California, B-C, 1906-1964, Undated

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“Qld George Dunne—on the floor of
his shack!” Lafe Grimes blurted. “T’ve
got to telephone !”

Adkinson gasped, “You mean the old
man’s dead ?”

Lafe slashed at his team. The wild-
eyed, sweat-lathered horses plunged
ahead at breakneck speed.

“Murdered!” Lafe Grimes shouted
back.

LTHOUGH I was one of the first to
hear the appalling news that my old
acquaintance George. Dunne had been
brutally slain, I did not enter the case
officially until it-became my duty, as
superior judge, to conduct my first mur-
der trial.

Coroner W. L. Nichols, then a young
man like myself, was the first official of
Del Norte county to be notified. He re-
ceived a telephone call from the excited
stage driver, Lafe Grimes. The message
was so garbled as to be almost unintelli-
gible but Nichols heard enough to spur
him to immediate action.

This was on the afternoon of Friday,
Dec. 30, 1904.

Sheriff George H. Crawford was out
of town at the moment but his brother,
Under-sheriff Joseph P. Crawford, had
just learned of the crime when Nichols
arrived at the jail. The other stage
driver, Joe Adkinson, had confirmed Lafe
Grimes’ startling report, then had hur-
ried on to the copper mine at Monu-
mental, where he had telephoned to the
sheriff’s office at Crescent City.

The little seacoast town was in the
midst of preparations to celebrate the
arrival of a new year, but the grim
business at hand erased all thought of
hilarity from the minds of the two of-
ficials. While Nichols cancelled a date
with the girl who later became his wife,
Crawford got a team from the Breen
brothers’ livery stable. Frank Mitchell,


BROWN, Harry, white, hanged 3an «wue

4 CERTIFICAT

STATE OF CALIFORNIA

DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH SERVICES

BACS OF OLATHE CALIFORNIA STATE BOARD OF HEALTH
CounTy oF MtAs . BUREAU OF VITAL STATISTICS 8 5 8

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Form 5—Original Certifcate of Death A. Carttste & Ca, & F,

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This is to corey Oe this document is a true copy of the official record filed with the
Office of State Registrar. .

Kenneth W. Kizer, MD, MPH, Director and State Registrar of Vital Statistics

OY! Quecd Le 1itebitl

DAVID MITCHELL, CHIEF DATE ISSUED

OFFICE OF STATE REGISTRAR JU L 2 3 1991

This copy not valid unless prepared on engraved border displaying seal and signature of Registrar.


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ROWN, Harry, white, hanged CASP (Del Norte)

JOHN L. CHILDS

Former Superior Judge
Del Norte County, Calif.

GEORGE EDWARD
CLARK

ROM his high seat on the stage-
Preset, Lafe Grimes looked per-

plexedly at the little cabin beyond
the picket fence. His long-drawn halloo,
thrice repeated, had soared across the
clearing to the surrounding hills, but no
answer had come.

Lafe ‘wondered if the rugged old
settler, George Dunne, had fallen ill, He
set the brakes and climbed down. With
a word to the horses, he opened the gate
and went to the cabin.

He halted, staring. The door had been
fastened from the outside. A small stick
through the staple held the hasp, which
the old man always secured with a pad-
lock when he was.to be gone long. Did
this mean he was somewhere on the flat?
If so, why hadn’t he answered?

Lafe removed the stick and opened
the door. He stepped across the threshold
and then stood stock still, paralyzed with
horror.

Suddenly, blindly, he turned and ran.

An hour later, Joe Adkinson, driver
of the northbound stagecoach, and his
companion, L. E. Bill, a telephone lines-
man, were astonished when the south-
bound stage rounded a perilous curve on
two wheels and came thundering toward

them. Hastily Adkinson pulled over on
the narrow road. The other stagecoach
swerved alongside and came to a grind-.
ing stop.

22

September 7, 1906.

«


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Peter cee

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Re eT A ITEP PT VTS

Del Norte County Coroner W. L. Nichols, pictured at left as he is today, and Frank Mitchell,
his assistant, examined the battered corpse of the hermit and furnished the spark that started
the long and difficult murder investigation,

the coroner’s unofficial assistant, agreed to accompany them.

Leaving Crescent City at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, the three
men drove all night. The narrow, winding road that snaked
its way through the mountains to Oregon was dangerous
enough at any time, but that night a terrific storm added to the
hazard of fast driving. Flashes of lightning blinded them.
Crashing thunder made the high-strung horses almost un-
manageable.

At 5 o’clock the next morning, having covered the 34 miles
in 12 hours, the party arrived at the Dunne place.. Hours be-
fore they had been drenched by sheets of rain, and now the
mountain air held the chill promise of snow; but they ignored
their discomfort while they investigated the crime.

The scene that met their horrified gaze when they opened the
door of the little cabin was enough to drive all else from
their minds,

Three or four feet from the door lay the corpse of George
Dunne. Blood-smeared and beaten out of all semblance of the
kindly countenance they had known, his face showed the marks
of countless blows. A club lying on the disarrayed bed furnished
the key to the terrible beating the old man had received.

But while death might have resulted from such terrific blows,
the next discovery was more ghastly still. On the floor, be-
tween the bed and the cook stove, was a double-bit ax. Blood-
stained gray hair had dried on one of the blades of the murder
weapon. :

Coroner Nichols had to steel himself to make an examination
of the gruesome corpse. Turning the body over, he found that
the ax had caught the old man from behind. A huge gash across
the back of the skull had lifted the lobe of the brain, and it was
from this wound that blood had sprayed in every direction.

Crawford, affected as he was by the shocking sight, was
quick to seize upon the first vital clue.

“There were two killers, not one,” he pointed out. “One of
them attacked the old man from in front, with that club. The
other must have sneaked up behind, with the ax.”

24

* . Feat ele Re I PI ae UNI SA a Sls asi Seid pede Y clits SABRE 2 SOS a ta ie pale SAS el cit aa SJR rhe Eich S es

/

The coroner nodded. “Unless,” he said, “Dunne had turned
away. He might have been trying to run from the cabin when
the murderer grabbed up the ax and finished him.”

“Not George Dunne,” Frank Mitchell disagreed. “He
wouldn’t run from any man, old as he was. More likely, he
turned to make a try for his gun there.” He pointed to the rifle
hanging on the wall, cradled between two sets of deer antlers.,

Impressed but unconvinced, the under-sheriff carefully studied
the position of the body.

“T still say it was more than one killer,” he insisted. “The old
man put up a battle for’his life. Look at the skinned knuckles
on his right hand. It took two men to down him, and the
second coward had to get him from behind.”

They argued the point from every angle, but the question
remained undetermined.

G Manes issue remained in doubt even after the inquest, which
was held at the scene of the crime shortly before noon. The
three investigators drove on to Monumniental, where a coroner’s
jury was organized and brought back to the Dunne cabin. But
the result of the inquest was simply the verdict that the victim
had met death by an ax wound inflicted by an unknown person.

Later in the day, Sheriff George Crawford arrived at the
cabin, Out of respect for his brother’s shrewd judgment, the
under-sheriff had left the body and everything else in the death
cabin exactly as they had been found. The sheriff inspected
every inch of the room.

“Who made the discovery?” he asked, when he had taken
notes on all his findings.

“Bither Lafe Grimes or Joe Adkinson, the stage drivers,” his
brother said. “They both telephoned about the same time.
Grimes called Nichols from Mary Adams’ station, and Adkinson
phoned me from Monumental.”

“Does either of them have any idea who did it?”

“Apparently not. They were both upset, especially Lafe

DARING

- { 4 5)


y argument at
seat and I held
t, and told him
He drove fast.
because he was
’ cops to chase

mto I told him
t, which runs in
{dn’t do what I
arned he would

ead, punk, kill
> drove against
miles an hour.
e driving home

nad. He drove
. red lights. He
.venue (another
h wasn't where
it I wanted was
ide streets.
o drive all over
near Bathurst
iarter), I pulled
zx the trigger.
ic on the street.
ed down and I
urb. She started
rigger on her.
to the front seat
‘ts until I found
itended to leave
rget to mention
tle sandy-haired
t until after his
then he started

ly out of the car.
cause I got him
\l groaning. Just
ind dragged it to
d it wouldn't be
barking some
1otion. Someone
, get out of there
ning.
-he seat into the
er her. Then
set Military Hos-
hich I knew be-
3 there for treat-
Air Force.
[ knew she was
ne of a friend to
remembered the
ild make. Then I
I had left on the
dog out, tied him
wiped off all the

ewspapers. I was,
zople I had mur-
and out they had
irderer of Layng.
Vhat a nightmare
yat I saw of my-
beach was not a
wing!” In fleeing
z killing, he had
to help disguise
spectacles he had
iish the difference
awing of himself

*k to the Layng
Saturday. “I was
»wds in the super
should be worth
0.” he continued.
locker at Central
‘r and got them.
he store.”
of the holdup and
yng, he said: “He
siness, but I guess
a good citizen. By
ce I should have
The police said it

a

ry
was a puzzle to them how I got away. It’s
a bigger mystery to me.

“First, I ran up a blind lane with a 15-
foot fence at the top of it. Behind me

was a fellow sprinting with all his speed. ~

He was so close to me that I couldn’t
step back to get a run. I turned around
with my gun and told him to get back or
die. He did, with his hands in the air. A
run at the fence—and I was over. Just
then the mob came.

“T wasn’t away even then. There was
a bunch running around the other street.
I got into an old car and tried to start it.
It wouldn’t go. By then some other people
were near me. [ pulled the gun and they
ran back. I-dashed through a lane and
then into the St. Regis Hotel.

“T had thrown my coat under a small
veranda and tossed away my glasses and
tie. I washed up and told the girl at the
desk to call a cab. I was just in the cab
when a police car came up.to search the
hotel. The policeman was about to come
to the car to ask me questions, but I guess
as I had no coat, he didn’t.”

Buckowski had a new car, bought
with the proceeds of earlier holdups. “I
thought the best place would be Wasaga
Beach,” he declared. “I drove there.”

Then he narrated the story of how
terror gripped him at the belief that. the
police knew he had murdered Layng. “All
I thought of was that I was a marked
man,” he concluded. “I had to get away.
My life is a nightmare that is soon to
come to an end.” \

At this writing, Buckowski’s date with
the executioner has been held over. be-
cause of a writ of review; but he told me
he held no hope.

Warden Duffy showed me thick files
compiled from exhaustive studies of the
man made by state psychiatrists and soci-
ologists. They reported that there is no
doubt Buckowski is sane and responsible
for his actions.

With the triple slayer’s sensational con-
fession to me, I started back to Toronto.
I now felt pleased that my hunch had
paid off. But there was a greater satisfac-
tion in knowing that the relatives of the
young McKays would learn that the
killer of their kin had been captured.

The end of Buckowski’s life of crime
and his confession to the murder of her
son was received stoically by Mrs. Nancy
McKay, widowed mother of the victim.
She has been left all alone in the world,
for her son was all she had, she
said. :

“Two years of doubt are ended,” she
remarked. “This is the last chapter, and
I'm afraid it proves what I believed all
along. I always said that my son never
picked up hitchhikers and that he must
have had a gun pointed at his head from
the start. Poor Bob, he never had a choice
but to drive a man who would have killed
him no matter what he did! Bob was
everything I had. He was taken away.

“T’ve cried too much to cry any more.
I'm glad it’s over.”

Mrs. C. Bert Powell, mother of Gloria,
said they paid little attention when she,
too, had the same theory as I; that the
Layng killer was also the murderer of
her daughter. “Call it a mother’s intuition
or that I am psychic, but I drew a picture
of the killer in my mind and it fitted Buc-
kowski. I have had frightful nightmares
about that image. At least the death
chamber will end these and bring a career
of wholesale killing ‘to an end.”

“T’m so relieved he has finally con-
fessed,” said Mrs. Layng, for whom a
$20,000 .public fund was raised. “Little
Patricia and. I awaken in tears at night,
having seen him murdered before our
eyes.” ‘

I don’t know what it was that prompted
Buckowski to pour out his story to me,
except that he seemed so glad to see
someone from Toronto. He asked me
about his friends, some of whom lived in
the district in which I was born.

The story was splashed across the
front page of The Star, to become what
I was told was the biggest Toronto
police-beat scoop in 20 years. My satis-
faction lay in having three crimes wiped
from the books. In the files of the To-
ronto and Ontario police, the murders of
Gloria and Bob McKay as well as the
killing of Alfred Layng have been
marked “Solved.”

Buckowski died for his crimes in San
Quentin's lethal chamber on May 9, 1952.

Phantom “Pants Burglar”

of the Gold Coast

[Continued from page 17]

for Raffles to strike again. They got no-
where.

It's a long 60 miles from Palm Beach to
Miami, however, when you count each
likely spot for the smooth thievery of
which the pant#burglar was proving ca-
pable, And the phantom’s luck seemed
incredible. He jumped from one Gold
Coast city to the next. One restless Sun-
day morning he “took” seven places in
Hollywood, Fla., for a total cash haul of
$1,229. Early the following morning he
staged a repeat performance at Fort
Lauderdale, the next city northward along
the Florida coast. Here he quietly entered
13 apartments, one after another—-with-
out disturbing a single sleeper—for a
night's loot of $2,400.

Harassed police set up roadblocks,
checking scores of motorists. But it all
proved of no avail. The phantom took
only cash, scornful of expensive watches

and even the most precious jewels, all of :

which found their way into the glittering

,

piles he left behind him on the green
lawns. And the cash, of course, was in
unmarked bills.

“Get a description of him!”ewent up
the cry. “Surely somebody must have seen
this guy!”

Nobody had. A ‘few restless sleepers,
perhaps, had caught a fleeting glimpse of
the pencil-thin flashlight beam he used be-
fore they turned over and dozed off again.
And the phantom continued his brazen
business. He was an expert at soundless
entry, regardless of the type of door or
window he chose to approach. He appar-
ently could pick the most intricate lock.
Sometimes, to dull the sound of screen
cutting, he would smear lip rouge on a
window or door screen, then soundlessly
cut it with a knife, The Florida nights he-
ing balmy, it was a simple matter for him
to reach through the opening and operate
the window crank or door latch that would
permit his entry. Often, inside, he made
‘straight for the landlord's bedroom or of-
fice, there blithely to confiscate duplicate
keys for all the apartments or rooms. in
the building. These he would then open
one by one, obviously without a jumpy
nerve in his body to hurry him along.

There were nights when this brazen
thief made off with sums ranging as high
as $4- and $6,000. ~

Vicious dogs, animals that a normal

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73


en

BUCKOWSKI, Stanley, white, gassed CA@ (Los Angeles) May 5, 1952

T. all appearances they were just another young
couple taking a stroll along Benton Way, a quiet resi-
dential street in mid-town Los Angeles, on the evening
of February 1, 1950. There was nothing to indicate
that the man was a killer and that within a few minutes
he would kill again.

The slender, 23-year-old, brown-eyed, dark-haired
girl who walked beside him was his wife. If asked, she
probably could not have told why she had elected to
throw in her lot with him. But theirs was a sort of
modern-day Trilby-Svengali relationship, with her
completely under his domination. He seemed, in fact,
to exert an almost hypnotic influence over her,

She knew that he was a dyed-in-the-wool criminal ;
that he was wanted for murder; that he earned a pre-
carious living by robbing markets and service stations ;
that he burglarized shops and homes for the thrill of
it, often stealing’ items for which they had no use;
and that even now, with a gun stuck in his belt, pre-
pared to kill if necessary, he planned. to sneak-rob
a house. 4

Twenty-six years old, of medium height and build,
with black hair, green eyes and a cruel mouth, he was
not particularly handsome, but to his wife he repre-
sented all that was romantic. Life with him was ex-
citing, dangerous. And after one of his vicious forays
it was thrilling to lie in his arms and listen while
he gave a detailed account of his latest law-breaking
escapade. Several times he had narrowly missed being
captured by the police.

“The dumb cops,” he’d laugh. “I can outsmart ’em
any day in the week, can’t I, baby ?” She would agree.

“The dumb cops,” he boasted, "I can outsmart 'em any day in the week!

BY SGT. HARRY HANSEN, Los Angeles Homicide Division, as told to M. K. ARNOLD

Co-author Hansen, in dark suit, questions slayer of Mrs.
door in this vine-covered house led police to the hard-boile

Tonight as they walked slowly along he stopped
before a house that was literally covered with vines
from ground to roof. He looked up and down the street.
Not a soul in sight on this chilly evening. It was only
8 o’clock—hardly a propitious time to attempt a bur-
glary—but the bungalow in question appeared to be
unoccupiéd, with not a light showing.

“Wait heré,” he said, and started down a narrow
driveway toward the rear of the house.

A moment later, ears attuned to catch the slightest
sound, she heard the tinkle of breaking glass, followed
almost immediately by a sharp report. On tiptoes she
ran down the driveway, climbed a short flight of steps
leading to the service-porch and met her husband
emerging from the kitchen, gun clutched in his gloved
right hand. ‘

“Come on,” he said, breathing hard. ‘Let's get out
of here. I had to shoot somebody in there.”

When they reached the sidewalk he took her arm.
“Walk, don’t run, We don’t want to attract attention.”

At a normal pace they proceeded to their rented
apartment, three blocks distant. As soon as they
reached the safety of their room he tossed his gun
on.the bed. “Get the police radio calls,” he ordered.

She made a big pot of coffee and all night long
they waited, fully dressed, for the message that might
prove his crime had been discovered.

“If the cops come after me, I’ll blast my way out,”
he told. her. f

“What about me?”

“You'll have to stay here.” Suddenly his fingers
dug deep jnto the flesh of her [Continued on page 77 |

Edmunds. A piece of broken glass from a
d murderer of one and probably four persons.


the Layng murder
at employed in the
1s.
apointed would be
I was unshaken in
<new Buckowski’s
wasn’t the type to
one gun. After the
d have disposed of
ind have used an-
cay slayings.
nother thing about
the pattern of the
ed in my mind. He
- owned a spaniel
the color, just.like
shed his affections
his constant com-
ours with it on his
iis friends told me.
other than a’gun-
vuld a ruthless killer
the McKay cocker
have barked when
ess were being at-

‘Buckowski in To-
ice had searched
r McCathie kept
> worked night and
lusive clue to lead

e on Buckowski’s
the midtown hotel
ve day he learned
up. The police the-
eceived some word
o had arranged for

-say-die veteran of
is glum but unde-
sroke the news to
ance. “Don’t worry
be in trouble some-

Buckowski left her
word came to Ser-
kowski was in New
1 life, spending lav-
e from there before
vere completed.

eloped for months.
ight the telephone
nspector McCathie.
Celegraphs calling,”
ne voice. “We have
ssage from Director
the FBI in Wash-

the telegram which
bout the best news
e fingerprints of one
Los Angeles police,
ckowski, which had
shington bureau by

of this, I decided to
> limit.
the Toronto Star, I
the next day and
Detectives William
ialf an hour the cap-
: how Miller, as he
Los Angeles police,
ter a gun fight.
ted Miller following
use the prisoner had
le, he was placed in
e Los Angeles Gen--
ird was situated nine
level,
his bed was empty.”
nued. “Outside the
ed bed sheets that
rs. He still had four
he made it. It was
ing things I've ever
t I could hardly be-

in Los Angeles was

alerted. On July 26, Miller was sighted at
Kenmore Avenue and Sunset Boulevard,
sitting in a parked automobile. He saw
the police car drive up and he leaped out,
running toward Vermont Avenue in Los
Angeles’ most fashionable section.

“He was known as a desperate man,”
the detective captain ‘told me. “We sent
more than a dozen heavily armed cars to
a park where he was hiding in the thick
shrubbery. But even then we weren’t pre-
pared for what followed. We shouted for
him to surrender and to come out of the
bushes. The answer was a series of shots.

“When he fired about eight times, we
thought he must have emptied his gun
and our men started to move in, They
were firing as they went, but suddenly
Miller started shooting again.

“There was so much shooting no one
knows how many shots were fired. After
half an hour he ran out of ammunition.
We found him lying on the ground with
five empty guns beside him, He had been
hit three times. The wounds were minor.”

Charges of attempted murder of the
patrolman who had first sighted him, two
charges of housebreaking and two of
armed holdup were lodged against Miller.
That was enough to put the bail at
$27,500.

It was only a matter of hours before
Los Angeles detectives brought in his
wife, Jeannie. Cautiously they questioned
her, for in the back of their minds was
the belief that Buckowski—or Miller, the
name he was using at the time—was the
burglar who had shot and killed 78-year-
old Mrs, Elizabeth Edmunds during a
house burglary in an exclusive section of
Los Angeles not long before.

Jeannie told this story: She said that
her husband’s name was really Buckowski
and not Miller. After her husband had
fled from Canada, she had joined him in
New York. From there they had gone to
New Orleans. She unfolded a story in
which her husband had blazed a trail of
crime across th¢ country. She, herself, had
had no part in any of his forays. Often she
had begged him to reform and to give
himself up to the’ police.

Sobbing bitterly, barely able to control
herself, Jeannie told of going on what
she had believed was to be an evening
walk with her husband. Along the way he
had noticed a house in darkness, He had
ordered her to stay outside and wait.

Inside, the elderly widow, Mrs. Ed-

munds, had gone to bed early. Buckowski
prowled through her roam. A big woman
and unafraid, she jumped out of ‘bed in
the darkness, shouting; “Who’s there?”
A shot rang out and Buckowski fled to
the street. ;

Confronted with his wife’s story, Buc-
kowski confessed the killing of Mrs, Ed-
munds. He showed no remorse. His only
excuse was, “I didn’t know it was a
woman.” .

As a matter of routine, Captain Zink
concluded, Buckowski’s fingerprints were
sent to the FBI in Washington, where it
was found that he was a fugitive from
Canadian justice in the Layng murder.

From Captain Zink’s: story, I_ had
gained a scoop for my newspaper. But I
was not satisfied. Now that Buckowski
was in custody, I wanted to settle once
and for all my theory that he was also
the McKay killer.

Meanwhile, C. R. Magone, deputy at-
torney general of the province of Ontario,
said extradition proceedings would be
started at once to bring the slayer back
to Toronto for trial in the Layng murder.

Inspector Nimmo flew to Les Angeles
and came back with the sad news that
Ontario was not likely to get Buckowski.
Los Angeles authorities had charged the
wanted man with Mrs. Edmunds’ murder
and they had an airtight case against him.
But Nimmo had the promise that if Buc-
kowski was acquitted of that murder,
Toronto would get him.

However, a Los Angeles County jury
had no trouble in reaching a verdict of
guilty, and Buckowski was sentenced to
die in.San Quentin’s lethal chamber on
November 16, 1949. No -charges were
made against Jeannie Buckowski, since
she was completely innocent of any crime.

I kept my eye on the calendar, because
I planned to ask my city editor to send
me to San Quentin about two weeks be-
fore the execution. I had my own plans
about how I would approach Buckowski,
and what I would say to him.

I knew that if I got a chance to talk
to the killer, I could solve not one—but
three—murders,

My paper has an international reputa-
tion for gambling on success, no matter
what the cost; I made the most of it, In
a note to City Editor Borden Spears I
prophesied one of the greatest scoops of
the year.

I knew Buckowski had refused to tell

Trial by jury did not come into
prominence until the Middle Ages. It
was then generally believed that 12
was a holy number—since there were
12 tribes of Israel, 12 disciples of
Jesus, and so on. According to the
logic of medieval authorities, 12 men
in accord could not reach a false con-
clusion even if they tried. So, in Old
French, the pronouncement of a body

Twenty-ninth of a Series

of 12 was given a technical name
formed from veir (true) and dit
(said). ‘

Though there is sometimes reason
to doubt its supernatural power to find
truth; even a modern jury cannot
reach a verdict concerning a homi-
cide case until all 12 members are in
agreement. When such accord fails, a
new jury is formed. —Boyd G. Wood.

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72

Inspector Nimmo anything about the
Layng or the McKay case, but I felt that,
since he now had little chance of escaping
punishment in San Quentin, he would
confess.

“Okay,” said Spears. “Take a camera
man and get going.” He assigned Douglas
Cronk to go with me. I took all precau-
tions against any leak of information on
my mission, even to the extent of refusing
to tell Cronk the reason for the trip until
we had reached Dallas on our flight to
San Francisco.

Twenty-six hours out of Toronto we
were sitting in the office of Warden Clin-
ton T. Duffy at San Quentin. I told the
world-renowned prison chief the reason
for my 3,500-mile trip. He said Buckow-
ski was moody and maybe wouldn't want
to see anyone. ,

“In any event,” he added, “no con-
demned man has to see anyone unless he
wants to.”

(In Canada, such an interview is not
allowed under any circumstances.)

Warden Duffy sent in a formal type-
written request to Buckowski that read:
“Gwyn Thomas of the Toronto Daily
Star and Douglas Cronk, a photographer,
request permission to interview Stanley
Buckowski..It is understood matters per-
taining only to his case will be discussed.”

Buckowski signed, and within minutes
I was talking to him. He had been
,brought from a row of death cells which
held 21 other prisoners awaiting execu-
tion.

At the outset he seemed reluctant to
talk. An expression of incredulity that
Toronto would be interested in hearing
from him was dispelled when I showed
him my newspaper credentials. Cronk,
my camera man, is big and burly and
looks very much like a detective. Buc-
kowski laughed when I assured him
Cronk wasn’t an officer.

Just as I was beginning to grow doubt-
ful that I would get my story, he sud-
denly said, “What is it you want? A
human-interest story?”

Hopefully, I shook my head. “To be
frank with you, I want to hear about the
murder of the McKays and the murder
of Layng. That’s what I came 3,500 miles
for,” I said to him firmly. It seemed to
break the shell of his reticence. °

“Okay,” he said. “You had better write

shorthand, because when I talk, I talk ,

fast. It’s hard to get me to stop.”

Starting with the murders of Gloria
and Bob McKay, here is Buckowski’s
story: _

“After: killing Layng in the holdup, I
went to Wasaga Beach in my car to spend
the week end. I slept the night without
trouble, and in the morning bought a
newspaper. I saw what I thought was a
picture of me. (Ed.: What he actually
had seen was the artist’s sketch, which
was indeed accurate.) I didn’t even read
anything.

“T figured right then and there they
knew I killed Layng. If they knew I killed
Layng, they would have no trouble know-
ing I had a car and. getting the license
number. I had to get out of there fast. I
left my car beside the cabin I had rented
and started out for Toronto.

“T got as far as Elmvale (about 15
miles). Everybody seemed to be looking
at me. I knew the cops were out in full
force. I tried a couple of cars, but no one
would give me a lift.

“At the side of the road I saw a parked
car. A young couple were in the front
seat. She was sleeping on his shoulder.

“T got in the back seat and awakened
them. I told them, I wanted to be driven
to Toronto. I pulled out my gun and told
him to get going.

“He didn’t give me any argument at
first. I was in the back seat and I held
the gun at his neck at first, and told him
not to try any funny stuff. He drove fast.
I had to slow him down because he was
trying to get the highway cops to chase
him.

“When we got to Toronto I told him
to turn off the main street, which runs in
off the highway. He wouldn’t do what I
told him even though I warned he would
get shot if he didn’t.

“Once he said, ‘Go ahead, punk, kill
me and we'll all die.’ He drove against
red lights and went at 60 miles an hour.
There were lots of people driving home
from their cottages.

“He seemed to get mad. He drove
against four or five more red lights. He
turned along Eglington Avenue (another
busy thoroughfare), which wasn’t where
I wanted him to go. What I wanted was
for him to go along the side streets.

“So when he started to drive all over
the street on Eglington near Bathurst

* Street (one mile and a quarter), I pulled

the trigger. I kept pulling the trigger.
“There was heavy traffic on the street.
The car somehow slowed down and I
pulled the wheel to the curb. She started
to scream. I pulled the trigger on her.
“T squeezed my way into the front seat
and drove up a few streets until I found
a lonely spot, where I intended to leave
them both. I mustn’t forget to mention

the dog. He was a little sandy-haired ~

spaniel. He'd been quiet until after his
master was: dead, and then he started
howling.

“T pulled the man’s body out of the car.

-[ knew he was dead because I got him
many times. She was still groaning. Just
after I got his body out and dragged it to
the place where I figured it wouldn't be
found, the dog started barking some
more. There was commotion. Someone
was coming and I had to get out of there
quick. She was still groaning.

“T dragged her over the seat into the
back and put’a rug over her. Then |
drove to the Christie Street Military Hos-
pital parking grounds, which I knew be-
cause I spent 14 months there for treat-
ment when I was in the Air Force.

“When I got there I knew she was
dead. I went to the home of a friend to
spend the night. But I remembered the
dog and the fuss he would make. Then I
thought of fingerprints I had left on the
car. I went back, let the dog out, tied him
to the bumper and then wiped off all the
fingerprints.

“Next day I read the newspapers. I was,
in pretty deep—three, people I had mur-
dered. It was then I found out they had
no idea who was the murderer of Layng.
I'll tell you I felt sick. What a nightmare
when I realized that what I saw of my-
self in the paper at the beach was not a
police picture but a drawing!” In fleeing
the scene of the Layng killing, he had
tossed away his glasses to help disguise
himself, and without his spectacles he had
not been able to distinguish the difference
between the artist’s drawing of himself
and a photograph.

Then he harked back to the Layng
killing of the previous Saturday. “I was
convinced from the crowds in the super
market that the holdup should be worth
$4,000 or maybe $5,000.” he continued.
“T kept my guns in my locker at Central
Y.M.C.A. I drove over and got them.
There were crowds in the store.”

Buckowski then told of the holdup and
of his flight. As to Layng, he said: “He
didn’t mind his own business, but I guess
he was what they call a good citizen, By
all the odds on the dice I should have
been caught after that. The police said it

.
was a puzzle to
a bigger myster
“First, I ran
foot fence at t
was a fellow sp
He was so clo
step back to ge
with my gun an
die. He did, wit
run at the fenc
then the mob
“T wasn't aw
a bunch runnin
I got into an ol
It wouldn't go.
were near me.
ran back. I da
then into the S
“T had throw
veranda and to:
tie. I washed u
desk to call a ¢
when a police «
hotel. The poli
to the car to ask
as I had no coa
Buckowski |
with the proce:
thought the bes
Beach,” he dec!
Then he na:
terror gripped
police knew he
T thought of wv
man,” he concl:
My life is an
come to an en
At this writi:
the executioner
cause of a writ
he held no hop:
Warden Duf
compiled from
man made by st
ologists. They
doubt Buckows
for his actions.
With the trip
fession to me, ]
I now felt ple
paid off. But th
tion in knowin;
young McKay
killer of their k

Phantom
of the

[Contin

for Raffles to s
where.

It's a long 60
Miami, howev:
likely spot for
which the pant
pable, And the
incredible. He
Coast city to t!
day morning |
Hollywood, Fl
$1,229. Early 1
staged a repe
Lauderdale, the
the Florida coa
13 apartments,
out disturbing
night's loot of

Harassed px
checking score
proved of no
only cash, scor
and even the n
which found th

+

Eagerly the officers scanned their haul. It
included a bloodstained pair of trousers, a
shirt and shoes with telltale rubber heels.

The youth
the police
examined
began his
ad leather

DARING

The two suspects exchanged uneasy
glances. Then Johnson spoke: “Louis
Bundy.”

White’s heart pounded in excitement
as he heard the name. Why hadn’t he

heels and his alibi also seemed plausible
enough. “Now, boys,” White began,
“who was that other fellow you were dis-
cussing a robbery with ? Come on, now—
out with it!”

DETECTIVE

thought of the neighborhood bully before?

Leaving Red and Brown in custody,
White went back to the ravine. It was
now late afternoon and he had been on
the case without respite since the
previous evening. But like a true man-
hunter hot on the trail of his quarry.
White had no thought of turning the case
over to other officers.

“Harry,” he said as he rejoined Glaze,
“do you know a young tough named
Louis Bundy ? Have you seen him around
here? I’ve got a hunch that if he knows
anything about this he won’t come back
here. But if he does—well, that. still
wouldn’t prove much, but I want to talk
to him.”

"Marae had not seen Bundy, but
promised to keep watch while White
combed the neighborhood trying to
locate him. “But why do you suspect
him?” Glaze asked. ‘He’s bad, all right,
but that doesn’t prove anything.” --

“Bundy was mixed up with a couple
of toughies that time they stretched a
wire across the bridge, neck high, and
then turned in a fake postoffice robbery
call they knew I’d answer on my motor-
cycle,” White said. “That proves he has
murderous intentions. It was right after
they beat up the Jap boy and thought I
was going to arrest them. Bundy looks
like a good suspect to me.”

Glaze remembered the incident. White
had escaped possible death only because
an elderly couple overheard the plot and
notified police a scant few minutes before
the fake call was received. No prose-
cution had resulted but Bundy was
marked as a dangerous youth.

“Go to it,” Glaze told his partner.
“T’ll hold down this end.”

At the Bundy home White learned
that the suspect was away. He then drove
back to the scene of the murder and
sought out Glaze. “Bundy was here just
a while ago,” Glaze reported. “Even had
his picture taken with a detective right
where the body was found. I didn’t take
him, though, and he just left. Maybe the
detectives have him. I hear they have
about a dozen suspects in the cooler
by now.”

White sought out Capt. Flammer, but
before the young officer could speak,
Flammer noticed his pale, drawn ex-
pression. “White,” he said kindly,
“you’ve been on this case too long. Why
don’t you drop it until tomorrow? We've
got a jail full of suspects already. Maybe
the killer is among them.”

Flammer readily recited the list of
suspects, with ages and descriptions.
White knew most of them but he had
been too busy on the case to follow de-
velopments in the newspapers. They
were full of indignation at the diabolical
murder which had shocked the com-
munity only a week before Christmas.

Bundy’s name was not in Flammer’s
list, however, and White's heart thumped
with secret satisfaction.

“Chief, I’d like to stay with this
case,” he said. “I know the neighbor-
hood awfully well. Maybe my special

[Continued on page 62]

51

em te


\

Mystery of the Doomed Messenger

knowledge will help crack the mystery.”

Flammer smiled. “Well,” he said drily,
“it’s been twenty-four hours since that
poor kid was murdered and I can't give
out a definite statement to the news-
papers yet. If I could, I’d order you
home. I just hope you don’t collapse,
that’s all.”

White returned to his partner, “Harry,”
he said, “I know you're pretty well
played out, and so am I. But let’s try
Bundy’s home again. Maybe he’ll check
in there tonight. There’s a lot of
questions I want to ask him.”

Louis Bundy, however, was not at
home. White. and Glaze withdrew to a
doorway near the corner. “I want to get
into that basement,” White said. “I
notice Bundy’s mother is pretty deaf,
and if you go into the house again,
maybe I can crawl through that venti-
lator at the side. I noticed it a while ago.”

White crawled into the basement un-
detected, and directed his flashlight
beam cautiously about. He picked up a
carpenter’s saw first. Then, beside where
the tool had lain, he found a quantity of
sawdust, which he carefully gathered up
and secured in a handkerchief. He could
see nothing else in his hasty inspection,
and he snapped off his flashlight and
crawled out. Within a few minutes
Glaze joined him, and White described
what he had found.

“Sounds like we’re on the right track,
Bill,’ Glaze whispered exultantly. Then
he broke off quickly as both officers
heard a door slam.

“That must have ‘been our man!”
White exclaimed. “Harry, go around to
the back and I'll hit the front door be-
fore he finds out we’ve been looking for
him.”

Again White walked into the Bundy
living room. Without uttering a word,
the ashen-faced mother pointed a
trembling finger to the door of a bed-
room off the hall. White strode in and
switched on the light.

“Hello, Louis,” White began as he
alertly watched the figure on the bed,

[Continued from page 51)

“T’ve been looking for you all evening.
Where have you been?”

“Been to the Hippodrome, if it’s any-
thing to you,” coolly replied Bundy, a
stocky, muscular youth of 18 years.

“These your shoes, Louis?” White
asked mildly, picking up a pair of shoes
from the floor beside the bed. He
casually turned them over, Leather heels!
He felt hollow just under his belt buckle.
Was he, after all, going to make him-
self a laughing stock for the veteran
detectives? Quite probably—but he in-
tended to take the chance.

“Get your clothes on, Bundy. You’re
going down to the station with me for a
little talk,” White snapped, his voice
hoarse. As Bundy started to put on a
long-sleeved undershirt White’s confi-
dence took a sudden new lease on life.
“What’s this stain on your sleeve, Louis?
Looks like blood that somebody didn’t
quite get washed out! What have you to
say about that?”

“Nosebleed,” said Bundy © sullenly.
“Happened last night..I washed it out so
my mother wouldn't complain, She might
have thought I. was in a fight.”

“Quite likely,” said White drily. “A
fight in which the other fellow didn’t
have much chance to hit back. Where
have you been the last couple of nights,
Louis?”

“At the movies.”

“That so? What was the picture?”

Bundy named a picture, then fell into
a sullen silence. He made no resistance,
however, when White led him from the
house. The officer marched his prisoner
to the police station and announced to
the desk sergeant: ,

“Book Louis Bundy for the murder of
Harold Ziesche.”

The sergeant blinked as White turned
to leave, “Where are you going now?”
he demanded.

“To the movies,” White said, grinning.

An hour later he joined his weary but
still willing partner. “Harry,” he said,
“T’ve just checked Louis Bundy’s alibi

for the murder night. He said he went to

the theater and named the picture. I
think we’ve got the right man. That
picture wasn’t even playing in this part
of town.”

Glaze shook his head. “You'll need more
evidence than that,” he said. “I get mixed
up about pictures myself. So do jury-
men.”

“Right,” White agreed. “But it’s a
starter, and it occurs to me that we
might be able to find something more in
Bundy’s cellar. I want the right pair of
shoes—he was wearing leather-heeled
ones when I arrested him—and the other
clothes he wore. There ought to be blood
on them. Finally I want the rest of that
pick handle and the wallet Thurston gave
the kid when he started out on that de-
livery.”

“A large order,” Glaze said, shrugging.
“But we may as well try to fill it. I’m
ready.if you are.”

This time the officers entered the
Bundy cellar through the door. The very
fact that there no longer was any need
to crawl through windows gave them
enthusiasm for the search. With Glaze
holding a flashlight, White began rum-
maging through piles of old boxes. Then,
suddenly, he was almost unable to be-
lieve his luck as he peered into the depths
of an old packing crate.

A second later he was inspecting his
haul. It included a bloodstained pair of
trousers, a brown-smeared shirt—and a
pair of shoes with cat’s-paw rubber heels!

The officers returned to the search
with frantic zeal. They were unable to
find the wallet or the pick handle, but
this failed to dim their satisfaction. They
carried the clothes to the East Side police
station and White, blinking owlishly
from fatigue, hurriedly produced the
plaster cast he had made from the heel-
print found on the crime scene. Into the
cast he dropped the heel of Bundy’s shoe.
It fitted perfectly.

“Now,” he said, “we've got to hang that
wallet on him, But how?”

Glaze thought for a minute. “It occurs
to me,” he said finally, “that we ought to

At a time when the collarless tough at left thought he had successfully covered all murder clues,
a determined officer was busily picking up the threads of his trail in Los Angeles’ Highland Park.

62

know a little mc
looks like befo
town apart loo
that druggist.”

Soon afterw

Thurston drug

“Mr. Thursto
rested a man
messenger. I ne:
prove he did it.
a wallet like the
the night he wa

“Yes I do,” Tt
you want with i

White was o1
explanation bef
grimly, wheelec
his stockroom.
he went to the
some money an

“Let me know
he said fervent]

Promising th:
raced back to th:
later, with Lie
entered Louis
sentences he tol
what he had fo:
the result of his
hood movie hou:
work with the
plaster cast.

“In other worc
he concluded. “\

Bundy slumpe
There was a f¢
merely sat mo
floor,

Then, unex
changed. He act
membered,” he
lawyer yet. May
call it, isn’t qui
Maybe I'd bette:

HITE felt }
his face s
could afford to w
against you,” he
another little ite:
Drawing a wa
White threw it
ing his thumb i
Sanders, he saic
doesn’t want tot
I found the kid’:
know, don’t we, |
Bundy’s face
fumbling fingers
inspected it car
counted the mo:
stepped into the
“Nineteen do!
cents,” he said |
in the cellar, rig
the back wall. I s
find it.” A wave
him, “Nineteen «
cents—and I did:
spend a nickel’s \
Before the wre
the last words, \
Doubting Thomz
out of the cell. /
yielded the orig
the price of a
life—intact. Fing
the wallet chec
from the murd
found in the cella
in the club.
Bundy, howev:
of his early self
seem to realize t
“Tt could be a lo:
the jailer. “After
teen years old ye
all they want, bu
is send me to the

ie picture. I
man. That
‘in this part

a'll need more
“I get mixed
So do jury-

“But it’s a
me that we
thing more in
right pair of
leather-heeled
and the other
ht to be blood
e rest of that
Thurston gave
it on that de-

ud, shrugging.
to fill it. I’m

entered the
floor. The very
was any need
vs gave them
1. With Glaze
-e began rum-
d boxes. Then,
unable to be-
into the depths

inspecting his
stained pair of
d shirt—and a
w rubber heels!
to the search
vere unable to
ck handle, but
isfaction. They
Zast Side police
iking owlishly
produced the
from the heel-
scene. Into the
f Bundy’s shoe.

