot.

Trooper Jack A. Croce was closest.
When he arrived, a fast few minutes
later, he recognized the wounded
Trooper as Ernest J. Morse, assigned to
the barracks at Bethany and with a

. wife and four-year-old daughter at his

New Haven home.
“Ernie, what happened?” asked
Croce tensely. }

SRE WRI Re ras a eR ee a a areas
Ste .

SLE Y, LIS 2

33, elec. Conn. SP (FAI RFIELD) 7/18/1955, 54

Ae ait Cian ie Ai a

Slowly the Police Closed in on Trumbull,
.,Conn., Eyes Alert, ‘Guns Cocked, Setting ae
Trap for a Cop-Killer's Car—Not Knowing.
They Had the Wrong License Number.

And Morse, a courageous police’ off
cer to the end, opened his eyes and map
aged to rally.

“Chasing a stolen car,” he
weakly. .“‘Massachusetts one six nip
... Black sedan .. -heading toward N
York.”

His head fell_back and he lapsed in
@ coma.

“He’s in critical condition,” Cro
told the sailors grimly. “I’ve got to gd
him to the hospital right away. Yo
fellows wait here until the other officer

-arrive.”

W1TH the help of the ‘Navy met
Croce carried Morse to his cal
made him comfortable, then pe
for Bridgeport Hospital in a des

race with death.

En route, Croce called Westport B
racks and crisply passed along
Marchese the meager facts in_his po
session. Then he stepped hard on th
gas,

Marchese already had flashed th
alarm to State Police Commission
Edward J. Hickey and Major Leo}
Carroll. Every on-duty trooper in th
state had received the news that o
of their own had been shot.

Next to reach the scene were Troo
ers Charles L. Wilkerson, Joseph F
George Boston, Anthony G. aBoni
Glenn Thomas.

Sergeant Marchese, too, rushed

“Apparently, Ernie was trying to td
us that he was chasing a black Mass
chusetts sedan with license num
one six nine,” the Sergeant declared

By Joseph DeBona
Special Investigator for... -
FICIAL DETECTI VE STORIES

7ilkerson said, “Yeah, but I’ve never
rd of a Massachusetts plate with
’ three numbers.” :
?robably that’s all he was able to
ul,” Marchese said slowly. “Let’s
your current hot-car list.” ;
‘ilkerson. produced the list. At the
' top ‘was Massachusetts _ license
iber 169-749,

Chat does it,” declared Marchese.
e man driving this car is the fellow
shot Ernie Morse!” i

ut who was he? How find him?
he first job was to radio ahead and
ap road blocks. er
y means of his car radio, Marchese
kept in touch with Commissioner
‘ey, who, with Lieutenant Adolph
ore, already was en route to West-
Barracks. From another ‘direction
or Carroll was speeding to West-
. Staccato orders crackled over the
3, over the chattering teletype, over
shone as this manhunt spread. All
luty troopers were called into their
sctive barracks for assignment,
en employes were summoned to
lle the communications systems,
police departments in every section
‘e state were asked to help.
was a Signal One, for a Connecticut
2 Trooper had been shot!

: State Police already on duty were’

‘tting up road blocks throughout
tate, rushing out from barracks at
efield, Canaan, Stafford Springs,
elson, Groton, Westbrook, Hart-

Colchester, Litchfield, Bethany
Westport, with, of course, the hea-

Morse with two whose lives he
saved, Mrs. Edwards and baby

Bethe, Ue

Five sailors relate how they
found the dying State Trooper

viest concentration in the Bethany-
Westport area. The fugitive, if he had
not crossed the state line into New
York already, might- conceivably be
trapped. ‘

Alarms went out to New York, Penn-
sylvania, New Jersey—as far south as
Washington, D. C. And to the north—
Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Ver-
mont. The - fugitive might have
whipped around in any direction. All
roads fanning out from Trumbull were
covered. The trap was set.

Shortly before ten p. m. that night

Trooper Morse died in Bridgeport Hos- :

pital. ;

They were looking for a killer now.

When Commissioner Hickey and
Lieutenant Pastore, with Major Carroll
close on their heels, arrived at West-
port Barracks, they were given the sad
news by Sergeant Marchese, who had
returned from the scene only a few
minutes earlier.

The officials were stunned. For Ernie
Morse had been a friend to every one
of them. He had been only 31 when he
died, A famous athlete known to sports
fans as Big Moose, he had served with

~ distinction during World War II. On

the force, he had saved at: least five lives

“

through his fast, courageous action,
once assisting at the emergency birth
of a baby that was named after him,
bow rescuing a drowning boy from a
well.

“He didn’t have a chance,” said Mar-
chese softly and bitterly. “He hadn't
drawn his own gun. The killer didn’t
give him a chance.” i

“We'll get him,” said Hickey.

It was easy to say, the Commissioner
knew. But how? If he avoided the

The chase after a stolen car ended here for Morse

iaeniatbhbitamatieaiheiaes ren Lcd Sate Pe

SIMA aa RN Ieee

and began at this spot for his brother officers

4
>

road blocks, the killer had a long head
start.
He might have ditched the car and
proceeded on foot. He might be on a
bus or-a train. He might have pulled
the car into a wooded area, deciding to
wait out the chase. :

“We don’t know what he'll do,” said
Hickey. “We can only guess.

“Morse went miiles beyond his patrol
limit chasing this man. Did he use his
radio at all during the chase?”

iy answer, from Marchese, was
“No.”

“That means,” ‘said Hickey, “the
stolen car was going pretty fast and-
Pree didn’t get a chance to radio
ahead.”

REPORTS were coming into the West-

Port Barracks, now the temporary

headquarters of the State Police field

command, and Hickey and Carroll soon
what had _ happened.

Morse's car, parked at the spot where
the five sailors found it—and him

Morse, witnesses established, i
been parked at the entrance to the Wild
bur Cross Highway, just outside N
Haven. The speeding sedan, heading
toward New York, must have attractet
his attention. Morse chased it, but th
flying car was so far ahead that
driver was able to stop at the toll s
tion in Milford. Apparently he
not even aware of the pursuit. He ¥
finally overtaken on the Merritt Park
way in Trumbull, not far from th
Bridgeport-Shelton overpass. :

“Probably,”. Pastore said, “Mo
went after the car because it was speed
ing and then realized that it
stolen.” f
__ Hickey agreed. “And here’s ano’
thing.. If this man stole one car, h tN
may steal another for his getaway;
Have some men canvass the streets fo iS
this car.” :

More troopers were ordered into thd _
area. They found a sedan with a simi4_ |
lar license number on Sunrise Avenue
in Trumbull, shortly after eleven p. m

Hickey, Carroll and Pastore sped tq
the scene. =

The car, a 1951 black Oldsmobild
= bore Massachusetts plates 1694.
43. ;

“What do you think?” Carroll asked} _

Hickey spoké slowly. “This could b
the car we want. Maybe Morse, at that,
high rate of speed, failed to catch
full number and assumed he was on the,
trail of the stolen car,” E

Carroll placed his hand on the hood
of the car, “It’s warm. I think you’
right.”
- “What now?” Pastore asked. “Th
fellow could be anywhere.” :

Hickey issued crisp orders. Realizing
that the fugitive might be on foot, he
detailed men to prowl the streets o
Trumbull, to search alleys, deserte
buildings, wooded areas, all possit
hiding-places. Hickey wanted to bo!
up their man, if he were still in th

town.
“And be careful,” he warned.

rs crammed.

)EDS

kids begin to
hours and fall-
™i; year in
Is, one a
ther two
__{1, put in
usual. They
ormitory bur-
to right, they
oenecia Shaw
ive Cornelius

loot at $800.

3 with fury.

yrmer model.
smoker, and
Lola DeWitt
nds, and she
egree assault
biting” and
r of the law

'r, had

ised to

heater.
wart offered
ew a 30 day
of detention.

’

hae

ceameieaneaaasienee SS ee ee

}

He used both fists on tight-fisted Ma.

MY MOMMA DONE TOLD ME

M YOUNG ROBERT LEWIS wanted money and
wanted it badly. The only person he knew

who could give him the $1000 he was after.

was his mother. But his mother had told him
that she wasn’t going to give him another
penny. Tight-fisted—that
thought the little 64-year-old woman was
and she deserved a good thrashing. And that’s
why Robert beat her up. Robert, 25, is shown
being booked in a Los Angeles, Cal., Police
station. The officer is Walt Pease who ap-
peared slightly disgusted by his’ charge.

=
hs

Padlocked to the: pordh by angry Pa.

PAPA’S LITTLE PRISONER

@ NEIGHBORS THOUGHT it pretty outrageous
and phoned the cops. They came and freed
12-year-old Gary Molnar’ who had _ been
chained and padlocked to a heavy metal
chair on the porch of his Elgin, Ill, home.
Gary’s father, who had invented this unique
“disciplinary method” because he hadn't
liked his boy’s performance in a neighbor-
hood baseball game, said the authorities had
no business interfering. But Papa was over-
ruled. The charge: jeopardizing Gary’s health.
But Gary pleaded for him and his father,
as_a result, was spared prison, fined $500.

RRA SEE TT

was. what. he -

Handcuffed to guard, John proceeded to blackjack him—wound up being sat on.

BLACKJACK JOHN

. ‘\
* Mi ALREADY IN PLENTY OF TROUBLE, 21-year-old John Donahue seemed determined to get into

still more. He was on trial in Bridgeport, Conn., for the fatal shooting of a state highway patrol-
man during a stolen car chase last winter. While being transported from the county jail to the
court house, however, Donahue suddenly turned on Deputy Sheriff George Guidera, to whom

he was handcuffed, and slugged him with

a blackjack. Guidera, slightly stunned—having

received a serious cut above his left eye, nevertheless threw Donahue to the seat of the car and
sat on him for the rest of the trip to the courthouse. The blackjack had been made from a
piece of Donahue’s jail cot which he wrapped in a handkerchief. Donahue is shown at left
entering court on the following day with two guards, Guidera’s replacements. He was later
found guilty of first degree murder and has been sentenced to die on December 5. A psycholo-
gist had testified that Donahue had “no conscience” and would “kill again” if it would suit
his purpose. At right, Guidera is shown being treated in a local hospital emergency ward.

Orte day off from classes to have baby.

AND BABY MADE TWO

M A seNrOR in Colby College, Me.,.21-year-
old Harriet Sart, managed to conceal her
pregnancy, take only one day off from
classes, and give birth to her child in her
dormitory room unattended. Four. months
later, the body of a baby girl was found in a
storage room of .her dormitory. Around the
neck was a rawhide shoelace. Miss Sart,
who hadn’t enough credits to graduate with
her classmates, refused to name the father
of the child and pleaded innocent to the
charge of murder. She has been released on
$10,000 bail, will stand trial early this fall. .

Eee

Hot goods ptrved too hot to handle.
TAPPING THE FENCE

@ A TIME-HONORED, if somewhat illegal pro-
fession, is that of the fence—a receiver of
stolen goods. New York cops recently put
the finger on one of the more successful (al-

-though still camera-shy) members of the

trade. He is Abraham Goldstein of Queens,
N. Y., and his arrest helped to solve a series
of jewel and fur robberies amounting to
$150,000.’ Dishonest Abe is shown entering
Manhattan’s East Fifty-first Street Police
Station. He is being propelled along his way
by a fairly bored detective. His arrest was
one ina recent series of pickups in the area.

continued on next page

RTE SLE RTT ET! : BUA. TNE TABBY:

walked part way with Brenda this morning.

“An eight-year-old kid lost in these woods
is no joke,” one officer said.

The woods, thick with underbrush, ran from
the road for several miles—and there were
only two or three hours of, daylight left. ~

Mrs. Doucette came back from the phone.
“The little girl said she walked a short way
with Brenda, then stopped and watched her
walk down the road in the direction of the
school.” ;

“Do you let her go into the woods to play ?”

Mrs. Doucette was emphatic. “No, We've
warned Brenda about keeping on the road and
not stopping along the way. She’s a good
child. I know she’d never. wander off. I know
my child.”

“Was she carrying books with her?”

“No, just her little red-and-white lunch
pail... .” .

There was only one thing to do, and the
Bristol officers did it—they radioed back to
town for help. All available officers were or-
dered to the area immediately, and passed
the word around town for volunteers to help
search the woods while there was still alittle
light left. A few minutes later, they started
arriving, volunteers as well as police—men just
off from work, boys from the high school,
shopkeepers, everyone who could get there.
They were organized into teams, started down
the highway a short distance, and then fanned
out into the woods.

OFFICERS were sent to the friend’s home

to talk with the child and her mother.
The mother confirmed what Mrs. Doucette
had told them. “I’m sure Brenda wouldn't
have wandered off into the woods by herself.
She always got here before 8:45 and when
she didn’t come this morning, my child asked
me, ‘Why doesn’t Brenda call if she isn’t going
to school today?’ I called Brenda’s mother
and when she told me Brenda had left, I
thought Brenda just decided to go alone.”
She paused. “I decided to keep my child home.
I don’t want her walking down that lonely
road alone. I’m not sending her to school until
they send a bus for her!”

The officers thanked her and went back to
join the search party, where police and vol-
unteers were concentrating on an area of
roughly ten square miles. The teams worked
quickly, keeping in straight lines, about 50
yards between each man, shouting for Brenda
as they went. A little while later, Bristol po-
lice borrowed bloodhounds from the Connect-
icut state police. The dogs picked up the
scent from the Doucette home, wandered aim-
lessly down the road toward school, then
stopped. Realizing they had lost the scent,
officers led them into the woods, making large
circles.

Meanwhile, othes- officers began checking
with merchants and townspeople in Bristol to
see if anyone had noticed an eight-year-old
child with a lunch pail during the day. '

Two hours went by and time was getting
short. Police cars began patrolling the side
Streets of Bristol, stopping to examine vacant
lots, alleyways, and movie houses, As day-
light began to fade and there was still no news
of Brenda, despair descended on the Doucette
household. The police assured the family that
the search would continue during the night,
but the reality was clear—you can’t see very
far in a thick woods with only a flashlight.

After nearly three hours had passed, police
thought the whole case through again; they
began to be convinced that little Brenda had

never got as far as Bristol. Someone would
have noticed an eight-year-old child with a
lunch basket wandering about the streets dur-
ing school hours. It was unlikely (although
possible) that she would have walked past her
friend’s house without: stopping . . . therefore
she must have wandered off the road some-
where after; she waved goodby to. the little
girl who walked the first few hundred yards
with her but before she got to her friend’s
house. If not, it wasn’t a case of a lost child
at all, but something far more serious—a kid-
naping, perhaps, .

The longer they looked without finding her,
‘the stronger the other possibility became—
that someone had contributed to her disap-
pearance.

Out of consideration to the family, the
police didn’t emphasize this possibility when
talking to the Doucettes, but by 8 o’clock,
when the light was about gone, it began to
worry them.

Then suddenly, only a few minutes after
eight, the guesswork was over and they knew
the exact truth. Police officers searching with
bloodhounds in a desolate area at the end of
a deadend road (the other side of Bristol and
sometimes used as a lovers lane) made a hor-
rible discovery. The dogs had become excited,
and after a great deal of whining and yelping
came to a stop at what officers thought was
a little pile of rags. Then they saw the little
face, the blonde hair matted with blood, the
sweater twisted around the delicate neck.

The search for Brenda Doucette was over,

She had been dead several hours. The cor-
oner, when he arrived,. estimated’ it as any-
where between ten and twelve hours, She had
died, he was able to tell them, from strangu-
lation and numerous stab wounds in her. chest
and stomach.

The child’s body was taken to a local hos-
pital for further examination, and word was
phoned to officers at the Doucette home.

When she heard the knews, Brenda’s mother
caught her husband’s arm for support, then
collapsed. ’

The little group of searchers and police
officers who had gathered in the living room
heard of the discovery with shock and dis-
belief. In the words of a police officer who
had lived in Bristol all his life, “Nothing like
this ever happened up here before. We've read
about it happening other places, but I never
figured it could happen in Bristol. . . .”

The area where Brenda’s body had been
found was roped off, and police moved in
floodlights for an immediate search. Bristol
Police Chief Thomas V. McCarthy sent a re-
quest for help to the Connecticut state police,
who responded with men and equipment. -

The lovers lane area was a small rocky
clearing where the little road came to an end.
The ground was hard and dry, so a tire
wouldn’t leave much of an impression. The
ground under Brenda’s body. was wet with
blood, but that wasn’t conclusive in indicat-
ing she had been murdered at that spot. Nor
did they find the red-and-white lunch pail
she’d been carrying when she left home.

“From what we know of the child,” Mc-
Carthy said, “she was too intelligent, and too
shy, to get into a car with a stranger—and
she must have been driven here because of
the distance from the spot where she was last

seen going toward school. I think there’s a .

pretty good chance that she may have been
picked up by someone she knew. But the first
thing we’ve got to do is find the lunch pail.
If we find that, we just might find a finger-

print, and where we find it may tell us by
what route she was driven here. . . .” :

A request for aid was sent to the police
departments of: neighboring towns, and a
search organized for the next morning.

Meanwhile, Dr. Joseph. O. Collins who per-
formed the autopsy on the girl’s body: at the
Waterbury hospital made an_ initial report.
Brenda had been stabbed “with a fine rectan-
gular instrument,” perhaps a screwdriver, 22
times. Six of the wounds were in the heart,
The sweater, which had been wrapped-around
her neck, may have strangled her before the
stabbing. There was no sign of a sexual abuse.
Bruises and scratches on her arms and legs

“ indicated she had fought the man who killed

* her. .
To police, however, there seemed little doubt
that the murder was the work of a sexually
disturged sadist and, on the assumption that
he was a local man, they began pulling out the
files of everyone in the area who had been
convicted, or even suspected, of having com-
mitted a sexual crime. ;

Police departments in Waterbury and other
neighboring towns were asked to question and
check the alibis of known sex deviates in their
communities. Every available officer was de-
tailed to the crime, and by midnight the of-
ficers had located and questioned a dozer
possible suspects.

Early the next morning, 75 officers assem-
bled at the lovers lane and the search for clues
got under way. Other officers were assigned to
talk to everyone who lived on the road where
the Doucette home was located, as well as to
people who lived on any of the routes a car
could have taken to get from the Doucette
home to the lovers lane.

“We need the names of everyone who was:
seen driving in the area in the morning, and
we want descriptions of automdbiles. A crime
of this nature can’t be committed without
someone seeing something—although’ people
may not realize they’ve witnessed part of a
grime.” ;

W HEN ‘the officers talked to Brenda’s

friend’s family, both the child and her
mother recalled they had seen a car that morn-
ing ... about the time that Brenda was sup-
posed to stop by. “I didn’t think anything of
it at the time,” the mother said, “but now I
remember that I thought I heard someone hol-
ler and I thought it must be Brenda. But when
I looked out the window, I saw a car pulling
into our drive and I figured I was mistaken.
The car stopped and began backing out. I re-
member thinking the driver was in a terrible
hurry because I could hear the wheels spinning
in the gravel.”

“Do you remember what kind of a car it
was?”

“No, but it was a fairly new car—two-tone,
light blue with a white top.”

“Were you able to see the driver? Can you
describe him?”

The woman shook her head. “It was a man,
and I think he was alone . . . but I’m not
sure. I couldn’t tell you what he looked like

. because it all happened so fast and I didn’t
pay much attention to it then.”

When the officers left, they knew they’d ,

been given the most important clue to date,
and radioed the information back to police
headquarters. A little while later, they received
a partial confirmation of the story. The little
four-year-old girl who, had walked the first
few hundred yards with Brenda on the morn-
ing she was killed told officers that she also

remembered a
She said that w
by, Brenda had
walk a li

girl said,

am old Cuvugu
she said, she sto
down the road
almost out of si;
goodby with he:
the little girl n:
road in the <
walking.

The informati:
were right in loo
not much throi
State police serg
by the people v
got to find that

By late aftern
Searching crew h
of a solid clue ex
the side of the r
lane. The hat we
name had been 1
they found the i:

On the slim c
nected with the r
to a detective tc
could be traced.

The roundup «
area continued. |]
made. fair progre
60, 38 had been
could not be loc
other, and police
centrate on these

Of the 38 the
remained in the «
One, a 16-year-o
had recently bee
home Where he h
arate charges of
movie theaters, t:
in school that dd
the school, howe.
been listed
story and
in a reserv._ ___
admitted that he
automobile in vic

FTER questio
the, police deci
of violating his
further check his
George Davies,
children, remained
pects largely beca
1952, he had beer
charges of molesti
paroled after servi
sentence.) Davies,
only a few hour:
found, told officer
job for the past s
the.day looking {
by trade, he’d ap
tories in the Wat«
gone to lunch in
home and slept {
afternoon.
They took his s
them, and then re
The other two
cause they had bec
they were doing i
an accountant anc
clerk) said they v
but they lived alo

ole from Tatch.
d out, “You are
ist Monday.”

not. You are a

No! You are a
He retorted in
3; more at home

id a lie.”
g,” she cried in

fficers, pleading
give you my
Monday !”

t’s for sure,”

ybe that would
hat I did and
said.

ir whereabouts
P.M. Monday.
urs,” Johnston

ne walking in
ar parked out
a lie test, any-

He took Tatch
lismissed Mrs.
iber home,
dative and

-d before. Now
bludgeon mur-
id a bad heart.
d a wavering,
ness, the heart
the uncertain
establish his
t. Another lie
ed as “incon-

had two in-
two chief sus-

Tatch. The
not found the
to establish or
ned Macomber
America, but

hecked Tatch’s
ris automobile
an. Then they
3 whose state-

girl and her
iurtment below
ad seen .Tatch
, seated at his
the girl said,

tment: betweerr -

i. Apparently
who had been
: he had been
ary surrender
ised in a writ
anounced that

rything went.
w I had the
il friends and

ig wrong.
fe. But I
help and
police treated
consideration.
e went home.