-ot to hang that

ute. “It occurs
iat we ought to

know a little more about what that wallet ,

looks like before we start tearing the
town apart looking for it. Let’s go see
that druggist.”

Soon afterward, they entered the

’ Thurston drug store.

“Mr. Thurston,” White said, “I’ve ar-
rested a man for the murder of your
messenger. I need only one more thing to
prove he did it. Do you happen to have
a wallet like the one you gave to Harold
the night he was killed?”

“Yes I do,” Thurston replied. “What do
you want with it?”

White was only half way through his
explanation before the druggist, smiling
grimly, wheeled about and darted into
his stockroom. Returning with a wallet,
he went to the cash register, drew out
some money and placed it in the wallet.

“Let me know how your plan works,”
he said fervently.

Promising that he would, the officer
raced back to the police station. Moments
later, with Lieut. E. M. Sanders, he
entered Louis Bundy’s cell. In terse
sentences he told the pale-faced prisoner
what he had found in the Bundy cellar,
the result of his checkup at the neighbor-
hood movie houses, and the upshot of his
work with the cat’s-paw heel and the
plaster cast.

“Tn other words, Louis, you're finished,”
he concluded. “Why don’t you admit it?”

Bundy slumped down on his cell cot.
There was a painful silence while he
merely sat motionless, staring at the
floor,

Then, unexpectedly, his attitude
changed. He actually smiled. “I just re-
membered,” he said. “I haven’t seen a
lawyer yet. Maybe that evidence, as you
call it, isn’t quite as good as you say.
Maybe I’d better wait a while.”

HITE felt his heart sink but he kept
his face straight. “You probably
could afford to wait if that was all we had
against you,” he said levelly. “But there’s
another little item here to finish the job.”
Drawing a wallet from his hip pocket,
White threw it into Bundy’s lap. Jerk-
ing his thumb in the direction of Lieut.
Sanders, he said, “The lieutenant here
doesn’t want to take my word for it that
I found the kid’s wallet. But you and I
know, don’t we, Louis?”

Bundy’s face blanched anew. With
fumbling fingers he picked up the wallet,
inspected it carefully and then slowly
counted the money inside. Stunned, he
stepped into the pitfall.

“Nineteen dollars and _ seventy-five
cents,” he said hoarsely. “I left it there
in the cellar, right behind the post near
the back wall. I should have known you'd
find it.” A wave of bitterness overcame
him. “Nineteen dollars and seventy-five
cents—and I didn’t even get a chance to
spend a nickel’s worth!”

Before the wretched youth had uttered
the last words, White and the supposed
Doubting Thomas, Lieut. Sanders, were
out of the cell. A final trip to the cellar
yielded the original wallet, its $19.75—
the price of a brilliant, upright boy’s
life—intact. Fingerprints obtained from
the wallet checked with those taken
from the murder bludgeon. Sawdust
found in the cellar checked with the wood
in the club.

Bundy, however, had recovered some
of his early self-confidence. He did not
seem to realize the fate in store for him.
“Tt could be a lot worse,” he confided to
the jailer. “After all, I’m not even nine-
teen years old yet. They can yell murder
all they want, but the worst they can do
is send me to the reform school. Right?”

Neither the jailer nor the investigating
officers bothered to tamper with the
youth’s ignorance. It might come in use-
ful, they thought.

Chief Flammer called White into his

office the next morning and expressed
his praise of the officer in the warmest
terms. “White,” he added, “you’re too
valuable a man-hunter to straddle a
motorcycle any more. You are here-
with promoted to the detective division.

And I’m recommending you for an acting.

lieutenancy. Your first assignment will be
to stick with this Bundy case until that
murderer goes through the trap at San
Quentin. If it wasn’t for you he might
have got away.”

When White left the chief’s office he
was treading on air. Now, he felt, he had
a chance to clean up the case. He went
back to Bundy’s cell with a police stenog-
rapher. Bundy, after inquiring how soon
he would be sent to the reformatory, and
for how long, readily agreed to make a
full confession. White did not disabuse

CHICAGO EDITOR
SLAIN

John Arena, anti-Facist editor, was shot
down in gangland fashion as he was get-
ting into his car after leaving a movie.

the prisoner of his actual position in the
eyes of the law.

Bundy related that he had discussed
staging a holdup with his two friends,
Red Johnson and Bob Brown, to get
some holiday money, but he found them
unwilling to take a chance on committing
murder, as they had almost done in
robbing the Japanese messenger boy a
year before. Their discussions turned to
passing fictitious checks, but in this, too,
his friends proved “chicken-hearted.”

He then decided to rob singlehanded.
He stole a pick from a quarry, sawed a
piece from the handle in his basement,
ph then discarded the remainder of the
tool.

“My girl was coming to town for
Christmas,” he explained. “I had to have
money to give her a good time.”

After fashioning his bludgeon, Bundy
went to a pay telephone in the 200-block
of Avenue Forty-Two and called the
drug store. Giving the address of a vacant
house, he asked for a bottle of medicine

and requested that the delivery boy have
change for a $20 gold piece. Then he
waited, After his vigil had seemed un-
reasonably long, he went out to the
street and was standing in the unpaved
road when the messenger boy turned the
corner from Marmion Way on his bi-
cycle.

He stepped out and stopped Ziesche,
inquiring where the boy was going. The
messenger gave the address of the house
he was seeking, and Bundy offered to
escort him. Ziesche was proudly carrying
his new flashlight.

“When we got to the door,” Bundy re-
lated, “he turned his back to me for a
moment. I jerked the club out of my shirt
and hit him over the back of the head.
He screamed, ‘Don’t hit me, I'll give you
the light!’

“I guess the fool kid thought I was
after his flashlight. I hit him again, and
he screamed so loud I was afraid people
would hear him. I hit him twice more with
the club and down he went. I picked him
up—he was pretty light—and carried him
across the road and down into the
ravine. I searched him, but he was making
a lot of noise and I got scared. He was
groaning and crying, so I picked up a
stone and hit him somewhere—on the
face or chest, I don’t remember—several
times. I reached into his inside pocket and
took out the wallet where the money was.
Then I saw the headlight of a motorcycle
coming, and I ran into the bushes.

“T kept on running until I reached a
shed in back of our house. I wiped the
blood off my shoes and clothes, and then
caught a streetcar and came downtown.
I hung around a while and then went
home and went to bed. I didn’t know he
was dead. I slept soundly all night.

“But in the morning when I found out
he was dead, and realized I had killed the
kid for twenty bucks, I knew I'd never
be able to sleep again.”

yihehe was shunned by the other
prisoners during his long stay in jail
following his trial and conviction. Some
of the other inmates were confirmed
criminals, but not one of them would have
anything to do with Bundy. “He killed a
kid to get twenty bucks to give his girl
a good time, the louse!” they would ex-
plain to newcomers.

The other prisoners’ contempt merely
increased when it was learned that
Bundy’s “girl friend” was only an ac-
quaintance who had no intention of look-
ing him up during her visit to Los
Angeles.

Defended by one of the cleverest
criminal lawyers in the West, Bundy
pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity
at his trial. But the jury, on Jan. 31, 1914,
brought in a verdict of guilty, murder in
the first degree. The verdict carried with
it no recommendation for leniency.

On the morning of Nov. 5, as the sun
struggled to penetrate a dank fog
mantling the San Rafael hills back of the
penitentiary, Louis Bundy dropped
through the gallows of San Quentin.
Testifying to his rugged physique, 15
minutes ticked off before the murderer
was pronounced dead.

William B. White, the determined
officer who had struggled for 48 hours
against fatigue and obstacles until he
trapped a killer, went on to carve out a
distinguished career as a detective. At-
taining the rank of captain of detectives,
he finally retired to become a private
operator. He has been good at that, too.

(To protect the identities of innocent persons the

names Red Johnson and Bob Brown as used in this
story are not real but fictitions.—Ed.)

63

536 145 PACIFIC

fied that plaintiff was permanently affected
with traumatic diabetes, which, in his opin-
ion, was the result of the fracture of the
base of the skull received in the accident.
As a final question on cross-examination of
the doctor by the attorney for defendant,
the following took place:

“Q. Isn’t from 50 to 60 the most common
period of life, that the percentage of diabetes
among people of that, age is much greater than
at any other period of life? A. I should say
from 30 to 50, partly from my own experience.
Q. What authority do you rely on in regard
to that? ea

“Mr. Drake (Attorney for Plaintiff): I ob-
ject to that, as it is not cross-examination.
He does not claim to base it on anything but
his experience.

“Mr. Hickcox (Attorney for Defendant): He
has testified as to his professional—

“Mr. Drake. He has made the statement
that it was from 30 to 50, on his experience.

“Mr. Hickcox. He said he based his state-
ment on Keene and Osler.

REPORTER (Cal.

the question had already been answered. As
matter of fact, however, the witness had not
testified that he based his opinion on such
authority or any authorities at all. All he
said was he based it “partly upon my own
experience.” It is evident from what was
said in discussing the objection to the ques-
tion that this part of the answer had escaped
the attention of the attorneys on both sides
and the court. Counsel for respondent and
the court were of the opinion that the wit-
ness had testified that he based his opinion

lant was of the impression that he had men-
tioned certain authorities. All of them were
mistaken in the matter. In this situation of
misunderstanding there was nothing to pre-
vent appellant from asking the witness direct-
ly whether he relied on any medical authori:
ty in support of his opinion, which was the
proper inquiry to have made, instead of er-

on his own experience, and counsel for appel- ©

Cal.) PEOPLE

48 Cal. 777)
PEOPLE v. BUNDY. (Cr. 1860.)
(Supreme Court of California. Dec. 14, 1914.)

1 CrruinaL Law (§§ 1023, 1134*) — OrpER
DENYING MOTION IN ARREST OF JUDGMENT
~—REVIEW.

_ An order denying a motion in arrest of

jadgment is not directly appealable, but is re-

viewable on appeal from the judgment.
{Ed. Note.—For other cases, see Criminal
law, Cent. Dig. §§ 2583-2598, 2653, 2986-
one he 8067-8071; Dec. Dig. §§ 1023,

2. CrmuinaL Law (§ 331*)—INsANITY—EvI-
DENCE,

Accused, relying on insanity, must show
that he was deranged mentally when commit-
ting the criminal act, and that he was not con-
scious of its wrongful nature, and did not
know that it .Was criminal; but if he has rea-
* ning capacity sufficient to distinguish be-
tween right and wrong as to the particular act,
if he has knowledge and consciousness that
what he is doing is wrong and criminal and will
sabject him to punishment, he is responsible

v. BUNDY 537

then prove his statements and admissions.
Cent. Dig. §§ 1053-1057; Dee. Dig. § 305.*]

To 'TESTIFY—WAIVER OF PRIVILEGE.

Where physicians examined accused to de-
termine his sanity, and he made no objections
thereto, but conversed freely with them, and no
fraud was perpetrated by any one, the disclo-
sures made by him were not within Const. art.
1, § 13, declaring that no person shall be com-
pelled In any criminal case to be a witness
against himself, though his counsel were not
notified of the proposed examination and had
no knowledge ‘thereof.

[Ed. Note.—For other cases, see Witnesses,
Cent. Dig. §§ 1053-1057; Dee. Dig. § 305.*]
9. HomicipE (§ 347*)—PuNIsHMENT—REVIEW
—MODIFICATION OF SENTENCE.

‘The Supreme Court may not set aside or
modify a judgment imposing the death penalty
for murder in the first degree, merely on the
ground that accused at the time of the homicide
was not 18 years of age.

facts implicating him, and the prosecution may

[Ed. Note.——For other cases, see Witnesses,

8. Witnesses (§ 805*)—ComPELLING ACCUSED

“ST6T 5 aequea°N (Setesuy #97) *sTTeO peSuey *E7 foqtum ‘stnoT ‘zaNNa

“The Court. Sustained.” : c 7 , 5 c {Ed. Note.—For 2 ens
4 [1] It is claimed by counsel for appellant roneously assuming, as his — that ; for his act. Cent. Dig. § 725; bate rane d
Ne that it was error on the part of the court not | the witness had testified to that effect. ; it. Note— For other cases, see Criminal] 1 Fa : vi
«gd to permit an answer to the question above (2] The next complaint of appellant is the : w, Cent. Dig. §§ 742-744; Dec. Dig. § 331.*] n Bank. Appeal from Superior Court, 1h
tC d. It is insisted that when an expert, |tefusal of the court to give an instruction : 2 CrminaL Law (§ 769*)—Insrructrons—| 20S Angeles County; Frank R. Willis, Judge. fiat j
«t —_ ages th ti ives|to the jury asked by defendant as follows: : GIVING REQUESTED INSTRUCTIONS, Louis Bundy was convicted of murder in wy 4
md called on behalf of one of the parties, give “In determining the weight and credibility ? Omission to state which instructions are | the first degree, and from an order denying a bl :
a4 his opinion on a scientific question, opposing | 4+ the evidence of a party to the contest, yoa $ siren at the request of the prosecution, and| motion in arrest, and from the judgment of it :
la counsel have a right on cross-examination tO|may take into consideration his interest is FY Shich at the request of accused, is not blame- | onvicti : i ef
4. . : ok arg 2 worthy, but commendable. conviction, he appeals. Appeal from order ¢ se fe
«2 inquire upon what the opinion of the expert | the result of the verdict. $ (Ed. N ae dismissed, and judgment affirmed Al ze :
gs 8 is based, whether upon his own experience,}| Coming from the appellant, and as is evi- eS ° tay ‘Get Die § Cat te > tag einel . ed. ; :
fi or upon accredited authorities of his profes-}dent from its phraseology, this instructioe : 749.4] : 2 ; Dec. Dig. §| Earl Rogers and Frank EB. Dominguez, both ms :
ri sion, or both; so that, if the witness asserts | was intended to particularly caution the jury i : Ri iniidtss cao eo bose of Los Angeles, for appellant. U. S. Webb, 0
(2 that his opinion is based on standard authori-|as to its consideration of the evidence of the 2 MISLEADING PB I te Instructions —| Atty. Gen., and George Beebe, Asst. Atty. Cc F
Lid ties, counsel may, if such authorities relied | plaintiff because of “his interest in the result : Kas intention. “aliich. steven: that. Gidle eas Gen., for the People. i 3 =
2 on do not sustain his claim, show that fact|of the verdict.” An instruction of this char 8 éfense of insanity must be weighed fairly, and i £3
=. to the jury for the purpose of discrediting | acter has been so often condemned that there oy tie Pte gue commends itself to the sense _ANGELLOTTI, J. The defendant was con- )
a) his opinion or statement on the subject. AS|is no necessity of discussing it. Kauffmas Eo cate, ang ppd Pia 8 rae poe goer nan with victed of murder in the first degree and ad- #) 2)
a legal proposition, this may be conceded. |y. Maier, 94 Cal. 269, 29 Pac. 481,18L.RA @ farvish immunity to. guill, civen bof nay | judged to suffer death. He appeals from the pa Oe
‘ Rogers on Expert Testimony (2d Ed.) § 87;|124; People v. Wardrip, 141 Cal. 231, 74 Pac. ¥ apg instructions of accused on the subject, judgment, and also from orders denying his % i Ee
; Gallagher v. Market St. Ry. Co., 67 Cal. 17,1744; People v.’ Maughs, 149 Cal. 253, 86 Pac sea cramer te as nullifying the effect of | motion for a new trial and his motion in : é
| 6 Pac. 869, 51 Am. Rep. 680, note. But we|187; People v. Ryan, 152 Cal. 364, 92 Pac Ea. his Bee sok _ . .| arrest of judgment. :
: hardly think that there was either such a|/853; Dow v. City of Oroville, 22 Cal. AP» Law, Cent. Dis, sg. 1821-1898: tee Dany [1] As we have often pointed out, no ap- gf: ; 3
} clear violation of the rule or a denial of a|215, 134 Pac. 197. 473.9] : : 8. peal lies from an order denying a motion in # : i
i substantial right of appellant thereby in sus- [3,4] As to the last claim of appellant em t CRIMINAL Law (§ 311*)—INsaniry—Evt- — of judgment, but the order may be i :
' taining the objection to the inquiry as would] the verdict is excessive: We have set fo DENCE—ABSENCE OF APPARENT MOTIVE. reviewed on the appeal from the judgment. f aries
warrant this court in reversing the cause for|in main the mental and physical results ® = The jury may not safely infer the existence | It is not claimed that-the order was errone- ¥ a
such alleged error, the only one claimed to| plaintiff consequent on the injuries he had wiely + tegaieeg ppt controlling accused | ous in this case, and manifestly the motion ; i
have occurred on the trial, where a consider-| sustained. It was the province of the jut¥ trime dhareod of apparent motive for the| was entirely without merit. i a
able number of witnesses testified. At most,|to determine the amount that he should * (Ed. Note.—For other wade eae Ckdeition’ {2] It is not claimed that the evidence } fey
what appellant insists it had a right to do|ceive as compensation therefor, subject. © Law, Cent. Dig, §§ 742-744; Dec. Dig, ¢ 311.7] was in any way insufficient to warrant the’ i iB 4
was to find out whether, in fact, the witness |it was excessive, to consideration and contre © Howrcrpe (§ 340*)—Evipence—Ins verdict that was rendered, and in view of 3:
relied on any medical authority in support |py the trial court. That court on the motict ToNS—HaRMLEss ERnor. —iNSTRUC--| the facts shown by the record no such claim + e =
of his opinion, with a possible chance that, | for a new trial made before it, in which t* Where accused admitted that he killed de-|CUld reasonably be made. Unless defendant a
if he did so rely, an examination of the au-|same ground was urged, has approved Oe 7 he nog he was afraid that decedent | Was insane at the time he killed Harold ry
thority referred to might show that it did] verdict. Under these circumstances we ©©* * instruction Shas the oer neil mat rite Ziesche, which admittedly he did, he was
not agree with him. But, strictly speaking, |not disturb it, unless it appear that it *™* fer the existence of an irresistible infieeres clearly and indisputably guilty of murder in *
there was no error committed by the court in| wholly disproportionate to the injuries ™ Pad &® homicidal tendency from lack of apparent | the first degree. The defense interposed was i tie ‘4

its ruling.

Counsel for appellant asserted

ceived by the plaintiff, and this we cantet

"tive alone, was no judici i
» Was t prejudicial, though
®Szbt have been omitted. ‘ ii

insanity. The evidence was suflicient to sus-

tain the verdict on this issue. It is to be

his right to ask the question not upon any | say,
suggestion of the rule, but upon the assump-| The judgment and order appealed from are
tion that the witness had “based his state-| affirmed.

a nn ee

{Ed Note fs
Ont. pi ts rt ge rae “ Flamicide, remembered that, in order that insanity may 3
1 (20; Dec. Dig. § *]| be available as a defense, it must appear that ° 4 =
5
ed

t W, lad
hz (8 305*)—CoMPELLING AccusED| the defendant was so deranged mentally

za

ment on Keene and Osler’—medical authori- TIFY—W GE : :
ties, we assume. If he had so testified, then| We concur: MELVIN, J.; HENSHAW, q x préviston of Cin Ae aed 8 ik hae when the act with which he is charged was : ee
4 a Person shall be compelled to be a witness | @0ne by him that he was not conscious of the ' i

; we! himself in any criminal case, does not| Wrongful nature of the act and did not : Ce
accused from voluntarily disclosing| know that it was wrong and criminal. As ; ag ey i}

er on ia ae
; et cases see same topic and section NUMBER in Dec. Dig. & Am. Dig. Key-No. Series & Rep'r Indexes i ‘48 ee £ a3

4 ‘ee


(See 279 PACIFIC -2nd= 7h; Cert. den. 75 SCt 788)

BURWELL, Eugene iT., black, and ROGERS, James Alonzo, white, both asphyxiated at San Quen-
tin (Marin County) on April 15, 1958,

"The word 'friénd',..Section 3606 of the State Penal Code...two men scheduled to die in
San Quentin's gas chamber,..ethe strange genius of Caryl Chessman,..These were the elements
yesterday of one of the most bizarre legal maneuvers ever attempted by the desperate
litigants of Death Row, tt began eathier this week with a curious plea by James Alonza
Rogers, 29, and Eugene Burwell, 36, both scheduled to die Tuesday morning for the murder
of two San Quentin guards in 1952,
"They asked Warden Fred Dickson that their last friend be permitted to witness their exe-
cution, And they said this friend was Caryl Chessman, the only person who has lived the
half life of Death “ow longer than they, the dean and chronicler of their strange communi-
ty. Section 360§ of the S;ate Penal Code reads, in part: ',,,and he (the warden) shall
at the request of the defendant permit such ministers of the gospel, not exceeding two,
as the defendant may name, and any persons, relatives or friends, not to exceed five,
to be present at the execution, together with...' Emotionally, as put by Rogers in an ex-
clusive interview yesterday, it was this: 'We don't want religious counsel, I've seen
eight members of my family today, and I don't want them there, We've been hereSo long
we don't have any friends off Death Row any more, So we want Chessman to be there,'
"Actually, their purpose was an effort not to die, or at least to postpone death, In
anticipation wat Warden Dickson would reject their request, they hurried a writ of
habeas corpus into Marin County Superior Court, The writ argued ',,,information and
belief! that Chessman would not be permitted to attend the execution and that the execu-
tion would therefore be illegal, The pair were wrong on two counts, however, Associate
Warden William D, Achuff, in charge during the absence of Warden Fred Dickson said the
request for Chessman's presence was 'still under consideration, '!
"And Superior Judce Thomas F, Keating held that even if Dickson should reject the reouest,
the law would not be violated, While Dickson, as the man in charge of the execution, might
be compelled to ask Chessman's presence, Dickson, as the man in whose keeping Chessman
has been placed, was under no obligation to let him go, the Judge decided, He then de-
nied the request writ, and it is now a possible subject of appeal to higher courts, Rogers,
in his intekview, ppparently had already put life behind him, 'Only the Governor can save
us now,' he said, adding: 'You know politics, he just wouldn't, The record wouldn't
warrant a pardon, !
"Rogers! record has been long and violent, even as a juvenile, He was sent to San Quentin
for atvempted murder after a gun battle with San Francisco police, Rogers reported that
both he and Burwell have ordered their bodies given to the University of California for
medical research, If Chessman, perhaps on the way to the gas chamber himself after the
failure of a l0-year legal fight, isn't permitted attend, will either of the pair have a
single friend on hand? They will, ‘Through the years, living in cells directly across from
each other, each has become the other's clesest friend," CHRONICLE, San Francisco, April
12, 1958, page five, column 1-5, photographs of each,


n
n

the house. I kind of remember that.”

“Hold on,’ Captain Bean _inter-
rupted. “When you got her into the
house, and turned on the lights, didn’t
you see she’d been shot? Didn’t you
see the blood?”

“No, mister. If I saw anything, I
thought it was spilled wine tonic. I
was drunk.”

“All right, go on. What happened
next?”

“T started to carry her in, to put her
on the bed, but she mumbled some-
thing about being dizzy. She wanted
me to put her down on the_ floor
‘where she couldn’t fall.’ So I did,
and got a cushion for her head.

“She said something about getting
medicine, or a doctor, and I know I
started out to get whatever it was. I
got somewhere, but it was only a
bungalow in the same court. I could
not remember what I was supposed to
do, so I borrowed some matches, and
came back again.

“T asked her to tell me what it was
she’d wanted, but she didn’t answer
me, and I figured she was asleep. So
I lay down there beside her, and fell
asleep, too.”

“When was this?”

“T don’t know, but when I woke up,
I remembered I was to get a doctor.
So I went to those people for help,
and they called the police.”

“Why did you drag your wife out
of the house before you summoned
help?”

“I was trying to take her to the
doctor myself, but couldn’t carry her,
and didn’t want to drag her any more.
But when those fellows ran out on
me; I had to drag her.”

The detectives looked at each other,
and shook their heads. This story was
just crazy enough to be true.

" OW do you explain the gun
found in your pocket?” Corsini
asked, grasping at a straw.

“I can’t. Never owned a gun in my
life, or even fired one.”

“Do you deny that you had one in
your pocket?”

“No. I remember feeling someone
tugging to get it out, when they
searched me. Then he showed it to
me. I guess it was in my pocket, all
right.”

“If you’re implying that someone
else shot your wife and then planted
the gun on you, what opportunity did
he have to do it?”

Burkhart’s red-rimmed, glassy-
looking eyes darted uneasily from one
stern face to another in the ring be-
fore him; then he shook his head
helplessly.

“Mister, I don’t know!” he ex-
claimed. “The whole thing’s a puzzle
to me.”

Suddenly, he sat upright. “Say, I
do remember something else. :On
Santa Monica Boulevard, we picked
up Charlie Hunter. He rode with us
awhile. We talked about having 4
party, if he could get another girl.” °

“Who’s this Charlie Hunter?”

“An old friend of Ann’s. He and I
had a fight over her once before she
married me.”

He was very vague about Hunter’s
description, and didn’t know where
he lived, or worked, .

“Was Hunter with you, when you
stopped to get cigarettes?” Captain
Bean probed. :

“Seems as though he was, but so
help me, I can’t remember.”

Lieutenant Sanderson, particularly,
was interested in this angle. He ques-
tioned Burkhart closely, but there was

CRIME DETECTIVE

91

1000 MEN AND A BOY

While a posse of 1,000 men combed the countryside, expecting
to find him slain by a kidnapper, three-year-old Eldridge Al-
bright was sleeping near the trunk of a tree. A blood-stained
ax spurred the hunt for the boy seen being returned to his ma.

not much more to be learned. Finally
the prisoner was taken away to a cell,
leaving behind him a much-puzzled
group of detectives.

“Well, boys, what’s your verdict?”
asked Captain Bean.

“Guilty,” muttered Sanderson.

Corsini shook his head. “Before rd
say that, I’d like to know—well, I wish
we could find out where he stopped
for cigarettes,” he said. “Somewhere
in that vicinity we might find the
empty shells from that gun, and may-
be a pink undergarment to prove that

this guy is telling the truth.”

‘“Suppose she was attacked in the
éar, somewhere away from the bun-
galow, what does that prove?” San-
derson argued. “This guy was drunk,
and he looks like a sex-psycho case
to me, anyway.”

Captain Bean interposed. “What
puzzles me is the seeming lack of
motive,” he said. “Presumably the
man had won his estranged wife back.
So why should he kill her?”

“Maybe a quarrel came up, after
they got drunk,” Page suggested.

Bean shook his head. “It’s my feel-
ing that we’ll find this was either a
fiendishly premeditated murder, care-
fully thought out while the man was
sober, or else a murder by a third,
unknown person.”

“I agree to that,” Sanderson re-
plied. ‘‘No wine-tonic befuddled brain
re rf have doped out that story he
tells.”

According to Burkhart, his wife had
been living with her sister, Mrs. Joy
Hoskins, at 933 North La Jolla Street.
Although it was now almost 4 A.M.,
Captain Bean said he would have
Mrs. Hoskins brought in for ques-
tioning.

Despite the unearthly hour at which
she had been awakened, Mrs. Hoskins
looked beautiful. Like her unfortu-
nate sister, she had been a dancer and
an actress. Enraged as well as grief-
stricken, she was eager to help, and
avowed belief in Burkhart’s guilt.


92 CRIME DETECTIVE

had bought the coupe from Henry
\ Perrin Company, 1220 South Figueroa
| IN FATAL TRYST sie

“I signed the name of Charles G.

: Thompson to that check,” he said.

Zi ha a “Sure, it was no good. My idea was

, to meet the terms Ann had set for

? getting her back, and also show her a

real good time. It was to be a sort
of second honeymoon.

“So I quit my job at the gas com-
pany, and drew all the wages due me.
I told Ann they’d given me a vaca-
tion, just so I could be with her. We
were going to drive up to Pacific
Grove, or somewhere up the coast.
.“That’s why I wrote the phony
checks for the rent and the car. I
thought that if I pleased her this time,
she might be willing to return to me
and‘help me straighten out my life.”

Then came a number of bombshells.
Two burst forth from the laboratory
of police chemist Welch.

Ann Burkhart, Welch reported, had
been ravished, and stains on Burk-
hart’s clothing strongly suggested that
he was guilty.

Iso, seemingly, the pink under-
garment had been found. In the in-
cinerator back of the bungalow court,
where Thompson and King had first
seen the pitiful huddle that was Ann
Burkhart’s body, a few partly-burned
wisps of cloth were ferreted out.

On the cement beside the incin-
erator were a small handful of
matches, like those Mrs. Thompson
had given to Burkhart, The prisoner
himself, it seemed, had burned—or

Police, probing the death of Pretty Josephine Scott, 25, above, tried to burn—the undergarment Cor-

believe that the girl was shot by her suitor of seven years, William sini had insisted should be somewhere

Haltenberger, 30, after which he fired a bullet into his own extant.

head. Both were found dead in an automobile near Cleveland. THis scientific laboratory evidence,
of course, still left the motive ob-

scure. Against Sanderson’s argument
“They were married in March, 1928,  grief-stricken mother and father were that the man had assaulted his wife
and separated in July of the follow- steadfast in their belief that their son because of a fiendish lust, was Captain

ing year,” she declared. “He abused was innocent. Bean’s cautious suggestion that an-
her while they were married, threat- “We moved out here from Kansas__ other theory might be advanced by a
ened her constantly after they sep- to be near him, after he separated defense attorney. Said he:

arated, and beat her up on one _ from his wife, and until yesterday he “The man insists he did not know
occasion.” has been rooming with us,” the little his wife was dead. In his state of

Burkhart had been arrested for this gray-haired mother told ‘the detec- drunken stupor, it is conceivable that
assault, Mrs. Hoskins explained, but tives, tearfully. “He had written us he might have assaulted her without
her sister had declined to prosecute. how lonesome he was, and how much knowing that she was dead.”

e had continued his threats against he missed his wife. He often told us, However, everyone working on the

her life. later, how much he loved her.” case was by this time firmly convinced

So far as she knew, Mrs. Hoskins “T’d swear he’s innocent,” the father of Burkhart’s guilt. And suddenly,

i declared, her sister had never known added. “That boy’s not the killing there came to light another piece of

4 a Charlie Hunter. Neither did she kind.” evidence that supplied the missing

\ believe that Burkhart had ever owned Mrs. Burkhart declared that her son link, and made the whole pattern
i a revolver. It was her impression, had paced the floor most of the last clear.

f gleaned from her sister, that he was night he had spent at her home. Next It was a letter, written to Ann

afraid of guns. morning, which was the day of the Burkhart by the prisoner after she

Mrs. Hoskins’ story damned Burk- crime, he had g0ne away carrying a had Separated from him and was
hart in one respect, helped him in suitcase, after telling his mother that visiting her parents in Englewood,

another. If he were afraid of guns, he had a plan which might “bring Colorado. It bore the date of Decem-

why had he used one as the murder back _ his happiness.” ber 12, 1928 and it expressed what
weapon? Why had he not, for exam- A thorough inspection of the few even a layman would pronounce as a
ple, strangled his pitiful victim? Possessions he had left behind at his warped, deadly determination to pos-

parents’ home, and those he had re- sess this woman again--and let no

INSTEAD of letting the prisoner moved to the Franklin Place bunga- one cise possess her.
sleep, the detectives hustled him low, failed to reveal any evidence that “Do you think you can cast my love
down to the county morgue. They he had ever owned a gun. The Burk- aside like an old glove?” one perti-
hoped that the sight of his wife’s body, harts were positive in denying that nent paragraph began. “Well, you are

lying cold and pale on the morgue he had ever had one. wrong. You have aroused in me a
slab, might break him down into a Next day laboratory men such as love that is unconquerable. . . . You
confession. chemist Rex Welch were busy giving repeated after the judge, ’Til death

He merely stared at her and mut-_ the blood-stained bungalow and Ford do us part.’ I myself have formed a
tered, “Poor Ann—how beautiful she coupe a scientific going-over, By this firm resolve to adhere to that line.
was! No wonder I loved her so very time the investigation had branched Do you understand me?”
much.” out into many separate paths. He spoke of “having a little streak

Sanderson and Page, both convinced There was the search for Charlie of Indian in me.” “When somebody
that the prisoner was guilty, ham- Hunter, for example, and the inquiry infringes,” the letter ran, “I seek re-
mered accusations at him, Doggedly, into Ann Burkhart’s personal life, via venge. You are not playing with an

he stuck to his fantastic story. her drug store associates and em- ordinary person. I have suffered and
Next, the detectives had the un-  ployers. seen life from all angles, so by my

pleasant task of interviewing Burk- Burkhart, interviewed again after experience [| readily know what path

hart’s parents, at their home at 5346 he had almost entirely recovered from to pursue.”

Monroe Street, Los Angeles. The his debauch, told the detectives he He would have her, it seemed, or

~

BOT OF ND Merr ann

oMMmotsmntUne

e@ePataetrso

» a

i


failing, take steps to see that no one
else did. There was his motive for
murder.

Quickly, the case against him took
shape. Despite the insistence of Ann’s
sister that the victim had never in-
tended to return to Burkhart, it was
evident from the stories of the land-
lady and others that she had gone
to the bungalow willingly enough.
But when, according to Burkhart’s
story, she had “wanted to go for a
little ride,” she had actually insisted
on going home to her sister.

Somewhere during that ride he had
killed her, because he knew that he
could never lure her back to him
again, alive.

Scientific evidence bore out this
theory. According to the combined
reports of the ballistics expert, the
police chemists, and the autopsy sur-
geons, the first bullet had crashed
through Ann Burkhart’s left arm,
then ranged upward through her
chest, where it lodged. The other bul-
lets had struck her in the back, prob-
ably while she was trying to get out
of the car.

The “spread” of the powder burns
on the left sleeve of her coat indicated
that the pistol muzzle had been at
least a foot away, while the angle of
this first shot was upward, as though
the gun had been fired practically
from the lap of a person in the driver's
position in the car.

There seemed every indication that
the first shot at least had been fired
while the car was in motion by the
man who held the steering wheel
with his right hand. With his left
hand, he had fired under his right

DETECTIVE

about that, too. Anything was possible.

Sigler sought aid in Tucson of
his fellow border patrolman, Inspector
Clyde P. Nichols, and City Detective
James Brady. Together they dis-
cussed means of finding the boxer.
Brady was to scour the city and Sigler
and Nichols were to conduct the hunt
over the Southwest.

T was December 13th that Detec-
tive Brady phoned Sigler an in-

former had tipped him off that Fred-
erick had been in E] Paso hunting for
a bout. The Inspector took the train
the next day to the border town
where he went into conference with
Col. Herbert C. Horsley, chief of tha,
Patrol there.

“Y’m puzzled over what the set-up
is,” he said. “I don’t know whether
this Frederick is a clever guy, whether
he simply doesn’t know that he is
being hunted, or whether he is dead.”

Together with City Detective Stan-
ley Shea they went to Liberty Hall
and talked with promotors and fight-
ers. Most of them knew Frederick,
but hadn’t seen him since October. At
that time, he had dropped the remark
that he expected to be “bumped off”
at any time by gangsters. No one
knew what he had meant and he had
shied away from questions.

“Why don’t you try the Madison
Square Garden in Phoenix?” suggest-

9

CRIME DETECTIVE

elbow, because microscopic bits of
part-burned “flare back” powder,
which shoots sideways out of the
cylinder of a revolver when the bul-
let enters the barrel, were found on
the elbow of the killer’s right coat
sleeve.

All the bullets matched the gun
taken from Burkhart’s pocket.

Armed with this knowledge, San-
derson and Corsini went to Burkhart’s
cell and suddenly offered him an un-
loaded revolver, asking him to aim it
as though he were shooting. It had
already been noticed that he wrote
right-handed, but would he fire a gun
left-handed?

Burkhart accepted the gun with his
right hand, but transferred it to his
left. Then he raised it, aimed it clum-
sily, and pulled the trigger.

“I wouldn’t do it that way,” Corsini
objected. “Why don’t you use your
right hand?”

“Oh, is that the way you shoot?”
Burkhart asked. He tried it with his
right. “Seems just the same to me,”
he continued. “You see, I never
learned to shoot with either hand.”

HEN, with a continued show of

being cooperative, he said, ‘Look.
I am going to come clean with you
boys, because I know that if I help
you, you will work hard to bring
whoever killed poor Ann to justice. I
lied about the gun. It was mine. At
first, I was afraid to tell you.

“T stole it from a mail truck, three
months ago. I had it with me, that
night with Ann, because I thought I
might impress her by threatening to
commit suicide.

ed one promoter. “Shorty told me
if I wanted him for a fight to write
him there.”

Back in Tucson, Sigler found Detec-
tive Brady waiting for him with
strange, perplexing news.

“T checked the pawn shops and.old
clothing stores as we discussed,” he
reported, ‘and didn’t find anything.
Then it struck me that maybe the
slayer might have peddled the phono-
graph to a junk dealer.”

“Yes?” said Sigler.

“Well,” continued Brady, “I came
across a junk man who said that a
young fellow had come into his place
and had given him—not sold him,
mind you-—the metal parts of a phono-
graph. As nearly as the junk man
could remember, this all happened the
first week in November and .. .”

Sigler broke in. “The first week
in November? That was when Frank
Ayon’s body was found. I’ll lay a
thousand to one the killer got fright-
ened and burned up what he could of
the phonograph after his girl got the
information. By the way, was this
fellow short, dark and tattooed?”

“Not at all,” said Brady. ‘He didn’t
match Arthur Frederick in a single
detail. He was tall, slender and had
bushy black hair.”

Sigler took off for the offices of the
Madison Square Garden in Phoenix,
100 miles to the north. By this time

CRIM E VENGEANCE TRAIL of the BORDER PATROL

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 41

93

“When I got drunk, somebody must
have stolen it from my pocket, killed
Ann with it, and stuck it back in my
pocket again. He knew he had made
a perfect case against me.”

“You’ll write that in a sworn state-
ment?” Corsini asked.

“Sure. It’s the truth.”

“But you still deny you killed her?”

“Of course I deny it. I didn’t kill
her.”

Sanderson and Corsini went away,
fully satisfied that the case was in the
bag. The powder grains on the right
elbow of Burkhart’s coat couldn’t be
explained by his story of an unknown
killer’s “perfect crime.”

So it proved, when the case was
tried before Superior Judge Marshall
McComb. The jury returned a verdict
of “guilty of first degree murder,”
with no recommendation for mercy.
That made a death sentence manda-
tory, and on July 21 it was handed
down by Judge McComb.

Burkhart’s attorneys, Alfred Pao-
nessa, Ralph Paonessa and C. J. Orbi-
son, took the case to the Appellate
and then the California Supreme
Court, while the late Governor Rolph
granted six stays of execution so
Burkhart might be given’ every
chance.

Three times, the Supreme Court
refused to recommend that the sen-
tence be commuted to life imprison-
ment. A fourth time, it rejected a plea
of not guilty by reason of insanity.
So, on January 29, 1932, almost two
years after he committed his ghastly
sex crime, Burkhart paid the supreme
penalty on the gallows at San Quentin
penitentiary.

he had covered more than 7,000 miles

in his hunt for a phantom boxer who

ae know something about a ghost
iller.

“Sure, I know the guy,” said the
Garden’s manager. “Whatcha want
with him?”

The Inspector told him. “Well,” he
drawled, “he told me if any bout came
along to write him at General Deliv-
ery in Tombstone.”

Inspector Nichols, Detective Brady
and Sigler hastened to Tombstone,
scene of some of the bloodiest feuds
in American history. At the post office,
they. learned Frederick’s address and
as they approached the one-story,
frame house, they were strangely
silent. More than three months had
passed since the Inspector had taken
up the trail of the mystery fighter.

Stopping in front of the house, they
climbed out of the car and spoke to a
man working in the yard. He turned
around to face them and Sigler’s quick
eyes spotted the tattooing on his arm.

“Frederick?” he asked and the
stocky, little fellow nodded.