With Tatch’s clearance, the circumstantial

case against Mrs. Mintz piled. up. Police

chemist Ray Pinker found that the vacuum
cleaner was loaded with blood and, although
only two months old, was dented on the
bottom, apparently by a blow against Mrs.
Macomber’s face. The victim’s head wounds
could have been made by the odd-shaped
working face of the cleaner, Pinker said, and
there was blood on the maid’s shoes and
clothing.

The motive? Police found that Mrs. Mintz’s
son and Mrs. Macomber’s adopted son had
quarreled. The mothers had taken up the
fuss between their only sons. Mrs.. Macomber
and her mother had decided to fire the maid,
getting rid of both her and her son. No date
had been set for the dismissal. Officers the-
orized that the redhaired maid, smarting over
this situation and in a fit of anger, beat her
_bedridden employer to death with the vacuum
cleaner. . a

Three hours after they released Tatch, they
arrested Mrs. Mintz and questioned her for
three hours: She denied everything. She was
a panic-stricken, desperate refugee again, in
her mind, fighting persecution.

“I’m innocent! I’m innocent!” she screamed.
“I" wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t. I wouldn't.

‘

I’m just a housekeeper. I wouldn’t do like
the police say. Never.”

She wrung her.calloused hands, slapped her
forehead, bared her teeth, crying, . shouting.
“She was so good to me. I didn’t do any
wrong. Who’s to protect me? :

“I eat what I want. Under Hitler I got a
crust of bread. Here they give me a play-
ground for my little boy. I don’t have to
pay. I don’t have.to pay for lights and gas

_ like before. They pay’ me $50 a week and

treat me wonderful.”

She said her husband died ‘shortly after
their marriage in a European refugee camp.
She had no relatives, only her boy. She’d come.
to America five years ago, to California one
year ago from Atlanta, Ga., and had worked ~
for the Macombers since February.

“I have nobody to turn to, nobody. to -

help me,” she cried. Her blue eyes flashed
and her fingers tore through her fuzzy red
hair, but she stuck to the same story she had
told from the beginning. She’d had disagree-
ments with her employer, sure. But she was
innocent, she insisted. She probably got blood
on her clothing when she tried.to clean up
the mess, she ‘said.

On Tuesday, June 4, she’ was arraigned in
Municipal Court at Van Nuys on a charge

of murdering Mrs. Macomber. Bail was
denied and she was jailed pending trial.

“What can I do?” she sighed in despair.
“T am not guilty.”

Police at this writing had not found the
victim’s expensive 314-carat diamond ring.
Did the maid take it? Police had a good
circumstantial case against her, but no
confession.

Did the refugee kill because she’d hungered
all her life for shelter and security for her-
self and her son, then saw these things slip-
ping away? Or did some of the Nazi greed
and brutality she witnessed in concentration
camps rub off on her? These questions never
may be answered. ‘

Mrs. Macomber’s will, written April 12,
1956, provided that her jewelry be kept for
her adopted son. Her estate, including com-
‘munity property held with her husband, was
valued at $200,000 with income of $10,000
a year. ,

Mrs. Mintz had three bank books showing
total deposits of $7454. This was her life
savings, she said. Alone in her jail cell, she
worried that it will be lost in the legal battle
she faces,

If found guilty of murder, she would lose
her freedom and her son.

When They Scream . . : I Panic

continued from page 51

“No,” the father answered . . ; then sud-
denly nodded. “Wait—someone did call yes-
terday. But it was only about the ad Gaetane
put in the newspaper. I told him that she
already had a job.”

“Do you have a copy of the ad?” the de-
tective asked..

The: father showed him the newspaper. The
ad read: “French girl—desires light house-
keeping by day, or mother’s helper.” Her
phone number and address followed,

The detective folded both lists, put them

in his pocket, and walked toward the door.
Then he turned. “I wouldn’t worry about this

"too much. Your daughter is a very pretty

girl, she’s young, and we’ve been having some
nice spring weather. She’ll be back in a day
or two at most, or she’ll call you and let you
know where she is. I understand that it’s hard
for parents to see it that way, but young girls

» usually have romantic notions. .. .”

“She is not that kind of a girl!” the mother
interrupted.
- The detective nodded. “Okay. We'll keep
checking and let you know as soon as we
hear anything. If she gets in touch with you,
phone police headquarters.”
. Gaetane Boivin was officially among the
missing. Her name was placed on a list
which circulates through the police depart-
ments of various large cities. As for Water-
bury police, they assumed all along that there
must be a young man in the picture—a young
man who had convinced Gaetane to accom-
pany him on a romantic spree. Find the young
man, they said, and you would find Gaetane
. . . but chances are, they continued, that by
the time the investigation went very far,
Gaetane would be back in the family bosom.

Nevertheless, detectives did. begin checking
Gaetane’s friends, asking. them all the same
questions:

“Did -Gaetane ever mention having a boy-

friend, or being interested in a boy?”.”Or,
with the theory in mind that most torrid ro-
mances are those ignited on short notice,
“Was Gaetane in the habit: of talking to stran-
gers or accepting rides with strangers?”
Although police often get an entirely differ-
ent impression of a person from their friends
than they do from the immediate family, this
was not true in Gaetane’s case. Over and over
they heard the remark, “Gaetane was not that
kind of a girl.” Not the kind to get involved
in a romance of the whirlwind or fly-by-night
variety. The various families for whom she’d
worked said that while she was a beautiful
girl, she was‘ quiet, steady and sensible. . . .
After having talked to all the employers,
police had found no one who said they’d
called for Gaetane on May 9. If there had
been someone who had called for her to do
housework, it must have. been a stranger.

THE police, however, with long experience

to draw on, were inclined to believe that
Gaetane’s note was pure fiction—the first, thing
that had come to her mind after deciding to '
gee a little of the world... .

Gaetane’s father called police every day for
three days aftér she had been reported miss-
ing. He said that a man had called the house
each time asking about the ad in the paper.
On the third day, the father told officers that
he thought it had been the same man each
time, trying to disguise his voice a little.

Waterbury police officers couldn’t read any-
thing significant in this, ‘and after assuring
him that the calls were probably legitimate,
went back to checking the usual sources, fully
expecting that the New York City police, only
two hours away, would be calling them to
say they had found Gaetane and that she was
anxious to return home.

Four days later, however, on May 13, they
still hadn’t heard from New York City police,

or from anyone else who had information
about Gaetane. ;

But then something big popped and Gae-
tane’s case was forgotten in all the excitement.

It happened in Bristol, a few miles to the
north of Waterbury. Just before 5 p.m, a
woman with a frantic, tearful voice called
Bristol police headquarters and told them that
her daughter, Brenda Jane Doucette, just
eight years old, was missing. When Brenda
hadn’t come home from school, the mother
said, she-had called the child’s teacher and
learned that Brenda hadn’t been in school all
day ... although she had left the house at
around 8:15 that morning, as she usually did,
to walk the mile and a half to the school
building.

The Bristol police department immediately
drove out to the Doucette home, which was
slightly more than a mile outside of town on
a narrow, little-used road.

Mrs. Doucette told the officers that Brenda

‘always left the house a few minutes after

8 o’clock and walked down the. road alone
until she came to the house of a school friend.
Then the friend—a girl of her own age—would
walk the rest of the way with her. But this
morning she hadn’t stopped at the friend’s
house.

Mrs. Doucette said, “The friend’s mother
called me at 8:45 this morning and asked me
if Brenda had left yet. I fold her she had, and
we both supposed that she’d decided to walk
to school alone for some reason.”

“But she always walked alone for the first
half mile or so until she got to her friend’s
house?” the officers asked.

“No. A little girl who lives in the neighbor-
hood usually walks a short way with her, just
a few hundred yards. She’s only four years old
-and doesn’t go to school yet.”

The police officers asked Mrs. Doucette to
phone the little girl’s home and ask if she had

find it may tell us by
riven here... .”

was sent to the police
hboring towns, and a
he next morning.

eph. O. Collins who per-
n the girl’s. body-at the
nade an initial report.
bed “with a fine rectan-
thaps a screwdriver, 22
inds were in the heart.
.d been wrapped around
itrangled her before the
9 sign of a sexual abuse.
on her arms and legs
zht the man who killed

there seemed little doubt.

the work of a sexually
on the assumption that
ey began pulling out the
he area who had been
ipected, of having com-

n Waterbury and other
e asked to question and
wn sex deviates in their
vailable officer was de-
y midnight the of-
uestioned a dozer

ning, 75 officers assem-
and the search for clues
officers were assigned to
lived on the road where
‘8 located, as well as to
iny of the routes a car
get from the Doucette

; of everyone who was:
za in the morning, and
of automdbiles. A crime
be committed without
‘hing—although people
ve witnessed part of a

s talked to Brenda’s
oth the child and her
d seen a car that morn-
> that Brenda was sup-
idn’t think anything of
other said, “but now I
it I heard someone hol-
st be Brenda. But when
ow, I saw a car pulling
igured I was mistaken.
egan backing out. I re-
iriver was in a terrible
ear the wheels spinning

what kind of a car it

tly new car—two-tone,
e top.”
xe the driver? Can you

x head. “It was a man,
lone . . . but I’m not
u what he looked like
1 so fast and I didn’t
hen.”
they knew they’d
‘tant clue to date,
mation back to police
hile later, they received
of the story. The little
had walked the first
1 Brenda on the morn-
| officers that she also

remembered a car speéding-up the highway.
She said that when she stopped to say good-
by, Brenda had told her, “I wish you would
walk a little farther with me,” but the little
girl said, “I told her I couldn’t—not until I
am old enough to go to school, too.” Then,
she said, she stood and watched Brenda walk
down the road by herself. Just ‘as she was
almost out of sight, Brenda turned and waved
goodby with her lunch pail. It was then that
the little girl noticed a car speeding up the
road in the same direction Brenda was
walking. *

The informatioti-convinced officers that they
were right in looking for a local man. “There’s
not much through traffic on that road,” a
state police sergeant said. “It’s mostly used
by the people who live. around here. We've
got to find that car... .it’s our only clue.”