“That’s me,” he answered.

“We want to know all about the
murder of Frank Ayon,” he said. He
saw Shorty’s dark eyes narrow to
slits and his lips tighten. He began
his story, though, before they could
put a single question.

“T didn’t actually see Frank killed,”


Totes
1 the
kers,
2veSs,
n,in
rsof
ring
said
| car,
srue-
inge,
law
sslie
rnia.

BETRAYED THE TRUST

Lawrence Campbell (left) and his

pal in crime, Charles Davis, were

determined to secure money and a

car. They cared not at all that they

had to take an innocent man’s life
to achieve their ends.

LONELY DESERT LAND

Leslie Nichols played the role of
a good Samaritan by giving two
dusty hitch-hikers a lift in his
car. His reward was a cruel
death in the Arizona desert.

Angeles and loafed there a
few days ’til I spent all my
coin. Then I decided to
‘thumb-jerk’ around the coun-
try, and I got in to Yuma to-
day. And here I am!”

After a further exchange
of confidences these footsore,
adventurous youths continued
east across the bridge anid
through the business district
of Yuma to the Southern Pa-
cific Railway Station. There
they awaited the arrival of a
westbound freight trainwhich
they boarded. They alighted
about eleven p.m. at Niland.
California, a desert railway
junction, in Imperial County,
where, to avoid the chill of
the night, they slept in the
depot until morning.

Noon the following day,

Saturday, January 23, saw them the occupants of a smal!

black automobile. a Dodge roadster, bearing a California

hin license. The blond boy, Davis, was driving. His

+ ae ;, new found friend who sat beside him, had

i changed his uniform for neat, dark blue
civilian clothes.

In my home at Blythe, California,

21


that night, tired and weary from a long, hard day, I was
awakened by the ringing of the telephone. It was my night
assistant, Deputy Sheriff Harry Kunsman, who telephoned to
say that he had received a tip earlier in the evening from
the nearby desert town of Palo Verde, that two young fel-
lows, driving a Dodge roadster, had sold a spare tire there
and were headed towards Blythe and Arizona. He further
stated they had not boarded the last ferry at eight P.M.,
which crossed the Colorado River at a point four miles front
Blythe.

a haps ANOTHER stolen automobile,” I wagered to my wife,
as she set the alarm clock for four A.M., remarking that
I'd be sure to be at the river for the first ferry crossing.

By daybreak I had taken up the vigil at the Quarantine
Station, where all cars were forced to stop for horticultural
inspection before proceeding a hundred feet further on to
the ferry slip and across the river into Arizona.

The river at that season was some twenty fect deep and
about five hundred feet in width at that point. The cable
ferry, propelled by the river currents, was operated solely
at the command of the public.

The typical traffic crowd had assembled that morning,
awaiting their turn to board the ferry. They consisted of
burro wagons bearing prospectors, pedestrians, a desert
schooner and several modern motor vehicles. Among the
latter came a Dodge roadster bearing a California license,
and occupied by two young men. I concluded at a glance that
these were the lads who had sold the tire at Palo Verde.

Their manner was unhurried and leisurely. I asked them
where they were going so early in the morning. They
assured me they were headed for Arizona to look for work.
The lads admitted to the names'of Lawrence Campbell and
Charley Davis.

I demanded their drivers’
licenses which they failed to
produce. They had lost them,
they faltered. I then looked
for the certificate of ownership
of the car, which I found to be
missing.

The situation impressed me
as decidedly irregular. I sus-
pected the car to be a stolen
one. Taking the boys to the
Blythe jail, I booked them on
suspicion. I immediately wired
the State Motor Vehicle Divi-
sion in Sacramento, giving the
license number of the car in an
effort to trace its owner.

The following day I told the
two boys that I expected the
desired information from Sac-
ramento, and that if they had
stolen the car they might as
well “come clean” and tell me
everything, thereby saving
much trouble and expense. But
they calmly denied they had
stolen it.

I removed the boys from
their cells and taking them to
my office, I quizzed them sepa-
rately, then together. They de-
nied having sold a tire at Palo
Verde. But after lengthy ques-
tioning they finally admitted
they had stolen the Dodge
roadster three days before,
from a side street in San Ber-

22

nardino, California, a city some two hundred and thirty miles
northwest of Blythe.

Their story was a flimsy one. They said they had been
walking along a street and had noticed a man driving the
car. Suddenly he ran out of gasoline, and when he left the
car and went to get more gas, they jumped into it and drove
away. When I inquired how they had been able to drive the
car when the owner had failed, they, of course, lacked a
plausible reply.

I received word from Sacramento to the effect that the
Northern Assurance Company of San Francisco was the
legal owner of the Dodge car. I immediately communicated
with this firm, advising them that I had been unable to ascer-
tain, up to then, the exact circumstances surrounding the
theft of the roadster, but that I had the two boys in custody
who had been driving it. I asked the San Francisco firm
for any further information they could offer which would
assist in clearing up the theft.

I confronted the boys with the information concerning the
legal ownership of the car, hoping they would then weaken
and make a complete confession. But they assumed a stub-
born silence refusing to commit themselves further. I com-
pleted arrangements for transferring the prisoners from the
Blythe jail to the County Jail in Riverside, California, a dis-
tance of some two hundred and twenty miles.

W* LEFT BLyTIUE before sunrise on the morning of Jan-
uary 25, and as was the custom in transferring pris-
oners over the long rugged stretch of desert road, I was ac-
companied by my assistant, Deputy Sheriff Kunsman, who
drove the stolen car, the boys seated beside him handcuffed
together. I following closely behind in my car. Our prog-
ress was slow and tiresome for the first forty miles. We were

i"


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iirty miles

ey had been

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a

riving the

he left the

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and drove

to drive the

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Ct

lacked a

that the
» was the

mmunicated

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rounding the

in custody

rancisco firm
which would

meerning the
then weaken
sumed a stub-

ther

1 com-

ers from the
ifornia, a dis-

rning of Jan-
sferring pris-

id

I was ac-
lan, who
ideuffed

Our prog-

We were

forced to drive in second gear for some twenty
miles, the road being deep with sand.

We had traveled about fifty miles, when we
made the customary stop, which was the only
one along the lonely route. It was at Gruen-
dyke’s Well, a welcome oasis in that wilderness,
a deep well of cool, sparkling water We
alighted, filled the radiators of the cars, and each
of us partook of a refreshing draught. The boys
treated the trip more as a congenial outing of
mutual friends than a transfer from one prison
to another.

But when they had alighted from the car as we
made our stop, I noticed Campbell reach awk-
wardly with his free hand, which happened to
be his left one, up to the top of the car. Just a
fleeting motion as he ran his hand lightly along
the inside of the top where the lining was rolled
up to hold the curtains in place. I wondered if
I had overlooked anything of importance in my
hasty search of the car the day I arrested them.
Surely there had been some reason for Camp-
pell’s sly, hasty movement of his free hand as he
got out of the car.

I decided to inves-
tigate and much to
my chagrin I found
a .38 Colts revolver
lying hidden in the
folds of the rolled up
lining. It contained
one unexploded
shell. I grimly pock-

MADE ARREST

F. Harry LeBarron
(above), author of this
story, watched for the
youthful criminals at
the old cable ferry
(above right), which
crossed the Colorado
River at a point four
miles from Blythe, and
arrested them.

DEATH SCENE

The body of the slain
Nichols was found
partially covered by
the shifting desert
sand (arrow). Brutally
prodding their victim
with cactus branches,
the murderers forced
him to walk barefoot
into the desert.

ected the gun and without then questioning either of
them regarding its ownership, we resumed our trip.
We arrived at the Riverside County Jail at six P.M.
and I delivered the prisoners over to Sheriff Sam
Ryan. I then gave him all available information re-
garding the case, including the discovery of the gun
on our trip across the desert. We communicated with San
Bernardino officials, who reported that no car had been stolen
from that city or county during the previous week. We
received the same report from Imperial County.

We decided to question the boys further be fore we allowed
them to retire for the night. At first their story as to how
they had come into possession of the Dodge roadster re-
mained unchanged. Finally after thirty minutes’ grilling
Campbell suddenly broke.

“Tl give you the straight dope. We started to ‘thumb-
jerk’ on Saturday morning, January 20, at Niland, Cali-
fornia, in Imperial Valley. No one would give us a lift and
so we walked east along the main highway for several miles.
Finally we saw a hill to the south of us and we heard a train
whistle. Then we came to a trail that forked off to the
south across a smooth stretch of sandy desert, so we took
that trail and thought we could cross-cut to the hill and
maybe catch a ‘rattler’ (freight). Davis kept saying he
wanted to go back to Los Angeles. Well, we climbed the hill,
but there was no train in sight so we strolled down the west

slope and looking down we saw (Continued on page 82)

23

a isla ,

appeared so completely from current police
records that the New York force began to
despair of ever catching up with the slayer
of Detective Garvey. Gleason was recov-
ered now from the wounds he had received
when Garvey was killed, and he never let
Cugino out of his.mind. He had taken an
oath at his partner’s burial that he would
never cease his efforts to capture the man
who had killed his best friend, and the
thing had become an obsession with him.

At last the break came! A tip was re-
ceived at headquarters that Tony Cugino
had been seen in a Greenwich Village night
spot with a blonde! This couldn’t be his
wife, for Frances was a brunette. The
police got busy on the information, found
out that the woman was married but
estranged from her husband, and that her
first name was Sally. Apparently, Tony
had tired of semi-rural life in Staten
Island with Frances, and had forgotten his
caution in the throes of a new romance.

Detectives learned where the woman
lived and kept a constant watch on her.
They shadowed her for days, but by the
end of August they still had seen no sign
of the Stinger. Then they decided to
change their tactics. Maybe the blonde
could be induced to cooperate. Whether
she ever did or not is a deep official secret,
but during the following week there was
a bustle of anticipation about the West!
68th Street station, and early Saturday eve-
ning, September 7, 1935, Captain James
Malone with two other detectives from
the Philadelphia Department arrived in
New York.

T ABOUT ELEVEN o'clock that night the

three Philadelphia detectives accom-
panied by Acting Lieutenant Walter Sulli-
van and Detectives John Sheehan and Ed-
ward Kelly of the New York force, went
to the corner of Seventh Avenue and 47th
Street. There the six officers, trying to
look like casual loiterers, took positions in
and around the subway entrance at that
intersection—and waited.

Shortly before midnight, the natty little
gunman came into view and the detectives
collared him before he could make a move.
He blinked dazedly at the bevy-of officers
and made no protest. The game was up,

and he readily admitted his identity. But
to the officers’ surprise, Cugino who had.
formerly wielded a gun like a madman to
avoid just such a moment, was not even
armed! ;

At headquarters where Cugino was
shackled to a chair for hours, he faced the
inquisition with snarling denials. It was
not until the next afternoon that he fin-
ally. admitted the murder of Patrolman
Charles Stockburger in Philadelphia, but
he could not be made to talk about the Gar-
vey slaying or any other of the numerous
crimes for which he was wanted. He
steadfastly denied all knowledge of the
Wallace shooting even after Captain
Malone confronted him with Zukorsky’s
confession. Later in the grilling, however,
Cugino said he did have something to say
about the Wallace killing, and Doran, Chief
of Camden Company detectives, was sent
for. But when Doran arrived with a
stenographer and the Stinger saw the pad
and pencil, he refused to speak. He had
changed his mind.

The police had kept Cugino’s arrest and
detention secret through the long hours
they had been working on him, but at three
o'clock the afternoon after his capture they
announced that he had confessed the Stock-
burger slaying.

That evening at six-thirty they had fin-
ished with him, and the bruised and. sob-
bing prisoner was tossed into one’ of the
basement cells at headquarters to await the
lineup the following morning. The “inter-
rogation” had lasted since midnight the
night before—eighteen hours, with scarcely
a let-up. ;

AN 11:15 rHaT NicHT Cugino called
Patrolman Andrew Keil, the turnkey,
and asked for a drink of water. Keil was
going off duty in fifteen minutes, and de-
cided that his relief might as well carry the
water to the prisoner.

At 11:40 Patrolman Hugh O'Connell,
who relieved Keil, passed down the corri-
dor between the basement cells and noticed
that Cugino was in a strange position. He
seemed to be climbing up the wall of his
cell.

oe down from there!” shouted O’Con-
nell.

But the silent figure in the cell didn’t

THE CLUE OF THE HOWLING COYOTE

another road. Then suddenly we noticed
an automobile down at the foot of the hill.
There was nobody in it, or anywhere
around. We decided to go down and in-
vestigate and sure enough the car had been
abandoned. It was a Dodge roadster and
it was stuck in the sand, so we dug it out
and managed to get it back to the main
highway.”

HE STATEMENT of Davis was identical

with that made by Campbell, varying
only in that he offered added details, say-
ing, “We took turns in driving the car and
agreed that if and when we were arrested,
whoever happened to be driving should
shoulder the blame and take the rap.”

The boys said they followed the main
highway back through Niland, then skirted
the Salton Sea northward to San Bernar-
dino, remaining there two nights in an auto
camp.

When I questioned them regarding the
revolver which I had found hidden in the
car, they both denied knowledge of its pres-
ence. But I felt reasonably sure'that Camp-
bell not only had known the gun had lain
hidden in the folds of the curtain, but had
made a futile attempt to get hold of it.

That night we placed the youthful pris-
oners in a cell together and arranged for

82

a trusty to occupy a cell adjoining theirs,
giving him definite instructions to keep his
ears wide open, and hoping he might over-
hear a conversation between the boys which
would further enlighten us. In the sher-
iff’s office we awaited a possible report
from that source. Shortly before mid-
night the night jailer, George Swanson,
appeared. He told us the trusty had come
to him saying that the boys were in ear-
nest conversation regarding their activities
before their arrest. Swanson told us he
had accompanied the trusty back to the
cell adjoining that occupied by the boys,
stepped inside and listened while the boys
talked over their plight. Campbell im-
plored Davis to take all the blame by con-
fessing the theft of the car, thereby giv-
ing him an opportunity to gain his free-
dom; Davis being the younger (under
eighteen), he, too, would be freed by the
authorities, persuaded Campbell.

“Go ahead, Davis, be a pal. Confess,
take all the blame! They’ll turn you loose,
and we'll thumb-jerk out of this. burg and
beat it together.”

In reply Davis chided, “Well, Campbell,
how about the hold-up on the desert?”

“Aw, they won’t find out about that.
We'll make our getaway. somehow before
these.birds get wise to that job.”

move, O’Connell quickly unlocked the door
and entered. He gasped with amazement
for Cugino was hanging from a makeshift
rope passed over a drain pipe crossing the
ceiling. The Stinger had fabricated a
noose out of strips into which he had torn
his shirt and necktie. That he had not
been relieved of the last named was an
oversight on somebody's part, for prison-
ers of Cugino’s importance are usually de-
prived of this suicide possibility.
O’Connell cut the strangled man down
and tried to loosen the twisted cloth about
his neck, but it was buried so deeply into
the flesh that it was impossible. The pa-
trolman then reported to Lieutenant James

Collins, and an Emergency Squad was

called. Adrenalin was administered hypo-
dermically and the inhalator was used, but
all to no avail. The prize quarry of a
three-year search was dead. Commissioner
Valentine tore his hair and thundered that
“someone would lose his job for allowing
the splendid collar to be spoiled.” But the
deadly Stinger, adept at cheating, had even
managed to beat the chair.

iy CuGIno’s CELL, the police found an
empty cigarette package. Examination
of it revealed a note written on the paper
lining of the box which read:

“My dear wife Frances :—Please do not
worry and just try your best to be happy.
I am going to end this life of living hell.
I will meet you in the next world.”

The note was signed “Your husband,

- Jim,” evidently his wife’s name for him,

and just beneath the signature two more
words had been added. These were: “For-
give Sally.”

Frances was found in the Staten Island
bungalow shortly after her husband’s ar-
rest and taken into custody by the police
for having a loaded revolver in her posses-
sion. When she appeared at the line-up
the next morning, detectives informed her
that Tony had committed suicide, but the
laughing Frances refused to believe them.

“Stop kidding me,” she retorted. “If
you think that’s going to make me talk,
I’m not.”

It was some time before they could con-
vince her that the Stinger had, indeed,
come to the end of his crimson road—
dangling from a noose of his own making.

From page 23

N SURPRISE we weighed the words of the

boys briefly, as they were related by the
jailer. From the sheriff's office we went to
their cell. Entering, we found them both
fast asleep. Their recent activities which
had resulted in their plight had apparently
given them little concern. They looked so
boyish as they quietly slept there upon their
prison beds, so harmless arfd inoffensive
they seemed, that I thought to myself that
we were possibly taking the whole affair
far too seriously. Their conversation as
related to us by the jailer, seemed at that
moment vaguely improbable as I gazed
down at them deep in their slumbers at that
midnight hour. And my earlier suspicions
momentarily lost ground.

However, we awakened them asking
them to come clean to us about that desert
hold-up. But each assumed a morosely
silent attitude as we settled ourselves on
their bunks, the sheriff beside Davis and I
beside Campbell. At the end of some
twenty minutes’ questioning, Campbell sud-
denly offered, “There was no hold-up, we
found the car on the desert just as we told
you tonight.”

At that late hour we had but one alter-
native left, to leave the boys to their slum-
bers and ourselves seek a much needed rest.

In the early morning we received word

from the Nort
San Francisco
ster, saying th
office located i
ferred the m
charge there,
gate by check
by their numer:
eled in the so
deavoring to a
of the theft of
advised that th
eled in certai:
times stored
small town ga
at a time, \
scheduled rout

We continue
boys’ story r
still denied any
promise to poi:
tion in the de
the car. By :
hoped to unea
lead to the tr
hold-up, which

In order to ;
arrangements
to accompany
Imperial Coun
Sheriff Charle:
agreed to meet
trysting place \
twenty-five m
fornia.

W/E LEFT |
hours bei

Saturday, Jam
party escorting
Sheriff Ryan,
ties and mysel:
erent the |
verse in cheer

We arrived «
ing Sheriff Gill
us.. After brie
boys consented
claimed to have
seated them in
Valley officers,
close distance |

_We drove ea
highway towar
ing south off 1
trail, perhaps |
pector. We tr
grim hills, the
of shallow rut
outcropping of
a ravine or de
sional safe de:
sharp-spined ca
forming a rug
perial Valley \
us until their 1}
mountains, gr:
looking down «
a realm of soli:

Our motor ;
base of a ste
Sheriff Gillett’
officers and the
got out of our
boys argued c
held a whisper«

‘We think \
about two hun
Davis.

They started
We followed nr
culty among th
It was obvious
have been driy
undergrowth, i:
found it hard ¢
Campbell sudd

“Davis is all
he protested. \
We followed a


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ing leap-frog. But it was dark. He couldn’t
see what was beneath him. His left foot
landed on top of the safe . . . and stopped
there. His right foot landed on the four
inches of empty air between the top of the
safe and the wall... and kept on going
down.

He lost balance completely. His body
pitched forward from the top of the safe but
his right ankle, which had become wedged
between the safe and the wall, refused to
follow. There was a sickening snap of
broken bone. A hot wave of pain engulfed
him. He passed out. When he came to a few
minutes later he found himself crazily
trapped. He was hanging head down in
midair. He was dangling from his broken
ankle that had become wedged between the
steel wall of the safe and the wall.

There was no gore but he sweated buckets.
Despite the excruciating pain he squirmed,
twisted and turned in an effort to free him-
self from the trap. He reached up, caught the
top of the safe to support his weight and
wrenched at his shattered ankle. The steel
trap was reluctant to let him go.

He passed out again. Again he came to,
only to repeat the terrible torture. Finally
he passed out for good some time “Saturday
afternoon.

They found him at nine o'clock Monday .

morning when they opened the store. He

wasn’t dead—not quite—but he was inches:

from it. When the cops and ambulance came,

they pried him from his trap and rushed him .

to the ninth floor prison ward of the Los
Angeles County Hospital.

The cat-killer should have been warned
that his lives were running out. This time
had meant broken bones.

And thus the cat-killer’s sixth incredible
life was marked down on the police blotter.
He was booked by the Los Angeles police as

Stayeort

i

“EK
Victim's wife and child.

Frank Miller. In due course, his fingerprints
were checked and he was found to be not
only Frank Miller but Stanley Ruskeosii, the
cat-killer wanted by the Toronto authorities
for the murder of Alfred Layng.

There was great rejoicing in Toronto
police circles when word was received that
Buckoski had been captured. But before
extradition could be arranged, the cat-killer
had done it again.

On June 26 he reached down into his bag
of tricks and came up with life number
seven.

Like life number six, life number seven
was also spent at the end of a rope—a rope
of bed sheets, bed spread and blankets. In
his prison room on the ninth floor of the
hospital the cat-killer tied them all together,
fastened one end to the radiator, dropped
the other out the window ahd calmly climbed
out to freedom. The bed-sheet-rope ended
two stories above ground—30 feet above hard
concrete sidewalk. Despite the broken ankle
that had hardly mended, the cat-killer made
the drop successfully, picked himself up from
the sidewalk and without even a: limp dis-
appeared around the corner.

No blood, no broke? bones, nothing.

The cat-killer had now spent seven lives.
He had two lives yet to go. And, like a
drunken sailor on a spree, he wasted no time
in squandering his eighth.

On August 11, while driving a car. down
Sunset Boulevard, he was spotted by a
patrolman. The patrolman started towards
him. The cat-killer stopped the car, jumped
out and ran. He was surrounded a few
minutes later in a clump of dense shrubbery
in Barnsdale Park at the corner of Sunset
and Vermont.

Prowl cars converged on the scene from all
sides. A score of officers, guns drawn, closed

in. They called to the cat-killer to sur-
render—to come out with his hands in the
air. For answer they received a hail of
bullets. The officers scattered, dropped to the
ground, returned the fire.

Carefully they counted the explosions that
came from the shrubbery until eight were
numbered. Then, thinking that the killer’s
gun was empty they began to close in again.
They hit the ground a second time as a new
volley burst from the thicket.

More prowl cars sirened to the scene. Two
ambulances stood by in waiting. No less
than a hundred officers deployed themselves
around the tiny thicket of shrubbery, inch-
ing their way forward like a battalion of
GI’s on D Day.

For an hour the battle raged. For an hour
the police threw everything they had into
the bushes. At last there was no answer-
ing fire. Théy closed in cautiously.

They found the cat-killer there on the
ground, surrounded by five empty but very
hot revoivers. Roughly speaking the cops
had fired 500 shots. at him. The score?

uckoski, the cat-killer from Toronto, had
suffered no more than three minor flesh
wounds.

After Buckoski’s second capture, the Los
Angeles police did a little digging into the
files and came up with the unsolved case of
Mrs. Helen Edmunds, murdered in her home
on February Ist, while resisting an armed
intruder. Fingerprints found on Mrs. Ed-
munds’ rear screen door matched those of
the cat-killer. The L. A. cops say it’s an
open and shut case.

All of which brings us to the cat-killer’s
9th life. But.don’t worry about that one. If
by some chance California doesn’t pin the Ed-
munds job on him, Buckoski’s 9th life be-

longs to the Province gf Ontario, in ex-
change for the lifes? Alired Layng.

Site. MARTA

<3

Detective Payne with killer poster.

Jrarbs yo,


BUCKOWSKI, Stamley, wh, gassed CA (LA) May 5, 1952

Ot pee ge a ea :!
a al es ——S ; a
—_: : ON ie .

Bands,
OP my, Oy

quite inauspiciously. The time

was the late afternoon of Satur-
day, July 30, 1949, the place the second-
floor office of the Loblaw grocery on
Parliament Street, in Toronto, Canada.
And the action: A well-dressed young
man with tiny, closely trimmed mus-
tache walked casually up the stairs and
to the open door of the office.

For a moment he watched the store’s
manager, Adam Stoddart, going over
some papers on his desk. Beside Stod-
dart stood the store’s safe, its door wide
open.

The young man stepped into the
office and softly closed the door. Turn-
ing, the manager looked at his visitor
inquiringly.

“Yes?” he said. “What can I do for
you?”

He didn’t need an answer.. The gun
in the intruder’s hand, suddenly pulled
from his side pocket, spoke more em-
phatically than words.

“You can get all the money out of
that safe and hand it over,” the young
man said. “This is a stickup. And
don’t try any hero stuff. Just do what
I tell you and nobody gets hurt.”

The manager didn’t react as do the
majority of bandits’ victims. He wasn’t
frightened and his hand didn’t quiver
as he reached into the safe for the
money. He simply realized the hope-
lessness of his position. Scooping up
$1,000 in bills and handing them to the
thug, he silently thanked his stars that
more than $9,000 in cash had been de-
posited in the bank just a few hours be-
fore.

Stoddart was getting the silver to-
gether when the desperado stopped
him:

“Never mind that chicken feed. Now,

Te 3,000-mile murder case started

Two who saw Alfred Layng die
were his widow and daughter

PFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES,
February, 1951

Parliament Street just after
the gunman struck and fled

Case of the

after I go out, I want you to keep quiet
for one minute by that clock. Your
place downstairs is full of customers.
If you start anything: while I’m still
here, I’m liable to do a little shooting
and some of those customers might get
mS You wouldn’t want that, would
you?”

When the manager didn’t reply, the
unwelcome visitor backed to the door,
put his hand behind him and opened it,
his gaze still on his victim. Then he
restored his gun to his pocket and
stepped outside. He closed the door
softly, walked down the steps with the
same casual assurance with which he
had come up, reached the first floor and
threaded his way through the throng
of customers who were trying to-com-
plete their Saturday shopping in the 30
or 40 minutes remaining before six
o'clock, closing time.

Manager Stoddart waited for only a
few seconds after the bandit had left.
Then he jerked the door open, ran to
the top of the stairs and shouted:

“Stop that man! Stop that man!”

Below, the bandit already had
reached the entrance. The store was
crowded with women; he was the only
man anywhere near the door.

In stunned surprise, the customers
stared upward in the direction from
which the shout had come. The bandit
still didn’t hurry. Possibly he thought
that he could reach the outside and
mingle in the passing crowd before
those on the lower floor had taken into
their consciousness the significance of
the cry they just had heard.

If that was his reasoning, he was
wrong. Leonard Leftly, a nineteen-
year-old clerk, grasped immediately
what the manager’s warning meant. He
pushed aside a customer on whom he
was waiting, ran behind the bandit,
leaped on his back and flung his arms
around him.

This unexpected attack threw the
thug off balance for a moment. He

—f


ickoski was the
. beneath the
"Alfred Layng.
/had scaled the
a hail of flying

entii s only
to ¢ e him.
ki v qurder
erprints, taken
1 a minor charge
sent to every
n the continent,
-{ption. The FBI
"MP at Ottawa

rth, south, east,
all into it? How

ing seven lives?.

pronto, the cat-
w Orleans. He
tching a boat to
But the color
city appealed to
and food. The
r away and he
rhile.
and a revolver;
he, enjoyed him-
money ran out.
ndicap didn’t dis-
g as he had the
ts, filling stations
ime a dozen. He
section of Hubert
es and exits and
escape in case he
in a hurry.
ecked out of his
ile away from his
ock further down
an ‘inconspicuous
ntly parked at the
ing f the igni-

sit as simple
nto the gas station
and lifted the day’s
at simple when, as
the office, a cop
jammed a gun into

” said the cop.

en he was in a spot.
o the floor. The
is spine was_eased.
get a look at you,”

around slowly. To

in perspective the
kward, tripped over
r and pitched to the
d as’ he fell but the
ssly over the cat-
hed into the ceiling.
ive the cop another
e in‘a hurry, ducked
two blocks south,
st, got. into his stolen

1e switched into his
orth. No blood, no

He had spent his
ts on the gun he had
station were checked

Stanley Buckowski,
r murder. Toronto
d. But by that time

way.

th li s needlessly.
w it : on a bac!
was _ _ lay after his

rleans. He was heade

endezvous: with a cer ae
me of Jean. He didn’t
nind except, perhaps 2

guilty conscience. ihe Car ne was Ulivi
wasn't hot. He had paid for it, had a bona-
fide owner’s registration ticket in his pocket.
There was no loot in the car. There wasn’t
even a gun in his pocket.

For once he was clean, except for the
guilty knowledge that he was a_ killer.
Merrily he rolled along at 60.

He had been thinking of Jean for the past
several days and missing her as a man misses
a4 woman he is used to. He glanced down
at the clock on the dashboard. Ten to 11.
If he stepped on it, maybe he could make the
hotel by one.

He stepped on it, had the car rolling along
at 70 when in the réar view mirror he
noticed the headlights of the car behind. He
held his buggy at 70. The car behind gained.
He pressed.the accelerator all the way down
to the floorbeards. The most his jalopy would
do was a lousy 75. The car behind him still
gained.

He cursed. Only a State prowl cruiser,
he thought, would come tearing at him like
that. He forgot that he was clean; forgot
that there wasn’t even a gun in the Car.
The guilty knowledge that he was a killer—
a man with a price on his head—drove him
hard. If the cruiser overtook him, forced
him to the side of the road, he was sunk.

Oh, yeah? Was he? He had a trick or two
yet up his sleeve.

He sweated a little but his hands were
steady on the wheel: One eye on the road
ahead, the other on the rear view mirror, he
eased up a notch on the gas pedal. The
pursuing headlights loomed larger in the
mirror, blinded him.

Then when he sensed that the car behind
had lapped his rear end, he suddenly
wrenched the wheel to the left and flung
himself down to the floor boards. The world
exploded around him like an H bomb. His
car heaved, pitched, bucked, rolled over
three times down the road and ended up a
mass of junk in the ditch.

He climbed out through the shattered
glass of the windshield. His legs were un-
steady for a few moments but otherwise he
was all right. No blood, no broken bones,
nothing. He walked over to the other car,
a mess of twisted metal in the ditch beside
him. It wasn’t a police cruiser after all. It
was ... it had been a hot rod! The punk
kid who had been driving it had just wanted
to have a little fun. .

The cat-killer had tossed away the fourth of
his nine lives. With a curse, he turned from
the wrecks and headed for St. Louis on foot.

Later when the Missouri State police went
over his abandoned wreck they lifted a set
of prints from the steering wheel. They
were, checked with the FBI in Washington
and word went up to Inspector McCathie in
Toronto that the cat-killer was still on the
prowl. .

The fifth life the cat-killer spent’ was like
eating duck soup. It came about this way,
On the morning of December 5, the body of
a young girl was found in a ditch on the out-

OMe YY

killer had had no part in her murder, he
had never even seen the girl in his life but
along with a dozen other strangers in town
he was picked up for questioning.

Now all this would have been a perfectly
harmless procedure if it hadn’t been for the
fact that the cat-killer was a ‘wanted man,
with his prints, photo and description on file
with every major police départment in the
country. When the local cops got around to
checking his prints, they wouldn’t have

. solved the case of the dead girl in the ditch

but they would have gone a long way to-
wards earning the $3500 reward the Toronto
police had offered for his apprehension.
Clearly the cat-killer had to do something
about all this and he did it with character-
istic cold-blooded bravado. In the midst of
being questioned he complained of a sudden
seizure of cramps. A lounging deputy sheriff
was delegated to escort him to the men’s

‘ room at the rear of the local lockup. With

the closing of the washroom door behind
them the cat-killer leaped into action. With

one lightning movement, he snatched the

holstered gun from the deputy’s hip and
crashed it down hard over that surprised in-
dividual’s head. The deputy went down for
the count without a peep.

From that point on it was just a matter
of minutes to pry out the screen from the
window, squeeze through the opening and
drop to the ground below. ‘No blood, no
broken bones, nothing. When the deputy
came to a few minutes later the cat-killer
was gone. The Wickenburg officers never saw
him again but in due time: word was -re-
ceived in Toronto that the cat-killer was
still on the prowl.

The next three lives of the cat-killer—
numbers six, seven and eight—were spent
in Los Angeles. The sixth fling was a par-
ticularly ignominious affair, something the
cat-killer would rather not talk about.

For weeks he had carefully cased a cer-
tain fur emporium on Wilshire Boulevard,
and on Saturday night, May 20, 1950, he
decided to knock it off. His survey of the
job had told him that the best entry into
the store was via a rope, tied to the sky-
light on the roof.

That first step of the job was easy. The
roof was negotiated without anyone being
the wiser. A diamond-tipped cutter silently
removed a pane of glass from the skylight.
One end of the rope was-knotted to an angle
bar, the other end dropped down into the
darkened store below. —

- Agilely the cat-killer swung out on the
rope, started to ease himself down into the
darkness below. And then it happened. The
first warning he had was a sudden jerk when
the rope gave a few inches as it began to
part. Then with a snap it gave way alto-
gether and the cat-killer plummeted down.

The fall was no more than 15 feet. Under
more favorable circumstances it wouldn't
have bothered him at all; he wouldn’t have
landed any harder than if he had been play-

(Continued on page 72)

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Was This a Trap?

Did This Five-Gun

Killer Intentionally Leave a Trail Offi- :
cials Could Not Miss in Canada—
And Then, in Los Angeles, Trick Police
Into Chasing Him and Setting Up the
Rip-Snorting, Sixty-Minute Gunfight?

By George Torrence

Special investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

Pursued, the killer smashed up this car—and ran off uninjured

Hare-and-Hounds Killer

stumbled, recovered himself, endeav-
ored to shake off his assailant and, with
Leftly still clinging to him, staggered
through the door and out onto the
street.

Struggling frantically, he managed
to pull his right arm loose. With the
valiant clerk still trying to bring him
down, he reached into his pocket and
came up with his gun. He jerked sud-
denly, twisted Leftly from his back to
his side, whirled the gun around and
pulled the trigger.

The hold of the clerk relaxed. He
cried out in pain as the searing lead
tunneled into his thigh. Then he
twisted around in a crazy half-circle,
slipped to the pavement and lay still.

The throngs of shoppers on the
street stared stupidly. They just had
seen a near tragedy enacted in front of
them. Or had they? What was it all
about, anyhow? Rigid, unmoving, they
watched one of the two men who had
just been tussling as he sped across the
street, threading his way through
closely packed cars, shoving pedestrians
this way and that, hurling to the
ground an old woman in his flight.

But all of those on the street weren’t
stunned into inaction. One man, like
the quick-witted Leftly, had sensed im-
mediately what was going on. He was
Alfred Layng, a 25-year-old Royal Ca-
nadian Air Force veteran who, with his
wife Shirley and his four-year-old
daughter Patricia, was completing his
weekly shopping. He heard the shot,
saw Leftly drop to the sidewalk and
the man race across the street.

As the bandit reached the opposite
curb, Layng dropped the market bag he
was carrying, ran a few feet and made
a fiying leap after the other. He, too,
landed on the other’s back and tried
to pinion his arms.

But he misjudged the distance. His
hands clutched at the sides of the flee-
ing thug, then slipped down. The
bandit tore himself loose.

But Layng was still full of fight. He
scrambled to his knees to try a sec-
ond attack. He was pushing himself
upright when the bandit turned. -

For a second, his hot-barreled pistol
still clutched in his hand, he stood over
his fallen attacker. He was free now.
The slightest delay might spell the dif-
ference between prison and liberty. He
could resume his flight easily.

But he didn’t. He took the chance.
He waited until his assailant was semi-
upright, then brought his finger down
on that curved bit of metal which over
the centuries has earned its place as
one of the first aids of Death.

Again it proved its right to that title.
While the horror-crazed wife looked on,
Layng, a bullet in his heart, toppled to
the ground, twitched spasmodically for
@ moment and lay quiet. A second
bullet followed.

Still the multitude stood gazing, im-
mobile, bewildered, wondering, only
half aware of the tragic events which
so suddenly had turned the busy but
peaceful street into a scene of blood
and death. Then a shriek of soul-
tearing anguish burst from the slain
man’s wife and she knelt by his side
and peered unbelievingly into his life-
less face.

This was the one spark needed to
break the cataleptic-like trance of the
onlookers. At first just a mutter of ex-
clamations, incoherent mouthing and
parts of questions could be heard.
Then, as though pushed by a gigantic,
sweeping hand, the crowd broke, rac-
ing madly from a danger it didn’t quite
comprehend toward anyplace where
safety from the unknown might lie.
Men and women dodged into stores, up
the steep steps of private houses, into

Hoping for an identification,
police dressed this dummy in
the killer's discarded clothes


; used by Cat Burglar (seated).

nly to disappear before they
s on him. The trail consisted
ed as he ran. .

ind flung it to the pavement. ©

Seaton Street, he ripped off
: street. Further on went his
oves.

his did not give the police
2 direction he had taken, he
to do other odd things which
attention, which would make

‘ance, although no one was

it, he dodged into the open .

past the startled householder
o.Leighton Lane.

enty of opportunity to lose
‘tr, he did something which
1inly as the proverbial sore
i car in front of a home on
d up when a strange voice

now hatless and coatless, was
at him incredulously, then

rled. “Get back in the house.”
stranger jumped in the car
Vhen he failed to start the

motor, he leaped out and ran up Seaton Street. Whether it
was stupidity, panic, or egomania which led him to do
these foolishly conspicuous things is a.matter, of con-
jecture. But.once more he took ‘such action, this time hiding
in the back of a car belonging to a married couple. At.
this time, too, he had a clear road ahead. .But instead ot
putting as much distance as possible between himself and

’ his pursuers, the instinctive thing to do, he seemed to

prefer tactics which would give them time to catch up
with him. He jumped from the car and ran when the
housewife opened the car door to put in some packages
preparatory to taking a trip.

It was this last folly which brought close upon his heels
one of those who had been trailing him, who had witnessed
the wounding of the checker and the murder of Layng, and
who had at first kept the killer in sight and then lost him.
He kept looking for the gunman and finally caught a
glimpse of him as he leaped from the car.

He gave chase, following the fugitive until he darted into

' a narrow lane. The fleeing man turned to the right at the

lane’s end,. with his pursuer not ten yards behind. In front
of them was a solid brick wall, approximately fourteen feet
high, beyond which lay the plant of a brewing company.
The chaser was sure of his man now, His quarry couldn’t
possibly scale that wall. Nor did he try. He turned around,
and there was a breathless wheeze in his voice.

“I'll count—just—three. If you’re—not out of—sight by—
that time—I’ll—plug you!”

Unarmed, he was helpless. He turned and ran to the
end of the lane. There he shot a glance behind him...

The impossible had happened..The thug had made a

flying leap, grasped the top of the wall, and pulled himself

up. He dropped out of sight on the other side. But his
pursuer was not yet defeated. He ran to the front of the
brewing plant in time to see the hunted man emerge and
race into a nearby garage. . ;

He knew it would be useless to continue the pursuit

alone, and he telephoned police headquarters. Although a

swarm of officers arrived quickly and searched the garage
from top to bottom, they did not find a trace of the killer.

He had finally disappeared. .

Police had meanwhile arrived at the Loblaw store, in-
cluding Chief Constable John Chisholm, Detective Inspector
John .Nimmo, - Detective Sergeants Harold Genno and
Frank O’Driscoll, Acting Inspector James Semple and a
score of other officers. Chisholm began snapping out one
order after another—for some of the uniformed men and
squad cars to spread out over the neighborhood, for road
blocks to be set up, and particularly for the detectives to
round up every man, woman and child who had witnessed
either the shooting of the checker or the slaying of Layng,
or both.

Then he began quizzing the various onlookers.

This yielded little result, everyone contending that the
shooting had happened so quickly that they had little
opportunity to get a good look at the fleeing gunman. All
agreed that he was a young man, probably in his 30s, and
that he had a small, pencil-thin mustache. It was a descrip-
tion which could apply to many men. ;

It wasn’t until detectives searching the neighborhood
began coming in with the various garments the killer had
discarded that the chief constable began to hope for a
quick solution. The increasing,accumulation of the thug’s
clothing became more and more puzzling. What possible
reason could he have had for throwing them away?

There were no laundry marks or initials on any of the

garments, But three of the articles bore brand or manu--

facturing names stamped in them. The brand in the hat
was “The Gaylord,” with the name of the merchant who
sold it, “Jess Applegarth, Toronto and Montreal.” “Acme”
was the brand on the gloves, and “Berkshire Imports by
Berkley” ,on the tie. But the tie had, in addition to its
label, sOmething else which distinguished it. That was its
design, a silver and gold swordfish on a glossy and garish
maroon background.
“Once seen, never forgotten,’ Nimmo observed. “This
may. help. If there’s another like it in Canada, I’ve never
seen it.”
But the tie proved of no help at all, nor did, at least in

the ensuing few days, any of the other garments, although
Chief Chisholm had them dressed on a dummy and placed
in a downtown store window in the hope that some of
the hundreds who gaped at it might recall at least the tie.

Rea fruitless was the attempt to raise fingerprints
from the bag the bandit had carried, which, with all
its money intact, had been picked up from under a truck
where the bandit had either thrown it or lost it in his
struggle with the courageous checker.

The outcome of all efforts to trace the bandit was dis-
couraging, And although’ innumerable cars were stopped
and their occupants questioned at the road blocks, all rail-
road and bus stations and airports watchéd every minute
of the day and night, ten days slipped by, with the killer
apparently as far from capture as -ever.

But now the officers had settled down to that quiet,
persistent, often monotonous work which makes up much
of a detective’s life. Here, too, they met with disheartening
results. The clothes, except for the tie, were common items,
and no haberdasher recognized the flashy cravat. The
detectives focused their efforts on locating the maker of the
suit. Informed that it was a factory made garment, officers
went from one city to another, both in Canada and the
United States, searching for the manufacturer.

They finally located him in Rochester, New York. He
gave them the names of more than forty wholesalers to
whom suits made of the gray, striped cloth had been sold.
From them, in turn, the sleuths got the names of retailers
who had purchased the suits. Again, the detectives resumed
their monotonous grind.

Finally they came to a little tailor shop in a suburb of
Toronto. The owner recognized the suit immediately.

“TI sold that,” he asserted.

“How do you know?” (Continued on page 45)

Yard where killer's girl-friend left her heelprint.


her doorbell or telephone brought a
reply, they reported the matter to’ the
police.

Investigators found Helen Edmunds
dead, with a bullet in her head,

A broken pane in the back door,
and the fact that the woman lay in
her nightgown in the hall, just outside
her bedroom, led detectives to believe
that Helen had heard a noise outside
her sleeping apartment and had gone
to investigate, then had been shot by
an intruder,

Now the police compared the palm
print on the broken piece of window
glass with the palm print of the
prisoner whose frantic efforts to escape
seemed out of all proportion to the
crime for which he was being held.

They found that every line, blemish
mark, and ridge matched in the most
minute detail!

Without telling Miller about the brok-. .

en glass, they questioned him about the
murder of Helen Edmunds. He simply
asserted that he was no. more guilty
of murdering the widow than were the
officers who questioned him.

The officers thought the palm print
would be sufficient to convict, but they
wanted to clinch the case by getting

a confession if they could. They knew’

they would never obtain it from Miller.

But now came the inevitable “woman
in the case.” In the yard of the slain
widow’s home, the police had found

_ the fresh heel print of a woman’s shoe.

They didn’t have to follow the
French maxim of “find the woman,”

for the ample reason that they already
had her. She was Stanley’s pretty bru-
nette, and she was in jail serving four
months for forging money orders on a
sentence imposed, on her on July 6th,
1950.

The’ officers weren’t sure that the
heel print. was hers, but it certainly
was a very strong probability.

So they turned to Buckoski’s girl, She
was a pretty little thing in her early
20s. It was obvious that’ Buckoski had
completely dominated her and_ that
away from his influence, she was decent
and honest. They turned their attention

nz

If you weren’t, how do you account for
this palm print? And this one,” he
‘went on, showing one of Buckoski’s
tecently taken. “They’re exactly alike.”

It was the final straw. The lovely girl
broke. Between ‘sobs she blurted out her
story with a rush of ‘Words.

“We were there. We started past the
place when he suddenly disappeared
from my side. Before I knew what had
happened,.I heard some glass break-
ing: Then he came, running out of the
house.” —

Relief was on the detectives’ faces.
This was what they needed to make an

to her in the Edmunds murder ‘case.« iron-bound case against the vicious

She wasn’t’ as easy as ‘the officers had

’ anticipated, denying that she knew any-

thing about it, and insisting that she
was sure Buckoski wasn’t involved. But
there was something about the way she
hedged that made the detectives. certain
she either knew or suspected something.

.At’ length she admitted that she and her

friend were “near” the Edmunds home

on the night of February 1st.
“We were just out taking a little.

walk,” she explained, ~ *s

“And how far were you from the
Edmunds home?’ i

“Why—I—don’t—uh—know. I guess we
were pretty near.”

The detectives could see that she was
getting panicky. One of them opened: a
desk drawer and, handling it gingerly,
pulled out the broken piece of glass
from the door in the.Edmunds home.

“You certainly were pretty near,”
he said, “In fact, right up to the door.

killer. .

“We got away as fast as we could. I
knew that something terrible had hap-
pened, but I didn’t ask any questions,”
the. pretty girl said. ;

This was the situation when Inspector
Nimmo reached Los Angeles. He set

‘ the wheels in motion to have Buckoski

returned to Toronto to answer for the

' murder of .Alfred Layng. But the Cali-

fornia officials refused to give him up,
and indicted Buckoski for the slaying
of Helen Edmunds.

Placed on trial for murder on Novem-
ber: 27th, 1950, the. jury convicted
Buckoski of murder in the first degree
the very next day. On December 4th,
Stanley Buckoski, alias Frank T. Miller,
was sentenced to be executed for killing
Helen Edmunds. That .sentence was

carried out in the gas chamber at San

Quentin Penitentiary on May: 9th,

1952, *

MOUNTAIN MEN
(Continued from page 36)

summer was approaching.

RISON had made no changes in

Brooks. Head high, carrying his
lank six-foot, one-inch frame as straight
as ramrod and walking with the brisk
steps of a man half his years, the
mountaineer faced the judge unflinch-
ingly.

“Green Allen,” Judge Carter smiled
kindly, “I think being two months away
from your beloved hills is punishment
enough.: I’m going to.send you’ back
homentncice you'll give me your
promise to behave.” ° ;

“Thank you, Judge, thank you.” The
old man’s smile was: wonderful to see.
“I was pining to go, back.” He held out
his hand, and Judge Carter grasped it
heartily, then watched the tall, erect
figure stride from the room.

Sheriff Giles met Brooks outside the
cqurtroom, cocked a knowing eye at
him.

“I noticed,” the sheriff commented,
“that you didn’t promise Judge Carter
that you would behave. I’m not asking
you to promise me, Allen, because I
know you won’t.. But just remember
that I have taken an oath to uphold
48

ae

the law in this county and I know
you’re man enough ‘to realize that you

“can never get’ away with breaking the

law.”
Brooks looked ‘the sheriff straight in
the eye, smiling in friendly fashion, as

he replied. “‘That’s your: side, Bob, and .

I. admire you for it. But listen, if you

ever want me here in court again you:

come up and get me yourself. If you
send Arch Redmond or ‘Bob Bailey
you'll never see either of them, or me,
again.” : ‘

For years afterward Sheriff Giles re-. .

membered those words, spoken:in low,
soft tones, and blamed himself severely
for not heeding them. However, he was
busy .at the time and soon forgot all
about the incident. : :

Late in the afternoon of July 18th,
1935, it was brought forcefully and

painfully to his attention. The mail that

morning had brought a request from the
sheriff in Pineville, Kentucky, to appre-
hend one Michael. Colby, of Lee
County. It contained a fugitive warrant
and the added information’ that Colby
had passed a worthless check for $8.50:
in’ Pineville,

The sheriff passed the warrant to.

Deputy Redmond. “Take this: warrant

to the County Justice, Arch, and have’
him rewrite it to make the’ arrest in

Virginia legal.”
Redmond glanced at the’ warrant,

dan

nodded briefly. ‘“‘Bob Bailey and I are
planning to go up in the hills early, in
the morning,: Sheriff. We'll take the
warrant along and bring back this fel-
low. if you want us to.”

HE next day was busy for Sheriff

Giles and it was late afternoon be-
fore he was able to return to his office
to catch up on some paper work. While
still some distance from the office he
heard his telephone ringing and hurried
his steps. ; :

The voice at the other end sounded
excited. “This is Hubert Williams speak-
ing, Sheriff. One of. your men, Deputy
Robert Ball, sent me down to telephone
you. Redmond and Bailey have been
killed and he wants you to come out to
the Brooks place right away.”

For a long moment the sheriff sat
there, the receiver in his hand. Red-
mond and Bailey ‘killed.. He could
scarcely credit it. And at the Brooks
place! Vividly, in his mind’s eye, he
saw the tall erect figure in blue home-
‘spun as it had appeared before him
and warned him not to send Redmond

’ and Bailey after him again.

Violently, the sheriff shook his head,
as if to clear away the thoughts that
raced through his brain. But why had
the officers been killed, he asked him-
self; They had gone up in the hills to
arrest Michael Colby, not Brooks.

LT TT a ; be

And then, like «
the bewildered sh
that Michael Colt
Brooks’ daughters

The Brooks far
Jonesville but Gil
an hour. There t
standing beside t!
cabin perched hig!
Ball jerked his he
ing: “He’s up
Brooks. And dov
removed his left
long enough to px
path, “are Arch ;
the back. Two sh:

“How did you
did it?” Giles ask

Ball shrugged.
sides, who else ir
that good? Over
the path zigzaggi:
Nobody but old
that.”

Heavy-hearted,
the spot where t\
less, about 12 y
tioned, ‘Be carei
go exposing you
holed up in the
mind adding on
gun.”

Ignoring the
walked across the
side the first box
gun tightly clutch
fully loaded. Red)
its holster. Both
been killed instar
to defend themse

Beckoning Bel
started up the zig

“Better be care
again warned hi
and watching the

Giles did not
bering that Broo
he himself must
mountaineer shot
again.

Nearing the c:
to go around to
strode to the dc
and knocked lou

A withered lit:
the door a few
sheriff, started t
Giles had a foot
pushing past her.
the room.

Two young wc
corner. The she
Brooks’ daughter
was Mrs. Micha

‘Where is Gre
ed.

“My husband
ered the old won

“Then where i

It was the 3
Colby, who an
Michael went aw
know where the\

“What happen:

“Some Officers
drunk. They sai

’ arrest Michael,

just as soon sho


“dress, though—the usual
eward claim forms have
h, you know,”
ive his address in a cheap
»tel. Police went directly
1 a search for clues while
ited in the expensive
for him. Inspector Mc-
up the informant’s key
: house desk, but when
Hightower’s door long
ising caution compelled
open carefully. Peering
ack, he saw a piece of
ver the inside knob and
ved it. Had he opened
lly he would have pulled
triggered off a fearsome

re aimed directly at the
ith triggers attached to

ided with six shotgun ~

opening the door with-
he twine carefully from
ae inspector did, would
ted into eternity.
rough the well-guarded
vartner, McMahon found
hemicals, and a pup tent
lettered on its front:

ed this information
1, who began to question
tedly back at the swank
lightower explained he
he tent after learning of
m his pretty streetwalker
had wanted to frighten
might find the “cache”
out of the reward. That
a for the pipe-shotgun
m: to keep others from
and finding out about his

ou know a ransom of
red had. been asked in

cr,” O’Brien demanded.
one fact we didn’t make

zrinned. “I wrote that
. “That’s why I had the
ds, too—to figure out a
nich I could get the re-
y decided posing as a
oo risky and came for-
expected there’d be as
‘n thousand dollars re-

ve story to believe,”
ightower insisted. “Sure,
some cash—but I didn’t
Father Heslin. Call in
She’ll tell you the name
) did it.”
*der went out to bring in
It took police two days
rl, and when they finally
headquarters police offi-
>what surprised.
e was a good looking
“ie obviously was a

she had clear eyes,
ell kept blonde hair.
n to confront Hightower.
to greet her. “Marie will
me of the guy who blab-
2w about Father Heslin.

Go ahead, baby and we get the reward.”
Marie gave him a level look, then
said, “The name of the guy who killed’
Father Heslin, and planned the kid-
naping, is William A. Hightower.” —

“Hightower’s face turned. white with
amazement, then went livid. ‘“She’s
crazy! She——” ;

“Shut up!” an officer snapped, and
Hightower. subsided.

The svelte blonde went on talking.
“Hightower told me he wanted me to
get some poor sucker up in my room,
get him liquored up, and frame him
for the Heslin kidnap and murder. I
told him then, and I'm telling him now
—that kind of stuff is too rough, even for
me.” ’

Hightower continued to insist that
his former girl friend was off her rocker,
but the police kept questioning him.
Twenty-four hours later, the smooth-

talking satan gave up his claim for a
reward and admitted to the kidnaping
and killing. At his trial, late in 1931,
he filled the air with long-winded sto-
-ties, but the jury finally sat it out and
came back at him with a verdict of
guilty. They recommended mercy.
William Hightower was sentenced to
life in prison, becduse the jury recom-
mended mercy due to the fact they
believed he had had actomplices and
to execute him would end any chance
of bringing the other guilty parties in
the horrible crime to justice. But in
San Quentin, Hightower has never
talked, if he has anything at all to re-
veal. Seven times he has applied for
parole, and ‘seven times he’s been re-
ected. But the most devastating re-
ection for the devil who murdered a
priest was when he and $5,500 were

turned down; by.a -streetwalker. o-

CAT BURGLAR -
(Continued from page 29).

“Because it’s the only one ‘of that

. pattern I ever bought.”

“But how do you know it’s from your
shop?”

“Because of this stitching on the lin-
ing. I made some alterations on it. I'd
know my own work anywhere.” ~

The two sleuths were skeptical. “You
don’t remember what this fellow looked
like, do you?”

“Sure I do. He came back several
times for alterations. Was pretty hard
to please. He’s about 35 or so, probably
around 150 pounds, lots of dark hair,
and a little mustache that looked more
like a misplaced eyebrow, °

At last they were on the trail. The
pencil mustache!

“Do you know. who he is?” one of
the detectives asked.

“J don’t remember his name, but I
-have it somewhere around because I
delivered the suit.”

He ran through some bills and re-
ceipts on a spike. “His name is Stanley
Buckoski,” he said, pulling off a de-
livery receipt. “And here’s his address.”

It was a rooming house a few blocks
from the Loblaw store! :

A short time later a group of 6fficers
were prowling over the room which had
been occupied by Buckoski and a
brunette. :

- They learned from the landlady that
on the morning of the day following
the murder, Buckoski and his lady had
hurriedly departed, y
weeks’ rent, which had been paid in
advance. They found neither prints nor
other clues. But a few days later they
obtained a complete set of fingerprints

from a jail in a province where -

Buckoski had served a short term.
The prints were sent to the FBI in

Washington. That organization reported

it had no record of Stanley Buckoski.
Chief Chisholm was disappointed.

sacrificing . two:

“But we’re no longer working in the
dark,” Detective Inspector John Nimmo
consoled. “At least we know who he
is. It shouldn’t take too long now to

“dig him up.” ;

The future was to, show, however,
that his optimism was decidedly pre-
mature.

After dozens of suspects had been
quizzed and réleased, and after Toronto

fficers had made a hurried trip to
New Orleans, following the wide dis-
tribution of a police circular and a re-
port that Buckoski had been _seen in
that: city, the police of the Canadian
metropolis realized that the chances of
apprehending Buckoski depended to-a
very considerable extent on His being
picked up for some other offiense. And
that might be months, or years—or,
very possibly, never.

On the morning of May 20th police
headquarters at Los Angeles, California,
received a phone call from a druggist
on West Pico Boulevard, who reported
that his store ,had been. broken into
the night before. When the two de-
tectives assigned to the case looked
over the place, they drew their own
conclusions concerning why the thief,
after’ he gained an entrance, hadn't
stolen anything. i ee

There dangled from the skylight a
length of rope attached to a metal frame
alongside a broken pane, The rope hung

down just about’ six feet. On the floor:

directly beneath it was another, and a
much longer piece. This was lying near
a counter from the top of which a
display of various’ glasses, bottled and
cardboard-covered items had been hurl-
ed to the floor. Several were badly
smashed.

“Not much mystery here,” one of the
sleuths remarked. “He got in from the
skylight, then his rope broke and he
fell the rest of the way onto this
‘counter.”

He pointed to several spots on the
floor, obviously bloodstains. “I think he
hurt himself,” he said, “and pretty
badly, too. That is a long drop.- And

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45


he didn’t hit the floor right away. He
hit the counter first and bounced off.
What do you think?” '

“I think,” his partner replied, ‘tha’
we'd better check up on some doctors
and hospitals.”

The nearest hospital was the Georgia
Street Receiving. There an intern told
the detectives that the night before, or
rather around four o’clock in the morn-.
ing, a man had limped in with a frac-
tured ankle, saying he had had a fall in
his home. “We splinted it up and put
him to bed.” he concluded.

“A fractured ankle!” one of the de-
tectives exclaimed. “You mean to say
he walked in with a fractured ankle?”

“Yes, he did. I could scarcely be-
lieve it, but that’s the way it was.”

‘A few moments later the officers
were questioning Frank T. Miller, the
name the patient gave.

He insisted at first that he had fallen
down the stairs in his home, but after
he had been tangled up in several con-
tradictory declarations, he admitted the
attempted robbery.

Later that day, the detectives had
him moved to the prison ward of the
General Hospital, on the thirteenth floor
of the building.

N the 27th of June, 1950, the seem-

ingly impossible happened, al-
though at first nobody, from Deputy
Sheriff W. C. Phillips, in- charge of the
prison ward, on down, could believe it..
Frank Miller made a successful escape
from the building.

All that remained to remind them of
Miller were nine sheets knotted to-
gether, which dangled from the thir-
teenth floor window of the cell which
he had occupied, and an iron leg
wrenched from his cot, with which he
had spread the window bars sufficiently
to let his body through.

It would have been a spectacular and
daring escape by anyone. But for a
man on the thirteenth floor, handi-
capped by an ankle now only partially
healed, it was one of the most astonish-
ing jail breaks ever known.

The large number of police assigned
to the job of recapturing Miller saw
neither hide nor: hair of the fugitive
for several days. But the people from
whom he had formerly rented a guest
house had that dubious honor.

The teen-aged daughter was alone in
the house when Miller entered. She was
far from, glad to see him, and asked
him to leave, ‘

“T’ll leave,” he said, with a chilling
menace in his voice, “after you’ve open-
ed that safe. I know your old man
keeps a lot of cash in it. So get it open,
girl, and fast.”

“I can’t,” the frightened teen-ager

answered. “I haven‘t the combination. |

Only my father knows it.” ;

The unexpected and very unwelcome
trespasser cursed and stormed and
threatened. Finally convinced that the
girl was telling the truth, he sat down
to wait for her parents’ return.

In about an hour, they came back.

> ed herded them all into the room
4

where the safe was located, forced them
to. open it, and departed with more than
a thousand dollars.

“Don’t anyone come out for fifteen

minutes,” he snapped. “I’ve got a guy

outside watching, and he’ll plug the
first one who shows his map.” ©

The girl, however, insisted to her par-
ents that this was a bluff. As Miller
had cut the phone wires, she: ran next
door almost as soon as he was gone and
called the police, who flashed the alarm
to every radio car in the city. Not ten
minutes later, Radio Officers L.” B.
Bovee and H. W. Sherbourne, cruising
in Sunset Boulevard near Kenmore, saw
the fugitive pass in a car. They turned
to give chase, and started to draw up
alongside Miller when he evidently
spotted them. = re

He rammed his foot down on the ac-
celerator, twisted the wheel to pass in
front of a large truck, temporarily
blocking the officers, and raced up Sun-
set at terrific speed, weaving in and
out between other vehicles with that
same death defying recklessness he had
displayed. wildly on two prior occasions.

The screaming sirens of his pursuers
attracted Motorcycle Officers S. A. Wil-
son and E, W. Hathaway, who joined

in the pursuit. Other motorcycle men, *

parked at intersecting streets, ‘also
hurtled after the fleeing thug until

at least a dozen were on his trail, tearing.

after him with the same disregard of
a possible smash-up as their quarry.

At Sunset and Vermont, Miller found
himself blocked by a car in front of
him, As he had done a dozen times
before during the pursuit, he jerked the
wheel to swing the machine to the side,
to pass the obstructing vehicle. But this
time he twisted it too hard. ’ a

His car veered to the right, bounced
up on the sidewalk, and smashed head-
on into a fire plug, ‘sending a plume of
water high into the air, but leaving
the thug practically uninjured. He
leaped from the car and dodged into
a cluster of hedges in Barnsdall Park,
which parallels Sunset at this point.

Within a few seconds, his place of
concealment was surrounded. Bovee
called on him to come ‘out.

“Come in and get me, you gutless
flatfoot!” Miller ‘challenged.

A fusillade of shots came suddenly
from the bushes. The officers ducked,
and from: behind trees and automobiles
parked on Sunset, they’ poured a steady
stream of bullets into the thick foliage.
When they thought’ the desperado’s
ammunition was exhausted, they rushed
his hiding place. 4a

They met no more firing. Miller,
shot in the neck, leg’ and arm, was
lying on the ground surrounded ‘by five.
empty pistols! .

Bullet-riddled as he was, he was still
conscious and, as it was soon discovered,
none of his wounds were'serious. __

“Finish me off,” he begged the po-
licemen. “Put a bullet through my
head.” cy

They took him back to the prison
ward, this time to a part of the ward
used for recalcitrant inmates, : from

which there could be no possibility of
escape. And now the report came back
on Miller’s fingerprints, although it
came in the form of a, long distance
telephone call from Détective Inspector
John Nimmo of Toronto.

“Hold Miller for us,” Nimmo re-
quested. “I’m flying to Los Angeles to-
night.”

“What do you want him for?”

“Murder. We just got a report on his
prints from the FBI. You’ve been get-
ting our circulars about the killing of
Alfred Layng, haven’t you?”

“Sure. I think we’ve got one posted
on the bulletin board.”

-“Well, Frank Miller is Stanley
Buckoski.” :

“So that’s it,” the Los Angeles sleuth
exclaimed. “That’s the reason he took a
chance qn a getaway which could have
killed him! That’s why he took a

chance on a thirteen floor leap out of -

a hospital with a broken. ankle. Come
on out. We’ll hold him for you.”

VEN ‘as the Los Angeles officer was
talking, other developments were
unfolding in that city which were des-
tined to overshadow even the wanton,
brutal Layng killing.

The first thing occurred shortly after
Miller had been recaptured and returned
to jail. A trusty rushed up to a guard
and told him that something was the
matter with Miller, that he was lying on
his coat with blood dripping down to
the floor alongside of him. :
_ The guard hurried to the cell, to find
that Miller had slashed his wrists. He
called a physician, who applied a tourni-
quet and stemmed the flow of blood.

Chief Jailer Fitzgerald was not par-
ticularly impressed concerning the
genuineness of the suicide attempt. He
shrewdly surmised that it was a sympa-
thetic play on Miller’s part to get
himself removed from “Siberia” to a
part of the jail where he might have a
better chance to escape.

He grilled the would-be suicide re-
lentlessly until the latter admitted that
his purpose was to get away from the
maximum security ward. He insisted,

. however, that his only purpose was in

getting what he described as better
treatment in the other part of the in-
stitution.

Los Angeles police thought otherwise.
They looked upon this as still another
desperate attempt to avoid, not the
conviction for attempted robbery, but
something far more serious.

They didn’t know exactly what it
was, but they began checking their
records of crimes still “open,” particu-
larly those carrying sentences more
severe than that for attempted burglary.
In doing so they found, along with. the
papers in one case, a piece of broken
glass containing the print of a man’s
palm.

This particular case had broken on
February Ist, 1950, when neighbors of
Mrs. Helen Edmunds, a widow living at
252 South Benton Way, became con-
cerned when they failed to see her put-

- tering around her house. When neither

oe a  ~

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been trying to get her to come back to
him.”

Shortly afterward, William Henry Burk-
hart was booked at Hollywood Police Sta-
tion on a charge of Suspicion of Mur-
der.

Back at Central Headquarters, we
checked Burkhart’s finger-print classifica-
tion through our Bureau of Identification
and found that he had been convicted in
Chicago in 1926 on a_ counterfeiting
charge and sentenced to a short term in
the Federal Prison at Leavenworth. Twice
during the past year he had been arrested
in Los Angeles for drunkenness.

[vpORNs papers carried sensational
accounts of Hollywood’s latest mur-
der mystery, and before noon of that day
we had received no less than ‘a dozen calls
from Hollywood citizens, all of whom
stated that at approximately 8:20 the pre-
vious evening they had seen a small car
parked at the intersection of El Centro
Avenue and Vista Del Mar. Shortly there-
after they had heard a woman’s shrill
scream; following that, a revolver had
barked twice. There was a brief inter-
lude. Then three more shots in quick
succession. The coupe, according to sev-
eral of our informants, had then been
driven down the street at break-neck speed.

We had no doubt that this was the
murder-car.

A few days later, I visited Mrs. Joy
McKnight Hoskins and heard frome her
the pathetic life-story of the girl who had
died so tragically while in the bloow of
her youth and beauty.

Joy—no less beautiful than her sister,
Anne—invited me into her attractively ap-
pointed Spanish-type bungalow after Td
introduced myself and explained the pur-
pose of my call.

“Ym a little tired,” she said, graciously
motioning me to a chair. “I’ve just come
from the studio, where I’ve been doing
some rather strenuous ‘doubling.’”

I suggested that perhaps I had better
return some other time.

“Oh, no. I’m only too glad to help
you if I can,” she protested. “All the of-
ficers—Lieutenant Sanderson and_ those
others from Hollywood Division—have
been very kind to me all through this
whole terrible experience.”

I first told Mrs. Hoskins that all evi-
dence so far obtained pointed’ to Burk-
hart as the slayer of her sister. I then
asked if she knew of any possible motive
the man might have had.

“f know his’ motive only too well!”
Joy declared bitterly. “It was jealousy!
An insane jealousy that made him hate
anyone with whom Anne came in con-
tact.
ple she worked with, everybody !”

“Then, in your opinion, there’s no doubt
but. that he——” j

Joy Hoskins’ big blue eyes flashed fire.

“Not the slightest in the world!” she
cried. “I couldn’t be more convinced of
his guilt if I’d actually witnessed the
shooting! Haven’t I heard him threaten
to kill her a dozen times? MHasn’t he
beaten and abused her in every way pos-

sible! Oh, how I wish he’d never been
born!”
“Well,” I said soothingly, “I believe

he'll wish the same thing before this is
over. And now, Mrs. Hoskins, please tell

He was jealous of me, of the peo--

True Detective Mysteries

me all you ‘know regarding your sister’s
life with Burkhart. You say he threat-
ened her on several occasions?”

“Yes, time and again. I’ve heard him
say that if he couldn’t have her, he’d see
that nobody else got her, even if he had
to spend the rest of his life in the peni-
tentiary! And when I laughed at such
threats, he’d tell me that he was part
Indian and that some day I’d find out he
meant what he said.”

“Why didn’t you report him to the po-
lice?” I asked. re

“We did. But wait, let me tell you a
little about how she happened to meet
him. You see, Anne and I have been on
the stage since we were just youngsters. I
was sixteen and she was fourteen when we
first went on the road in vaudeville in a
little song-and-dance act. We were billed
as the ‘McKnight Sisters,’ since that was
our maiden name. I remember one of our
popular hits—a song called ‘Drifting and
Dreaming,’ Anne loved it. I used to tell
her it was typical of her—drifting and
dreaming.” Mrs. Hoskins’ eyes filled with
tears, but..she brushed them away and
resolutely went on.

“There’s been so much tragedy in our
lives. My father died when we were small
children, and left mother with six to take
care of. That’s how we happened to be
out on our own at such an early age. I
liked the stage, but Anne never cared for
the life. She wanted a home of her own,
always.

“f° got married when I was eighteen,
and two years later the babies came—
twins—a boy and a girl. They’re five
now, and red-headed and adorable.” Joy
smiled proudly. “Then, when they were
eleven months old, my husband was killed
in a train-wreck. Some time afterward,
I went back to work, but Anne preferred
to stay home and take care of the children.
She was with them so much that I think
they hardly knew which.one of us was
their mother.

N nineteen twenty-seven, we came to
California and played the West Coast
Theaters for a short engagement, while
the children stayed with ‘my. mother-in-
law on her ranch. Then, like all other
girls who come to Hollywood, Anne and
I wanted to get in pictures. We got some
small parts, and it was when we were
working at Tiffany-Stahl’s just before
Christmas that year that Anne met Bill
Burkhart.”

A shadow crossed Joy’s face at the
recollection.

“Tt seemed to be a case of love at first
sight with both of them. But, somehow,
I didn’t like him from the very first! He
couldn’t or wouldn’t keep a job, he drank
and he simply wouldn’t tell the truth
about anything! I warned Anne not to
have anything to do with him, but she
wouldn't listen. He was quite good-
looking, you know, and she seemed abso-
lutely blind to his faults.

“She married him in March,’ nineteen
twenty-eight, while I was in Texas settling
up my husband’s estate. I’ll never forget
the shock I got when she told me—my
baby-sister married to that rotter! Tt
made me positively ill to think of it. Why,
with her looks and her lovely disposition,
she could have had a real husband—one
who'd take care of her, be kind to her.

125

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True Detective Mysteries

“Well, anyway, it wasn’t long until Anne
found out her mistake. Burkhart never
had any money, so she had to take what lit-
tle work she could get in the studios. And
to make things worse, he’d sit at home
and work himself up into a frenzy of
jealousy when she’d have to work late. He’d
accuse her of having been out with some
other man, and all that sort of thing !

“TAINALLY, I bought this house, and
since’ Burkhart couldn’t, or wouldn’t,
provide a decent place for Anne to’ tive in,
I asked them to come and live with me
He resented our love for each other and
did everything within his power to turn
iAnne against me. He hated me because
II tried to protect her from his abuse!

: “Six months after they were married,
‘Anne left him and: went back to Engle-
wood, Colorado, where our mother lives.
I have a letter he wrote Anne while she
was back there. I'll get it.”

- A moment later she had found the let-
‘ter in question. ,

“Listen to what he wrote:

‘Remember, I am _ still your hus-

band. You repeated a line after the
Judge—“till death do us part.” Do
you understand? Only over my dead
body can some other man have you.
I have a little streak of Indian in me
and when infringed upon, I seek re-
venge. You are not playing with an
ordinary man. I want you to come
back to me. I love you divinely. If
you don’t come back pronto after re-
ceiving this letter, I will be forced to
journey to Colorado—and not for my
health, either...

“There’s more of. it,” Mrs. Hoskins
said, “but that gives you an idea of the
type of man he is. He wrote that letter
on December twelfth, nineteen twenty-eight
and Anne came back right away. But
she left him again during the latter part
of the next July because she was so afraid
of him.

“One night after a quarrel with him, she
came in to sleep with me, and although
she undressed in the closet to keep me
from seeing her, I discovered a big bruise
on her arm! The imprint of that man’s
fingers was still showing plainly, where
he’d held her.” Again the blue eyes fairly
blazed. “And another night, when he was
drinking and they’d been to a cafe for
dinner, he knocked her down on the side-
walk! She got up and tried to run from
him, and he struck her in the back several
times. Anne said people tried to come to
ther ‘rescue, but he told them not to in-
terfere—that she was his wife..

“Finally, two girls drove by in a car,
saw what was happening and pulled up
to the curb so Anne could run and jump
in with them. They took her back to the
little apartment where he and she had
been living for a few weeks. He finally
got her away from me, you see; and she
stayed that night with the landlady.

“It was just after that that she left
him, and came back to live with me. She
was working at a drug-store in the per-
fumes. I always called for her and drove
her home, because Bill kept phoning her
and threatening to kill her and himself,
and every now and then he’d be waiting
when she finished work at five-thirty. One
night when I was there, he grabbed Anne

by the arm and tried to force her to leave

me and go with him. That’s the night I
ran back into the store and phoned the
Hollywood police!

“When the officers came, I pointed
Burkhart out and they took him over to
the station and gave him a lecture, but
he was released the next day. That’s the
last time I ever saw him.

“And there’s one more thing, Captain
Bean. I’m told that he said he’d been
meeting her two or three times a week
before this happened, before he killed her.
That isn’t true. She was mortally afraid
of him, and I know positively that she
hadn’t been meeting him, because she was
home with me every night! I’m certain
that he forced her ‘to get into that car
with him the night that this terrible thing
happened. She was always afraid he’d
kill her, She’d’ never have gone with him
of her own accord!”

Joy leaned back ii her chair and pressed
her hands to her eyes. She was exhausted
at the.end of her dramatic’ recital.

“We have a lovely mother,” she said
finally, “two brothers and two sisters. The
whole family is simply heartbroken, And
to think that a man like Bill Burkhart
could come into our lives and cause us all
this misery! Captain Bean,” she whis-
pered tragically, “God will punish me if
it’s wicked in me to say this, but J hope
with ail my heart that Bill Burkhart pays
for this crime on the gallows! I hope he
hangs! I hope he hangs!”

Deserving of every sympathy is this
beautiful young woman, embittered by the
blows of a relentless fate that has deprived
her, first of a devoted husband, then of a
loved sister.

HE is now left to carry on as best she

may for the sake of her two children
—children too young, happily, to realize
why there is no longer an “Aunt Anne”
with whdm to romp and play.

On July 7th, 1930, William Henry
Burkhart went to trial on a charge of
First Degree Murder. He first entered a
plea of Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity,
but on thé following day, after a jury had
been impaneled, the insanity clause was
withdrawn anda straight plea of Not
Guilty substituted by the Defense.

The State of California, ably repre-
sented by Deputy District Attorney
Charles V, Kearney, built up an iron-
clad case against the defendant. Assist-
ing Mr. Kearney at the prosecutor’s table
were Detectives Dwight, Page, Sanderson
and Corsini, whose testimony, unbiased and
clearly presented, did much to convince the
jury of Burkhart’s guilt, and later evoked
favorable comment from Superior Court
Judge Marshall M. McComb, before whom
the case was tried.

The charges of premeditated murder
were further supported by testimony from
expert witnesses, including Rex Welsh,
City Chemist, whose analysis of spots
found on Burkhart’s clothing at the time
of his arrest proved them to be human
blood; and Spencer B. Moxley, Ballistics
Expert, who offered indisputable proof
that the bullets found in Anne Burkhart’s
body and in the coupe in which she had
met death, were fired from the revolver
found in Burkhart’s possession.

The accurately drawn maps made by E.
C. Williams of the Police Statistical Bu-
reau, and the excellent photographs taken

by Al
rapher
vision
of the

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by Alonzo B. Stewart, police photog-
rapher, enabled the jury to gain a clear
vision of both the interior and exterior
of the murder premises.

In addition there was the testimony of
residents of the bungalow-court, and, most
damaging of all, that of Joy Hoskins and
her mother-in-law, Mrs. Nell Hoskins, both
of whom told of having heard Burkhart
repeatedly threaten his wife’s life.

After forty-six hours’ deliberation, the
jury brought in a verdict of Guilty of
First Degree Murder, with no recommen-
dation of mercy.

i was on July 17th that Judge Marshall
M. McComb pronounced the words that
sealed the doom of the man who had killed
for love: “I hereby sentence you to be
hanged by the neck until dead, and may
God have mercy on your soul!”

True Detective Mysteries

In a cell in “Condemned Row” at Fol-
som Prison, California, William Henry
Burkhart now awaits the day when he
must pay the supreme penalty that Society
extracts for the wanton taking of a human
life.

PROBABLY the stoicism that goes with
the “streak of Indian blood” of which
he boasted, will sustain this killer to the
last.

His only words when sentence was pro-
nounced were: “I hope Joy is satisfied
now!” His seeming utter lack of re-
morse for his cold-blooded crime, and the‘
calmness with which he accepted his fate,
indicate an entire willingness to pay with
his own life on the gallows for the satis-
faction of knowing that the beautiful girl
he so madly loved can never belong to
anybody- else.

Detecting Philadelphia’s Ten-Million-
Dollar Counterfeiting Ring

(Continued from page 62)

from the United States Secret Service and
that I wished to rent the room in the attic
of her home. After consulting her aged
mother—who demanded to see and pass upon
me—the woman agreed. ‘

I offered three dollars a day for the foom—
an unheard-of price in those dafs—and
paid a month’s rent in advance. I did not
know it at the time, but this act on my part
was to be a very important factor in a
startling sidelight to this case, as you will
find out later. :

I did not, of course, reveal my true mis-
sion to the woman and her old mother. I
said that I wished to keep an eye on a cigar
factory near the house, which could be
seen from another window of the attic
room. I told the two women that the cigar
factory in question was suspected of cheat-
ing the Government of thousands of dollars
of revenue each year. I also told the women
that one of my men would occupy the room
most of the time and that if anyone in the
neighborhood inquired as to who he was
they were to say that he was a relative from
out of town who had come on for a vacation.
If anyone inquired about me, I was to be a
close friend of the relative.

Immediately after having taken posses-
sion of the room I pulled down the shades
and cut a small hole in the one which
faced Taylor and Bredell’s plant. Thus I
was able to look into their plant and get a
fair idea of what was going on.

The morning after I rented the room,
Bredell—a fashionably dressed fellow of
about thirty years—strolled in leisurely at
ten-thirty. He removed his hat and over-
coat and walked over to a window, as if
waiting for someone in the street below.
Half an hour’ later, Taylor—a smooth-
shaven man of perhaps twenty-seven—put
in an appearance.

They sat around the office, reading, talk-

ing and smoking—doing everything but:

work, At noon when Taylor left to go to
lunch, Bredell went to a window, stayed
there for about five minutes, then donned
his hat and coat and left. Two hours
later, Bredell came back, and stood at the
window until a minute or so before Taylor
came in. This window business struck me

as peculiar, for I did not then realize the
significance of it.

[ATE that afternoon I stationed myself
in a doorway on Filbert Street which
afforded a view of the entrance of the build-
ing. Finally Bredell came out and I trailed
him to his home in Camden, New Jersey,
just across the Delaware River from Phila-
delphia.

The next night I picked up Tayior’s trail
and followed him to his residence in Phila-
delphia.

You will notice that I was carefully re-
fraining from any direct contact with either
of these men. I could have posed as an
insurance agent or a solicitor of some sort
and gone into their place of business and
met them: personally, thereby getting a
chance to size up the interior of their estab-
lishment at close range. But I had a very
good reason for not doing that. I realized
that if Taylor and Bredell were clever
enough to‘have made those counterfeit
bills they would be clever enough to see
through any ruse which I might employ
on them personally.

Nor was this the only reason for my
manner of tackling the case. I felt that
there was much to this case that didn’t
appear on the surface, and to arouse
the suspicions of Taylor and Bredell—were
they guilty—would cause them to destroy
any evidence which they might have in
their possession, and to hand the tip-off
to anyone who might be acting in concert
with them.

Now that I had found out where Taylor
and Bredell lived I instructed two of our
men to circulate cautiously in the two
neighborhoods and find out all they could
about the suspects. Within a few days I was
in possession of the rather arresting fact
that both Taylor and Bredell had, just a few
months previously, burst forth into sudden
affluence. Prior to that time, my men found
out, both of the young men had. been of
very moderate means. Taylor, a bachelor,
lived with his widowed mother and brother;
Bredell was married and had a small family.
The first sign of the sudden affluence had

(Continued on page 129) :

127

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| ating iat eaetieaetnamtian Cease te cena

PASSION VICTIM

Lovely, titian-haired Ann McKnight Burkhart was
slain and ravished in Hollywood’s weirdest crime.

et

BY DETECTIVE LEROY E. SANDERSON

LOS ANGELES, CAL., POLICE DEPARTMENT
As Told to Thomas A. Esken

of this crime, which horrified Hollywood society in

1930, it presents an important lesson to police and
public alike. For it offers a sombre indication of the
almost inconceivable depths to which ordinary human
nature may descend when inflamed by dark passions and
damnable appetites.

In this case, the crime itself seemed abnormally hor-
rible when it was first discovered against the background
of a pleasant, middle class ‘residential district—but, as
we found later, heinous motives and aberrations fitted
logically into place until they explained the whole series
of events, which had at first seemed quite beyond the
pale of explanation. :

The evening of March 24, 1930, was warm and balmy
in glamorous Hollywood—the city of beautiful women,
luxurious living, and gay laughter. As near to Paradise
as any town can boast—for those who have the money
to enjoy it—Hollywood seemed far removed that evening
from the grim horror which was destined to occur in
its exclusive Franklin Place.

This peaceful home group is located only a block from
famous Hollywood Boulevard and within walking dis-
tance of many studios for the convenience of executives,
cameramen and actors. Among these was James Thomp-
son, a First National Studios worker, who resided with
his wife in the bungalow at 67421 Franklin Place.

That night Thompson came home shortly after six P.M.
to find his wife peering through the curtains in a state

‘ bordering upon excitement.

“We have some new neighbors,” she announced as her
husband entered. “A young man and his wife. She’s a
perfectly stunning red-head with a lovely figure.. I'm
sure she must be an actress!”