By late afternoon of that day, the 75-man
searching crew had found nothing in the way
of a solid clue except a man’s black beret near
the side of the road one mile from the lovers
lane. The hat was fairly new, but the maker’s
name had been ripped out. On the sweatband
they found the initials JVD.

On the slim chance that it might be con-
nected with the murder, the beret was detailed
to a detective to see if the maker and store
could be traced. .. .

The roundup of known sex deviates in the
area continued. By the day’s end, police had
made. fair progress. Of a total of more than
60, 38 had been accounted for. The others
could not be located, for one reason or an-
other, and police officers now began to con-
centrate on these. men.

Of the 38 the officers had questioned, four
remained in the category of definite suspects.
One, a 16-year-old high school student who
had recently been released from a juvenile
home where he had been placed on seven, sep-
arate charges of slashing girls’ clothing in
movie theaters, told officers that he had been
in school that déy. When police checked with
the school, however, they learned that he had
been listed as a truant. He then changed his
story and said that he had gone fishing alone
in a reservoir some 15 miles out of town, and
admitted that he had driven there in a friend’s
automobile in violation of his probation.

FTER questioning him for several: hours,

the, police decided to hold him on a charge
of violating his probation until they could
further check his story.

George Davies, a 38-year-old father of three
children, remained on the list of definite sus-
pects largely because of his past record. (In
1952, he had been convicted on two separate
charges of molesting little girls and had been
paroled after serving one year of a threeyear
sentence.) Davies, who had’ been picked up
only a few hours after Brenda’s body was
found, told officers that he’d been out of a
job for the past several weeks and had spent
the.day looking for a new one. A machinist
by trade, he’d applied for work at two fac-
tories in the Waterbury area in the: morning,
gone to lunch in a restaurant, and then gone
home and slept for an hour or two in the
afternoon.

They took his story down as he gave it to
them, and then released him.

The other two men remained suspect be-
cause they had been unable to tell police what
they were doing in the morning. Both (one
an accountant and the other a haberdashery
clerk) said they were at work by 9 o’clock,
but they lived alone, could not prove they’d

Badly wounded attorney was rushed to hospital after street stabbing.

LAYING DOWN THE LAW

@ A crowded Detroit street.
erupted with violence as a 77-
year-old inventor attacked a
patent attorney with a screw-
driver at the entrance to oné
of the city’s large office build-
ings. Frank Hunyady of Chi-
cago told police, when ar-
rested at the scene, he had
stabbed Attorney Franklin
Quale, 48, because he. felt the
patent lawyer had represented
him improperly in dealings

- with a Detroit manufacturer
for a brake system invented
by the: whitehaired, mustach-
eoed native of Hungary. Quale
suffered two wounds, one be-
tween the shoulder blades and
the other about six inches
lower, near the spine. From
the hospital; Quale declared
he had seen Hunyady running -
toward him with the screw-
driver in his hand as he was
about to enter his office build-
ing. He tried to avoid the irate
inventor’s attack and fell, and “
it was then, the attorney said,
Hunyady pulled him to a sit-
ting position and stabbed him
twice in the back. Meanwhile,
Hunyady faced a. charge of
felonious assault.

Brake system inventor broke down,
attacked lawyer with screwdriver. .

langerous”’ label.

EWDRIVER

a wad\solved in
scticut to maniac.

.sound like anything to be alarmed

information, told him that it didn’t

about, but that the police would in-
vestigate.

The officer checked a list of people
involved in accidents the night before
and made inquiries at local hospitals.
When he learned nothing that was of
any help, a detective was sent around
to the Boivin home for further infor-
mation.

Mr. and Mrs. Boivin appeared very _

nervous. “I haven’t heard anything,”
the officer told them. “I just want some
information.”

The Boivins nodded silently.

“When did you last see your daugh-
ter?” \ ,

Mrs. Boivin said that~both she and
her husband had gone to work in the
morning and that all the children were
‘at work or at school except Gaetane, who
had only recently found a job as a re-
sult of an advertisement ‘she had placed
in a local paper. When the family had
come home that evening, they had found
a note from Gaetane saying that some-
one had asked her to do some house-
work between the hours of nine and
eleven and had picked her up in a car.
The. note did not say whether it was
in the morning or at night. “She always
calls and tells-us if she is going to be
late,” the father said. “She’s never
stayed away from home without our
knowing where she was. It is not like
her at all.”\ .

“Do you have a picture of her?” the
detective asked.

Mrs. Boivin brought out a photo-
graph of Gaetane taken a few months
before. :

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“No,” the mother answered, and ex-
plained that Gaetane had not had a
chance to make many friends since she
had come to Waterbury. She did have
a few girlfriends, but no boys whom she
dated. .

The detective nodded, and took a sec-
ond look at the large dark eyes in the
picture. “You’re sure she didn’t have
any boyfriends?” he asked again. ,

The Boivins seemed certain.

The detective put the photograph in
his pocket. “I’d like a list of the people
your daughter worked for,” he said.
“She might have worked late, or maybe
been asked to baby-sit overnight and
forgot to phone home. . . .”

The parents sat down and made a list
of names. Then the detective had them
list all of Gaetane’s friends—even those
people she’d merely mentioned.

“Boys never phoned here at the house
asking for her?” (Continued on page 69)

The disappearance of Connie Smith in 1952 was never solved. i
Police thought suspect’s arrest might clear up this and others. |

ANNIE
QQ
yn

Recovered from effects of self-administered pill dosage, sus-
pect (left) hears himself indicted on two murder charges.

it of college
iling girls.

. half-opened
eyes widened
gray, three-
o of the but~
-awer. But it
that had at-
t the one that

ietly, “come
ver and Lane
utton; it’s the
e and Turner

nd recognized
iediately. .
) him, I'll look

- of handcuffs
wrist. “Now,”
<e a little look

s had finished.
bed, bathed in
yor in the mid-
ap of watches,
guns, jewelry,

Most of the
scognized from
by owners oO
burglarized in

suse from attic
ad loading the

as. he and
’s go. down

‘aited in a cell,
1e plunder they
a, single-spaced,
s. The loot was
7,000.

raham brought
a. Pale and ap-
ted himself in a
right,” he said,

1am,” Pumford

aptain,’ Graham
yhony title I’ve
irl friends.” He
zer of burglary
his hand, “I’m
You guys have
- I'll help you all

‘ether, the three
hours passed and
grew blue with
n Pumford called
im was led back

NG BOOKS

nal books on all
nted, exchanged.
|, Complete de-
ated bargain cata-
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* PYRAMID
PHECIES

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wients gifted with strange

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scientific world. Astound-
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\MORC)

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i

_ tobberies perpetrated in the northwest
section of Detroit had been marked

Not wishing to tax Graham’s memory
all at once, Detective Lane decided it
would be the better part of strategy to
interrogate the young man by easy
stages. He wanted to clean up for the
record as many of the unsolved burglary

.and armed robbery cases as possible be-

fore getting to'the most important item
on the agenda: murder. By Sunday night,
-after several meetings in the conference
room between the confessed burglar and
Lane and Pumford, more than 100 depre-
dations were officially chalked up to the
bogus “captain.”

Two o'clock Monday morning: found
the trio still in the room, all quite weary
from their final and extended session. The
officers, while tired, were not nearly as
exhausted as Graham appeared to be.
Lane knew that the psychological mo-
ment had arrived. He looked squarely at
Graham, and said sharply:

“What about the Reil holdup?”

Graham jerked erect in his chair, his
pallid face suddenly flushed. “I don’t know
anything about it,” he said defensively.
“T'm anything else you say but I’m not
a murderer.” For the next few minutes
the burglar continued to assert his inno-
cence of the Reil slaying, Finally Lane
decided to play his trump card. He opened
the desk drawer, took out a large brown
envelope,

“Okay, Johnny,” Lane said. “Might as
well get it off your chest. You're not only
the Phantom Burglar but you’re the killer
of Joseph Reil. Look here.” He took from
the envelope an enlarged photo of the

button found near the crime and laid it’

on the desk. Beside it he put another
button, a duplicate of that shown iti the
picture.

“Both buttons,” he said, “came off your
coat.” ’ ‘

The door opened just then and a .uni-
formed officer came in, handed the detec-
tive a sheet of paper and walked out.

Lane glanced at the report and rubbed
his hands. “You’re goose is cooked, son,”
he said. “Ballistics has finished checking
the gun you sold that old fellow with
the slugs we found at the killing. It’s
all over.”

But Graham stubbornly shook his
head.

Several hours later, after several wit-
nesses had identified the suspect, Graham
broke. .

“All right,” he said, “I’m your man.”

The time was Sept. 30, 1935, and with
the young killer’s confession the long
hunt for Detroit’s elusive burglar was
ended. Police tried to pin the murder of
Sager on him, but their efforts were
futile. On October 8, Graham was
brought before Recorder’s Judge John
V. Brennan. He pleaded guilty to first
degree murder and was sentenced to
serve the rest of his life in Jackson
Prison, Jackson, Mich., where he is to

_ this day.

Mystery of the Riddled Corpse

[Continued from page 13]

ford a short time later. He had examined
the bullets taken. from the body of
Bonelli under the comparison micro-
scope. The bullets definitely had been
fired from the gun Mitchell had found.

It was late in the afternoon when the
troopers assigned to watch DeCaro’s
house marched into police headquarters
with a sullen youth in tow.

“This is Carlo DeCaro,” they said.
“He’s the fellow we’ve been waiting
for. His car is outside.”

Lenzi had him taken into Chief Flem-
ing’s office. While the youth waited alone
in the office, Lenzi went outside and in-
spected the modest sedan which DeCaro
had been driving.

Carefully he went over the car. There
were no signs of shooting nor of any
blood. Fresh-looking slip covers deco-
rated the seats. The hood and the body
were covered with a fine dust, indicating
that it had been driven some distance
since being washed. He checked the tire
treads with the plaster cast. None of them
matched.

Frowning at the lack of evidence in the
car, Lenzi returned to the office. DeCaro
was seated in front of the desk, his face
impassive and his manner calm.

“Well, DeCaro,” Lenzi began, “what
have you been doing since you left home
this morning?”

“I went to Springfield, Massachu-
setts, to see a sick relative,” the youth

- replied. “She’s' in Mercy Hospital there.”