“Yeah?” Thompson was unimpressed. “There are
plenty of good looking dames who aren't stars.”

“Mrs. Scott, the manager, says their name is Burns,”
his wife went on. ‘But it’s funny, they didn’t bring much
baggage with them.”

“Well,” said Thompson, “just so they don’t keep every-
one awake at night, they’re okay by me.”

Mrs. Thompson giggled.

“That’s the point,” she replied. “They weren’t in their
new home half an hour before I suddenly heard them

fighting and screaming. The girl ran out the door, and
he grabbed her and shoved her back inside. They seem
to be quiet now, though.” +

After the Thompsons had finished dinner that night

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BYRD, Walter Thomas, @hite, 13, asphyxiated San Quentin (Ventura) on 2-l-1955.

"After giving the matter 'his full constideration' Gov, Goodwin J. Knight has declined
to commute the death ‘sentence of Walter Byrd, convicted Ventura county wife slayer,
Byrd is scheduled to die in the gas chamber at San Quentin Friday. That word was
relayed today by Gov. Knight's legal secretary Joseph Babich, to The Rev. William A,
Gilbert, Ventura minister, who has led the fight for clemency for Byrd, Rev. Gilbert
tokd the Star-Free Press that Babich telephoned him at 11 aym, today and said the
governor, after giving the Byrd case his fullest consideration, could find no
grounds for executive clemency, Byrd, 3, shot his estranged wife, Susan, to death
Feb. 5, 1953, in a cabin in Susana Knolls, He was convicted in Ventura County
Superior Court. His execution was delayed once while the U. S. Supreme Court con-
sidered whether to review his case, but the court finally decided not to do so and

a new execution date was set. The appeal to ‘the governor was his only hope to escape
execution/" VENTURA COUNTY STAR-FREE PRESS, Ventura, CA, Feb. 2, 1955 (1:)) A photo
of Byrd on “this page. | c ote

The following article appears under by-line of Matvan Sosna: "'I am in deep trouble
over my drinking and want to stop drinking, ° I know I will go compéetely insane or die
an alcoholic death, and I want to quit while I have this much sense to think -with,..
My wifé is very cooperative and understanding, « She says I will quit drinking when

the time comes.' So spoke Walter ‘Byrd in October, 1951, Tomorrow, Feb. , 1955,
Walter Byrd will die in the state gas chamber for thé slaying of his wife on Feb,

5, 1953, unless he receives a last minute reprieve...What happened in the life of
Walter Byrd, @x-truck driver, after the probation report on Oct, 16, 1951, in which

he virtually prophesied his own future?: The following year was spent in county jail
as a sentence for drunk driving. Byrd was then released and-went to the Van.Nuys
area, On Dec. 31, 1952, his wife Susan‘obtained an:interlocutory divorce decree,

Shee stayed on at the Burd home in Susana Knolls at the foot of Santa Susana Pass, with
her 2 daughters, Gracelee, then 16, and Connie Sue, 6, According to testimony at the
ll-day trial before Superior Court Judge Walter Fourt, this is what happened, On Feb.
5, after a prolonged 'binge' - in his own words = Byrd arrived at the Susana Knolls
home, With him were two stolen guns, taken from a Van Nuygs gunshop, He said he
wanted to discuss a property settelement in line with the divorce, District Attor-
ney Roy A, Gustafson said he came to the house to kill his wife, The court-appointed
defense counsel and onetime district attorney, M, Arthur Waite, said Byrd was under
the influence of liquor, sleeping pills and barbituates, Byrd entered the place, his
daughter, Gracelee testified, 'Sue, is that you?! she quoted her father, Her mother's
reply, she said: 'Yes, you get out of her,' Gunshots echoed, ‘Oh, Lee,' Mrs, Byrd was
quoted by the daughter, That was what happened, Later, they found Susan Byrd dead in
her bed, She had been fatally wounded by a .32 caliber automatic. Byrd was found in
an abandoned cabin about a mile from the scene of the slaying.

"The court fight that ensued, centered on the questions of Byrd's intoxication and the
thought he gave to the killing. Waite tried to show that Byrd was not sober enough

to know what he was dowing when he slew his wife. He tried to show, too, that Byrd
had not planned the murder, Gustafson's arguments centered on Byrd's sobriety, and

on his 'lying-in-wait', a modern day version of the old ambush law. He said Byrd

had waited in a car outside the house, guns ready, until the lights were turned off
in the place, Three hours of jury deliberation followed the stormy trial, They jury
not only found Byrd guilty but recommended the deata penalty. In a sanity hearing
immediately afterward, Byrd was judged legally sane, On April 28, 1953, Byrd was sen-
tenced to die, But the controversy was not yet ended, There were legal maneuvers be-
fore the trial and they continued afterwards, There were sidelights, took that kept
the name of Byrd in the public eye. The day after Byrd was sentenced his daughter
Gracelee was married to William Wayne Rogers, 18, Ventura, in the courthouse jury room
as Byrd looked on, armed deputies to guard him, On May 9, the Hev, William Gilbert,
of Ste Pau, s Episcopal Chiréh, in Ventura, visited Byrd - then 1 of 21 men on death
row at San Quentin - and said that Byrd appeared most concerned over the fate of his
family, In August, 1953, the automatic appeal to the state supreme court was sub-
mitted. On Oct. 1 that year, the court heard arguments, On Feb. hy 1954, almost

one year to the day from the date of the killing the state court ruled that Byrd's
death sentence was upheld, Judge Fourt re-imposed the death sentence, this time fix-
ting the date of execution for June he Supreme Court Justice William 0, Douglas


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very well the murder of Mrs. Elmyra
Miller, a 74-year-old widow, in her tiny
bungalow at 1450 North Normandie Avenue
on May 2, 1960.

Mrs. Miller’s body was discovered by her
physician, who was treating her for a
heart condition. He became alarmed when
the aged woman, who lived alone, failed to
show up for a morning appointment and
did not answer her phone. Mrs. Miller was
lying on the floor, her blue housecoat dis-
ordered. Nevertheless, in the absence of
obvious marks of violence, she was be-
lieved to have died of a heart attack—until
autopsy revealed she had been strangled.

Hollywood and Central Homicide detec-
tives at the time had decided this murder
was the work of the same powerful
strangler-rapist who was credited with the
slayings of three other elderly women in
the southside University district since
May of 1959. The location, just off Sunset
Boulevard, was out of the strangler’s
regular beat, but the crime had the same
earmarks as the other sex slayings.

Last spring the pace of the University
crimes stepped up, with three more mur-
ders following closely after that of Mrs.
Elmyra Miller. When Mrs. Mercedes Lang-
eron, 72, was slain and sexually molested
in her apartment on West 23rd Street last
June 26th, her roommate, who almost
walked in on the crime, saw a tall, husky,
swarthy young man bouncing a rubber ball
in the hallway outside the apartment door.
When he saw the woman coming, he fled,
jumping over the back yard fence.

Newspapers dubbed the southside rape-
killer the “Bouncing Ball Strangler,” and
the hunt for him was headlined for weeks,
The police ascribed seven murders to him.
And now Henry Busch was confessing to
the murder of Mrs. Miller!

“T knew Mrs. Miller all my life, since I
was a little kid,” Henry told the flabber-
gasted Hollywood detectives. “My folks
used to operate the restaurant right around
the corner on Sunset, you know. I used to
drop in and see the old lady all the time.

“T went to see her that day last May. We
sat talking for a while, and then this urge
came over me, just like I’ve told you. I
strangled her. Then I pulled up her house-
coat to make it look like a sex crime and
throw you fellows off my trail.”

At this point, reinforcements arrived for

the Hollywood detectives, now overloaded
with murder. Deputy Chief Brown had
dispatched additional officers from down-
town to the scenes of the Shirley Payne
and Margaret Briggs slayings. Scientific
investigation teams of photo and fingerprint
technicians, headed by Ray Pinker of the
Crime Lab, went to both places with their
equipment. Also on hand was Inspector
Edward Walker, the press relations chief,
to handle the horde of newsmen who by
this time had caught up with Henry Busch
and his official escorts.

The Hollywood bureau was_§ short-
handed, with one homicide man on vaca-
tion and his partner tied up on another
case. Sergeant Robert R. Beck, a veteran
homicide officer now working another
detail, was requisitioned to join Crumly
and Colwell.

Lieutenant Crumly put Henry Busch in
the car again, and they headed for Nor-
mandie Avenue, about midway between
the locations of the two new. murders. The
cautious, experienced lieutenant, to test
the confessing killer’s continuing veracity,
stopped and parked half a block from Mrs.
Miller’s former apartment in a small bunga-
low court.

“Show us where Mrs. Miller lived,
Henry,” he said. Henry took the officers
straight to the door.

“After you killed Mrs. Miller, Henry,
how did you leave her place?”

It was a loaded question. One of the

items the Hollywood detectives had kept
secret, in order to test any confession to
the Miller slaying, was the fact that the
killer had left the back door ajar.

“T went out by the back door. I had left
it partly open, I remember,’ Henry said.

That was the clincher. Henry Busch’s
confirmed murder score now stood officially
at three.

“Were there any more, Henry? Did you
kill any more women?”

“No, sir,” the gangling killer said
earnestly, eyes blinking behind his gold-
rimmed glasses. “Mrs, Miller was the first.
If you’re thinking I’m that Bouncing Ball
Strangler, well, I’m not. He’s somebody
else.

“Tf you hadn’t got me, though, I’d have
just gone on and on, killing and killing.
In fact, I had another woman in mind to
kill—my landlady on Mariposa.”

It was late that sweltering Tuesday
morning when the murder-surfeited detec-
tives, convinced that the incredible stran-
gler had shown them all he could for the
time being, finally took him down to Holly-
wood Station. Booked on suspicion of
triple murder, Busch produced a handful
of change and a couple of greenbacks from
his pocket. He handed Lieutenant Crumly
a $10 bill. “Please change this bill for me,
Lieutenant,” he asked  apologetically.
“Take five of it, and give it to my family—
to buy some flowers for Aunt Margaret.”

The investigative teams meantime had
completed their work at the scenes of the
two Labor Day week-end murders. When
the body of 71-year-old Shirley Payne was
taken out of the sleeping bag, she was
found to be clad only in a slip. Her blue
and white polka-dotted dress belt was
knotted around her neck. Her feet were
bound together with her own nylon stock-
ings, her hands tied with gilt cord. There
were some small cuts on the body, in
addition to the marks of the strangler’s
fingers.

Also in the Mariposa Avenue apartment,
detectives found a pad on which the figure
of a bikini-clad woman was sketched in
bold red crayon, a gag in her mouth and
her hands and feet bound. Other items in
the killer’s den included a book titled
“Fighting Crime—The New York Police
Department in Action,” and a_ well-
thumbed pamphlet listing Los Angeles
police radio code signals. There were also
a number of books, on philosophy and
psychology.

Henry’s Oldsmobile convertible was
found parked a few doors from the Vir-
ginia Avenue murder apartment. In it
Sergeant Beck found Shirley Payne’s purse
and some of her clothing, including under-
garments.

Henry Busch’s prior criminal record
proved to be a minor one. He had been in
some juvenile trouble. At the early age of
11, he had tried to hold up a delicatessen
with his stepfather’s .45. In 1959 he had
been arrested for drunk driving and paid
a fine. That was all.

The records showed, however, and
veteran Hollywood homicide detectives re-
called, that in August, 1956, Henry Busch
had been picked up and questioned as a
suspect in the murder of pretty red-haired
Eudice Erenberg, a 19-year-old UCLA coed
(The Coed and the Killer With a Con-
science, TRUE DETECTIVE, December, 1956).

By grim coincidence, in the light of the
recent crimes, murder had struck close to
home. Eudice was found shot to death in
the little variety store operated by her
widowed mother at the corner of Sunset
Boulevard and Normandie Avenue—only
a few doors up the street from Mrs. Elmyra
Miller’s cottage, and equally close to the
restaurant operated by Henry Busch’'s
family.

A bartender tipped police that Henry,

who worked at that
at the cafe, had ré
revolver from him f
say nothing about
the nervous young
wood Station and gr
said he had bought th
foster mother, with
was able eventually
the time of Eudic
cleared of suspicion
Robert Lee Nichols, !
Diego that he had
abortive holdup att
sentenced to life.

This writer, who <
case for TRUE DETECT!
the eccentric behav
Busch, and his avid
about the details of t

A Hollywood detec!
unpleasant duty of
news to Mrs. Mae B
taurant operator whx
called “Mother,” had
with her late husbar
popular eating place
Mrs. Busch actuall;
sister, and much old
the same father. Hen
he was four, and
months later. Wher
that the boy had be:
age in Scranton, Per
ed him as her son. $
band gave him their
as their own. Marg
who worked as a re
the sister of Mae Bu
her his aunt.

“a

GIVE—
Strike baei

Mrs. Busch, a plu:
woman, broke down
the news was broker
more for her murde
foster son.

“Junior is mental]
sobs. “He’s never be
drawn—he leads a s
He’s always been an
He has a terrible ten
always plotting and |
do anything with |
more patience with

“TI guess I’ve been
this would happen
“Junior was never
I’ve always been afr
sister I was afraid h
day in one of his fi
poor Margaret!”

Mrs. Busch told de
of Henry’s cruelty
was a small boy, s!
some white mice. H
nailed them to the
die. He did the san
he killed his foster
threw it in the ga
another dog to the
and left it tied to a

Henry never finish
high school, Mrs. B
had to pass him fror
got bigger, till he w:

Henry enlisted ir
Oddly enough, he he
as a rifleman with
Korea. After the w
another hitch. Whe


detectives had kept
t any confession to
s the fact that the
< door ajar.

ack door. I had left
mber,’” Henry said.
1er. Henry Busch’s
‘now stood officially

. Henry? Did you

ngling killer said
ig behind his gold-
Miller was the first.
that Bouncing Ball
1iot. He’s somebody

1e, though, I’d have
killing and killing.
woman in mind to
Mariposa.” |

sweltering Tuesday
der-surfeited detec-
re incredible stran-
ill he could for the

on suspicion of

yroduced a handful ”

of greenbacks from
Lieutenant Crumly
ige this bill for me,
ed apologetically.
re it to my family—
or Aunt Margaret.”
ams meantime had
at the scenes of the
nd murders. When
Shirley Payne was
ping bag, she was
in a slip. Her blue
»d dress belt was
ck. Her feet were
‘r own nylon stock-
ith gilt cérd. There

on the body, in
of the strangler’s

Avenue apartment,
n which the figure
was sketched in
) her mouth and
i. Other items in
‘ed a book titled
New York Police
"and ae well-
sting Los Angeles
ls. There were also
n philosophy and

convertible was
sors from the Vir-
apartment. In it
iirley Payne’s purse
ig, including under-

criminal record
ne. He had been in
At the early age of
1 up a delicatessen
15. In 1959 he had
driving and paid

however, and
icide detectives re-
1956, Henry Busch
1 questioned as a
pretty red-haired
ir-old UCLA coed
ller With a Con-
December, 1956).
in the light of the
had struck close to
{ shot to death in
operated by her
corner of Sunset
die Avenue—only
t from Mrs. Elmyra
jually close to the
Henry Busch’s

that Henry

ecm mem

who worked at that time as a dishwasher ©
at the cafe, had recently bought a .32

revolver from him for $35, telling him to
say nothing about it. Detectives brought
the nervous young man down to: Holly-

wood Station and grilled him closely. He -

said he had bought the gun to “protect” his
foster mother, with whom he lived. He
was able eventually to prove an alibi for
the time of Eudice’s murder, and was
cleared of suspicion. A young transient,
Robert Lee Nichols, later confessed in San
Diego that he had shot the girl in an
abortive holdup attempt. Nichols was
sentenced to life.

This writer, who covered the Erenberg
case for TRUE DETECTIVE at the time, recalls
the eccentric behavior of young Henry

.Busch, and his avid questions to reporters -

about the details of the murder.

A Hollywood detective team now had the
unpleasant duty. of breaking the ghastly
news to Mrs. Mae Busch. The former rés-
taurant operator whom the gangling killer
called “Mother,” had for 20 years operated
with her late husband Busch’s Gardens, a
popular eating place on Sunset Boulevard.
Mrs. Busch actually was Henry’s half-
sister, and much older than he. They had
the same father. Henry’s mother died when
he was four, and his father died a few
months later. When Mrs. Busch learned

. that the boy had been sent to an orphan-

age in Scranton, Pennsylvania, she adopt-
ed him as her son. She and her late hus-
band gave him their name and raised him
as their own. Margaret Briggs, a widow
who worked as a restaurant hostess, was
the sister of Mae Busch, and Henry called
her his aunt.

GIVE—

Strike back at Caneer

Mrs. Busch, a plump and normally jolly
woman, broke down in near-collapse when
the news was broken to her. Her grief was
more for her murdered sister than for her
foster son.

“Junior is mentally ill,” she said between
sobs. “He’s never been normal. He’s with-
drawn—he leads a-secret life of his own.
He’s always been an outsider in the family.
He has a terrible temper, and he’s cunning,
always plotting and planning. I could never
do anything with him. My husband had
more patience with him than I had.

“T guess I’ve been afraid something like
this would happen someday,” she sobbed.
“Junior was never violent toward me, but
I've always been afraid of him. I told my
sister I was afraid he might kill me some-
day in one of his fits.
poor Margaret!” s

Mrs. Busch told detectives and reporters
of Henry’s cruelty to animals. When he
was a small boy, she said, he was given
some white mice. He stretched them out,
nailed them to the wall and watched them
die. He did the same with pigeons. Once
he killed his foster mother’s pet dog and
threw it in the garbage can. He took
another dog to the wilds of Griffith Park
and left it tied to a tree.

Henry never finished grammar school or
high school, Mrs. Busch said. “They just
had to pass him from grade to grade as he
got bigger, till he was old enough to quit.”

Henry enlisted in the Army in 1952.
Oddly enough, he had a fine combat record
as a rifleman with the First Cavalry in
Korea. After the war he re-enlisted for
another hitch. When he was ordered on

Instead, he killed -

winter maneuvers in Japan, he refused to
go because he had lost his warm mittens
and couldn’t get another pair. His refusal
to accept a direct order drew: ‘him’ six
months in the stockade and an “undesir-
able” discharge in 1955. —

The ex-GI, also, had an excellent work
record at the Hollywood optical lab, where
he had been a lens polisher for two and a
half years. He had been a competent, con-
selentious worker and rarely missed a day.

Henry had spent practically all his life

‘in the Olive Hill section on the east side

of Hollywood. In the past few years, he had
been living off and on with. his widowed
half-sister and foster mother. He left her
home and took an apartment of his own’in
May, 1960, shortly after Mrs. Miller was
killed. He ‘had been living in the Mariposa
Avenue quarters only two weeks. His land-

- lady was appalled to learn he had marked
her for one of his victims. A woman tenant

had warned her that the young man was

‘psychopathic, she said, but she had con-

sidered him a quiet enough tenant.
Tuesday afternoon,. Lieutenant Colwell

‘and Sergeant Beck took Henry Busch

downtown ‘to Central Homicide, where he
was questioned further in the presence of
Captain Arthur G. Hertel and other officers.
In a formal signed and: recorded statement,
he amplified details of his grisly confes-
sion.

It turned out that the murder of Shirley
Payne had not happened exactly as he first
related it. He told the elderly woman that
he was going to strangle her, Henry now
said. “She got. down on her knees and
prayed to be spared, but her prayers didn’t
bother me.”

He. revealed that he had drawn the

‘sketch of the bound bikini-girl as a whim,

to torture his victim and prolong her
agony while she was pleading for mercy.

Police said he further admitted that he
had inflicted knife cuts on the bodies of
both of his week-end victims after they
were dead. And he acknowledged with
some embarrassment that he had taken
some money from his aunt’s dresser. That
was where he got the money he had given
to Lieutenant Crumly for flowers for the
murdered woman.

According to detectives, the awkward,
introverted young man displayed no genu-
ine remorse even though he professed to be
sorry. He insisted he had derived no sexual
pleasure from the murders. He maintained
his sex life had always been normal. Henry
also insisted that his selection of elderly
victims had nothing to do with any “mother
fixation,” as one questioner suggested.

The best description he could give of
his lethal “urge” was that it was ‘like
static on the radio—a pounding, a noise
inside my head that just kept buildihg up
till I couldn’t stand it. I had to kill those
women to get relief,”

Busch was questioned closely about the
unsolved slayings of ten other Hollywood
and Los Angeles women. In particular, he
became a hot suspect in the sex murder of
Helen Jerome, 50, a former British stage
actress found strangled, nude, in bed.in her

‘ hotel room on North Las Palmas Avenue,

just off Hollywood Boulevard, on August
26, 1958. Another murder in which he was
questioned was that of Linda Martin, 21-
year-old USC coed, stabbed to death in her
boy friend’s off-campus apartment on Au-
gust 23, 1959. Others on the list were Mrs.
Ruth N. Goldsmith, slain April 4, 1957;
Barbara Jean Jepsen, January 31, 1956; and
Mrs. Esther Greenwald, August 19, 1957.
Henry also was grilled on the remaining
six stranglings attributed to the “Bouncing
Ball” slayer, although he obviously did not
fit the description of the man seen fleeing
from the scene of Mrs. Langeron’s murder.

Under intensive questioning by the
homicide crew, young Busch declared he

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91

had made a clean breast of his crimes, and
had no more slayings on his conscience.
He admitted, however, that he sometimes
had blackout spells and came home with
no recollection of what he had been doing;
thus he did not entirely rule out the pos-
sibility that he had committed other mur-
ders. He said he had raped a number of
women he picked up in bars, and in some
cases his memory was hazy as to what had
happened to them afterward.

Henry did not attribute his Labor Day
week end murder spree to the fact that he
had seen the sensational movie ‘‘Psycho,”
and he did not say specifically that the
picture had triggered the slayings; yet he
mentioned the film each time he re-
counted the killing of Mrs. Payne. The
newspapers naturally made a point of his
having seen the picture as a prelude to
murder.

“Psycho” tells the story of a weird young
multiple killer with a split personality and
a mother fixation. There is a particularly
shocking scene in which blonde Janet
Leigh is stabbed to death while taking a
shower in a motel bathroom.

Alfred Hitchcock, the director known as
the master of sensational mystery, refused
to discuss the Busch case with reporters.
When this writer contacted him on the
telephone to ask for comment, Mr. Hitch-
cock firmly insisted he had _ absolutely

nothing to say on the subject. A Para-
mount Pictures publicity spokesman said
Mr. Hitchcock had authorized him to state
that the film “Psycho” was made “purely
for entertainment purposes,” and that the
director cannot be held responsible for
what someone may do after seeing it.

Lieutenant Crumly described Henry
Busch as “emotionally drained” after his
murder binge and his long ordeal with the
police. But after getting a night’s sleep in
his cell, he felt fit enough on Wednesday
morning to agree to submit to a lie detec-
tor test. 7

In a four-hour polygraph session super-
vised by Lieutenant George H. Puddy of
the Crime Lab, Busch made a few further
revelations. He estimated that he had
forcibly raped 11 women and had kidnaped
a twelfth, but he was hazy as to details
and denied that he had killed them.

He further said that some years ago he
was a member of a crime ring that had
burglarized 50 to 100 Hollywood homes.
He refused to give dates or places, or to
name his accomplices, who he said had
served their prison time, paid their debt to
society and did not deserve to be dragged
into the limelight.

Lieutenant Puddy said the polygraph
test indicated Busch, who appeared to talk
quite freely, was telling the truth as far as
he knew it or could recall it, but that some

of his reactions merited further study. The
Crime Lab man said he hoped to be able
to administer another test to the weird
killer.

After the lie-detector session, Busch was
taken to the district attorney’s office and
formally charged with three counts of mur-
der and one of assault with intent to com-
mit murder—the latter in the case of Mrs.
Magdalena Parra. He was immediately ar-
raigned before Municipal Judge Louis
Kaufman, who ordered him held in the
county jail without bail for preliminary
hearing September 22nd. The district at-
torney indicated he would take the multi-
ple murder case to the county grand jury,
thus bypassing the scheduled hearing. De-
tectives said they planned to seek a court
order to permit further questioning of the
confessed killer.

In a “press conference” following his ar-
raignment, Henry sprang still another new
one. ‘“They’ve been asking me if I ever
killed anyone before,” he said. “Yes, I did,
now that I think of it.

“It was in Korea in 1952, at a POW
stockade outside Inchon, There was a Chi-
nese prisoner limping around. He’d been
shot in the leg. That was when the urge
came over me for the first time. I stuck him
good with my bayonet.

“There were already so many bodies ly-
ing around, no one knew what I had done.
But that was my first killing—outside of
regular combat, I mean, Old Mrs. Miller
was my second. I fought down the urge
till then.”

Further investigation resulted in the
arrest on September 10th “of a friend of
young Busch’s, a 42-year-old cook. He was
picked up when Mrs. Shirley Payne’s son
asked police what had become of his moth-
er’s three valuable diamond rings, and
Henry, when questioned, said he had taken
them and had given them to the cook.

Picked up at a Hollywood Boulevard bar,
the man admitted, according to Lieutenant
Crumly, that Busch had given him the
rings and told him, “I’ve done it again!”
He said Busch had told him last May about
the murder of Mrs. Miller, but he didn’t
believe him. In the case of Mrs. Payne,
however, he said Henry had asked him to
help him dispose of the body. When he
read of Busch’s arrest, the cook said, he
was frightened and threw the rings in a
trash can, The degree of his involvement
in the case is still under investigation as
we go to press. .

On Thursday, September 15th, the grand
jury indicted Henry Adolph Busch on
three counts of murder, for the deaths of
Mrs. Payne, Mrs. Briggs and Mrs. Miller,
and one count of assault, for the attack on
Mrs. Parra.

In the aftermath of the Busch headlines,
a Los Angeles news columnist noted that
the murder of Mrs. Elmyra Miller took
place the night before the late Caryl
Chessman was executed at San Quentin
last May. Henry’s foster mother confirmed
that he had been an avid follower of the
Chessman case, and it was speculated that
the imminent execution might have trig-
gered his ‘murder urge.” It was also noted,
by those who note such things, that the La-
bor Day week-end murders took place at
the time of the full moon—the legendary
“mother of madmen.”

As of this writing, Dr. Marcus Crahan,
the county jail psychiatrist, has examined
Henry Busch but has not yet made public
his findings. Mrs. Mae Busch, who refused
to have anything to do with her ‘Junior”
until after her sister was buried, has re-
tained a prominent criminal attorney, Al
Matthews, to defend him, and Matthews
has instructed the confessed triple slayer
to answer no further questions. Police in-
vestigation is still going on, and the degree
of the strangler’s guilt and punishment re-
mains to be determined in court. o¢¢


(Del Norvey"9/7/ 1906.
Scomed to be on the Serge ofa break-!
pee Cown, but he mastered himself just |
Beem as he was about to faint. He made |
ES eda ee | ee 2 praver with Rey. \ Walsh, nel
be # had converted him to the Catholic’
Harry Brown eee | ieee faith, and then stepped on the trap
The following is taken from the ; = He was blindfolded and strapped,
dais Frantisog Chrohigde: 8 Hangman Arbrogast let the trap
San Rafael, September ¢.—Harry Be # fall, and eleven minutes afterwards
Brown, the youthful murderer of es 7 « i Brown was pronounced ‘dead UY
1] George Dunne of Del Norte county, Drs. Percy Summer of: the prison |
was executed this morning. at) San Sg and Lonigan of San Franciaco. |
Quentin Prigon. Atexactly 10:30 Ee - With his tighteen-year-old com-
o'clock the condenined man, ac- | panion Brown murdered George
companied by Guards Kelly and hee Dunne at in inn on the Crescent
Armstrong, who had. kept the e@ City and Granv’s Pass stuge toad.
death watch, ascended the gallows, fee He was captured with Frank Kelly
On reaching the top Brown, who Be his accomplice, two days after the
had mansfested a great amount of meeaicrime by Sheriff Crawford and
courage all. through the ordeal, © 2) Constable Gordon. Kelly confessed _
seemed to be on the vergeofa break- Sia! the crime to Sheriff Crawford and
down, but he mastered himself just i a! was sentenced to life imprieonment,
as he was about to faint. He made Bee! While Brown was sentenced ty be,
Ae pravee with Reveal: Walsh, who ai hanged, An appeal was taken to
had converted him to the Catholic ee the Supreme Court, but the decision !
faith, and then stepped on the trap | a | of the lower Court was sustained, |
While at San Quentin, shorily
after his incarceration, during the
administration of Warden Tomp-
kina, Brown tried to commit suicide,

bub his altempt was frustrated by
the oficial «. ‘ 5 ;

j
i
'


follow: 4 s
wie BY STORY =.
L heave been around thd Wee's.
And troablee I've hal @ few ' i oe >
My story 19 a eal ones Rea
Bot I'll tell fall to you,
As Teat al the gan bler’e table
Listening to the tales of daring and crime,
Little vid Fthink in the (iutare
Aga doomed man I'd do time, eae |
Bot it came in cold Decemnber, s
When the snow war on the gronnd,
E made wy Way actore the mountain,” '
For Crescent City beand, > cn
It wag ata little log cabin,
Now ‘a place of great renown, |
Where it is exid George Panne, the
Agéd bachelor, “as killed) by Harry

Brown. * eee et
I wae tried by twelve good jarymen
Aud was gutity found, |

nd when taken to State’e prison
Jn double srons was bonnd, ©
There they took my picture,

Dreseed tue in etripes of black and gray,
Then pot me ina condemned cell (2 —
To await ny execution das.

But my lawyer appealed my cage,
And all the good it done.
And as I think it over,

I'm gorry he begun.

They talk of parules and pardone, —
l Forthe condeinned tuan & commate.
I vare not for that,
i My choice ie tu die in suit.

And when I’m dead and boried,

And ov name has been forgot,

Just think of a mound at San Quentin
In the prieoner’s burying lot.

There they have no crave stones, Ne
But a pine board painted white.
Neither will my name be there,

But 23,044 will always bein sight,

And if you shoald be stratling
Through the prisou’s burying groand,
Just linger for a moment

Beaide my grassy monnd.

And when you have gazed once
Do not look no more for all you will see!
e the number of a man:
Hanged out of call tweaty-four,

a se ot

—
_—


Per ra

oh eae Sage ie tA Ah _

AE hie Ra aR © le PY reg

SRA Re pte +

al

a cigaege Drange, en te

vig goa toad aacde
sed PRY Bi

steep eeorpe ly orr ‘Chee
nya at Live Crescent

aot ot Dec. bs

City Grants
Frank Kelly

i ery
from Chehalis, Washington, ype Kd
Brown from Arcata are shige tt <
the horrible crime, to wh ea
linked by a strong chain 0 mine ag

Circamstances strongly. pois leach
committed the act between v fi ch
10 and J2-o'’clock ®, m. on th ied
Decembery..The two men pinina ne
“the Stet by Sherif Crawio a Sle
Goustable Gordon, jast below the. ated
I cabin on. the: Klamath: dey athe:
i The prellnjnary examination
conel

Rite Cat4N |
Pass stages.) Tao memy

ping 8 Ways | a

n ol

the 29th, and

le cus from
“my seed the

| Gréntwe Peeee

tt E
‘cabin and bellowed for the purpose off

| calling Me Deane oat and telling Sis |
| tiheelide He received no ant a
hee went: of, a@ the duct oe
| puis i : arate . Raapepek stack

ing lasteae! « ed
bisa of tne heap sod pip aes

| taple in the duce. When be set 1
driver coming yovand Geeger <u

todd of Ube oie and be slee tree

db Mr.
iMr Denne Neat day she divert, |

ree
#t te 3 . 4

cont Cliy, bad s peret na ea
avd pei vet of toe moet eos
aud tell bia stoet the & is pthcale
aa ibe cates, aud eeotag bee! )

t

a drove to Gaeqiete and

aded yesterday. | 3
being held to answer 3

tor Mr Bane.

RET

that Mr Dunne was oat, opened the door
to pus the paper inetde, He noticed a
form lying on the floor. and quickly
closed the door and beat a rétreat to the
| stage and drove on, When he met the
stage going east, he informed the driver
and eome passengers that he thought
Mr Donne waedead. Mr Grimes tnen
notified the
officers in this city of the conditions he
had found Dunne. Coroner Nichole and
Depaty Sheriff Crawford immediately
left for the ecene at & o'clock on the
evening of the 30ih and arriyed there
the following morning ,at 5 o'clock.
An investigation showed a horrible con-
dition of affairs.. Dunne was lying on
hig back between the stove afd bed in a
pool of blood with tus face badly matil-
ated and twoor three gaping wounds
visible on the head, A. bluod-etained
club tying on the bed: and a doubie-
bitted axe also blood-stained were mute
evidence of ilie instramente used by the
murderers, The officere then went to
Shelly Creek Station six miles farther
on to eecure help and to telephone to
captare thetwomem,

A number of residents of the Station
were taken to Patricks creek and an In-
quest held, and testimony taken from
people who had been traveling the road
about the time the deed was committed.
J.J. Ferrie, who wae dhe last person
known to have seen. the murdered man
alive, testified that he aud his partner |
Mr B Lynch, etayed with Mr Dann, two
days leaving his house forthe Monumen-
tal mine at about,20 o'clock on the morn-
ing of the 201h, ‘Jast before leaving he
met two men-at the-bara ehed a short

distance [rom the house, who told him |e

that they had been offered wors at the |
mine, and that he, Ferris, could get
| work there ifhe burried and got there
| before two men who were about 16 miles
behind them. On this information
Ferris went into the houseand got his
| blankets and started forthe mine with
Mr Lynch. When they went vat. of
the houge the men at the barn had dis-
appeared. That Lynch snd Ferrie left
the time they stated was proven by tes-
timony of Mr Adkinson, the etage driver
who met them on the foad near the
divide between Shelly. and Patricks |
Creek. Ferris has.since identified the
men held a@ prisoners ae the men. he
talked with juet before he left Dunne’s.

F. A, Grittan, sleo identifies the men
| 46 thoee hie met two miles thie side of

Danne’s at about 12 0’clock on the day
| of December 29th... eis cs

The murdered tnan' was a man of
| many excellent qualities, and it is to be!
| hoped the law will work out speedy pun.
jishme.st to those responsiile for his
death, Bata Shs

ee OH Gost


bisecting streets, pushing, shoving,
trampling, cursing and struggling, any-
thing to get as far away as possible
from the nameless terror which each
thought was pursuing him alone.

Bor some kept their heads and re-
fused to allow themselves to be
stampeded. One of these was Ronald
Barrett, an eighteen-year-old youth
who showed more presence of mind and
more courage than others two and
three times his age. He had heard the
shot on the other side of the street,
had seen the bandit run and had
started after him to help when Layng
leaped past him.

Barrett stopped, appalled at the
thug’s brutal act after he had shaken
Layng off. But only momentarily.
When the killer resumed his flight,
Barrett sped after him. He overtook
the bandit in a few paces and hurled
himself forward. His act was practi-
cally a replica of the slain man’s. He
too fell short of the mark, his hands
grazing the sides of the desperado and
slipping down, to send him sprawling
on his face on the pavement.

Again the fugitive turned. For an
appalling second he pointed his gun at
the head of the prostrate youth. Bar-
rett’s life depended on the slight pres-
sure of a finger, the finger of a hunted,

desperate man already unnerved and ~ |

shaken from the miscarriage of his
plans. The youth lay still, steeling
himself for the end.

For an eternity, an eternity encom-

16

—

Wounded in three places, Buckoski-Miller still would not give in

passed in a clock’s tick, the desperado
hovered over him, his finger quivering
on the trigger. Then he changed his
mind, turned and sped up the street
with leaping, greyhound strides, prob-
ably feeling that he was free at last and
that the bullets sent into two of his
pursuers would deter others from
further efforts to capture him.

He was wrong. Melvin McLeod, 36,
on his way home from work, was one of
those who had witnessed the shooting
of Leftly and the slaying of Layng. He
too started in pursuit and was just a
few feet behind Barrett when the youth
made his futile tackle. McLeod raced
after the fleeing killer, gaining on him
slightly but persistently. Once the
fugitive shot a glance back over his
shoulder. If he saw McLeod he gave
no sign and made no attempt to stop
him. Instead, at the first street inter-
section, he turned left and then right,
into one of the numerous narrow lanes
characteristic of that section of To-
ronto.

Without giving a thought to the fact
that the thug might be waiting at the
first intersection, McLeod sped after
him. Luckily his quarry had kept on,
turning right again into the private
driveway of a Carlton Street house.

Facing him was a barred gate about
nine feet high.

McLeod's heart gave a jubilant leap.
He had his man trapped at last! No
one could scale that smooth surface!

Even while these thoughts leaped
through McLeod’s mind, the bandit
buckled his knees slightly, then leaped
upward. His outstretched hands
gripped the top of the gate and he
scrambled up.

But he didn’t attempt to go over.
Instead, he turned around, his gun
pointing at McLeod, now not ten feet
away.

“T’ll plug you, too!” he cried.

McLeod shrank back. He had plenty
of stamina, but stamina, no matter in
what quantity one possesses it, is no

match for a bullet. He hated to admit
defeat. Nevertheless, he could do noth-
ing else.
“Okay, I guess you win,” he said.
He was speaking to the air. The
killer had swung down on the other side
of the gate.

ERE the trail was lost. But not
long. The bandit, for some strange
reason which the police do not yet un-
derstand, actually left his own trail by
discarding his coat, his hat, his neck-
tie and even his gloves, as he ran, drop-
ping them at different places with only
a slight slackening of his speed. It was
as though he were playing the hare in
a children’s game of hare and hounds.
His actions were pieced together
later by police from the many witnesses
they questioned.

The discarded garments showed that
the gunman had run west on Carlton
Street, had swerved into Berkeley, and
then into a lane south of Carlton, where
he raced through a back yard and
came out on Ontario Street.

Robert Hails, a young man living on
Ontario, was washing his car in front
of his home. He noticed a man walk-
ing across the street toward him, hands
in pockets. But Hails paid no particu-
lar attention until the stranger came
up to him and, hands still in his pock-
ets, said:

“Get into the car!”

“What?” Hails asked.

“Can't you understand English? I
said, get into the car!”

“What do you mean?”

The protest died in Hails’ throat.
From out of the stranger’s pocket had
come one of his hands. And in that
hand was a gun.

“Go on,” he said, “get into that car!
You’re my chauffeur!”

“But I can’t start it,” Hails protested.
“T haven’t got the ignition key.”

“Yeah?”

Plainly, the stranger didn’t believe
(Continued on Page 51)

“Did they leave suddenly?”

“Yes, they did, come to think of it.
They'd just paid me a week’s rent. He
said that he found a job somewhere and
was leaving.”

“Have you rented their room since?”

“No, I haven’t. Has he been in some
kind of trouble?”

The officers ignored the question.
They prowled every inch of the room
looking for leads, while the finger-
print expert dusted the place for the
tell-tale loops and whorls. Both efforts
were fruitless. Not one scrap of
paper or other evidence was found to
indicate where the much-wanted man
had flown, and none but badly smeared
prints.

The officers did learn, however, that
the wife’s first name was Jean and that
she had been a waitress in a local
restaurant. And a couple days later
they obtained a set of Buckoski’s finger-
prints from a provincial institution
where he had served a short term.

That night the prints, directed to the
FBI, were winging their way to Wash-
ington. If, as the officers suspected, the
killer was a professional, he probably

‘had a record which might be of help in
locating him.

But a few days later the FBI reported
that they had no record of Buckoski
other than the short term in Canada.

Nor did a search for the slayer's wife
produce any results. Those in the
restaurant where she had worked knew
nothing whatever about her personal

--@ffairs. They knew only that she had
quit her job suddenly, saying that she
was tired of working.

URING all this time the financial
plight of Mrs. Layng had not been
ignored. The Toronto Telegram started
a fund for her.. Within a short time
$20,000 had been contributed by various
business concerns and individuals. A
home costing about $7,000 was bought
and the balance invested to bring her a
small annuity.

It was a kind act and a credit to the
community. But it didn’t bring back
the slain hero, nor did it capture the
man who had murdered him.

It did, however, make every member
of the Department more determined
than ever to bring the killer to justice.
But a year’s anniversary of the crime
came and passed, with the trail grow-
ing increasingly dimmer. Apparently
this determination never would reach a
fruition.

Chief Chisholm had given the case
the widest possible publicity. But one
thing he decided to keep from the news-
papers. This was that they had identi-

fied the man whom he and all of his
officers regarded as the No. One suspect.

On several occasions in mid-May,
1950, a good-looking young man had
entered the drug store on West Pico
Boulevard in Los Angeles, California,
to make small purchases: A cigar, a
package of chewing-gum, an ice-cream
soda. Never was he in a particular
hurry. Always he lingered for a few
minutes, exchanging a comment or two
with the clerk. And always his glance
roved, with seeming carelessness,
around the place.

On May 21 he again entered the drug
store. But this time he used an un-
orthodox entrance and at 2:30 in the
morning, long after the place was
closed. From the roof, he cut a pane of
glass out of the skylight, attached a
rope to the strong iron frame, threw it
inside the store and started to climb
down. He had cased the place pretty
thoroughly and was certain that every-
thing would go with its usual smooth-

ness.

But he had miscalculated the strength
of the rope. He let himself down a few
feet, and it broke. His exclamation of
fright was submerged in a moan of pain
as he struck a counter and slipped to
the floor with a fractured ankle. Half-
fainting with the unbearable agony, he
forced himself to unlock the front door,
board a street car and finally hobble to
the nearest hospital.

“I fell down the steps of my home,”
he told the intern. “Can you fix me
up?”

The physician, marveling at his
patient’s fortitude, encased the in-
jured ankle in splints and had a nurse
put the suffering man to bed.

The following morning the police,
called by the drug-store proprietor,
gazed speculatively at the dangling
end of rope, at the open skylight and
at the counter articles now strewn all
over the floor. They came up with the
conclusion that no one could have sur-
vived such a fall without injuring him-
self seriously.

A half-hour later the would-be bur-
glar, who gave his name as Frank T.
Miller, found himself looking into the
eyes of two detectives standing by his
bed. And a short time thereafter, what
was even more depressing, he found
himself on the thirteenth floor prison
ward of the General Hospital facing a
long term at Folsom or San Quentin
Penitentiary.

On June 2, following the usual rou-
tine, the prisoner’s finger-prints were
sent to Washington.

If Miller was at all worried about
them he didn't show it. Still suffering

wie tf

vee
“al

ee"

from the broken ankle, he. denied that
he had anything to do not only with the
attempted drug-store burglary but also
with several similar but more successful
burglaries which had been pulled off
during the preceding month or two. He
insisted that he had met with the acci-
dent at his home and that he could
prove his innocence in court. No
amount of questioning could shake his
story.

Neither Deputy Sheriff W. C. Phil-
lips, in charge of the prison ward, nor
any of his assistants watched Miller
particularly closely. The idea ‘of an
escape was far-fetched. No one ever
had managed to get away from the
barred thirteenth floor. Indeed, the
prospect was so discouraging that not
even the most slippery prisoners had
tried. It was unthinkable.

But it wasn’t unthinkable to Miller.
From the first moment of his incarcer-
ation he planned a getaway.

His broken ankle, actually, was a

Jean Buckoski and her gun-mad
husband, in court at left, and
after the gunfight, below. Pg. 14

help, for it enabled him to stay in bed
practically all the time and thus lull
pill suspicions the guards might have

But when he was not in bed, he re-

connoitered the possibilities of escape.
They seemed hopeless, particularly to
anyone handicapped as he was. For
there was a sheer drop of nine floors to
the roof of the stepped-out fourth, and
no window ledges by which he might
go from floor to floor, negotiating them
one at a time.
’ Nevertheless, and notwithstanding
his only half-healed ankle, Miller de-
managed to get hold of a number of
sheets. About two a. m. on June 26, he
knotted them together, spread the win-
dow bars apart with the ripped-off iron
leg of his bed, attached one end of the
sheets to another bar and, entirely ob-
livious of the fact that his broken ankle
was the outcome of a similar and far
less hazardous escapade, prepared to
descend.

S time luck was with him. Once or
twice he thought the end had come
when one of the knots suddenly pulled
tighter and dropped him two or three
inches. When he reached the end of
his home-made rope he found he was
about fifteen feet short of the fourth-

floor roof. He swung for a minute and
then released his hold on the rope,
throwing himself forward to avoid, if
possible, crashing on his injured foot.
He landed partially on his side with
nothing more serious than a few
scratches and bruises. Then he opened
one of the windows of the fifth floor,
walked through the room to the stairs
and out to freedom.

It was one of the most spectacular
escapes in the city’s history. And it
made the Los Angeles police wonder
why had a prisoner apparently facing
only a short prison term taken such
desperate chances? Why had he used
such a perilous method after a similar
stunt had brought him a serious injury
just a few weeks before? What would
induce a man to take such a 50-50
chance of death?

Was it, the officers asked themselves,
because he feared one even more hor-
rible and more certain?

They didn’t know. But again they

53


withholding until she finished.
color is this boy’s hair?”

“He’s a blond.” She gave them the
Poindexter address, which was about
four blocks from the Lucas home.

Thomas Poindexter was hostile when
the officers picked him up. On the way
to Headquarters he grew profane,
loudly protesting his anger at being
questioned.

“Now look,” Mezo said sternly. “We
know about your trouble with Mrs.
Lucas. And we also know that you are
the only person who ever had trouble
with her. You knew where she hid her
key; you could have unlocked the door
and waited for her to come home.”

The youth’s cocky demeanor left him
suddenly and a terrified look came into
his eyes. But he shook his head vigor-
ously. ‘‘No, I didn't. I tell you I didn't!
Sure, I was sore, but I didn’t kill her!
I only wanted her to stay away from
me!”

“But you did see her get her key from
where she had it hidden.”

“I saw her with that other woman
at the back door, that’s all. I don’t
know anything about the key. And I
haven't got any gun.”

“Of course you can prove where you
were when she was killed.”

“Sure, I can do that easy. I was
in the movie from about seven o'clock
until after nine that night.”

“Who was with you? Can they back
you up in that story?”

Poindexter gulped. “No one was with
me. But I can tell you all about the
picture if you want me to.”

The Chief laughed grimly. ‘‘That’s
what I thought. The gag of telling all
about the show had a long gray beard
when you were born. That picture was
here in town for three days and you
had lets of time to see it. You'll have
to cook up a better one that that.”

“What

SINGELTON produced a pair of small
shears and snipped a strand of blond
hair from the youth’s head.
‘Poindexter leaped up
“What's that for?”

The patrolman waved him back to his
seat. “Sit down, Son, and don’t be ex-
cited. I’m just getting exhibit B ready
for court. The hairs Mrs. Lucas yanked
out of the killer's head will be exhibit
A”

The youth sank weakly into his chair
and stared dumbly at the officers. His
hand went to his head and for a mo-
ment they thought he was going to
break. But they were disappointed, for
the young man shook his blond head
doggedly, and although he spoke in a
low voice he again denied the killing.

Mezo ordered him taken away. Then,
to Singelton, he said, “We'll see if we
can dig up that gun. If we can’t find
it, surely someone will know if he owned

in alarm.

one, or if he’s bought twenty-two
bullets lately.”

At the Poindexter home, the youth’s
mother said she did not believe her son
had a revolver. But she told them they
could search the house.

They entered the dwelling and went
over each room carefully. At last, as
Mezo was looking through a clothes
closet, he put his hand into the pocket
of a jacket.

When he removed his hand, he had a
dozen .22 short cartridges.

This spurred them on, but the officers’

did not locate any revolver.

“He could have ditched the gun,”
Singelton said as they finally aban-
doned the search. “But maybe, as you
said, some of: the youngsters around
town will know if he had one.”

HEY spent two hours talking with
young men who knew Poindexter,

but none of them ever had seen him
with a revolver or pistol of any kind.

“He used to have an old Winchester,”
one youth told them, “but I think he
swapped it for a watch or something.”

When they got back to the station,
they found a 35-year-old man await-
ing them.

“I believe,” he said without ceremony,
“that I may have seen something the
night that woman was killed.”

They had not met him during their
canvass of the district and the Chief
asked why he had not come in before.

“I’ve been in St. Louis ever since that
night,” he explained. “I live a few
doors west of the Lucas place and on the
next street. I was taking my car out
that night and my lights flashed on
their back yard.” He paused and looked
embarrassed. “I swear I saw a woman
in a light-colored dress run out of
Lucas’ back door.”

“A woman?” Mezo said, startled.

The man nodded. “I thought it was
Mrs. Lucas dumping her trash, because
I saw her bend over near the side fence.
But when I heard about the killing I got
to wondering and I figured I’d better tell
you.”

“Did you recognize her?”
asked.

“No, I was pretty far away, you know,
and I couldn't see her face.”

In answer to another question, he ad-
mitted that he was not sure of the time
when he had seen the woman. “It
could have been before the killing,” he
stated.

Mezo

HEY thanked him for his information

and he left.

“What do you make of that tale?”
Singelton asked.

“I don’t know exactly. This fellow
may have seen one of the neighbors
leaving her own house when the excite-
ment broke.”

But a short while later the State

laboratory report on the bullets and the
hair Mezo had sent to them gave
further credence to the story of the
mystery woman.

“The gun you want is a Harrington
and Richardson revolver and the barrel
is in bad condition,” a State technician
declared. “It’s probably an old one.
Now, about the hair. That came from
the head of a female, whom we judge
to be between the ages of thirty-fiye
and forty. She is a natural blonde, juSt
beginning to darken. In addition, the
hair is not very healthy. This woman
has some chronic physical disorder, al-
though we can’t tell what it is.”

“Oh, brother,” declared Singelton
when the news was relayed to him. “Just
as we thought we had everything prac-
tically in the bag, this angle pops up.
Now what do you make of that? That
fellow who was in here saw a woman, all
right. And it looks like he was right
about her coming out of the Lucas back
door. It wasn’t Mrs. Lucas; she didn’t
even go out.

“I wonder what she was doing when
he saw her bend over? She couldn't
have been hiding the gun; we've looked
all through that yard.” ;

“I don't know the answers to any of
those things,’”’ declared Mezo, ‘‘but sup-
pose we ask Poindexter. Maybe he has
a girl friend about that age. If so,
plenty of people will know it.

“There’s another thing that may help
us. When we canvassed that neighbor-
hood right after the killing we were
looking for a lone man. We didn’t
ask about a woman or a couple.”

Poindexter was brought in and the
Chief tried a new tactic. ‘You're being
dumb to take all the blame for this,” he
said bluntly. “Your girl friend is prob-
ably laughing right now about what a
sap you are.”

Poindexter shrugged hopelessly, ‘‘It’s
no use telling you, but I didn’t kill Mrs.
Lucas and I don’t know who did. I
don’t have any girl friend.”

The youth was led out of the office
again.

oe E LL have to do it the hard way,”

Mezo said. “But before we start
trying to find this blonde, let’s go back
out there and see if anyone saw a
woman, or a couple, that night. Be-
sides, you may have hit it and this
dame was hiding something when she
stopped in the yard that night. Let’s
hope it was the gun.”

Standing behind the Lucas house a
few minutes later, Singelton noticed a
small, flat stone close to the steps, and
he picked it up. “This may be where
Mrs. Lucas hid her key,” he remarked,
“but it isn’t here now.”

Mezo walked a few feet away, to the
yard.of Mr. and Mrs. Gross. As he
glanced at the ground he saw a short
board about twelve inches long and six

inches wide, half buried in the earth.
It showed signs that it had been moved
recently. Turning it over, he uttered
a sharp exclamation. For the old board
covered two keys.

“This is what our woman was doing
when she stopped,” he cried. “I'll bet
one of these fits the Lucas door.”

Striding to the door, he tried one of
the keys. It worked perfectly. The
nr one, however, would not turn the
ock.

“Tt’s hard to believe,” he said bleakly,
“but I think we're near the end of the
trail. The woman we're looking for
is a blonde around thirty-five. That de-
scription fits Mrs. Ruby Gross. And
Mrs. Gross, being a next-door neighbor,
could have known where Mrs. Lucas
hid her extra key.”

“But why?” asked Singelton. ‘““What’s
the motive?”

Mezo_ shrugged.
why.”

The two officers knocked on the back
door of the Gross home and Mrs.
Gross answered.

Mezo showed her the two keys he had
found.

“Mrs. Gross,” he said, “could you ex-
plain to us how Mrs. Lucas’ key hap-
pened to be under a board in your back
yard?”

“I can’t imagine

The woman stared at them. ap-
parently puzzled, for a moment.
HEN, Mezo announced later, she

broke into tears.

“They told me to hit her on the head
but I didn’t do that,” the Chief quoted
her as saying. “I just shot at her.”

Ruby Gross willingly accompanied
the policemen to the office of Prosecut-
ing Attorney John Thurman in Hills-
boro, the county seat. Here, Thurman
declared, she talked incoherently. He
did not question her but arranged in-
stead for her to be given extensive tests
by a psychiatrist.

A charge of first-degree murder has
been placed against her but disposition
of this will await a report from the
hospital, Thurman has said.

A .22 Harrington and Richardson
revolver with two fired cartridge cases
still in its cylinder was found in the
Gross home, and ballistics tests have
established that this was the death
weapon, according to a report submit-
ted to the Prosecutor by State Police.

Thomas Poindexter was released,
cleared of any charges. He has found a
job and promised to help support his
mother, Chief Mezo declares.

In this story, the names William
Harmon and Thomas Poindexter are
not the real names of the persons in-
volved. Those names have _ been
changed inasmuch as the men men-
tioned were not connected with any
crime of any nature.

Toronto's Case of the Hare-and-Hounds Killer (Continued from Page 16)

Hails. He got into the car and tried
to start it. But he couldn’t. The
stranger swung from the car and ran
south on Ontario.

The discarded clothing indicated
later that he ran as far as another lane,
and then into a back yard. He climbed
four fences, but turned when he came
to a dead end.

John Vancott, in his living-room on
Seaton Street, looked up from a book
he was reading to see a stranger stroll-
ing through the hall which led from
the back to the front of the house.

Startled, Vancott jumped to his feet.
“What do you want?’’ he demanded.

“Oh, I’m just passing through,” the
intruder responded. “Keep your shirt
on; I’m not stealing anything.”

He spoke casually, but Vancott could
see that he appeared to be under some
excitement. His face was red and he
was bathed in perspiration while his
words, although casual, showed that he
was very much out of breath.

Vancott watched him after he had
gone through the front entrance. He
saw him run across the street, up on a

neighbor’s lawn as though he were
seeking someplace to hide, then back
to the street. Finally he darted into a
lane 40 or 50 yards distant.

There, once more, the trail was lost
temporarily. But again not for long.
Mr. and Mrs. James Lowry were pack-
ing their car in front of their home
preparatory to a vacation trip.

Mrs. Lowry opened the car’s rear
door to put some garments there. A
stifled shriek escaped her as a man,
crouched in the back, suddenly leaped
from the machine, shoved Mrs. Lowry
against the vehicle with such force that
she fainted, fled past her into Carlton
Street and ran west.

A. L. Hollen, a resident of Carlton
Street who had heard about the mur-
der over the radio, saw a man he took
to be the killer looking up and down
and then, apparently satisfied he was
not seen, ducking into a garage.

Mr. Hollen ran to his phone and
called Headquarters. In a few minutes
a half-dozen prowl cars were on the
scene. The garage was surrounded.
With drawn guns, and instructions to

shoot to kill at the first sign of resis-
tence, the officers went through every
corner of the garage. They found no
sign of the bandit.

HIS wild chase through streets be-
tween Parliament and Sherbourne,

during which the gunman ran through
four or five lanes, hurdled a half-doz-
en fences, hid in an automobile, at-
tempted to steal another at pistol point,
ran through a private home and finally
discarded his hat, coat, gloves and tie,
took only a few minutes, not nearly
long enough for the excitement at the
scene of the‘ murder to abate. People
were’ still running around aimlessly,
peering out from their hiding places,
keeping at what they considered a safe
distance from a danger which no longer
was real. :

The clerks at Loblaw’s showed to
greater advantage than the majority of
others. Even before the police arrived,
they came out from the store and tried
to do what little they could to relieve
the suffering of the now-conscious
Leftly and to console the widow which

the pretty Mrs. Layng had become in
the space of a few horrifying seconds.
Stimulated by their example, some of
the others approached closer to the
scene to render any aid of which they
were capable.

Not, however, until the rising and
falling cadence of police sirens came to
their ears did most of the people pluck
up sufficient courage to return to the
street they had left in such unbridled
fright.

The scene was just that of a milling.
disturbed throng when Detective In-
spector John Nimmo reached it. Fol-
lowing him came Chief Constable John
Chisholm, Acting Inspector James
Semple and a score of other officers.
both uniformed and in plain clothes.

As Nimmo jumped out of his car. a
truck driver approached him.

“I thought I ought to hold this for
the police,” he said.

He had a bag containing $1.000 in
bills, every dollar of which the bandit
had dropped when he was tackled by
Leftly! It had rolled under a truck
parked at the curb and the driver had

51

seen it there and had picked it up,
thinking it might contain some clue
which would prove of value.

The killer’s efforts had brought him
nothing—nothing, that is, but a possi-
ble rap for murder. From now on he
would live in the shadow of the gallows,
with never a free minute, hounded al-
Ways by the thought that capture might
lie just around the corner.

Nimmo’s first act was to try to obtain
a working description of the killer from
the dozen or more who assured him they
had witnessed the slaying of Layng and
the wounding of the Loblaw clerk, Left-
ly. He ran into the usual difficulties,
one witness contradicting the other,
one certain the slayer was light, the
other equally sure he was dark. Two
facts, however, on which most people
agreed were that he was in his thirties
and that he had a small, well-trimmed
mustache.

This was a description which could
apply to hundreds, perhaps thousands
of men in Toronto. Meager as it was,
however, it was sufficient for Nimmo to
dispatch a half hundred of his officers,
both in cars and afoot, to fan out over
an eight- or ten-block area, with in-
structions to question every man an-
swering this description and, if he could
not give satisfactory answers, to bring
him to Headquarters for further quiz-
zing. At the same time, Nimmo issued
orders for every patrolman in the city
to be on the lookout for the killer and
to round up every person who’d had
even a glimpse of him so that they
could be shown pictures in the Rogues’
Gallery for possible identification.

S OFFICERS hurried off to follow

his instructions, Nimmo resumed
questioning the increasing number of
persons who had witnessed the shoot-
ings. Gradually he pieced together a
really worthwhile description, of suf-
ficient clarity to be put into a “Wanted”
circular. In addition to what he al-
ready had learned, he discovered that
a majority of the witnesses believed
that the slayer was slim, that he had
a full head of medium or dark, wavy,
bushy hair, and a tanned complexion
and that he was around five feet, nine
inches in height.

Then, for the first time, Nimmo
learned about the discarded garments.
One after another, officers came in with
various pieces: The coat, hat, necktie
and gloves. ‘The Inspector could under-
stand the reason for the fugitive fling-
ing away the coat and hat—this was a
very warm day and he probably felt that
they impeded his progress.

“But I just don’t get the necktie and
gloves,” Nimmo admitted to Semple.
‘Taking your necktie off while you're
running certainly would slow you up.”

Semple couldn’t answer. “It does
seem queer,” he argued. “However, it’s

a good thing for us. It gives us a little

something to go on.”

While he talked, Nimmo had been
examining the garments. As the vari-
ous citizens who had witnessed the
thug’s route of flight came to tell what
they knew, he drew a few conclusions.

“It seems to me,” he told a group of
his officers, “that this bird is a pro-
fessional, and that he lives right
around this neighborhood.”

“Why?”

“He’s torn all the labels out of his
clothes. Men who don’t have. some-
thing to hide don’t rip the marks off
their clothing. Another thing—his
coolness in pulling the stickup. We
won’t find that this fellow is a cheap
punk who was just trigger-happy. He
shot deliberately, to avoid capture.”

“But what about his living in the
neighborhood?”

“He was mighty familiar with the
lanes around here. They’re all over
the place, yet he seemed to know exact-
ly where he was going. He ran into a
dead end only once, and that may have
been because he was confused when he
saw someone following him. I want
every single house within a radius of
four blocks visited and the people ques-
tioned. And send these clothes to
Thompson. He'll find some clue in
them, if anyone can.”

He referred to Detective Sergeant
William Thompson, the Department’s
technician, who more than once had

52

gm “ay entire case from a small isin
C7)

More clues appeared. Robert May,
one of those who had been within a
few feet of the slayer when he ran from
the store, handed Nimmo an unex-
ploded .38 copper-jacketed bullet. An-
other of the same kind was turned in
by John Vancott, through: whose house
the bandit had gone during his flight.
The officers believed that he had a

*pocket full of such bullets and that
ot two unaccountably had dropped
out. -

“This fellow. seems determined to

leave a trail for us to follow,” Nimmo
commented. “Let’s hope he keeps it
up.”

In addition to the bullets, three emp-
ty shells had been found by his men,
two near the body of the slain Layng
and the other beside the wounded Left-
ly. They were sent to the ballistics ex-
pert of the department in the hope that
he could “mark” the gun from which
they came for future identification—if
it should ever be found.

LL those who had seen the bandit,
even if in a passing glimpse, were
hustled to Police Headquarters to look
over Rogues’ Gallery pictures. But this

seemed to confound rather than help,

proving for the thousandth time that
two normal people looking at the same
object see entirely different things. For
as soon as one person picked out a
photograph as resembling_the bandit,
two or three others would insist it
didn’t resemble him at all. However,
in the few instances in which four or
five agreed on some similarity, officers
hurried out to find the suspects.

The same action was taken in the
case of recently discharged convicts
who resembled the killer. But in every
instance, all of these men were able
to clear themselves. The majority of
them had been miles from the scene of
the murder.

Seldom in Toronto’s history had a
crime roused such fury as did the cold-
blooded slaying of the young Air Corps
veteran, and never did the Police De-
partment receive such aid, or such po-
tential aid, from the city’s residents.
Tips tumbled into Headquarters. Ap-
parently everyone had forsaken his
normal activities to devote himself to
helping run the slayer to earth.

Householders along the fugitive’s line
of flight, who had seen him running but

had no idea what he was running for or .

from, came in to give what descriptions
they could. Taxicab drivers scrutinized
their fares to see if they bore any re-
semblance to the wanted man. Farmers
living on the outskirts volunteered their

Detective Sergeant

Thompson had found blood on the -

sleeve. of the  killer’s discarded

coat,
promised to notify the Department at

once if anyone who looked like the ban-
dit came for treatment for an arm in-
jury. Hotel clerks and rooming-house
proprietors observed their guests with a
renewed interest.

On the theory that the thug would
try to keep aware of developments
through the dailies, newsboys and the
owners of stands also scrutinized their
customers. As one‘official summed it
up: “Every house in town has two or
three amateur detectives in it.”

Meanwhile, finger-print technicians,
with chemicals, were trying to raise im-
pressions from the discarded clothing.
All they got were unusable smudges.
This was particularly true of the neck-
tie, which had many smudges where
its owner had held it while knotting
it. But each ‘one was so superimposed
on another that all were useless.

Several days passed and innumerable,
tips were run down and found to be
worthless. Chief Constable Chisholm
concentrated on the killer’s descrip-
tion. He carefully weeded out. those
who had witnessed the murder but who
had been so excited that their testi-
mony was practically worthless. .

He compared all the reliable descrip-
tions he had and finally obtained a fair
approximation of the killer’s real ap-
Pearance—sufficient at least to enable
him to send out a circular:

“Age about 30 to 35 years; height 5

Jbs.; slim or medium build;

feet, 8 to 10 inches; weight 140 to 160
medium ‘or
dark hair, bushy but not wavy, full
head of hair; complexion appeared
tanned.. May have a_ well-trimmed
mustache a little heavier than the,
pencil type.”

The circular also ‘told how the killer
was dressed and gave a detailed de-
scription of the clothing discarded by
him as he raced through the streets of
Toronto.

The flier’s wide distribution stimu-

lated citizens anew. From everywhere’

came reports concerning
answered its description.

The head of the Western Toronto
Hospital phoned Chief Chisholm:

“They’ve just brought a patient in
who tried to commit suicide. He looks
enough like the man you describe to
be his twin. Better send one of your
men out to look him over.”

Detective Sergeants Harold Genno
and Frank O'Driscoll sped to the hos-
pital. The would-be suicide was con-
scious and able to answer questions.
The information which he gave them,
when verified by the officers, showed
him to be entirely in the clear.

At almost the same time a tip came
from Niagara Falls which sent Ser-
geant Edmond Tong and Detective
John Standing racing to that city on
the. trail of two suspects. Both, how-
ever, easily established alibis.

One fact which stuck in Inspector
Nimmo’s mind was that the bandit ap-
parently had been familiar with the
layout of the Loblaw store and of the
office upstairs. Everything seemed to
indicate that he had gone directly to
the place where the money was kept
and that he knew a_ considerable
amount of cash would be in the safe
at that particular time.

“I’m not so sure of that,” Semple de-
clared when Nimmo discussed this mat-
ter with him. “After: all, he missed
about nine thousand dollars. If he
really knew all about the layout,
wouldn’t he have come earlier, before
this money was deposited?”

“Possibly,” Nimmo agreed. “Let’s say
he didn’t know when the money would
be deposited. But he did know where
the cash was kept. And he probably
figured that on Saturday, the biggest
business day, he’d find more money in
the safe than at any other time.”

“Are you suggesting that it might
have been a Loblaw employe, or a
former one?”

“No, not the robber himself. He
would have been recognized. But sup-
pose someone who did know the lay-
out had tipped someone else off. I
think we ought to look into the people
who are working there now and those
who used to, as well as their friends.”

“That’s quite ‘a job.”

“I know it. But it may be worth it.”

“Okay. Let’s go ahead with it.”

The investigation was made. It was,
as Semple had feared, a tedious and
monotonous job. And it developed ex-
actly nothing. So far as the officers
conducting the investigation could
learn, all the employes and ex-employes
were honest, steady-going men whose
associates were people.of the same kind.

THE theory that the bandit-killer

was a resident of Toronto, Chief
Chisholm had. a dummy dressed in the
clothes discarded by the fugitive and
placed in the window of a downtown
store. None of the articles of clothing
was particularly distinctive except the
tie. This was a rather dizzy bit of wear-

persons who

-ing apparel, with a gold and silver

swordfish design on a _ glossy-finish
maroon background. It was so out-
standing that the Chief had hopes

someone might remember it.

The dummy was viewed by many
thousands of people. But not one of
them remembered having seen these
clothes before, nor did any local haber-

.dasher recall ever having had them in

stock.

All of Chief Chisholm’s top aides,
however, agreed with him bon —
best bet was the discarded coa'
that, a Rccaaktees
them to the kill

“T know it’s eel to be a hard job,”
the Chief admitted. “It’s the kind of
cloth that’s probably sold by the mil-

4

lions of yards, not only
but also in the States. There's not-a
distinctive thing about it. Probably we
have hundreds of suits like it right here
in Toronto. But it’s about all that’s
left. We've got to locate the “gem
where the cloth was manufactured, and
follow it until’ we find the man who
wore the suit.”

“Very likely, even if we’re lucky, we'll

“But even if we only get his
That may lead to his finger-prints and
somi

ultimately tohim. I want you and e
of your best men ‘to tackle this job, and
to keep right with it until they run

most impossible task.
day and week after week Nimmo
his subordinates kept at it, writing
Rochester, Baltimore, Chicago and
other clothing centers, one textile plant
after another, sending each a small cut
from overlaps on the rejected garment.

But at last they located the plant
where the goods had been woven. It
was a little help, but not any too much,

this icular

Clothing experts who had been = oon

automatic sight in their
tailor would give a negative
his head when asked if he recognized
his handiwork. But finally they handed
the garment to a man in a tiny shop
oom away on a little-traveled side
stree

“Did you make this?” Genno queried,

the stitching.
His four-word reply more than yy
the two officers for their weeks of
patient, plodding effort.

“Yes,” he said in a flat voice, as
though it were a routine matter of no
— whatever, “that’s my
work.”

“It is! Are you sure?”

The tailor:looked hurt. “Of course
I’m sure. Don’t you think I know my
own work?”

“I sure hope you-do,” O'Driscoll re—
plied fervently. “Did you make many
with this pattern?”

“No, that’s the only one I’ve made
page ear I just happened to have

“What man?”

“I don’t know but my books will
show.”

He paged over a worn account book
with a maddening slowness while the
two officers watched him avidly.

Finally he brought the book over to

them.

“Here it is,” he said, pointing with a
stubby finger.

The name the officers read was Stan-
ley Buckoski. The address given was
within six blocks of the Loblaw grocery.

ITH feverish haste, Genno copied
the name and number, then
phoned Chief Chisholm. In a few
minutes three or four police cruisers
were rolling at top speed toward the
Buckoski address—to

rooming-house
be met with the most bitter disappoint-
ment they had experienced since the
case broke.

“He doesn’t live here any more,” the
landlady told them. “He and his wife
moved out several weeks “i

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t leave any
forwarding address. They never got
any mail anyhow.” .

Soper oa

after the thug. A fast’ runner, he gained rapidly. When he
was two or three feet away, he dove forward in a fast
flying tackle.

Ordinarily, the impact would have brought the other
man down. But the bandit, aware of his pursuer, pushed
his arm out in a straight jab. It jostled Layng off balance.
He fell to the ground, but started to get up for another
try. For just an instant the bandit stood over his prostrate
adversary, He turned, as if to resume his flight. .

Then he changed his mind, spun back, whipped his
gun forward and sent a bullet through the veteran’s heart,
following it with another before he tore up to the first
intersection, turned a corner, and vanished from sight.

The agonized shriek of Mrs. Layng finally bought some
of the stunned onlookers to life. Several rushed to tele-
phones to call the police. Others attended to the half-
conscious checker. But those surrounding the grief-torn
widow, as she bent over her dead husband, could only stand
and watch. There was nothing they could do, nothing they
could say which could alleviate her heartbreak and her
pain.

(ORONTO, Canada, has never known such a chase as

followed, one with all the dramatic elements of a movie
pursuit, but with a deadly serious reality lacking in the
cinema.

For the killer himself left a trail—left it as though he
had done so purposely, as though he enjoyed having his
pursuers almost reach him, only to disappear before they

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Arsenal of guns was unpleasant sight to seated suspect.

could actually get their hands on him. The trail consisted
of garments which he discarded as he ran.

First he took off his hat and flung it to the pavement.
As his flight brought him to Seaton Street, he ripped oft
his coat and hurled it to the street. Further on went his
necktie, and then even his gloves.

But, as if worried that this did not give the police
sufficient clues concerning the direction he had taken, he
seemed to go out of his way to do other odd things which
would bring him to people’s attention, which would make
him obvious.

On Seaton Street, for instance, although no one was
following him at that moment, he dodged into the open
front door of a home and ran past the startled householder
out through the back door into Leighton Lane.

Seemingly he now had plenty of opportunity to lose
himself. Once again, however, he did something which
would mark his flight as plainly as the proverbial sore
thumb. A man was washing a car in front of a home on
Seaton Street. He straightened up when a strange voice
rasped: “Get in that car, you!”

In the hand of the stranger, now hatless and coatless, was
a gun. The car-washer stared at him incredulously, then
said he didn’t have the keys.

“You're a liar!” the man snarled. “Get back in the house.”

He obeyed the order. The stranger jumped in the car
and got behind the wheel. When he failed to start the
motor, he leaped out and ran up Seaton Street. Whether it

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

was stupidity, panic, or egomania which led him to do
these foolishly conspicuous things is a matter of con-
jecture. But once more he took such action, this time hiding
in the back of a car belonging to a married couple. At
this time, too, he had a clear road ahead. But instead ot
putting as much distance as possible between himself and
his pursuers, the instinctive thing to do, he seemed to
prefer tactics which would give them time to catch up
with him. He jumped from the car and ran when the
housewife opened the car door to put in some packages
preparatory to taking a trip.

It was this last folly which brought close upon his heels
one of those who had been trailing him, who had witnessed
the wounding of the checker and the murder of Layng, and
who had at first kept the killer in sight and then lost him.
He kept looking for the gunman and finally caught a
glimpse of him as he leaped from the car.

He gave chase, following the fugitive until he darted into
a narrow lane. The fleeing man turned to the right at the
lane’s end, with his pursuer not ten yards behind. In front
of them was a solid brick wall, approximately fourteen feet
high, beyond which lay the plant of a brewing company.
The chaser was sure of his man now. His quarry couldn’t
possibly scale that wall. Nor did he try. He turned around,
and there was a breathless wheeze in his voice.

“Til count—just—three. If you’re—not out of—sight by—
that time—I’ll—plug you!”

Unarmed, he was helpless. He turned and ran to the
end of the lane. There he shot a glance behind him.

The impossible had happened. The thug had made a
flying leap, grasped the top of the wall, and pulled himself
up. He dropped out of sight on the other side. But his
pursuer was not yet defeated. He ran to the front of the
brewing plant in time to see the hunted man emerge and

. Tace into a nearby garage,

He knew it would be useless to continue the pursuit

Hole in fence provided “out” for Miller and friend.

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

*

alone, and he telephoned police headquarters. Although a
swarm of officers arrived quickly and searched the garage
from top to bottom, they did not find a trace of the killer.

He had finally disappeared.

Police had meanwhile arrived at the Loblaw store, in-
cluding Chief Constable John Chisholm, Detective Inspector
John Nimmo, Detective Sergeants Harold Genno and
Frank O'Driscoll, Acting Inspector James Semple and a
score of other officers. Chisholm began snapping out one
order after another—for some of-the uniformed men and
squad cars to spread out over the neighborhood, for road
blocks to be set up, and particularly for the detectives to
round up every man, woman and child who had witnessed
either the shooting of the checker or the slaying of Layng,
or both.

Then he began quizzing the various onlookers.

This yielded little result, everyone contending that the
shooting had happened so quickly that they had little
opportunity to get a good look at the fleeing gunman. All
agreed that he was a young man, probably in his 30s, and
that he had.a small, pencil-thin mustache. It was a descrip-
tion which could apply to many men.

It wasn’t until detectives searching the neighborhood
began coming in with the various garments the killer had
discarded that the chief constable began to hope for a
quick solution. The increasing accumulation of the thug’s
clothing became more and more puzzling. What possible
reason could he have had for throwing them away?

There were no laundry marks or initials on any of the
garments, But three of the articles bore brand or manu-
facturing names stamped in them. The brand in the hat
was “The Gaylord,” with the name of the merchant who
sold it, “Jess Applegarth, Toronto and Montreal.” “Acme”
was the brand on the gloves, and “Berkshire Imports by
Berkley” on the tie. But the tie had, in addition to its
label, something else which distinguished it. That was its
design, a silver and gold swordfish on a glossy and garish
maroon background.

“Once seen, never forgotten,” Nimmo observed. “This
may help. If there’s another like it in Canada, I’ve never
seen it.”

But the tie proved of no help at all, nor did, at least in
the ensuing few days, any of the other garments, although
Chief Chisholm had them dressed on a dummy and placed
in a downtown store window in the hope that some of
the hundreds who gaped at it might recall at least the tie.

ieee fruitless was the attempt to raise fingerprints
from the bag the bandit had carried, which, with all
its money intact, had been picked up from under a truck
where the bandit had either thrown it or lost it in his
struggle with the courageous checker.

The outcome of all efforts to trace the bandit was dis-
couraging. And although innumerable cars were stopped
and their occupants questioned at the road blocks, all rail-
road and bus stations and airports watched every minute
of the day and night, ten days slipped by, with the killer
apparently as far from capture as ever.

But now the officers had settled down to that quiet,
persistent, often monotonous work which makes up much
of a detective’s life. Here, too, they met with disheartening

_Tesults. The clothes, except for the tie, were common items,
“and no haberdasher recognized the flashy cravat. The

detectives focused their efforts on locating the maker of the
suit. Informed that it was a factory made garment, officers
went from one city to another, both in Canada and the
United States, searching for the manufacturer.

They finally located him in Rochester, New York. He
gave them the names of more than forty wholesalers to
whom suits made of the gray, striped cloth had been sold.
From them, in turn, the sleuths got the names of retailers
who had purchased the suits. Again, the detectives resumed
their monotonous grind.

Finally they came to a little tailor shop in a suburb of
Toronto. The owner recognized the suit immediately.

“I sold that,” he asserted.

“How do you know?” (Continued on page 54)

37

Taking no guff from anybody, the incorrigible was defiant even when recovering from wounds.

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE MAGAZINE, FEBRUARY, 196h.,

THE DEVIL
HAD A GUN

by Ellis O. Tasker

Sought by police from Canada to
California, the daring desperado wanted
most to rejoin his pretty mistress

USTOMERS WERE almost always welcome at the Lob-

law Groceteria—but not this cool one! He was a young,
desperate hoodlum and he wasn’t there to buy anything.
Sensing the manager’s uneasiness under the barrel of his .38,
the punk said casually, “Take it easy now. Don’t get
nervous. Everything will be just fine if you act your age.
After all, this isn’t your money. It won’t be taken out of
your pocket. Just open the safe nice and quietly.”

The manager wasn’t as much frightened as he was dis-
mayed. It was five-thirty, half an hour from closing time,
and. business on this day, July 30th, had been particularly
good. There was about $1,500 in the safe.

Stalling for time, he pretended to work with the com-
bination, although it was not set. All that was necessary was
for him to turn the handle. But the bandit wasn't so easily
fooled. He stepped around behind the kneeling manager
and jammed the gun painfully into his back.

“Quit horsing around,” he snapped. “I'll give you just
thirty seconds to open up that box. Maybe I won't get the
cash but you won't live to be a hero, either. Now, hop to it.”

There was no recourse for him. He swung the door open,

took out the bills, placed them in the bag, and was begin-.

ning to scoop up the’ silver when the thug snatched the
receptacle from his hand. “Forget the pennies. I ain’t no
piker. And don’t try to follow me, if you know what’s
good for you. What do you care, anyhow? It ain’t your
money.”

Keeping a watchful eye on the manager, he opened the
door, again threatened the manager, then walked rapidly—
but not fast enough to attract attention—down the stairs
to the crowded first floor,

Mingling with the horde of shoppers, he worked his way
toward the entrance. Then a shout from the top of the
Stairs jerked to rigid attention the customers in the store.

“Get that man going out the door! He stuck me up.
The devil has a gun!”

Only one person was quick-witted enough to grasp what
the manager was saying. A checker hurdled the narrow
counter behind which he was standing, sped a few steps to
the door and jumped on the gunman’s back, just as he was
stepping to the pavement.

It was a shocking surprise to the bandit. He let out a
curse and a threat and tried to work free his pinioned arms.
The checker held on. Strangely, no one tried to help him.
Those on the street seemed to regard the encounter as a

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

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mere spectacle, something like a dog fight which everyone
watched, but in which no one interfered. The precious
moments in which the desperado could have been over-
come slipped by.

The husky thug took swift advantage of it. He pulled
one arm free, ripped his gun from his side pocket and sent
a slug into the courageous clerk’s thigh. Groaning, the
youth’s arms slipped away. He fell to the pavement with
a thud. ; :

Free of his burden, the gunman started across the street.

He reached the opposite side, a few feet away from where
Alfred Layng, a 24-year-old air force veteran was standing
with his wife and their four-year-old child. They had
finished their marketing, and were on their way home.
Layng, like all the others on the crowded street, didn’t
know exactly what it was about.

But when a clerk ran from the Loblaw store yelling,
“Stick up! Stick up!” the plot of the drama being played
before his eyes became crystal clear. He was slight of
build, and no match for the bandit physically. But this lack
was Offset by his courage. Without hesitation, he raced

35

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give up our cut on you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you've been a good girl.
You’ve worked for the Syndicate for a
long time and we’ve taken half your
earnings. Now, we're going to let you
keep all the cash you take in. We won't
cut you any more.”

I eyed him coldly. I'd heard of this
procedure before.

“And you'll want me to get out of
this apartment.”

“Well, naturally. If you’re not work-
ing for us, we can’t go on paying your
rent.”

“The hell with you,” I snapped. “So,
I'm getting old and haggard and you
have prettier and younger girls ready
to go to work, so you’re kicking me out
to hustle on the street where I'll get
down to asking ten bucks, then five. The
hell with you. I’m staying here and
you're going to keep on providing me
with the right kind of customers.”

I became a little hysterical. I yelled
and cursed. I threatened to tell the DA
or sOme newspapermen about the op-
erations of the Syndicate. Nick just
looked at me. He didn’t even get mad.

This wasn’t like him. I cut off my
diatribe and said, ‘““Well, you heard me.
Aren’t you going to hit me? You've
done it for less than this.”

He stood up, sighed and walked to
the door. He said, “You’re too damned
old and worn out to hit. It'd be like
hitting somebody’s mother.”

I sat on the bed and cried. I'd rather
he’d hit me with his fists than with those
words.