“Ts that all you did?”

“No, afterward I went to Chicopee
Falls, Massachusetts, and visited my girl
friend. She works in a factory there, I
took her home to Springfield and then
I came on home.”

“Why didn’t you go to work?”

“T wanted to stop at the hospital, that’s
why.”

“Wasn't it because you'd killed Salva-
tore Bonelli?”

“I don’t know anything about that,”
DeCaro replied,

Lenzi, County Detective Mitchell and
other policemen kept questioning him
but the youth was adamant. He knew
nothing about Bonelli’s movements that
day. He admitted that he had told the
young man who usually rode with them
to take the bus if he and Bonelli didn’t
call for him,

“T did that,” he explained, “because
I wanted to visit the hospital. I told
Bonelli the same thing. I didn’t call for
either one of them. I went to Springfield
as soon as I could.”

Although they were convinced that
the young man was the one who had
murdered Bonelli, they were unable to
prove it.

.They searched him in the hope of

finding some of the cash which they
were sure had been stolen from Bonelli’s
body but all the suspect had was a few
dollars.

Knowing that they had to produce
some positive evidence to get an ad-
mission from him, the police got busy.
The most important item which they
had found was the revolver.

Lenzi and Mitchell got busy on that
at once. They had troopers consult state
police records. Others looked up the
local police ‘files. There was nothing in
them regarding the revolver. They sent
a trooper to the office of the town clerk
to check with him. :

The trooper returned in a few minutes.

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“That revolver is registered with the
town clerk, all right,’ he reported. “It
belongs to Henry Barker. He’s sixteen
Tore old and lives here in Thompson-
ville.” ‘

The two police officials sent troopers
to find the youth. Barker, was brought
in to headquarters wheré Lenzi and
Mitchell questioned him.

“Ts this your gun?” they demanded,
producing the revolver.

Barker looked at it briefly, then
nodded.

“What are you doing with a revolver
like that?”

“Oh, I belong to the State Guard Re-
‘serves,’ the youth replied. “I’ve got a
collection of guns. I use them in target
practice and for hunting.”

“Where were you at six o'clock tlafs
morning?”

Barker grinned. “Home. In bed. Why?”

“Do you know Salvatore Bonelli?”

“Oh, you mean that fellow who was
killed this morning? I knew who he was.
Why?”

“He was killed with that revolver of
yours.”

Barker’s jaw sagged. He stared at them
incredulously. “He was! But that can’t be
... No, he wouldn’t.. .”

“Who wouldn’t?” demanded Mitchell.
“Wouldn’t what?” ‘

“Why,” the youth began, visibly up-
set, “I loaned this gun to a fellow only
a couple of days ago. He said he wanted
it to go hunting.”

“Who was that friend?”

Barker hesitated, then blurted: “Carlo
DeCaro!”

The policeman leaned back and
breathed deeply. Here was the direct tie
they were looking for.

After getting a statement from the gun
enthusiast, they returned to the room
where DeCaro was being held. They
wasted no time in preliminaries but
bluntly told DeCaro what they had
learned about his borrowing the gun
from Henry Barker.

“You borrowed that revolver,” Lenzi
accused him, “with the deliberate in-
tention of killing Bonelli and robbing
him!” ,

DeCaro shook his head but there was

a hunted look in his eyes.

“What did you do with the money?”
Mitchell asked suddenly.

“I threw it aw—’ The youth clamped
his lips shut but the policemen pounced
upon his inadvertent admission. Within
a few minutes they had obtained a com-
plete. confession from him. He had
wanted to get married, he said, but had
lacked the money. Knowing that Bon-
elli carried hundreds of dollars with him,
he had plotted to kill and rob the older
man. He had taken more than fifteen
,hundred dollars from Bonelli’s wallet.
After he reached Springfield, however,
he was overcome with remorse and he
threw the money into the Connecticut
River from the Memorial Arch Bridge.

Adding to the mounting weight of
evidence against Carlo DeCaro, another
and more painstaking examination of his
auto revealed something officers had not
noted in their first inspection. On re-
moving the slip covers, dark ‘stains were
discovered on the upholstery of the rear
seats. Analysis by police technicians soon
determined that the discolorations were
caused by human blood, blood of the
same type as Salvatore Bonelli’s.

DeCaro admitted purchasing the slip
covers while in Springfield, and using
them to hide the bloodstains. At the same
time he was shown the handkerchief
found by the garageman the morning of
the slaying. He admitted its ownership.

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With a signed confession, the authori-
ties of Hartford County quickly secured
an indictment charging the youth with
murder in the first degree. After the in-
dictment -had been filed, DeCaro ad-
mitted to the detectives that he had lied
and that he had hidden the cash in a
park in Springfield. He led them to the
spot and they found $1,508 buried in a
roll behind a tree.

Early in December DeCaro went on
trial for his life before Judge William
H. Comley and a jury in Criminal
Superior Court in Hartford. The prose-
cutor was Hugh Meade Alcorn, Jr.

During the trial, DeCaro repudiated
his confession and claimed that he had
killed Bonelli in self defense. After pick-
ing up Bonelli on the morning of the

murder, he said, they got into an argu-
ment as they were driving to work.

“Is that when the as rated took
place?” as ed his counsel.

“Yes, sit,” De Caro responded.

On Dec. 16, 1943, the case was given
to the jury. Despite DeCaro’s plea of
self defense, the jury deliberated only
three hours before deciding that he was
“guilty as charged.”

Judge Comley at once sentenced him
to die in the electric chair at the State
Prison at Wethersfield. As this story is
written the date for DeCaro’s execution

has been set for May 3, 1944, or within

five days thereafter.

(The name Henry Barker is fictitious in order to
rotect an innocent person from embarrassment.—
he Editor.)

We Trapped California’s Bludgeon Slayer

[Continued from page 25]

at the scene Sunday, the day of the
murder.

But for a clearcut court case we posi-
tively had to have the murder knife and
the shattered rifle stock from which the
walnut sliver had splintered.

District Attorney Sparks and I once
more went over every facet of the case.
“You and I are both satisfied that Brown
murdered Mrs. Turner,” he said, “but

you'll have to find the knife and gun be-

fore I can convict him in court.”
Again and again I went over our evi-

dence and my grilling of the murder sus- .

pect. As I analyzed Glenard Brown, I

suddenly realized that he believed he was -

a lot smarter than “The Law.”

Carefully I worked out every detail in
my mind. Then I went to the jail cell,
unlocked. it and walked in.

HOUGHT you might like to see

some photographs,” I remarked,
pulling some pictures of the murder scene
from my pocket. He glanced at them,
scowling. But he intently studied one
photo showing the cigar in its unbroken
cellophane wrapper.

“I spoke to the storekeeper who: sold
you ten of those cigars the day you mur-
dered Mrs. Turner,” I said quietly.
“We've got plenty of evidence.”

I watched him closely as I continued.
“You've made a fool of us, all right, up
till now. You killed her. Now, how about
showing me where the knife and gun
are?”

I studied his face. His psychological
reactions seemed to be what I had hoped
for. But was I right? He was silent a long
moment. Then he spoke abruptly.

“Yeah, I killed her,” he said matter of
factly. “She wouldn't give me any dough
and threatened to call the cops. I let her
have it alongside the head with the rifle
butt. She screamed and started crawling
across the floor. Then I got out my
knife.”

I nodded, controlling myself with diffi-
culty. That was the way I’d figured.
“Where's the gun?”

“T hid it-in the willows along the pas-
ture fence.”

“And the knife?”

“T stuck that in a gopher hole under a
manzanita bush,”

With Dolce and Shannon, I put him
in.a police car. We drove swiftly to the
Turner home at Colfax. With Brown at

my side, I walked around the house,
through the orchard and into the pasture,
followed by my: deputies. “Show me
where you hid the rifle, Brown.”

He grinned that mirthless grin again
but walked unerringly toward:a clump of
willows. He knelt beside a thick growth
and scratched around in dried leaves with
one hand, while I stood intently over
him. An instant later he brought out an
old lever action Winchester rifle.

I reached for the gun, flipped ‘it over
and looked at the stock. A sliver of wood
was missing from the polished walnut.

At Brown’s directions we next drove
to the ranch where he had lived. He dug
out a rock which had plugged up a gopher
hole, reached his arm in and-brought out
a rusty, bloodstained pocket knife. I put
this beside the rifle on the car floor and
we drove back to the Auburn jail where
I locked him up again.

E HURRIED into my office. I took

the wood sliver from a drawer and
placed it’ on the walnut rifle stock. It
slipped into place perfectly.

Within four hectic days from the dis-
covery, our case—signed confession and
all evidence—was complete, with word
from the state chemist that blood on the
knife and on Brown’s clothes was the
identical type of the murder victim.

The trial began before Superior Judge
A. L. Pierovich at the Auburn court-
house. For the first time in Placer County
since gold rush days, because of the short-
age of available men who were working
in defense industries, three women were
selected on the murder jury. +

We had a cold case, and on November

24 the jury found Glenard Brown guilty
of murdering his benefactress, Mrs. Ada
Belle Turner, without recommendation
of leniency.

Under California law a death sentence
is automatically appealed to the State
Supreme Court. And that body, after
mature deliberation, upheld the death ver-
dict. I brought Glenard Brown back
from prison. On Oét. 25, 1943, nearly a
year later, Judge Pierovich re-sentenced
Glenard .Brown to be executed in the
San Quentin prison lethal gas chamber
on Jan. 14, 1944,

- Brown, however, did not go to his death
on the appointed date. He was given a
last-minute reprieve, until February 15,
when he paid the penalty for the brutal
slaying.

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DeBona

County Detec-
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Mitchell be-
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was shot by
a trusted friend.

ARLY Saturday morning, the four teen-aged boys walked
joyfully up an old wagon-road on the outskirts of Thomp-
sonville, Connecticut. They were ina holiday spirit.

As they approached the pine grove at the end of the road, one
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“Where is this body ?” asked O’Brien.

“About half a mile away,” said Hugh. He and his compan-
ions climbed into the prowl car, and O’Brien listened intently to
their near-hysterical recital as he drove to the wooded tract.

O’Brien g]
tinue scoopi1
contained wa
fell on a fres
from the boy
a shallow gra

The police
as he was, he
that met his e

In the gra
the body of a
and clothing t
ing intently a

“It’s murde

Cautioning
back to Enfiek
Fleming. Fle
flashed the al
the office of S:
twenty miles ;
Headquarters
case for the hc

After pickin
by Patrolman
examiner, rus}
were still poise

Working ra
pletely. Then

nk Aya
Bs. wie o)

DONAHUE, John. B., white, elec. Conn, (Fairfield) July 18, 1955...

cainstasiaaiiainthinesschaatiatina
ives .