T 8 o’clock that night, the phone
rang. It was Nick and his voice
sounded contrite. “I’ve been talking to
the boys,” he said. “They all like you
and have decided to go along with you.

You stay where you are and on the old
terms. We're sending up a new customer
in an hour. Treat him right. He’ll pay
plenty.”

I was weepingly grateful. I hung up,
showered and made up. I made myself
as pretty as possible. I poured myself
a big slug of whiskey and waited for
the doorbell to ring.

The customer arrived at nine prompt-
ly. He was a handsome chunk of man,
tall, blonde and blue-eyed. He behaved
like a fellow who knew his way around.

We spent a pleasant hour, drinking
and talking. Before we went into the
other room, my client, whose name was
Hugh, took out his wallet and produced
two hundred dollar bills. “Here,” he
said, “put this in your purse.”

I thanked him and put the money
in my pocketbook which lay on the
bureau in the bedroom. I slipped out
of my clothes and went to work.

An hour later, I was in the bathroom.
When I came out, Hugh was full
dressed. He stood in the doorway with
my pocketbook in his hand and had
a peculiar smile on his face. He reached
in his pocket and held out something
in his hand.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A detective’s badge,” he said. “Vice
squad. Get dressed, sister. I’m taking
you downtown.”

“You’ve framed me,” I screamed.

“Well,” he answered, “I admit that
money I gave you is marked.”

I saw it then. Actually, it was Nick
who had framed me. If he couldn’t get
rid of me one way, he’d get rid of me
another.

“All right,” I said. “If Nick wants
me to do ninety days for prostitution,
he'll do more. I'll talk. Pll tell every-
thing I know.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Who’s going

to take the word of a dope fiend?”

“A dope fiend? Maybe I’ve smoked a
stick or two of tea in my life but I’ve
never touched the real bad stuff.”

“No? Well, along with the two
marked bills in your purse there’s al-
most an ounce of pure, uncut heroin.”

I was staggered. This was no ninety
day frame. This could add up to ten
years. I went crazy with rage and frus-
tration. I cried, cursed and called Hugh
every foul name that came to my
tongue.

It did me no good at all. He escorted
me downstairs to a taxi and took me
to police headquarters.

I was in the Women’s House of De-
tention, awaiting trial, when my law-
yer brought word from the Syndicate.
They offered me a deal.

If I'd promise to keep my mouth
shut, they’d use their political influence
to have my sentence held to five years
probation. If, later I changed my mind
and began to talk, they’d frame me on
a dope charge again and this time the
book would be hurled in my direction.

What choice did I have? You might
fight City Hall but you can’t fight the
Syndicate. I accepted their terms.

So, I’m out of jail now and working
on my own. I no longer operate in a
luxury apartment. I have a furnished
room on the West Side. Each day I get
older and more haggard looking. Street
walking is a hard and arduous job and
I no longer have the protection from
the law that Syndicate provided.

I’m not yet thirty years old but I
feel like a woman of sixty. Not even
that. A woman of sixty has some
future.

Editor’s Note: The names Alice Glea-
son, Gladys: Paeman, Dick Ralston and
Nick Carlo are fictitious.

THE DEVIL HAD A GUN

(Continued from page 37)

“Because it’s the only one of that
pattern I ever bought.”

“But how do you know it’s from your
shop?”

“Because of this stitching on the lin-
ing. I made some alterations on it. I'd
know my own work anywhere.”

The two sleuths were skeptical. “You
don’t remember what this fellow looked
like do you?”

“Sure I do. He came back several
times for alterations. Was pretty hard
to please. He’s about 35 or so, probably
around 150 pounds, lots of dark hair,
and a little mustache that looked more
like a misplaced eyebrow.

At last they were on the trail. The
pencil mustache!

“Do you know who he is?” one of
the detectives asked.

“I don’t remember his name, but I
have it somewhere around because I

54

delivered the suit.”

He ran through some bills and re-
ceipts on a spike. “His name is Stanley
Buckoski,” he said, pulling off a de-
livery receipt. “And here’s his address.”

It was a rooming house a few blocks
from the Loblaw store!

A short time later a group of officers
were prowling over the room which had
been occupied by Buckoski and a
brunette.

They learned from the landlady that
on the morning of the day following
the murder, Buckoski and his lady had
hurriedly departed, sacrificing two
weeks’ rent, which had been paid in
advance. They found neither prints nor
other clues. But a few days later they
obtained a complete set of fingerprints
from a jail in a province where

Buckoski had served a short term.
The prints were sent to the FBI in
Washington, That organization reported
it had no record of Stanley Buckoski.
Chief Chisholm was disappointed.
“But we're no longer working in the
dark,” Detective Inspector John Nimmo

consoled. “At least we know who he
is. It shouldn’t take too long now to
dig him up.”

The future was to show, however,
that his optimism was premature.

After dozens of suspects had been
quizzed and released, and after Toronto
officers had made a hurried trip to
New Orleans, following the wide dis+
tribution of a police circular and a re-
port that Buckoski had been seen in
that city, the police of the Canadian
metropolis realized that the chances of
apprehending Buckoski depended to a
very considerable extent on his being
picked up for some other offiense. And
that might be months, or years—or,
very possibly, never.

On the morning of May 20th police
headquarters at Los Angeles, California,
received a phone call from a druggist
on West Pico Boulevard, who reported
that his store had been broken into
the night before. When the two de-
tectives assigned to the case looked
over the place, they drew their own
conclusions concerning why the thief,

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

ita

after he gained an entrance, hadn’t
stolen anything.

There dangled from the skylight a
length of rope attached to a metal frame
alongside a broken pane. The rope hung
down just about six feet. On the floor
directly beneath it was another, and a
much longer piece. This was lying near
a counter from the top of which a
display of various glasses, bottled and
cardboard-covered items had been hurl-
ed to the floor. Several were badly
smashed.

“Not much mystery here,” one of the
sleuths remarked. “He got in from the
skylight, then his rope broke and he
fell the rest of the way onto this
counter.” .

He pointed to several spots on the
floor, obviously bloodstains. “I think he
hurt himself,” he said, ‘and pretty
badly, too. That is a long drop. And
he didn’t hit the floor right away. He
hit the counter first and bounced off.
What do you think?”

“I think,” his partner replied, “that
we'd better check up on some doctors
and hospitals.”

The nearest hospital was the Georgia
Street Receiving. There an intern told
the detectives that the night before, or
rather around four o’clock in the morn-
ing, a man had limped in with a frac-
tured ankle, saying he had had a fall in
his home. “We splinted it up and put
him to bed.” he concluded.

“A fractured ankle!” one of the de-
tectives exclaimed. “You mean to say
he walked in with a fractured ankle?”

“Yes, he did. I could scarcely be-
lieve it, but that’s the way it was.”

A few moments later the officers
were questioning Frank T. Miller, the
name the patient gave.

He insisted at first that he had fallen
down the stairs in his home, but after
he had been tangled up in several con-
tradictory declarations, he admitted the
attempted robbery.

Later that day, the detectives had
him moved to the prison ward of the
General Hospital, on the thirteenth floor
of the building.

N the 27th of June, 1950, the seem-

ingly impossible happened,  al-
though at first nobody, from Deputy
Sheriff W. C. Phillips, in charge of the
prison ward, on down, could believe it.
Frank Miller made a successful escape
from the building.

All that remained to remind them of
Miller were nine sheets knotted to-
gether, which dangled from the thir-
teenth floor window of the cell which
he had occupied, and an iron leg
wrenched from his cot, with which he
had spread the window bars sufficiently
to let his body through.

It would have been a spectacular and
daring escape by anyone. But for a
man on the thirteenth floor, handi-
capped by an ankle now only partially
healed, it was one of the most astonish-
ing jail breaks ever known.

The large number of police assigned
to the job of recapturing Miller saw
neither hide nor hair of the fugitive
for several days. But the people from
HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

whom he had formerly rented a guest
house had that dubious honor.

The teen-aged daughter was alone in
the house when Miller entered. She was
far from glad to see him, and asked

.him to leave,

“I'll leave,” he said, with a chilling
menace in his voice, “after you’ve open-
ed that safe. 1 know your old man
keeps a lot of cash in it. So get it open,
girl, and fast.”

“I can’t,” the frightened teen-ager
answered. “I haven't the combination.
Only my father knows it.”

The unexpected and very unwelcome
trespasser cursed and stormed and
threatened. Finally convinced that the
girl was telling the truth, he sat down
to wait for her parents’ return.

In about an hour, they came back.
Miller herded them all into the room
where the safe was located, forced them
to open it, and departed with more than
a thousand dollars.

“Don’t anyone come out for fifteen
minutes,” he snapped. “I’ve got a guy
outside watching, and he'll plug the
first one who shows his map.”

The girl, however, insisted to her par-
ents that this was a bluff. As Miller
had cut the phone wires, she ran next
door almost as soon as he was gone and
called the police, who flashed the alarm
to every radio car in the city. Not ten
minutes later, Radio Officers L. B.
Bovee and H. W. Sherbourne, cruising
in Sunset Boulevard near Kenmore, saw
the fugitive pass in a car. They turned
to give chase, and started to draw up
alongside Miller when he evidently
spotted them.

He rammed his foot down on the ac-
celerator, twisted the wheel to pass in
front of a large truck, temporarily
blocking the officers, and raced up Sun-
set at terrific speed, weaving in and
out between other vehicles with that
same death defying recklessness he had
displayed wildly on two prior occasions.

The screaming sirens of his pursuers
attracted Motorcycle Officers S. A. Wil-
son and E, W. Hathaway, who joined
in the pursuit. Other motorcycle men,
parked at intersecting streets, also
hurtled after the fleeing thug until
at least a dozen were on his trail, tearing
after him with the same disregard of
a possible smash-up as their quarry.

At Sunset and Vermont, Miller found
himself blocked by a car in front of
him. As he had done a dozen times
before during the pursuit, he jerked the
wheel to swing the machine to the side,
to pass the obstructing vehicle. But this
time he twisted it too hard.

His car veered to the right, bounced
up on the sidewalk, and smashed head-
on into a fire plug, sending a plume of
water high into the air, but leaving
the thug practically uninjured. He
leaped from the car and dodged into
a cluster of hedges in Barnsdall Park,
which parallels Sunset at this point.

Within a few seconds, his place of
concealment was surrounded. Bovee
called on him to come out.

“Come in and get me, you gutless
flatfoot!” Miller challenged.

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56

A fusillade of shots came suddenly
from the bushes. The officers ducked,
and from behind trees and automobiles
parked on Sunset, they poured a steady
stream of bullets into the thick foliage.
When they thought the desperado’s
ammunition was exhausted, they rushed
his hiding place.

They met no more firing. Miller,
shot in the neck, leg and arm, was
lying on the ground surrounded by five
empty pistols!

Bullet-riddled as he was, he was still
conscious and, as it was soon discovered,
none of his wounds were serious.

“Finish me off,” ne begged the po-
licemen. “Put a bullet through my
head.”

They took him back to the prison
ward, this time to a part of the ward
used for recalcitrant inmates, from
which there could be no possibility of
escape. And now the report came back
on Miller's fingerprints. although it
came in the form of a long distance
telephone call from Detective Inspector
John Nimmo of Toronto.

“Hold Miller for us,” Nimmo re-
quested. “I’m flying to Los Angeles to-
night.” ;

“What do you want him for?”

“Murder. We just got a report on his
prints from the FBI, You've been get-
ting our circulars about the killing of
Alfred Layng, haven't you?”

‘Sure. I think we've got one posted
vn the bulletin board.”

“Well, Frank Miller is Stanley
Buckoski.”

“So that’s it,” the Los Angeles sleuth
exclaimed. “That’s the reason he took a
chance on a getaway which could have
killed him! That’s why he took a
chance on a thirteen floor leap out of
a hospital with a broken ankle. Come
on out. We'll hold him for you.”

VEN as the Los Angeles officer was

talking, other developments were
unfolding in that city which were des-
tined to overshadow even the wanton,
brutal Layng killing.

The first thing occurred shortly after
Miller had been recaptured and returned
to jail. A trusty rushed up to a guard
and told him that something was the
matter with Miller, that he was lying on
his coat with blood dripping down to
the floor alongside of him.

The guard hurried to the cell, to find
that Miller had slashed his wrists. He
called a physician, who applied a tourni-
quet and stemmed the flow of blood.

Chief Jailer Fitzgerald was not par-
ticularly impressed concerning the
genuineness of the suicide attempt: He
shrewdly surmised that it was a sympa-
thetic play on Miller’s part to get
himself removed from “Siberia” to a
part of the jail where he might have a
better chance to escape.

He grilled the would-be suicide re-
lentlessly until the latter admitted that
his purpose was to get away from the
maximum security ward. He insisted,
however, that his only purpose was in
getting what he described as_ better
treatment in the other part of the in-
stitution.

Los Angeles police thought otherwise.
They looked upon this as still another °'
desperate attempt to avoid, not the
conviction for attempted robbery, but
something far more serious.

They didn’t know exactly what it
was, but they began checking their
records of crimes still “open,” particu-
larly those carrying sentences more
severe than that for attempted burglary.
In doing so they found, along with the
Papers in one case, a piece of broken
glass containing the print of a. man’s
palm.

This particular case had broken on
February Ist, 1950, when neighbors of
Mrs. Helen Edmunds, a widow living at
252 South Benton Way, became con-
cerned when they failed to see her put-
tering around her house. When neither
her doorbell or telephone brought a
reply, they reported the matter to the
police. :

Investigators found Helen Edmunds
dead, with a bullet in her head.

A broken pane in the back door,
and the fact that the woman lay in
her nightgown in the hall just outside
her bedroom, led detectives to believe
that Helen had heard a noise outside
her sleeping apartment and had gone
to investigate, then had been shot by
an intruder.

Now the police compared the palm
print on the broken piece of window
glass with the palm print of the
prisoner whose frantic efforts to escape
seemed out of all proportion to the
crime for which he was being held.

They found that every line, blemish
mark, and ridge matched in the most
minute detail!

Without telling Miller about the brok-
en glass, they questioned him about the
murder of Helen Edmunds. He simply
asserted that he was no more guilty
of murdering the widow than were the
officers who questioned him.

The officers, thought the palm print
would be sufficient to convict, but they
wanted to clinch the case by getting
a confession if they could. They knew
they would never obtain it from Miller.

But now came the inevitable “woman
in the case.” In the yard of the slain
widow’s home, the police had found
the fresh heel print of a woman’s shoe.

They didn’t have to follow the
French maxim of “find the woman,”
for the ample reason that they already
had her. She was Stanley’s pretty bru-
nette, and she was in jail serving fou
months for forging money orders on a
sentence imposed on her on July 6th,
1950.

The officers weren't sure that the
heel print was hers, but it certainly
was a very strong probability.

So they turned to Buckoski’s girl. She
was a pretty little thing in her early
20s. It was obvious that Buckoski had
completely dominated her and_ that
away from his influence, she was decent
and honest. They turned their attention
to her in the Edmunds murder case.
She wasn't as easy as the officers had
anticipated, denying that she knew any-
thing about it, and insisting that she
was sure Buckoski wasn't involved. But

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

there was something about the way she
hedged that made the detectives certain
she either knew or suspected something.
At length she admitted that she and her
friend were “near” the Edmunds home
on the night of February Ist.

“We were just out taking a little
walk,” she explained.

“And how far were you from the

_ Edmunds home?”

“Why—I—don’t—uh—know. I guess we
were pretty near.”

The detectives could see that she was
getting panicky. One of them opened a
desk drawer and, handling it gingerly,
pulled out the broken piece of glass
from the door in the Edmunds home.

“You certainly were pretty near,”
he said, “In fact, right up to the door.
If you weren’t, how do you account for
this palm print? And this one,” he
went on, showing one of Buckoski’s
recently taken. “They’re exactly alike.”

It was the final straw. The lovely girl
broke. Between sobs she blurted out her
story with a rush of words,

“We were there. We started past the
place when he suddenly disappeared
from my side. Before I knew what had

happened, I heard some glass break-
ing. Then he came running out of the
house.”

Relief was on the detectives’ faces.
This was what they needed to make an
iron-bound case against the vicious
killer.

“We got aw.y as fast as we could. I
knew that something terrible had hap-
pened, but I didn’t ask any questions,”
the pretty girl said.

This was the situation when Inspector
Nimmo reached Los Angeles. He set,
the wheels in motion to have Buckoski
returned to Toronto to answer for the
murder of Alfred Layng. But the Cali-
fornia officials refused to give him up,
and indicted Buckoski for the slaying
of Helen Edmunds.

Placed on trial for murder on Novem-
ber 27th, 1950, the jury convicted
Buckoski of murder in the first degree
the very next day. On December 4th,
Stanley Buckoski, alias Frank T. Miller,
was sentenced to be executed for killing
Helen Edmunds. That sentence was
carried out in the gas chamber at San
Quentin Penitentiary on May 9th,
1952. *

HATCHET SLAYING OF CARHOP
(Continued from page 39)

conversation, she remarked that if there
was anything she wanted no part of
at all, it was Rowland Sundahl.

Flushed and annoyed by these re-
buffs, Sundahl spent the evening driv-
ing around with his pal and stopping
from time to time to gulp a few ounces
of whiskey.

Just before midnight, his pal said,
“Why don’t you come along with Bonnie
and me? We're going to have some
good, clean fun. She’s a nice girl—
not the kind who plays around. How
about it? Want to go, Rowlie?”

Thus it was that the two young
men picked up Bonnie Merrill at the
drive-in.

They drove the girl out to Pawnee
Park, emerging on the highway which
flanks the Loup River, then back to
Columbus, around the town square.
It was then two-ten A.M., and Sundahl’s
friend was fighting sleep.

“I’m tired, Rowlie. Drive me home.
Then take Bonnie over to her place.”

This was all right with the girl and
something rather better than all right
with Rowland Sundahl. The friend
was dropped at his house.

Then instead of asking Bonnie where
she lived, Sundahl said, “How about
a run out to Babcock Lake, baby blue
eyes?”

Bonnie said dubiously, “It’s almost
two-thirty.”

“And you're sixteen years old,” said
Sundahl. “And your whole life’s before
you. Why waste it sleeping?”

Bonnie laughed but remained un-

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE

convinced. “But I have to work to-
morrow and I’m tired.”

Sundahl stared at her and there was
an ugly expression in his eyes. He said
bitterly, “I know what you’re going
to do. You’re going to ditch me and
meet him again. That’s an old gag to
get rid of a guy. He goes home. You
go home. I go home. Then you two
meet somewhere afterwards.”

Bonnie denied this indignantly.

“All right, then,” said Sundahl, ‘so
come with me to Babcock Lake for a
little while.”

“All right,” said Bonnie, “but only
for a little while.”

Babcock Lake is a body of partic-
ularly muddy water extending over
some six hundred acres. Primarily, it
is used as a reservoir for the local
power plant. A road of sorts tops a
dike which surrounds the water, about
six feet above water level. A gravel
county road leads from Columbus to
the lake.

It was at the western end, where a
gate gives access to the circular road
from the gravel highway, that Rowland
Sundah!] parked the car.’ He looked
down at the gay, attractive face of
Bonnie Merrill, anu uivught how pretty
she was, how sweet.

He put his arm about her and crushed
her to him. Bonnie tried ineffectually
to thrust him away. She turned her face
and said sharply, “Rowlie, stop that!”

But he didn’t -stop. He pulled her
closer, more tightly. The girl struggled
desperately. Sundahl stretched one
hand across her and opened the door.
Then he forced the girl from the car.

Her foot slipped and she fell. Her
head cracked against a jagged rock.
Blood stained her head, but she re-

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NAME. |

} apoanss
Lor POUR MIAME nasecse
57


E. SANDERSON ©
CE DEPARTMENT

A. Esken

&

‘e many of the details.

{ Hollywood society in
at lesson to police and
bre indication of the
‘hich ordinary human
i by dark passions and

-med abnormally hor-
gainst the background
ntial district—but, as
and aberrations fitted
ained the whole series
ned quite beyond the

was warm and balmy
‘ of beautiful women,
r. As near to Paradise
who have the money

removed that evening *

destined to occur in

ted only a block from
| within walking dis-
‘enience of executives,
‘se was James Thomp-
er, who resided with
2 Franklin Place.

» shortly after six P.M.
he curtains in a state

she announced as her
and his wife. She’s a
a lovely figure.. I'm

apressed. “There are
ho aren't stars.”

their name is Burns,”
hey didn’t bring much

they don’t keep every~
by me.”

“They weren't in their
suddenly heard them
ran out the door, and
yack inside. They seem

hed dinner that night

si

oy

cone ses

{=e
{|| A FRONT PAGE STORY
{}/ Ee ABOUT CALIFORNIA

Taine UR TTT
| Rady hemahedamliiok tk
| SE SS = =F

nd crc, Aeathe EXTRA

-
Cer Pry pal

they went for an automobile ride, and stopped on the
way back to pick up a friend, Harry King, who worked
in the First National production department. With Mrs.
King, he returned with the Thompsons for a game of
caras. Mrs. Thompson observed that the home of their
new neighbors was dark, though it was only 10 o’clock.
But her husband suggested that they might have gone to
bed, weary with fighting or perhaps reconciled.

The Kings and the Thompsons had played but a few
hands when suddenly they were interrupted by a violent
knocking on the door. When Thompson answered it, he
found a young, black-haired man, with clothes dis-
hevelled, weaving unsteadily in the light. There was a
heavy odor of liquor about him.

“I’m Burns, your new neighbor,” he announced thickly.
“Jus’ moved in. You gotta match?”

“Sure, come in,” Thompson grinned.

The stranger reeled into the room, nodded at the party
and accepted a handful of matches. As he stood up to
leave, Mrs, King gasped, placed her hand to her mouth.

When he had gone, she exclaimed:

“Did you see his shirt? It was covered with blood!”

“Blood?” ;

Thompson was doubtful but keen-eyed.

“He's carrying a load of liquor,” he muttered. “Prob-
ably spilled something on himself. He looks like a decent

enough sort of bird, when he’s sober. But I’d hate to
have his head tomorrow.”

“He won’t be able to get it in a five gallon pail,” said
King. “How about starting our game—”

Clearly and distinctly, the four heard the sound of
a thud, as of someone falling in the bungalow next door.
They listened but heard no further sound.

“I wonder what that was,’’ Thompson remarked un-
easily. “Maybe he hurt himself.”

“There’s something wrong in there,” whispered his
wife nervously, “I know there is. I can feel it. We ought
to do something,”

“Not me,” said her husband. “I’m minding my own
business. That’s plenty for any man to do.”

King agreed with him. After all, drunks were fairly
common in Hollywood and if the man next door wanted
to stagger around and probably fall over furniture, that
was his concern. Thompson and King resumed their
pinochle game. They had been playing but a few minutes
when there came a knock at the door.

T WAS the new neighbor again. Thompson became a
trifle impatient.
“Well?” he said. “What do you want now?”

4 NAMED A SLAYER :
Mrs. Joy Hoskins, former film actress, gave police
a clue which helped trap her sister’s killer..

~t

'

+

DF BLOODY HORROR


oe ey

TRAIL

and entry of
s “honeymoon
stained with

. FRONT PAGE

walk which ran to the rear of the court. He had a woman
by the heels and was slowly and laboriously dragging her
body after him! The detectives reached him in a few
strides, and the man dropped the woman’s legs. They fell

DETECT! /( 27

My partner, Detective-Lieutenant Aldo Corsini, and
myself were on duty at Central Homicide in Los
Angeles when Captain James F. Bean, then in charge
of the homicide detail, received the call from Page Bae

s blood. stiffly, spread wide. 11 o’clock.
“She's sick,” the man said stupidly. “I’m taking her to a “A Hollywood murder,” he said. ‘“Let’s go.”
doctor.” In a fast car we raced through downtown Los Angeles
Page dropped to one knee and played his flashlight for the film city, ten miles away, pausing only long
over the body on the sidewalk. It was that of a young, enough to pick up a fingerprint man and two photog-
CASE red-haired woman about twenty-three years of age. A raphers.
startled exclamation escaped from his lips. The clothing The body was still on the sidewalk, guarded by several

sutenant Leroy
tells this story,
the Inglewood
vurder.

yoman,” Thompson

she drinks, she gets
<e hold of her head,
wry her to the car.”
he replied empha-

on the upper part of the woman’s body was stained with
blood, and had been torn to expose her breast.

“That woman has been murdered. Shot a half dozen
times,” Page exclaimed. “Who killed her? You?”

The man did not seem to understand.

“She’s sick,” he reiterated thickly. “I’m taking her to a

hd

_ LUSTED STRANGELY

William Henry Burkhart, young studio
worker, admitted to police that jealousy and
a warped sex impulse led him to slay.

doctor. There’s no use in tryin’ to stop me, either!”
He reeled and would have fallen had not Dwight caught

uniformed officers, when we arrived. A crowd of curious
persons had gathered on the street but they were being

‘kept at a distance by the officers. The police photog-

raphers, A. B. Stewart and L. C. Driver, promptly un-

‘limbered their equipment, while Captain Bean, Corsini

and I examined the body. The woman had been shot at

Pt Ra Ne a GE ae

%
is
*

MURDER COURT

quiet passageway, shocked witnesses
blood-stained monster dragging the
mutilated body of his victim.

In this
saw a

3. Her breasts were perforated with bullet
the lead seeming to have entered at the

least five tim
holes, mos! o

_in a hurry. The red 7 him. The detective held him erect and searched his back.

thing had a horrible “— clothes. He found a .38 caliber pistol in the right rear Corsini x: mined one of the wounds over the left
i went directly to . ra‘ trousers pocket. The butt of the pistol was damp and _ breast anc s\ ore in amazement.

olice, at the station sticky. He turned on his flashlight and discovered his “For Pe ’s sake, look!” he gasped.

locks from Franklin ~ hand where he had touched the gun was smeared with We exar.in:d the wound. I do not know how the other

tive-Lieutenant J. L.

blood.
‘Is this the gun you shot her with?” he demanded

t I scarcely could believe my eyes. For the
en stuffed with bits of paper!

officers fel) bi
wound hac bi

capable and efficient sharply. “Whoev + <illed her must have been crazy,” Corsini
heir way. Soon they The man looikad at the gun in drunken bewilderment. gasped.

f a ; “Where’d that come from?” he muttered. “Ain’t mine. Leaving 0: iver to take pictures of the body, we went

as they stepped from 28 = Ain't got no gun. J Lemme alone. Wanna take my wife to to a bungzio\ court where one of the uniformed officers

a doctor.” told us we \vould find Page and Dwight. They were

Page snorted in disgust. “He’s too drunk to know attemptin:: t. get a statement from a young man about

shtmare. what it’s all about. Hold him while I call Central Homi- twenty-se ©: years of age who was sprawled in a chair.

n, along the cement cide.” “That’s ho guy we found dragging the body down the

RE RENEE RENNER eR


ciara epost:

“Say,” the man pawed at Thompson with an unsteady
hand. “Can I talk to you as a friend?” ~

“Why—why sure,” replied Thompson. “What’s on your
mind?”

Burns laughed, a silly, alcoholic laugh. “Tm stiff. But
you ought to see my wife. She’s a lot stiffer.”

Thompson hid his disgust. “What do you want?”

The man clutched at the door as he weaved unsteadily.
“T want you to give me a hand. Come on.”

Thompson looked at King and raised an interrogative
eyebrow. King nodded and the two stepped out the door
after the drunken man.

“Jimmie! You’re not going with him!” Mrs, Thompson
screamed at her husband. “Please don’t. There’s some-
thing wrong.”

Real terror hung in her voice, terror born of premoni-
tion. But the men disregarded her and followed Burns
to the bungalow next door. The living room was lighted
but the drunken man snapped out the light as they
stepped inside the door. Thompson and King experienced
a moment of startled apprehension, but they felt able
to cope witha single drunk if anything should happen.

The man said “Come on’ and staggered into the next
room. Thompson and King followed him as he passed
through the kitchen and out the rear door. A cement
walk ran along the rear of the bungalows, flush with
the buildings.

The stranger followed the walk for a few feet and
stopped to bend over a huddled form that lay on the
cement near an incinerator.

“My wife,” he exclaimed thickly. ‘She passed out.
I want you to help me carry her to my automobile. I’m
gonna take her to a doctor.”

The light was very dim and Thompson could not see
the woman distinctly. But he bent over, felt of her face
and recoiled as though he had touched a rattlesnake. The
face was cold with the clammy chill of death!

~,CRIMSON TRAIL

Lefts The rear door and entry. of
Hollywood’s infamous “honeymoon
cottage” are shown stained with
Mrs. Burkhart’s blood. Wt

a7

Rey teat he

CRACKED. CASE

Below: Detective-Lieutenant Leroy

E. Sanderson, who tells this story,

also recently solved the Inglewood
triple sex murder.

hte igong egy

“You don’t want a doctor for that woman,” Thompson
growled, “You want the coroner.”

“Naw, she ain’t dead. Every time she drinks, she gets
this way,” the man insisted. “You take hold of her head,
Y’ll take hold of her feet, and we’ll carry her to the car.”

Thompson backed away. “Not me,” he replied empha-
tically. “I’m leaving.” ;

Thompson and King did leave and in a hurry. The red
splotches on the drunken man’s clothing had a horrible
significance to them now. Thompson went directly to a
telephone and called Hollywood police, at the station
which is located but a few short blocks from Franklin
Place.

Within a matter of minutes, Detective-Lieutenant J. L.
Dwight and J. A. Page, two very capable and efficient
officers, were in a fast car and on their way. Soon they
pulled up in front of the cottage.

Dwight clutched Page by the arm as they stepped from
the car. :

“My God, look!” he said.

What they saw seemed like a nightmare.

A man was backing toward them, along the cement.

“

walk w
by the }
body a:
strides,
stiffly, <
“She
doctor.’
Page
over th
red-hai
startled
on the:
blood, z
“Tha
times,”
The:
“She’

doctor.
Here
him. T
clothes.
trouser:
sticky.
hand w
blood.
“Ts t}
sharply
The r
“Where
Ain't gc
a docto
Page
what it’
cide.”


>

FRONT PAGE

DEATH'S GATE

Above: A close-up of the alley be-

side number 6742! Franklin Place

where police were called to probe
an amazing crime.

sidewalk,” Dwight pointed disgustedly toward him. “He’s
so damn drunk, he can’t even talk.”

The drunk was not a very prepossessing person just
then, although he undoubtedly was a fairly personable
young man when in a norm al state. His face was flushed,
his eyes blood-shot and his mouth, drooling saliva, hung.
half open. A sickening aroma of wine surrounded him.
His shirt and Suit were spotted with blood.

“What does he say about the killing?” 1 asked.

“Nothing,” growled Page. “xcept to say that he didn’t
do it. He doesn’t even know she’s shot. That’s how drunk
he is.”

Briefly, Page and Dwig)t related the facts they had
gleaned so far. They had te ced to the Thompsons and the
Kings and also to the manascr of the bungalow courts,
Mrs. Nina Scott.

From Mrs. Scott, they ‘.ac learned the drunken man*

had rented the bungalow that afternoon, paying the rent
with a $45 check and giving his name as C. L. Burns. He
had taken a few pieces of uggage into the bungalow and
left a short time afterwar:is, to return a few hours later
with the red-headed wom:in whom he had introduced as
his wife. The woman with whom he returned was the one
lying dead out on the cerent walk. After the man had
introduced her as his wife, they had gone into the bunga-
low and that was all Mrs. Scott knew of them.

“But his name isn’t Burns,” Dwight’ interposed. “We
‘found some letters and otlier identification in his pockets.
His name is William Henry Burkhart. He is not so drunk
that he doesn’t know that. He says the dead woman is
his wife and that her name is Burkhart too. We cannot
get anything out of him as to who he is. or who his
wife is.”

Captain Bean, Corsini and I turned our attention to the -

bungalow—the one which Burkhart had rented. A large
stain showed on the carpet in the center of the living
room. I touched it with my finger and the finger came
away dripping red. A blood -stained cushion lay on the
floor near the crimson pool.

DETECTIVE

A broad, bloody smear led from the center of the room
toward the kitchen and the rear door. We followed this
trail out along the cement walk to where the body lay.

“Evidently she was shot while in the living room and
he had dragged her this far before you stopped him,” I
concluded.

Dwight and Page looked at one another. I could see
grim smiles on their faces.

“Jt’s not so simple as that,” said Page. “Come on, we've
got something else to show you.”

HE HOLLYWOOD detectives led the way to the

street where a 1929 Ford coupe was parked at the
curb. ae :
“This is the car thé manager says Burkhart and his
wife arrived in,’ Dwight explained. He opened the door
of the machine. ‘‘Take a look.”

Flashlights were turned on the interior of the coupe
and showed the seat cushion to be stained with blood. So
was the back cushion. A closer examination disclosed a
bullet hole in the right door and a second one between
the door and the back of the seat.


ee rears ve

ng The Dafy Orange Sett News

SATURDAY MORNING, JULY | 25, 1986

A

afte

WPA }

.
a j |
: TS Fa CO “yr Nap ore
| J | uts En d | LAT ARE T
LATIT a hu
L inca ft i) es
mpment r err
4 { ;
u Li.
t Arae i oe
a! n aba IUIILLE!
P ae wens “
} ’ ashe gd eo
My iyi » APratada, at i j ' 7.
Arrow Lj
come | ine |
Auditor to Submit R y . , jover su va! iey youths oe canine
Wir mit Report Next Young Spaniard Expiates Murder ‘n third. peri _ :
eek on Kequest f i Weil over 200 va Hova nitehd. DUN wv
0 ~ r Ie. p WS attend us ness iden yaie
i Mea q rGain | Of Sweetheart; Unremorseful °¢ the camp, which pycan June so Dem:
vo ard Y ; R
; unicipal Budget As He’ Mounts Gallows“ terey ret PeTigas until res Santa Fe Work Re
if erday, i 5
ens oe A . Sfey a ree
Investigation of + The third period cdurt of honor; xicans -
b j Wars ° he municipal] Antonio Cabrera, 21-year-old. was held Thursday ni around eal
ooks relative to the city’s request youth who killed his sweetheart camp fire. Pah
a i AY es Sw Heart, ip iat bite fame é
to increase its budget from the'tekal eee Smith, 17, in San Fetnar Bronze palms were presented to Colad +
limit. of $409,000 to nbout $425.00 /dino last year, went silently to his John (sarratt and James Souther, . at t Pda
rac fo about $125,000 death on the galiows at San on. both of San Bernardino by Jack vat the WPA
C lete ‘Saher . . mie tt ony Juen- tin by Jack sea ay
state 5 me ee yesterday by the tin prison yesterday morning. i, assistant scoutmaster of the! ° e2 Prange {
State ooard of equalization. Cabrera, who insisted fram the s troop, who pre . Me oa belo sass
Lester J, Ryan, supervising aud-! hour of his arrest that he exneri- Beth Stiuther and Gar-} down ste:
itor for the board wil’ submit ~. ,enced. no remorse, went to. hia! 7 ec ' a Wt Sle Lay gui
sara ¢ “i , . sunmit his | death calmly, following a ent | (Co nued on Pace Nj he nds with ti
: 0 the board in Sacramento sound sleep and a hearty br “y lpailroad ot bara
nex wee toa oe a . £5 i " wh pea JTEAK- | i aps ae
‘ *k. The board's decision {25t~He was dropped through the | i} publie-relief rod]
should be made the first week in ‘'2P at 10:10 o'clock and pro Th ear. =
August, the auditor dec} , nounced dead 13 minutes Jater by Us ee: ;
M ared, pri8on physician ? , en Taba
Mr, Ryan's. visi Nowe > biphaiai d i t wager
visi. followed a re- PRISONER !8 SILENT H | session at i
me i decid city to spend a budget| Cabrera was administered the last | . Iter ©. E. Heaton,
| Thomas Charlton, master council- "00, a supplementary budget | rites of the Catholic church Thurs- Holmes Sunnty
Cre ts tar: OF San Bernardino DeMolay hy ape and: an added $69,675 to day night in his cell by the Rev. A roe 6 voted
arly e€lp finance a e Fath ne 12 ev. | ; for the Santa : ;
age, f a new ci ¢ ather G i . | At es H Santu Fe. t-
edge, heads city's delegation atlageregate, 3125.900. city hall. The ‘ eorge A. O'Meara, who to-| sane pee eh
tert convention in Riverside, SF e, $485, including aj} @3% accompanied him on “the last 41. $5,908 supplement to complete | ¢°fail his futile atremn
es ; surplus, is approximately $25,000: Mile.” Cabrera made no pormiicte | the $30,000 music and drafting build- ; S¢¢t'on crews baa he
6-! when bids will be submitted for the more than the limit set by the | either to the priest. or iy ents | ing of the San Bernardino Valley l with railroad exporie
tiv-! conclave next year. — wentd 5 A board ruling or the peo | guards, as he left his cell sti junior college received WPA Diree- | fitinries s¥ the Pic
‘ 1 a G2 eh Me is ple’s ¥ i sis re | an — eer BC | i s . ft
3 A track meet will be held this Lo: vo! are the only methods the; mounted the gallows, a dispassio tor Ralph B. Smith's approval ves- | SIAITH NOT pet
fe ifternoon in the Riverside junior limit can be dehcedad. ate, forlorn figure. spassion- | terday. Ger Smesbiees or CRI
ae olege sf i t to Tha P 1 HNOtio 3f
Fs. Re stadium and. tonight ‘there wooD AIDS RYAN Cabrera’s execution followed i The supplement, which is en route | Brown, the ;
pire iibe 3 dunce cat the audi« The city has pledged the ine! series of last-minute citemot Qeag Bd the state WPA hes is
severe: creases will be made with no rise! | his attorney, Theodore ¢ “Ke ne : paen increased labor j
: u sates.“ will in the tax rate, qeplte the fact the! of San Bernardino be oa hig ita pioject due to the ho enc ¥
wv ( ion of Maren proposed sim. is 5ON0 more tha iThe attorney anheared in i : -i wage scale adopted by the work re-
‘ + . ‘er viee é MPCs Ct Ty super-
tivity scheduled fiscal year's 3 expenditures, ,i@t court before Judge Chagles” . lier program July 4,
ideet Of. Allison a month ago to ask awe ider construction now, the build-
: es . careful afcoram nk wien: oe es at ing ill be of reinf Hewate
hich, if granted, !a finishe ;
ci we m cipal t nies would have nermitted th : » and finished to + to. tt
Mm mi Arr ki Stay the 2 ing of: his permitted the iegae ‘modified Spanish ture’ oft. : Mic ieteas
1 4 Le i hud ; 3 re  dideae saa tenans new. ple 1 +t _ etre ff; Mr. Henton «-
dad 1 1 pede 2 eee limitation: Jaw ;| hot guilty aabie.s ‘Ww plea | the rest of the junior college struc- nade me :
t ui } q that a political subdivision may in Cabrera, the attorn * ae sanity. | tures. . . ns
i 4 Be i 2 sian lent | ms OF 1A) n- LOT the t ney saic vA \ 5) experien ;
‘.. ei w r | crease expenditures from taxes by! escaped if e of a Flori da. ellen The project calls for complete in- | j sa\teay :
i TAL PLOT IY : ea nt each vear bevinning | for the miadea, rida farm) stallation of heating, plumbing and WPA ti:
ii Saeed iee3 fagagiin Thue the 1936-37 outlay was Se eect ne led, therefore; jelectric wiring systems, The ‘root WDA Tou:
ah Fad ty iis é ain . mains best ray nee ym petent. ; Will be of concrete h or ae ® map in
Paasdd Gaede ahh proximately pec eent| Denied the writ, the atte ete with ornamental Mfr. Heaton. «
a cea 24k Le ti BwUu a ae le Us it, the attorney jtile finish. Floors will be of usbes-! 5! eaton, “had
| tat het | ya re] four a reese hetoar te. ¥E Pease 5 e 4 7
Pu nae ‘dding 5° por t ‘et 1@ case before the Cali-; tos tile. pt f the Sa
pee ng o per cent each! og | é of dus
a tt | Continued on Nineteen} The three rooms of the basement: | +)
pole ud - oe Bea si Ps aioe | underground, will .
tt € for : pe Cd. band practice and sing- :
gh BE Lor OM, : ‘ i Werle ey Released on ping * 3. The t hree rooras on et a
} 3 4 EUres, the uppe fl ss 5 a im) GEc Q PL, AY mt
i 3 fd with thatomade ny | ae A a lt abhi r fioor will be for crafting, | : YET
. ¥ : ade hy | Charg Les of Assau Zi The structure will be attac cea Pa the sugeesic
officer when’ the! ciety ‘ i : ik pe allached tole e na ‘a: 3
Pree was first submitted Pe ey, San Bernardino, , the main biock of buildings and to Phe eit nates
PGET ADOPTED. jwas free ny yesterday on a onhiwe of | pthe partiauy fi wari anditoriuts, 2 eo8
& A 3 tcalrenae sae ted a > with a den weepon, after! Ki ps : ws ttt - 3.
, } a Bie . He vt Mnary hes: heforpe Ine ft indi? of City W oman i
t MON’ Cd Ne SHOTS As othe . A. Wick os : 7 oy + ng ms ai 4 ‘
{ T OEE LOT 4 S uy Vorlos, accused of triking his H fs 5 (aimed oy LIAN: :
ae He FANS law, Sam R sith: adn we - nes Sop
; ; : ai ef the: pana ai ee " rother of: Mra 1 tocimip:
t ; : { or : tr Tne. Case ays atarR a co Mrs,) » hy
; . Vt hy a Oa .3 mn Bernardino, j f2 FOR Oe. fey
a} : d ; Sy ri sTVIB. 2th { Ai
41 6 eA the. Towne) (Continued on) Paice
i ‘ Ao ly teeth nf, i
i t : wa
v ‘ histrepring, be > ‘ ae:
e a hecsdaei’ Phe

Va WA}

CABRERA, Antonio Cocoa, Mexican, hanged at San Quentin (San Bernardino) on 7=2),-1936.