“Twas Slayers Calm As They Are Executed’
But Reporter | Finds His Job No No Easy One

1+ ae Ao etme = 6 a"

eee ie oe de, By (ROBERT. L. SAWYER... 9 4 Ae cee
sige pe (Bridgeport Post Staff Reporter) ' }
aes WETHE ERSFIE ELD ST ‘ tS PRISON + duly 19---Tpasnt easy: te watch men dies even:

iwhen they deserve it. aoe
' I was a wittiess last Re w Mien Zoli Danahue: ot Arlington, Mass.. confessed: slay er of!
| State~ ‘Policeman E “rnest Be Morse, Feb. 13, 1953, on the Merritt parkway. and Robert XN, “Malm, |
jadmitted tape-alaver of an 11° vear-old Hartford girl: paid their debts ta-eociery am the electric 4
‘chair-herer - Ag. st HO evel" alia ene ct
p— «Beth Men Are Calm. @ —— ~~~ a
Both walked™ ‘caimiy ~~ teo~theirs, S86 ae oo Se ‘ees
deaths after 1th hour appeals to!
the ‘Board of "Pardons vesterday.
had been denied. They became the
‘14th and 15th men to be executed | o

{BY the State in its ulti imate” pen="

aktv of ~capita]l punishment.

; The 23-year-old Donahue’ ap-.

| proached. death 4a_unemotionally ~
‘as he had killed. He was followed :

1 closely | ‘in. death’ by” Malm. ‘the 31-)-
| vear-old dish washer” ‘who —became .
j the first sex killer to be executed |
, in the State’s prison. ‘

‘ The- fatter, described by a news-

| man in a telephoned: “epest of his’

qace

?
*

err

- +.

‘

{

| Malm," willed ” “hia eves. in. the last
few hours of his life, to the Red |
Cross Eye bank, snd his body to:
the Yale ‘School of Medicine.; |}
' During a conference in the office}:
of Warden George A. Cummings ||
j before: the double” execution, I wast

caeereed |

;

‘ ' "
‘
eden em emee bah

(CouginGad. oh Magi Pasreenn) aS JOHN B. DONAHUE. - ROBERT N. MALM”

hs TT ot ec CI tS. et: te et et nce: ag od ere a eee | eee ween «a Se °

bee Be.

0 rer cee weenie

Undated, unidentified
m (but probably Bridg eport

POST) Connecticut newsp

ry > the Last, Fac acing Chai pea by, Bend Rea

Jase (Continued trom Page Ones ae

e
a

prised when “told ‘about 518 pr
that thetr last Hopes to aecaps death’
chad been denied by the Foard of

| Pardons, feat Sekar is Sica sect pio Mees :
he as ‘ yrs

CONT.

Hoth men were quoted xe eaying) | Warden Cunomings eacd that the We nad heen cautioned about
-*f expected ft)" and both took the Rev, Joseph Mo Pevno.de Cethelic talk.tz once, and aithough none.
news tn q “remened Sort of way,/| }thaplacr of tne pryson. ned feen| of ua nad found mucho talk about.
according to Warden Cummings. | | preparing born mer for dearh since)! we were given A second warning as,

DMonahuve's mother and father h Sete firei appeste bad Pern denied | et ence ded a FERN Of BUTE We
xcatteg with, him whil€ anrearce| [Se ceRc caer porsnae FAG Weir, weer also arked 10 walk softly: We:
Yor him--at a meeting of the Board] | comes. the preparaccon bY Father were within eatshot of the deatn.
<5 Pardons yes ay, afternoon | | Resroids, bur Mam nad ind:eaced, Malin and Donahier > 5.
ts eed MOT Beenshim MGTe Teale} [A preference %o make the prepara: “A right turm and we were in the: ew
that thetr efforts to save him hed] [tion himeeil Rg fe ae Ng eyeuution chamber, I guess } wasn't!
been mm vain. poe | Lee dads however, sek ‘Pali | the only one who had a funn® sen-!
© Best Sir Senet ce Father Fetrovis walk with wim ts aavion as I waiked past a _saunt

_3falm.-who-has only « éister live (es wad .ibe. ¢hariain® ar. looking wooden’ chair, mained” 8 |
- ; ed “companied both men “edlor, somewhat between oak and.

ae mga cgreelnnie Me | :
ing in the midswerts Pers dold| [-cThe. warden Suid that the exeus-| mgple st |
Warden Cummings that he »a* fon roceéding $ AATF ee Sane eee Directed to Seats ne Sal
ready for death. -Tt '% ‘the best ey a gee oThe room wan about 2 foot !
| "king for society.” he said. i ewes ae Seep ri Rai "at -aquare, painted twotoned green ;
| Lppeahiee hod owas etsrmed be) | TAT ENDER ASHIN ST ee a Per") Dark green onthe lower portior |
tir ‘parents, and Ma!m's body. fol- oa ani he itera ae a and the wesiis, waicn atretched ful:
lowing. his *execution was ‘aken P: widenre . Se Ne by a5 Feet ip. were OC BVPFY light,
immediately to the prison y,ospital * oo as aa : : — ¢- green. Dark’ green benches agairst|
where his eyes Were remove Ke aie trong ee soe cyae ir’ oan Fhe far wall...two vows of them... |
prisonfiurgean to be turned OVEr | ee ee ee aa side Tararn| were. cur _tergef and we couldn't,
speedily to the eye bank for Se :. the "tir b8 wales be Sale. tated get into them fast enough.

Maim. who Dr, Foaste: & Priddvid |“ Sek cease 1348, One el Guards stemed to be milling:
‘prison physician, described se © oF aT, Tr ORE ES 2 bout the yeoom cs We walked in,,
of the calmes: men J have ever) | € had to Sturt all over again bul by the time we were all seated,
ween in facing death.” fel; mat he . wth younger men who we knew SS

! rg tat? | | to have the fortitude te carry out] HUTS: Teen rad taken positions;

Tapht. a wronk™ in the wPting of the. tesk te Sa che MORK The wall to our right.
his eves, ‘so that they might? sight OP PEE EE St et ane gakiy he iy lipo center of the
ap the world for some perser “ho ae whith LT expated we Dhutan CA room “YT cétintea “15
snight otherwise’ never see”? Would, “be and to the evecution) *225S*, Fa began to glance at
“priecn officia! said . TRIOS. i: was B.S OC O KM ae oF ne ether men in the room.
y ‘ae SBR phase om the desk raccoons Tr addition ?o {he newamen. there

Po FIee other newsmen roinec in
tre arden's office about 9:40 p.m.
and Warder Cuinfiirgs answered

“Wardea Cummings snatched it up] 2* [ Fraon officials and sour |

* quickly && Silence retgned’ in. the| £225 VO Mere aso artting in the
. : 5 Spee OF & S¢a'h .

. ees 1 room| | | P
fi} ef the questions put to Mim) |] Tee
halt the condemned men. When he old Ax Call€r that he’ I. treed the executioner He was sg :
Fried Clams tor Donahue MRS Woe gL Our saree) ACCS man, amalier than avi
tne ee rag ordered fried execution, «+. attempt wih nok» Pore tekst and shout bb veare of
7 ; Ota Ve a: rarer we ‘ ' = pied : : or “Sy aye tte rad a'ationed himsel? at

Oe we iss ao 8 oF nA ;

a \ svras berry see ream eb . ——— <== . é . ° ‘ .
Gee tee bis Jeet meal Yes re mad] call that would affect the execue’ Fen en ERE AS RES Oe Re
“Me IRE TRG ivg 'thinga over and talking over

eaten -evervthing pot before him ions. The minutes ticked he as he | - -

san had ordered ad grark pave. out eneraj inf Paatiok [en RP Ger to Rnether WRae, wel
a ee ae 4 thas et "4 's « 3 ° r ° ayreared ta he hie. maaeistant. ;
ondy milk. . Witnesses Searched Warden Cummirge eat in front!

Te Cin Eee It seemed that as he hung UP |e’ me. but only for a moment, At
_ clo © he was rege ae the phone, it was a signal for the [ro cie that I saw, he suddenly got!
tioner but, c rt formed: all oF jentrance of Deputy Warden Tilk [tip and watked out the door. we:
trieian’ and had pertorme Tinghast. We all rose as he entered. | had enreread. — th, ;
The Deputy Warden announced! 2-xianced groun . i
that ik_was- customary to search | 36!) Sighted. but Gab Mente eee
everyore meluding the warden, /a-4 on oither side of ‘the cheats

; Wark in New York state because of asd proceeded to do so | was BOG | made :: tne center of attraction.

b tndisereet publicity he had once re- Lond in tine. and waited in the) At tne extreme lett wan the cons
rn eerved He saute Pico aes outer hall with the warden. ‘rol board ard green deere which.
> grown ' The walk to the death chamber] spparent!y covered: when it was.

wae winding one. First through] rot in use. A ore evtended ous

“» Tasked why Denahue was to die. the main geste inside the lobby Into) re «alt Sea ade os cane A
first “and Warden Cummings “the prison itself. then through the] hoa: about seven ‘feet above the.
“thought a moment, “Well. thas be- . peiSon jibrary, through a sort off for and ended “hake “tne’ whale
cause of the two men... &- our boiler OOM, and then into the as-] gughtyoin-hack of i! vi
jadarment .. ... Malm: Seems better sembly hail «here musical inatrue Fel of eave yellow Rigel hs or
_ thet to watt and so. through the ments had been strewn.about after | cron over-the chalr. cos BNE

. , a band rehearsal. 8 : ae im Ail Evee.an oe
Fexecationrs 2 poet aie From the audttorium. we walked Ail #Ses were on the ‘-doer ‘
= “Denahue Goes First “ cnto a cell block: Tt was amaximum| threuzy ownich Phe wastes a
Donahue was to te lodged In the, security: division--with- heavily bare; gone I!-mas 16 13 -: mit cieh ae ‘
| “arath eelt before Ye walk ta the | :ed doors. most of them with only: Tre ~Wahrder entered. ard. sat.

=deatn chamber jue & short diz- smal! openings for the prisoners | dsxr 7 it@@r isarned he hea tates: -
Pearce away ‘ard Malm was to be {0 peer Out, Some of the prisoners Aa bay Tdsabecend: had-baid, ee |
mt rodged in a sereen.cei] inthe in this eection were the aged, the *-ome bas come Tt sorry. but there!
~hoepis “ward W “Tikh:. above the erfhile obit nit looned at ‘ue as if ee nas he fisrtrer ? can do” i
| fxectsion - chur. be: . and then thes knew rece we were gong. TS hich Donahue had epitiad:'
hrough: down into the death «eu ‘Tounderstand and thank vau for.
Satake be¥ 4 Donmahuc's execution. asi aed Po Re oh al rg “nu naye adore. [Tm
tecad. 610 dle": ie eer

; = 2 aed

bites Ogndhoe Scans Group

Sul Fenly the doorway directly. The vouthful killer was now im the
Cppesvte Us... the one- through! | hands of the executioner.
which we had come ..... seemed, With his ankles strapped to the

+o Ba wlth prepte vesn-moet!) y:

am Ste. ae

_huards a ter Re colds cane in! them bared where the trousers tay)
aind belain ails Pe ‘otre right: had been slit. The black electrode
ei & ate Plamabies Ce: , Was on his right thigh. ' ot

He it weved ab ss in... J had forgotten the executioner.
‘ eB lal Wade hehe Buddentv he appeared behind the

He was clad in @ white sniri, vay] :
+roustrs and dark blue slip rs chair. A guard swathed Donahue’s

There was evidence of split See, head with a solution, which acts es

ond. kiming, and excellent feain- a2 conductor of electricity. The exe-|'

Work,

but somehow. the whole’ cutioner then placed a shiny black
srodertege saotle-een tires ERE skull cap down over his head. I ne
“RR Somen HAG ebbred tn bane? ticed it was filled with the same
-wiere ta pang °. ¥ sponge-like material than I nad
geen in the leg electrode.

ieotannue looking dike a bg over. Guarda affixed a mask, pastially
Crown ksd adout to tabe his fireg! Of leather and partially of cloth to
gcier | weaater -ride deliberately: the helmet and Donahue's face was)
enone jaar. fare 9? the apeerg.) Buddeniy loat to us. My last glimpses |
| {oes WIihs Mik eres. ; of his face waa the impassive -ex- |

Hue crew found. me thea roved! pression with the frighteried eves.
‘to-mhers

mh’ Th witness sectina. | MP rere “swag a whit acTroeer-thre -maek -
He seemed to be tvok:ing for some-'|; for his nose, ; Rs
one he krew If} knew where rhe) «oT think it wag at this point that,
chatk was in wie room te gaye no|, the futl reattzation that nee
net. Mis fa “as ‘“expressi {lwaa to he executed reached me. _.
ne ciuenttee e enslonlese. ty The executioners hands were
Dut the miuescles of his mouth segm: f
rd “ton work nervously. His. right’ reaching up pulling the yallow wire
‘roueer leg mad bees Bit to just, 2OWD. to the metal:hat. He snapped |
[above the keee OTe ony the wire into place; and then quick-
Suddenis from: the wail at ny) IY walked back to the epntrol board.
regh’ ine ine of glards converged) Donahue as morjotiless except
ror Dotabye’ They moved nim aide | fOr extremely heavy breathing.- |.
“WAS8 towards the chair. Hie eyes: Tension Fille Roem
rung to the witnenses for a seant( Once the wire was attached'to the
‘second, ; Btu] no expression, but rot thinge tert teh No }
you had the fealing he hadn't found).2'57318 were needed. lt was the ox-

hwhat he war looking for. Perhaps *Utoner's job from here on in, The
, he wanted to see tne face of. one MO™Ment he arrived back at his con.

aie y trol board, tension filled the room.
| wa Nine leone . saple etal The little man in the brown suit
|” The ‘he Wad. tiened. Gnder the Closed a large Biatk knifeswitch
; at his right and simultasscusiy his
| eyes lifted to the two slide rule dials
;at the top of the board. He gave
@ Quick glance at Donahue and thes

{pressure of the guards and wag
‘moving hurriedlv towards he chatr.
| Quickly he wan seated in the chair.

‘I doubt if he ever reallv saw it. A-
‘team of at jeast six guards were whirled the auto wheel quickly.

Piacing a heavy strap across his - bate ck oe wae fae te
middle. Others were strapping his) 2” ake tag A
b arms ‘of the chair, then clenched.

ether ‘wil Cegopin: ye Negi: oeaizt entire body was as taut ae @
PP: , 'atee) apring. His leap against the |

rats! another was strapping to his: rg
: / ata had been caused by a surge
‘hared right calf a large biack ob- | *, ng Fs volts. channeled through
; long article which seemed to be rn ty-erght amperes ;

: made of rubber. lined .with sponge : His, body was of!!] taut ‘eeinibhen

te seme moreru tg Lever ene mater- contracting eluttly in hie legs and
- iy. (Upper arms. Nothing else to ind}
Guards De Work Cate that voltage 18 times. greater

| work nervously. His mouth worked: socket was: coursing through ‘him. |

| spasmodi¢aliy, but hie expression. Qe mok from the bat ae J had ex- |
did not change.-He seemed te move| pected * “Tt Rar ar. ‘i

i his body hetpfully several times as :
|kusrds found difficulty tightening:

‘a atrap. He Kiarcced up. again at! second jong. The executioner whith’
}tne witnerses ... directly ahead of, ed back the whee! Donahu?’s body |
\onaitie*éxpreasion’ wae" aiill unchang-! Meteiny Wediee ln nn phd
alas inf — “| The body leaped against the atrap
ened. He seemed to be having a: ott | ‘er, Six times the ax vttoner witirh.
‘cultv in swallowing. a tty

' Tne guards stepped ‘away. He
:Jooked huge sitting in the chair. A

Coe ie 4
The execuUoner Whe waiching the
dis! I timed the jott.. . . 1tiwne SB

|; against the straps ,

{1 ‘The executioner was glancing

_wisp ‘of hair had fallen ower his
, forehead. His head. had not been |
ishaved, The guards were through;

|pmow toward Donahue'’s body?’ ie

{seemed to be searching for certain,
,@igne that would tell him ‘that ne

‘eropes a¢ @ guard quickly tore open

|
|

6 ’
rumther voltaga aurgea were need |.
ed. . :

Sifddeniy he found jt, and pulled |

hack 9 Se RWS ewtict -‘Me-pedced i

to Dr. Ho A. Howard, Wethersfield.
mod:tal, examiner and Dr. Pridéy.
They -maled forwasd. with atetho

ine front of the executed maa's
Shirt anh awatned perepiration from

’
the «tess * ?

“bie Ils Dead...

bright pink anade, as the phveiciane :
took (turf Lsteping for heart ace
‘iOm. After several seconds Dr H.
‘A Howard said: “He wm dead ”- 4
Tre air in the room seemed to be
exhausted It waa hot and staffy
end am faint odor seemed te have
Milled the room, perpen,
Once more the guards and the
executioner converged on the xm
inthe chair. The wire thea the het
“Mas removed. The guards were
carelu! to conceal the face betind
awnhite cloth as the straps were re
Yrnoved. fees : Fen ac ii
A rown bianket was thresded
sbenesth the iifetess lege and two
Other guards lifted thé body oat
of the chatr by the armpita It wes
10 06 p.m. when the electricity was
turned off It- was 10:0T pm. the
,elaver.of State Policeman Morse
waa pronounced dead. ‘ ,
[ . it had raken these minutes te ex
ecute Join Donahue? The
man whom .he had Killed with «
bullet in the stomach, had died ts

ing In the shadow ef th ae?

‘Waréen Cummings stood ay ax@
walked again through the €oor wa:
al] kad to enter, ~§- |

It had bees ks « stage play
the whole Grama. J don't think exy|
of us realized at that moment whet |
kad happened. Some strange mea
tal mechanism which functions =|
eortain times refuses x
Heve things you see, It wouldn't let ;
me believe that the limp body they |
had just carried out was. the same |
j handsome 22-year-old youth, that:
; walked into the reom four minutes
ise. - “4 — 34

‘Drama Starts Anew

T hadwt eve begun to digest the
Geath of kfller John Donahus,
when the Warden returmed and sat
down, setting the whole drama inte
motion again. boa

The same confusion at the door
hwas, and then the prison chaplain
{Father Reynoidz. A smalier man

,, Od the wheel and the body tensed. entered this time. He was also;
° 'i dressed In white shirt. tak trousers

| ...-M@ little darker than Donabue's
'..,.am@ dark bive stippera. It was
(10:10 pm || ih ee ome

! © :

| . This was Robert. Malm, who! Gone; and that was fust the way!
| | strangled ll: year-old Irene Fiedo- he acted, |
| *rowtes im a back yard near bef; Once more the executioner per-
Hartford heme Dec. 9. 1963 in 2/| -pormed ta his tasks Bentnd a” Cse-|

rape’ alsyiag. This was Rebet! gemned man: ‘end buried to his
“dalm, who-after two years of li™) board. It-was 10:11 pm ©
ng ip the shadow of the electrig The.wheel must have spinnad
chair, had become “the calmest lramodiately - after I. herad = the
prisoner™:the prison physician’ had}. ‘drone of the current. The overal) ,
‘ever inet. This was the convicted) time of ‘electrocution was approx- |
slayer, who had willed his eyes 2 aad imately the agme. :
Body:to medical science. § The. physicians d@ranced“ and
, Leeks Galy At Fleer . probed with their stehoscopes,- and,
Malm eyes djd not search the| then we au had a crawling ‘sen-
witnesses. He looked down atthe sation. % : !
‘floor, He had looked only at the Dr. Howard kept protiag and
floor. during his appearance before iteding for. what segmeé five er,
}the Board of Pardons, too, Down- jatx” ‘times as long as he hed <a
cast eyes were typical of sex crim; | Denahue. He apparently had heard
|inais, the prison physician bad oid. some beart activity; end continued
| With pathetic anxiety, Malm en-}\'to listen,
tered the reem quickly and took) 7 The executioner Kepidivest warv-
define steps toward the chair to ‘and thea walked over to look

went himself ‘ia it. A guard stayed aver. Dr.. Howard's shoulder.) - pi
him and bho stood for «| moment. Thes -Dr.. Howard backed away |
tncing (tha}ettpecaes. eyes.- ~-down- Vege hinder Tt wan 10:13 ¥

Sg aR 2 PA
aq | BA. acai = SR ag

cast.
: Malm was “carried” “out “in the

ye tae entexerase leas; but {
i ev. as expressionlean. bat {| SOU iat, nurpediy "and wien

scate ‘that { /ittte.ceremony. , Only_..his body
ret weey seemed te rare pe weuld go immediately to the priscoa |

‘stgned-to the idea ef death: and <2 mc hie axea' tee ee tee
‘although t ‘method was frighten-||1 01" rr was 26:18 pm. I felt lke
jing, be Wanted to get it over’ with. I had beent ia the little room for

With” “the ‘game precision. the} | pours.

‘guards converged oa Robert Malm | We were all gasping mya pe bb
| nd soon he was seated in the | {the executita ‘chamber, ‘whith had
| hair and the straps were affixed. ‘| stowe unbearably hot and stuffy eas
| He followed the strapping activ. { despite, pa SS-foot’ ceiliig:.end sky-
| ities ~: with his eves and. helped | ight i« ard. ‘ee all ‘moved “cut of
when ever he could + there as fast as possible.

oot nee a atm

| He glanced up once, but his eyes, ° The executioner was talking with,
dropped © immediately. Wardea| ‘two ether mea:. apparedtly bia ed
Cummings had said he seemed | sistants, whea we iaft. --
very ashamed. of what he had; | 1 cornered. Der. Howard efer-re-+
arming. to tbe: Warden's. ciice and
he explained ghat Malm epperently)
havi a very strong peart end he had
jheard traces of activity there. He
™ Prreatiatiet art toeeneny a Servet
J

Warden Cummings said that beth
|bodses of the exacuted men Would’ a
\be out of the prison that. game 7
\might. Dozghue's tothe undertaker,
| designated by his perents, asd r
| Malrne to be buried by the State.

Tha warden toid me that be had
jaise told Main thi: “Tha time iad
| come, 4nd Were was nothing more
he could. da” He. said Malm re
| plied: “J want te thank you for all
aa done. ert. ane tent

: Red ® | re wt ® o.>s

‘nen: ‘mane ésath ta (be electri¢e "ehair

was a tribute te their preparatios

for death by Father Reynolds. the

{Rex _Russpil E.Camp. 2s Protestast

‘minister ef the prison, Wardga =
|Cammings and Deputy Tiltaghest

<a ane

WATERBURY IN THE REVOLUTION. 437

from Connecticut were summoned to Peekskill, The quota of the
roth Regiment was 288 men, which made three full companies of
jnety-Six men each. Nehemiah Rice [Royce] was appointed 1st
jeutenant in Capt. David Smith’s company in Chandler’s regiment,
gnd Lieut [Benjamin?] Baldwin was transferred from that com-
any to Capt. [Jabez] Botsford’s, in Col. Swift's battalion. Stephen
fatthews was captain and Amos Hickox, Jr. lieutenant in the same
ttalion. Much of the service of the above battalion was in the
forthern department.
~In April, 1777, the Governor and Council of Safety desired ané
#equested the Connecticut towns to hold meetings for the purpose
‘of considering what measures to take for raising soldiers for the
Continental army. Waterbury held its meeting and engaged “to
‘igive each non-commissioned officer and soldier, to the number of
ne hundred and thirty-one, who should voluntarily enlist into
ither of the eight battalions then being raised in the State,* for the
rm of three years, or during the war, twelve pounds lawful moner
anually.” Six pounds was to be paid on enlistment, or secured or
émand, and six pounds at the end of every six months during ser-
é. To raise this amount, a tax of one shilling on the pound was laid.
it was to be collected within one month, A committee was appointec
é ny two members of it with full power to give security for the
town to enlisting soldiers, and to draw money from the treasury for
t purpose. Private donations had already been made to mer
-had “engaged in the standing army.” To those who haé
ived such donations and would give receipts to the town for
"a Sums as had been received (which sums were to be creditec
n the first six pounds due), it was promised that the twelve
nd annual premium should be given. The moneys which ha¢
“2 contributed by individuals were to be credited to the con-
ibutors on the shilling-rate. Lest the shilling-rate should b¢
Pressive to certain individuals, the selectmen were directed ti
€ abatements of rates on such persons as were poor and ough:
‘be abated. A number of the abated rate bills, under this act
n. It must be remembered that this was the time whe=
all-pox had gotten beyond the control of the selectmen. I do na
that any record remains of its work in the town centre, but we
fy that at Westbury, Mrs. Noah Richards, Mrs. Edward Scovil
young Abel Doolittle, Nathaniel Welton, young Montgomery [>
ston, [Sarah Judd] the wife of Captain Benjamin Richards
athaniel Arnold, and Samuel, son to Lieut. Samuel Brown.

Ze This i
ts s . : °
the first allusion to Connecticut, asa State, in the records.

BE ro tL oe

- es
*
2
A
ae,

“HISTOR Y OF WATERBURY.

all died from that disease between the 26th of March and the 16th
of May, 1777. :
We have been compelled to ignore the great and stirring
of the war, and have made no mention of Washington’s Christm...
night crossing of the Delaware and his subsequent success in Nee oi
Jersey—of his six-months’ dictatorship that he might Teorganize th,
army—of his proclamation commanding all persons who had taker
the oath of allegiance to Great Britain “to deliver up their Protec.
tions and certificates and take the oath of allegiance to the United
States.” Full liberty was, at the same time, granted to all Person,
to withdraw themselves and families to the enemy’s lines, but the
edict had gone forth that any man found enlisting soldiers for a s
Tory regiment should, on conviction, be executed as a Spy: Ttwag 220
the edict of General Washington, as dictator-general, under Whick
Moses Dunbar was to remove his family to Long Island, and under :
_.which he was executed. ae
This was also the period when “Dear Mother England” took
to herself the confusion and shame and lasting infamy of treating
helpless prisoners with atrocious inhumanities—beginning With: 200588 5. bras
Gen. Lee as her victim and continuing until her work culminatedin © ~ 3 Ree
suffocating fifteen hundred starving men, within a few weeks, in : :
her prison-ships. Under the circumstances, there was nothing left
for the United States but to avail itself of the law of retaliation.
Accordingly, the prisoners who were abroad on parole, were called
in, and subjected to imprisonment, April 17th, Waterbury secured
625 lbs. of gunpowder. On the 26th, Gen. Tryon fell upon Danbury,
where three regiments were gathered, awaiting order¢ Military
stores had also been collected there, which were destroyed by the
enemy. It was estimated that 1800 barrels of beef and pork, 800 of
flour, 2000 bushels of grain, 1790 tents, 100 hogsheads of rum, and :
clothing for a regiment, were taken or destroyed, accompanied by q
the burning of houses and the murder of inoffensive inhabitants.
It is easy to picture the consternation in Waterbury at this event.
Her soldiers must have responded to the alarm, but I have not
found other evidence of their deeds than the following autograph
receipt among my papers:

Waterbury oth of April A. D. 1778 then received of Lieut. Col: Jonathan Balt-
win Sixteen pounds Twelve shillings & two pence Lawful money to Pay the office™
& Soldiers belonging to the Company under my command for their servis in :2¢
alarm at Danbury in the month of April A. D. 1777. Received by me

Moses Foot L*.
There is also “A Roster for Col Cooks Regt August 21 A. D. trea
giving the followine list of the captains of 29 companies in ‘23%
regiment. They are:

CVent.

AD BE RA eS

” “WATERBURY IN THE REVOLUTION. 439

‘THE NUMBER OF ABLE MEN IN. EACH COMPANY.
Capt. Ephraim Cook, ; ‘ . 40

t. Samuel Camp, : i . 29

| ah
Sent ie peer Charles Norton, . : : 41 ‘* Benjamin Richards, © .- 32
: re aoe James Robinson, . .- va ‘© Phineas Castle, . ‘ ra
| , Ambrous Hine, . ; ‘ 26 ‘©. Sam! Bronson, . ©. ; 38
Caleb Hall, . ‘ ; eg ‘© Jesse Curtis, . . : . IS
Bezeliel Ives, - ; A 49 « Stephen Seymour, . ; 7
Elisha Hall, . ‘ SS AD ‘«¢ ‘Thomas Fenn, : : 2:33
‘Oliver Stanley, . ; : 63 « JTsaac Bronson, . : ; 18
John Couch, . ‘ ‘ « 26 «© John Woodruff, . ‘ ~° 41
| Pan Collins, i : ; 28 ‘© Nathaniel Barns, ‘ : 23
; ‘Nathaniel Bunnel, . ‘ a) $3 «John Lewis, . ‘ Se a
; “Miles Johnson, . P : 29 ‘¢ Josiah Terril, . . ‘ 10
ag 26 “ Jotham Curtis, . +. «+ #

Pe itnes Hull, | ee 2
«Joseph Garnsey, ‘ ’ 29

é
pased MOM, cs ee R9
, « Stephen Yale, ‘ : . 34
P Of the above 877 men, 434 marched with Lieut.-Colonel Baldwin
r from an “ Abstract of money

2 jo Fishkill in October, as would appea
epaid as a bounty at Fishkill in Oct., 1777.” The men were to receive
ne pound each (see Record of Conn. Men in the War of the Revo-
ition, p. 523), but there is also the following abstract among my
be pers, which I give, and from which it would appear that the
ove service was for twenty-seven days:

eyo A Pay Abstract for the 10 Militia Reg* from the State of Connecticut com-
manded by L' Col” Baldwin for service at Fish Kill in Oct’ 1777—

NO... MEN. iain | AMOUNT OF WAGES.
NO. DAYS. |
jeut Cole Baldwit.......------:1ecersee | oy 27 16 4
aj" POrted .on--ccoccessssseovscrsseeeasenenceeersescent! I 23 II 10
Chaplain Stores ......---sccssessssesseete I 27
Adjt Hough.......-ssceccccececeeneres ttt I 27 10 2
| ‘Qut* Master BE hei sacs assins ooetcesicrvwie | I 27 7 5
| ‘Surgeon Elton bale cai I a7 | 33 10
| Surg" Mate Gaylord... ree T 27, ; +10 16
‘Serg' Majt Foster... I 27 | 2 8 10
“ Qutt Mast" Scott .e-rccncneeerensenertrtet I 27 2 3 3
Captains Samuel Bronson.......---.-+-++-- 60 1620 130 II 6
e B. Richards. ..........s..scccceseeee 60 1335 | 193 2 2
Caleb Hall........--..-eeee 6S 1480 ° 115 I "
J. MOSS «..--oseccceseseee seoeeeseees Sie 60 | 1539 127 10 2
| J. Robimson.......--e-ceeeeee "89 1351 ; 106 11 34
O. Staley «....-ccccescecesreenseresee 59 1348 ‘ 110 I
oa bs cantik eaaiseteoe 1 109 17

“ DUNBAR, Moses, white, hanged Hartford, Conn, 3/19/1777,

ae
. /

Rites of Execution
Capital Punishment

and the Transformation of
American Culture, 1776-1865

LOUIS P. MASUR

New York Oxford
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
1989

Metadata

Containers:: Box 8 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 5
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Slave Cuff executed on ca. 1749-03 in Connecticut (CT)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: June 28, 2019

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