"(AP) Tallahassee, Fla., June 2), 1936-The governor's office announced today Antonio
Cocoa Cabrera, 21, of -Tampa, who is schedyled to be hanged at San Quentin Prison
Friday, is not an escaped inmate of the Florida farm colony for the feeble-minded, Dr.
J. Maxey Dell, superintendent of the colony, informed officials here that Cabrera, after
being committed to the Gainesville institution February 22, 1928, was paroled the same
year and in 1930 was discharged. This information will be sent to Governor Frank Merri-
am of California without any recommendation for a 30-day reprieve for the condempad

man, the Governor's office said, Governor Merriam can use the information as he sees
fit, officials addkd., Cabrera was convicted at San Bernardino, Calif., in May, 1935,

of killing his 17-year-old sweetheart, Alberta Smith. No insanity plea was offered at
the trial," AMERICAN, Hattiesburg, Mississippi, June 2), 1936 (9:h.)


rR, oe i re

CABRERA, ‘Tony, Mexican, 22, hanged San Quentin KMA@WKaRa¥X (San Bernardino County) on
July 2h, 1936. 3 |

!
1 SECTION TW
j
| CLASSIFIED

et

= ay Orange Baw | Nowe

NING, J Jl ULY 24. 1936

Winning

Pyy
j j
ry | 2

n | Vi San Bernardino county has 66,829
1 |

49 434 | voters eligible to cast bh Hats in the
iif

ad i

porn

the Democratic shif

ridin? too Annee
STISONG at iTS UF

aug. 25 primary
crease of approxim

pension pian rexis-|
and vote for Harry }
the Townsend candi-!

over
\ the number r ter
alist. Iux- 1, 3 ‘ | primary, County Clerk Harry L.
idualism, | Young Spaniard Scheduled {to Allison announced yesterday.

fee cepa reams — Leeroy asec
oe
pcm
eo
Cc. __.2
ewe me oe
rae
ea
, sg peo
meet ae
POE Tek aE
eed e2s
ee
a

id are the two Pr

oposal to Bring in Mexicans Const:
lide with On. T

ee : The tahulation, caronited tha
a La ? Aa? wht atta LOn, esp. Om sh’ Ine -™ Ty fs ' tryes
io ire I; ik i : ae c 'S 4 ine vy H ttes
a | ake Last Long Wai kK to ;election department of the clerk's ino Democrate | O fake Aauway so ds wil Un ;
\OSeVELLS g | offi > air in ¢ f } | np .¢ "
| San Quentin Gallows pOeGe, Minder: tne. Girection of -Dey~ Hetore ectors-— =| Boys
€s, has | juty Clerk Walter V. Combs, shows . !
exotic | an inerease of 4,400 — |
a hapiathaazel’ 2 mm ars. 5 his r
Yony Cabrera, 22, nis of Democrats re ‘ e San andina f
yeatheart +n to um ¢ OOD ir 1% Seiwies + ke sue
nas th nee. . mays ce oe ip of we in tr Democrats have nim inv-are x ipl
eath when sne went Biy Wain oie The fi that 7000 vates in
7 ed mother, lf Demoer 3 2] 26.390 distriet axed rd “ F nal
: todav at ntin prizen QWNSENDITES Sin the rti-t i int. rtation f Mex SOMATS
Cobre? rag 314 ice
Canrera Laserey t ocrats, who COMMMU INITY TOTALS mainten. Service «
Ss i othilea a ia. 4 : ;
acy Le woods, glad he killed hi é} 1 of the county's Following are the figures for in- > district. at a meet
6 ay, 1935, will go to his we fay Primary, now have 56 per .corporated cities and other major 1OoN «at t
% afer marine spectaculs fian> + . - . ‘ J ey: ' . , :
na a naking a spectacul aE EAE ce? cal observers credit vir- | communities: the Cah conduct
gs Cela ahle Berna this 4 tw sling hie . } ‘
onani SC BY tre 100s", twice tacking nis | x » ia thorous the pro-
Me + Ree — Yes Pert 9 44 sinram . ~ 1
{ enarm, Ase he the Vaniornia mare DS de ct | posal to niizration
Mor, ANG | cou! ppeal | 4 c oF a ¢ nm 2 | bars to of Mexi- !
or doing WISUM UrHELD | = om Sue ae \ i te gh : .
: Fc ce : ; wit os og) | apo he See oe cans, sat chamber}
1e@ Wrongs rp t os;ances, the high court es ee: 2 8 = ¢s Q's | president. |
7s of Superior i c | io ies ote ee . . }
zs of Superio © te ek - eek  e es HEATON MAY ATTEND
Ailison, before = t 5° § £8 Y .'9 ~ rE nt ig .
. ’ i y 4 & es ~~ 2 om = © C. BE. Heat: anuzer of the San
{ L, £3 ga € ‘* ar Q 2arnard) ¢ » ’
Tarvt Ft oe Oe a a ad } HOSP Er Hes eg Berna lino ‘ he Holmes
180 1 4 t Supply Co., ing age
eae se. th 588 2 6 ) Santa Fe railway t: 1 Far
a te 839 7 a e's 3 Who. said such a move was heing | dee id
‘ any LOTBE: ss AD ‘ 43.22 considered, has heen invited to at-lamer
Us 2: 6 3 ea ots H7 * tend the meeting to -exniain ein r
a ne i a “4 % Be 12 j proposal }
. , rs ‘ 1,673 4 Dose wee 14 4 Mr, : i ;
pened i 5 1 1 He ae | eansidesin titinnine an ie aalal
URS F ae : 38 immigration authorities for: ¢
s 1233. 12-51 BS F406 sik . nee we Ai iene
¢ 1A 1 j > 29 t ‘ —s ; aus
4 t ify Fi 4 2 » { nO < ‘ , ¢ + 4
2 sing-t B
Y radino t 12 1 21 iy i) oe 685.°.138 re f . Fs et
{ nd P } 5 5 ) to. 0) Ceant : ; :
6:4 ales . ts + 4 Q es
x > Victor 1 : eee 38 Some. 2.009 are ) CIVi
1 chang Yueaipa 2 | 1 We 8 in the San triet, OC
fiark y one Of Insanity ' od Tiakriot 1 910 AS ONT 16° AT 1 1.280. 17. 86.506 brought in bv the . fap: of
\t ) pe dey “ a] ried RG { $2 0. 1 30,203 track work Most. of 1 2 on
: Ma at Car tota 41 312. 16.99. 1 62 66.829 relief rolis at expense of taxpave
‘ iB 1 tp he i. 4 7 en 19) awd ‘
4 , otal 144. 35% 5. Peer 4 Q 63,513. and Y t i i
- enone ee = - = ae Ary rity Y
; RETAIN Ret a
— sha. me PA pee TTT , : VoAGt 1GBS
ran la MICONINONA IAL | or A
1% ;  } ; ae q : : f :
‘ 4 : ‘ 2 ‘
oe ; : 4 = | | ‘uy a4 n arn able:to Shtain ene ag ,
; : ia a | al !
a4 § ‘ 1" Pa te + +} wWhererty
4 q 3 3 q : in t { } } vt , a
5 ; H i :
i e a @ ld A i and frer i y ' { i t
ft ut rn railway has made an appeal io tt :
3 . i a WPA to drop from the relief rat Pies
© 7 a : og } * =
4 thos wh “afitea thr . wit: ey gcd ; nie
4 1 Ht ose o refuse to pt private ee
dd | So? Zune * OF ymen NPS
er —< : celina v Mayor Cc. T. Johnson €. Seas Lesgscs
; i Ont ) ? leon rs } Rtiv 7 Musi- 3 . fF ¢ ; t
‘. uu 1} ’ > ¥
ey pep in f the sun er <« ' Bry ,
‘ fc
t last “4 th res ¢
4 ‘ ne i eth 2 SUEY
, je
or 5 Wa ‘ 4 4 I .: ’
; t epee’ ea eae fT i i et


granted a stay of that execution on April 13 to allow time for the supreme court to
study the case, Grounds for the appeal: Byrd was supposedly drunk when his confessio
was taken by officers in the case; a judicial error was made in instructions to the
jury. The supreme court denied a hearing on Octe ll, 195. On Nove 9, Judge Fourt
again imposed the death penalty, setting the date for execution as Feb. , 1955, Mr.
Gilbert accompanied Waite in a last-effort try at saving Byrd's life by visiting the
governor on dane 7e Yesterday, the governor's decésion was announced to. the Ventura
minister through the governor's legal secretaryeee" VENTURA COUNTY STAR-FREE PRESS,
Ventura, California, February 3, 1955 (1:2&3) Photo of Byrd leaving court, .
"Convicted wife-slayer Walter Byrd was executed in the gas chamber at San Quentin pri
son today. He entered the chamber at 2 pem, and was pronounced dead at 2:1) pem.
Byrd's fate was sealed shortly after 1 p.smJ today when Appellate Judge Walter L,

Pope denied a writ of habeas corpus and instructed San Quentin officials to carry out
the ex-Ventura county truck driver's execution, Lawyers ‘in last minute attempts
gained an additional four hours of life ByprByrd. He was scheduled to die in the gas
chamber at 10 a.m, today, the first man from Ventura County to meet that deatheee

Here is the text of Byrd's last letter from Death Row to Rev, William A, Gilbert, who
helped lead the fight to save his life: "When you get this, I'll be gone, Just

wanted to.say goodbye and thanks for everything. Good luck and God less you for-
ever, Tell Mr. waite and David (M. Arthur Waite and David Drapeau, defense counsel
for Byrd) and everyone the same, Your friend, Walter Thomas Byrd.' It was dated Feb,
3. Text of a telegram from Gov, Goodwin J. Knight to Rev. Gilbert, in reply to
Gilbert's request that the governor re-consider Byrd's clemency plea: ‘Deeply and sine
cerely regret that after extensive study and analysis I find no ground whatsoever

for executive clemency for Walter Byrd, where evidence shows he sbole the guns and
killed his wife as she lay in bed. with her own child,! It was signed 'Goodwin J.

King, Governor,' and dated Febe 3, 12:18 pom." |
VENTURA COUNTY STAR-FREE PRESS, Ventura, California, Feb. 3, 1955 (1:1.)

1 turned
in when

1. “He
kely, he
the rifle
ntlers.

vy studied

‘The old
knuckles
and the

question

st, which
on. The
-oroner’s
in. But
e victim
1 person.
d at the
nent, the
he death
nspected

id taken
‘ers,’ his

ne time.
\dkinson

lly Lafe

)ARING

A court exhibit photo of Dunne’s
primitive cabin appears above,
with the man at right holding the
hermit’s rifle. The merciless ax-
man, extreme left, is shown with
his weak-willed accomplice.

Grimes. From what he told Nichols, he didn’t even stop to
make sure the old man was dead.”

The sheriff frowned. The briefest glance into that blood-
spattered room should have made the fact of Dunne’s violent
death clear to any one.

“T want to talk to both of those drivers,” Sheriff Crawford
said. “How long has he been dead, Bill?”

Coroner Nichols shook his head. “It'll take a doctor’s post
mortem examination to tell us that. Might have happened
yesterday, or a day or two before. Hard to say.”

“We've got to fix the time as accurately as possible,” the
sheriff said grimly. “Whoever was here at the time of the killing
must have been seen. But we’ve got to know which day it was
before we accuse anybody.”

Nichols promised to arrange for an autopsy as soon as the
body could be taken to Crescent City.

While the rest of the party returned to the county seat, taking
with them the body of George Dunne, the club, the murder ax
and other material evidence, the sheriff locked the cabin door
against possible intrusion and turned his attention to the ground
around the cabin. The rain had destroyed any footprints that
had existed, but he was not willing to overlook any clues.

As he searched, Crawford tried to find the most likely motive
for the slaying. That bloodstained club seemed to indicate a
premeditated crime, yet it was hard to conceive of any one de-
liberately planning to murder old George Dunne. One of the

25


a a oa a a aa

sok

Seg Ry WP

old-time, honest pioneers who had helped
to settle this isolated corner of north-
western California, Dunne, although liv-
ing the life of a hermit, had been affec-
tionately regarded throughout Del Norte
county.

Had the slaying, then, resulted from
blind passion. It was possible. Old
George Dunne had possessed an Irish-
man’s temper, and he would back down to
no man in an argument. Yet he’d had a
delightful sense of humor that endeared
him to all who came to know him. Onlya
vicious criminal could wish to club him to
death.

Of course, there was the possible mo-
tive of robbery. Like his brother, the
sheriff left convinced that two attackers
had slain Dunne, and that would seem to
rule out the theory of an unpremeditated
assault. One man alone might lose his
temper to the extent of killing a defense-
less old man; such passion would hardly
motivate two men in the same way.

But robbery seemed an unlikely motive
for the coldblooded assault. The victim
had been far from wealthy. The small
amount of gold dust he panned each year
from his little mine on the creek had
barely served to buy his bacon and beans.
The rest of his income had been derived
from his part-time job of keeping the
county road clear during the winter,
when slides were frequent, and from ac-
commodating an occasional traveler who
wished to spend the night at his shack.

HE Dunne homestead was marked

off by a circular picket fence that
bordered the horse-shoe curve of road
and extended to Patrick’s creek, where it
met the bridge.

Looking at that bridge, the sheriff
remembered the controversy of several
years before. The road had been privately
owned then, and the builders had com-
missioned Dunne to collect the toll fees.

The stage company had refused to pay,
however, so Dunne had put a gate across
the road, forcing the stagecoach drivers
to halt and pay up before they could
proceed,

That trouble finally had been settled
and was all but forgotten, yet it had been
‘bitter enough at the time. In fact, it had
been the prime cause of the abandonment
of Dunne’s stage station, where the Ore-
gon drivers had stopped to change horses
and conduct other routine stage busi-
ness. The station at Shelley Creek, six
miles farther on, had taken over busines$
once handled here at Patrick’s Creek.

Wondering whether that old dispute
had made for Dunne a_ dangerous
enemy, Sheriff Crawford walked past
the station shed that had served as a stable
for stage company horses and went to the
new house the victim had been building.
Lacking money to finish the structure,
the old man had been working on it for
nearly two years. The sheriff examined
the building ‘and found it nearly com-
pleted. Dunne, he recalled, had been
planning to move into it shortly. His

rude one-room ‘cabin had served as a:

temporary shelter.

And that brought up another question.
Who had been responsible for the fire that
burned George Dunne’s former house to
the ground? That fire had riever been
explained. Dunne had hinted at an enemy
but so far as the sheriff knew, he had
never named a suspect.

Summing up, Crawford realized that
his information thus far consisted of little
more than vague and perhaps fantastic
suspicions, As clues, he had nothing to
go on except the condition in which the
body had been found, the club and the ax.
Even his theory that two attackers had
been involved in the slaying could not be
substantiated by the evidence.

His next move seemed to be clear. He
must ask questions. If Dunne had had any
enemies, someone ought to have a sus-

.
a

OUTS Ta LC Mie CED OY Pee ih

picion of that fact, if not direct knowl-
edge. Furthermore, the slayer or slayers
must have been observed in this vicinity.

Returning to his two-horse carriage,
the sheriff set off at a fast pace toward
the Shelley Creek station.

It was at Shelley Creek that Crawford
obtained startling information. Two men
had been seen walking swiftly along this
road. This had been on the afternoon of
Thursday, the day before the murder was
discovered.

“Which way were they going?” the
sheriff asked.

“North, toward Oregon,” the station
keeper said.

“You say they seemed in a hurry ?”

“They sure were. Walking fast as they
could go, Seemed about tuckered out
from hurrying so. I hailed them but they
didn’t stop, just kept a-going.”

REPRESSING the excitement that
surged up in him, Crawford paused
long enough to get a description of the
travelers. It was not very helpful. The
station keeper said he had not taken a
good look at either of the men, but he

. thought both were of medium height. He

could not remember how they were
dressed. There had been nothing out of
the ordinary in their appearances.

“It was Thursday, eh?” the sheriff
asked. “What time of the day?”

“Shortly after twelve o’clock. I remem-
ber I half expected them to stop and ask
me for something to eat, but they just
hurried past with hardly a glance.”

Elated at what seemed to be a real break
in the case, Sheriff Crawford pushed his
team to the limit of its endurance. It was
cruel punishment for the animals to be
forced to make some of the steep ascents
at more than a walk, but time was
precious, If the killers had been heading
for Oregon, there was danger that they
already had made good their escape.


—

ae

he knew the
place to stay
She was sur-
is she thought
old her about
mon Branson.
nd they began
sught should

h the Markels,
ither and son
ey decided to
get his house
order not to
ves, she moved
low. She kept
‘roy, but they

ave something
Ball said, “so
gave me two
1e poison from
»t there. I also
house so he
ack was fuller

round to see
. The old man
Markel about
last long. They
to the farm
iuthentic, Mrs.
1's and wrote
ynery. She in-
"~t lacked a
able cover,
thought it

ww .tter where
uake Branson's
f it were found.
said, she and
‘anson’s to. see
r, She watched
y. Troy Markel

‘tty much,” the
me for a drink
get it for him
He said to let
e did. Sure I
- all in on it.”

Gold Tooth
she signed it.
tter,” she said.
did have a hard

ter at the pre-
Ball, alias Gold
her confession.
she had written
-r, and also the
1e told the story
some death in

all the while

as guilty as

ind son, denied
ted he had been
mn. He blamed
ic troubles. He
Branson house
night Branson

iss and listened
n through the
ut I didn’t know
is about. I just
ie told me there
sens and kittens
nted me to see

1 ~ttempted to
father was
1 the case
uc August term
on of the other
February.

Murdered Hermit

[Continued from page 27]

engaged them in casual conversation
Crawford hoped to draw the truth from
them.

While Carver seemed to be debating
his problem of whether or not to talk, the
sheriff remarked that they would stop for
a moment at the Shelley Creek station. A
few minutes later they arrived there, and
the station keeper came out in answer to
Crawford’s hail.

“Are these the men you saw hurrying
past here Thursday noon?” demanded the
sheriff.

The station keeper nodded emphatical-
ly. “They sure are. You've got the pair
of them right there.” :

“Would you swear to that if you are
called upon to testify?”

The man said he would, and the sheriff
thanked’ him and drove on. Watching
Carver and Brady out of the corner of
his eye, he saw that this brief interview
had had its effect on them.

e

BRUPTLY Carver seemed to come

to a decision. ““We expect you to give

us the benefit of any doubt, Sheriff,” he
said. Then he told his story.

He and Brady had arrived at Patrick’s
Creek late Tuesday afternoon, he said.
They had found the old man alone. Dunne
had given thém supper and agreed to let
them sleep in the extra bunk in his cabin.
They had remained there another day
and night, chiefly because it was raining
so hard.

On Thursday morning they had wan-
dered about the flat, anxious to be on
their way but afraid that a worse storm
was brewing. At about 10 o’clock Carver,
who was loitering in front of the road-
side shed, hoping for a ride northward,
saw two men walking down the road.
They stopped to talk with him.

The newcomers said they were going to
Crescent City, and when Carver learned
that they had come from Oregon he asked
how good the chances were of finding a
job there. z

“No good,” one of the pair said, “but
I know where there’s a couple of jobs
open.”

When Carver eagerly asked for de-
tails, he was told that two additional men
were needed at the Monumental mine.
But he and Brady would have to hurry if
they wanted to be hired, the strangers
advised, adding that two other travelers
were on their way to Monumental.

“They were about sixteen miles behind
us, coming through Oregon,” the leader
said. “If you and your partner can beat
them there, you'll get the jobs.”

Carver thanked them and excitedly
called to Brady, who came runningrom
the cabin. He told Brady what the
strangers had said, and Brady urged that
they set out for Monumental at once.
While they talked it over, the strangers
walked on down the road. Carver saw
them pause at the gate, then one of them
went to the cabin. He rejoined his com-
panion at the gate, and after conferring
briefly they came back to talk to Carver
and Brady.

“Say, that old man must be a miser,”
growled the one who had gone -to the
cabin. “I asked him for something to
eat, and he wanted to know if I had a
quarter.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Carver replied.

ceceieiaee ae

The man cursed and would have started
an argument, but Brady drew Carver
aside and urged him to come and get his
blankets so they could start for Monu-
mental without further delay. Carver
agreed and they went to the cabin, got
their blankets and said good-bye to the
old man. When they came outside again,
the pair from Oregon had disappeared.

“And that,” Carver concluded, “is why
the Shelley Creek station keeper saw us
going by in such a hurry. We wanted to
get to Monumental in time to beat those
other fellows to the jobs.”

Privately, Crawford decided that this
story was one of the flimsiest alibis he had
ever heard but he did not want to commit
himself too soon.

“You fellows should have come for-
ward with this information immediately,”
he said mildly. “Now all I can do is try
to find this other pair you’ve told me
about.”

Early the next morning, they arrived at
Crescent City. The sheriff was startled
to find the town astir at this hour. The
saloons had evidently remained open all
night. Roistering groups staggered along
the boardwalks from one bar to the next,
singing and shouting.

Then Crawford remembered. It was
New Year! He had completely forgotten,
and the year 1905 had been ushered in
hours ago.

“A fine New Year this is for us,” Brady
observed bitterly.

Carver asked quickly, “You gonna lock
us up?”

Sheriff Crawford slowly shook his head.
“No, I’m taking you toa hotel. The jail’s
probably full, anyway. You fellows go to
bed, and don’t fail to be on hand when I
call for you.”

The pair promised not to leave the
hotel. Crawford left them at the Del
Norte, where the clerk said he would
notify the sheriff if either of the pair tried
to leave.

As he drove to the jail, Crawford re-
flected that he was not taking unnecessary
risks. Escape from this isolated region
was virtually an impossibility, and they
must realize that any attempt to run away
would put the brand of guilt on them.

Under-Sheriff Crawford was awake
when the sheriff entered the office ad-
joining the jail. “Full house,” he said,
grinning.

HE sheriff went and peered through
the bars into the “bull pen.” Three
men lay sleeping on the floor, two Indians
and a white man. They were obviously
drunk. In the two cells, all the bunks

. were occupied.

“All of them had too much New Year?”
asked George Crawford.

‘His brother nodded. “Those two young-
sters in the back cell got in trouble early.
When I got back from Patrick’s Creek
yesterday, Constable Gordon telephoned
from Klamath. He said a squaw had
complained about a couple of drunks
pestering her young niece. This Indian
girl is pretty, and one of these fellows
fancies he’s a lady-killer.”

Sheriff Crawford was tired and very
sleepy but he stayed awake to hear his
brother tell how he had gone to a place
ten miles south of town, where he had
been met by Constable Gordon from the

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79

t knowl-
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vicinity.
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‘rawford
lwo men
ong this
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irry 2”

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-red out
but they

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paused
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taken a
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It was
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RING

Arriving finally at Monumental, where
buildings on either side of the road at-
tested to extensive mining operations far-
ther back in the hills, the sheriff tied the
horses and hurried to the company’s of-
fice. This copper mine was so close to
the Oregon boundary line that he feared
there was little chance that the fugitive
pair had remained here.

He met a man who was just emerging
from the company store. The sheriff
identified himself and explained his mis-
sion. The man, an assayer named Clerc,
said he had been deeply shocked to hear
of George Dunne’s murder. He had often
sent the old man supplies by one of the
stage drivers, he said, and added that one
of the teamsters at the mine had bought
some tobacco for Dunne a few days ago.

Sheriff Crawford was intent upon cap-
turing the two fugitives, but he said,
“That so? What’s the name of this team-
ster ?”

“Hugh Shelly,” the assayer replied.
“He bought the tobacco for old Dunne
last Monday. Except for the mur-
derer, Shelly must have been about the

DETECTIVE

.

last person to see the old man alive.”

The sheriff made a mental note of this,
then inquired about the pair he was pur-
suing. Clerc looked startled and said two
strangers had arrived on foot Thursday
evening. They had been given supper
and had stayed over to ask the foreman
about jobs. Told that no additional men
were needed, they had continued to hang
around in hope that something would
turn up.

“Have they left yet?” Crawford asked.

“No, I think they’re still here. They’re
planning to pull out first thing in the
morning.”

“Lead me to them,” Crawford re-
quested, loosening his Colt in the holster.

They found the pair in one of the bunk
houses. At sight of the sheriff’s badge,
they turned pale. But both gave their
names and nervously agreed to answer
the sheriff’s questions.

The taller of the two said his name was
Jim. Carver. He was a woodsman and
carpenter, he said, and was looking for
work. His companion’s name was Pat
Brady. They were from Humboldt

county, 150 miles south. They were
traveling together, seeking jobs.

The sheriff came to the point. “Did
you two stop over at old man Dunne’s
place on Patrick’s Creek ?”

They were silent. Then Brady opened
his mouth to blurt out something, but
Carver silenced him with a fierce look.

Crawford repeated his question, sternly
this time. The men exchanged glances
and it was evident that from now on
Carver would do the talking.

“We heard about the killing last night,
Sheriff,” he said, “but we sure didn’t have
anything to do with it.” '
“Who said you did?” the sheriff coun-
tered. [

Carver looked sullen. “If you don’t
suspect me and Brady, what’re you here
asking us questions for?”

The officer explained that it was his
duty to question every person who might
be able to throw some light on the mys-
tery of the old man’s brutal slaying.
Carver looked relieved but he was evasive
still.

Finally Crawford tried a bluff. “You
fellows might as well come clean,” he
said. “I know you stopped at Dunne’s
place on your way up here because you
were seen,”

Brady cried, “But we didn’t!” He
caught himself, looked at Carver, then
fell silent.

“All right, boys,” the sheriff growled,
“if you won't tell me what you know, I’ll
have to take you in.”

* @ THIS, Carver threw out his hands

in a gesture of wild appeal. ‘‘Please,
Sheriff! Do you want us to stick our
necks in a noose? We didn’t kill Dunne,
but we’re strangers up here. Unless we
prove ourselves innocent you'll try to
hang that killing on us.”

Puzzled, the sheriff wondered whether
it was guilt or innocence that made the
man’s voice quaver.

“We don’t hang strangers up here just
because a crime has been committed,”
he said. “If you tell a straight story
you'll be safer than if you refuse to talk.”

But for all his assurances, the pair re-
fused to commit themselves further.
Brady seemed inclined to talk, but he ac-
cepted his partner’s leadership. And
*Carver said they wanted time to think it
over. The sheriff had no choice but to
take them back to Crescent City.

After he had searched the men and
found them unarmed, he allowed them to
get their blankets and few belongings.
Inasmuch as Dunne had been slain with
his own ax he had not expected to find the
slayers armed. But the attitude of these
two puzzled him. They certainly knew
something which they were withholding,
but whether that was a sign of guilt he
could not determine.

He borrowed a fresh team to replace
his tired horses, and the long ride to
Crescent City began. At first the sheriff
was alert for the slightest false move, but
neither Carver nor Brady showed any
desire to escape. They seemed to be re-
covering from their first alarm, and as he

[Continued on page 79]

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Early the next morning Zander and
Bates conferred with Captain Steed. He
agreed that it appeared most likely that
the murder was the work of a professional
criminal. The motive was most likely
burglary, robbery or a professional kill-
ing. Burglary seemed the most probable.

“A screwball . burglar,” Zander sug-
gested. “One with a trigger-happy twist.”

Bates, who had worked for several
years as a Juvenile Officer; made another
suggestion. “This could be a kid job.

-A*punk who was ‘scared and fired at the

first sign of danger.” bs

Steed ordered several different checks
to be made. The Robbery Bureau was
asked to check their files for all suspects
who operated in residential areas. The
Burglary Bureau was asked for all sus-
pects who used tools to cut screens and
glass and clipped telephone wires. The
Juvenile Division was asked to coinb
their files for gun-toting juveniles. And
the Patrol Division was asked to check
their Field Interrogation Cards for the
past 24 hours.

The Field Interrogation Card system
used by the Los Angeles Police had often
proven its great value. Whenever patrol
Officers question any person for any rea-
son a card is filled out. with the name,
address, and other identification details,
along with the location and time. These
cards become a permanent record,

As these checks were being made,
Zander ,and Bates visited the Docontrs

Office. Doctor Frederick Newbarr, Chief:

Autopsy Surgeon, had completed his

work. He handed them a copper-jacketed

bullet.

As the officers were about to leave,

two young women arrived. They were
Mrs. Marsha Marlowe’ and Miss Judith
Wren, nieces of the victim, who had been
located by Valley. Division detectives.
' After they formally identified Mrs. Ed-
munds, they told the officers that they
hadn’t actually been very ‘close to their
aunt.. They hadn’t seen her. since -Christ-
mas. time. They were certain that she
had: had no great sum of money nor any
other valuables in her house. Her only
other relatives were two nephews living
in San Francisco.

At the Scientific Bureau,’ Sergeant Rus-
sell Camp, ballistics expert, made a quick
examination of the death slug. “Until I
study it further,’ Camp said, “I'd say
that it was a .38 caliber. It’s the type
used by the British, commonly known as
the British Commando. Probably sused
in a Smith and Wesson revolver—the
short, break-open type.” q

On the ad of this information, the
Pawnshop Detail was asked to check its
files for such a gun passing through pawn-
shops in the Southern California area.

ANDER and Bates then went back’

to’ the Benton Way house to make

another study of the scene in daylight:
But before they could get started, Mrs.
Nell Whitehead, who had been located
by other officers, arrived.

“There’s nothing missing, I’m sure,”

the woman said after she /had gone /

through. the entire house. “Did you find
her will?”

“Will?” -Zander was a little surprised,

.“You:know about it?”

Mrs. Whitehead went to the desk where
Mrs. Edmunds kept personal effects. “She
said she had it here.”

A search of the papers revealed a
simple will, written in the unsteady hand
of an elderly person. Dated October 20,
1949, the document stated that she was
the sole owner of the house and lot -and
“it is my wish that the amount of cash
in the bank or derived from sale of said
house and lot be given to my nephews and

P , tt 3 er r NTT

nieces.” She then listed her two nephews
and two nieces. 5

“Did she have money in the bank?”
Bates asked Mrs. Whitehead.

“Very little, if any,” Mrs. Whitehead
said. “I often made her deposits for her.
Just her pension check. She sold some of
her things to raise money now and then.”

Mrs. Whitehead explained, that she
sometimes advertised in the newspapers
and sold dishes, paintings,- and other per-
sonal belongings. This immediately sug-
gested to the detectives that someone
may have answered some of the adver-
tisements to get into the house to see
what might be found. ;

The officers found nothing else of im-
portance in the house. But when they
searched the outside again they noticed
a small’ wooden fence guarding the rear
property line. It was almost completely
eOvered with shrubbery. At one point
three of the slender pickets were broken
out.

“Someone went through here,” Bates
said as they both squatted to study the
ground.

“And a woman, too,” Zander said as he
noticed the small mark of a high heel.

The lot on the other side of the fence,
which faced Rampart: Boulevard, was
vacant. The detectives slowly covered the
entire area. At two other places they
found the high, heel marks. They called
the Scientific-Bureau to have casts made,
although it was doubtful that the print
was distinct enough to provide positive
identification.

The suggestion that a woman may: have
participated in the crime changed some
of the theories. It discounted to some
extent a professional burglar. It strength-
ened the javenile theory, since a kid and
his girl friend often teamed up.

Out of the first check of the various
files and the routine broadcasts a score
of leads developed. Burglary had five
possible suspects and several unsolved
glass-cutting cases. Robbery had some
bandit teams, one of them a man and
woman who had robbed a market two
blocks away. three days before. The Field
Interrogation Card file revealed two young
men had been halted. and questioned in
the neighborhood of the murder on the
same evening. Juvenile turned up four
pairs who looked like good suspects.

The Plymouth coupe which Mrs. Mc-
Mahon had seen at the scene was traced.
The owner, however, turned out to be
someone who had stopped out of curi-
osity. Neither he nor the person who
had been with him were in any way
connected with the crime.

Zander -and Bates, aided by several
other teams of detectives, tracked down

', each lead. But one by one the suspects

were eliminated, as were the dozens of
suspects turned up by police departments
of other cities. The officers saw their
chances of a quick solution to the puzzle
slowly slipping away from them.

N as careful’ an investigation as- was

ever made of a murder case, scores of

Suspects were checked out. Not only
leads from criminal files were followed;
friends, retatives and neighbors were ques-
tioned and requestioned. Tradesmen who
served the elderly woman were _inter-
viewed. Delivery people were checked.

Since the V-shaped piece of the palm
print was the only clue other than the
slug, every suspect arrested by the Los
Angeles Police was palm printed as well
vas fingerprinted. Every piece of .38 am-
munition and every .38 gun was care-
fully checked.

The work was so thorough and so com-
plete. that it seemed almost impossible
‘for a hot lead not to light. the trail of

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listed her two nephews

money in the bank?”
Whitehead. ,
any,” Mrs. Whitéhead
de her deposits for her.
heck. She sold some of
money now and then.”
*d explained that she
sed in the newspapers
aintings, and other per-
This immediately sug-
stectives that someone
ed some of the adver-
into the house to see
ind, :
nd nothing else of im-
1ouse. But when they
ide again they noticed
ence guarding the rear
was almost completely
ubbery. At one point
er pickets were broken

through here,” Bates
squatted to study the

too,” Zander said as he
mark of a high heel.
other side of the fence,
npart Boulevard, was
tives slowly covered the
two other places they
sel marks. They called

o have casts made,

tful that the print

‘0 provide positive

hat a woman may: have
2 crime changed some
It discounted to some
ial burglar. It strength-
theory, since a kid and
2n teamed up.
_ check of the various
ine broadcasts a score
-d. Burglary had five
and several unsolved
Robbery had some
of them a man and
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days before. The Field
file revealed two young
Ited and questioned in
of the murder on the
venile turned up four
like good suspects.
soupe which Mrs. Mc-
t the scene was traced.
ver, turned out to be
stopped out of curi-
nor the person who
im were in any way
e crime.
tes, aided by several
‘tectives, tracked down
ie by one the suspects
is were the dozens of
by police departments
(he officers saw their
solution to the puzzle
ay from them.

ww

investigation as: was
» murder case, scores of
hecked out. Not only
il files were followed;
d neighbors were ques-
oned. Tradesmen who
woman were inter-
people were checked.
--4 piece of the palm
ie other than the
‘ested by the Los
__/m printed as well
very piece of .38 am-
y .38 gun was care-

thorough and so com-
red almost impossible
t to light the trail of

|
}

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‘the; mysterious killer. Yet each, one
petered out. Weeks and months went by
as the work continued. It seemed as if
the Fates themselves were cleverly hiding
the guilty person from. the police.

As a matter of fact, the Fates were.
They seemed to be vy with the life
‘of a young mati who lived not far from
the scene of the crime—Frank Miller.
Through an incredible series of crimes—
burglaries, robberies, thefts and murders
—the Fates had twisted and turned him
at will. From Toronto, Canada, to
Europe, to New York, to New Orleans,
to. Los Angeles. Three times the Fates
had delivered the person to the police
for prison’ terms. Many times they had
delivered him for arrests. But usually
they only dangled him before the eyes
but beyond the reach of the authorities.

On July 26, 1950, a little more than
six rmidadive after. the murder of Mrs.
Edmunds, the Fates decreed: another
strange twist in the life of Frank Miller.
They delivered him to the Los Angeles
police. It happened in the small hours
of the night when Miller fastened a rope.
to a skylight window of a.drug store on
Wilshire Boulevard. He was an efficient
worker. He had pulled the rope trick:
many times. But this time the Fates
loosened the tie as he started down the
rope into the darkened store.

Frank Miller fell more than 20 feet.
With a sickening thud he felt himself
crash into fixtures below, and then he
lost consciouness. It was daylight when
he revived. His head was cut. His body
was bruised in a dozen places. And his
left arm dangled crazily as he stood up.

Groggy, Miller tried to find a way out
of the store, but found all,the doors lock-
ed from the inside as well as from the
outside. He smashed at the heavy plate
glass of the front door but was too weak
to break it. He lunged against the door,
but it refused to give.

The Fates kept the dazed Miller strug-
gling with the door for nearly an hour—
‘kept him struggling until a radio car
cruised by and stopped.

Detective Stanley Plummer of the Wil-
shire Division’s Detective Bureau took
charge of the case. Miller was booked
and placed in the prison ward of the
Los Angeles County General Hospital for
treatment. He refused to talk. But Plum-
mer went about his investigation and soon
was certain that the prisoner was re-
sponsible for a series of spectacular
burglaries.

Plummer finally located the Saturn
Street apartment and pretty, red-haired
Jean Miller. The apartment was crowded
with loot identifiable with burglary jobs.
Jeannie Miller, like her husband, refused
to talk. She denied any knowledege of
the stolen goods, and there was no way
to prove that she knew they were stolen.
Jeannie couldn’t be held.

But the Fates were having their fun.
And they gave two new twists to the case.
First they led Jeannie back to the police.
She registered at the swank Hollywood-
Roosevelt Hotel as Blanche Bertlesen and
cashed four $100 traveller’s checks. Al-
most immediately it was. discovered that
the checks had been stolen in a burglary
and the signatures had been forged.

Jeannie was promptly arrested. She ad-
mitted the forgeries. “I found the checks
in the apartment,” she explained. “I need-
ed the money after Frank was arrested.”

While Jeannie was awaiting her trial
in the County Jail, the Fates turned back
to Frank in the hospital.

N the night\of July 26, Frank Miller
let himself down 80 feet from the
window of his prison ward on a rope

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EAWwHe

45


DTT Ne MEET EES” es RO k SSPE OE Tg a Cs lees ier ee

|
| BUCKOWSKI, Stamley, wh, gassed CA (LA) May 5, 1952

A reporter's determination to solve a triple

killing is climaxed by a fourth murder, a scoop

and a vivid confession from a slayer's lips!

That the

; d Bob
BY GWYN THOMAS | an eariier

Police Reporter, Toronto Daily Star

When Canada comes up with a torso murder, a kidnaping or a multiple
1 killing, you may be sure that Gwyn Thomas Is on the scene to cover it for
the Toronto Daily Star. This veteran news hawk first stained his fingers with
printer's ink at the age of I5, and he has been going great guns ever since.
Starting out as a copy boy, he gradually worked up to the job of cub
reporter and then to the key spot: the Star's Crime Reporter. Since 1941,
“Jocko" Thomas has been covering Canada's big crime outbreaks. The
triple murder which he tells about here, is not Thomas’ only scoop. In 1946,
he. beat all other Canadian newspapers with his exclusive story on the Dick
torso murder at Hamilton. He also covered Canada's first kidnaping—the
Labatt crime. Even If it means traveling thousands of miles to get a first-
hand story, Thomas is the man to do It. In the exciting story’ Thomas tells
here, he traveled 3,500 miles to get a killer's exclusive interview. Earlier,
he had traveled from Toronto to Little Rock, Ark., where he talked to a
taxi driver who had confessed to killing six.men. TRUE POLICE CASES Is
happy to bring you Thomas' complete, firsthand account of his latest suc-
cess. His outstanding work on this case has just won for him the 195!
National Newspaper Award for the best spot-news reporting In Canada.

rder seldom blots the news in the city of Toronto the Good. We are proud of its law-
g citizens. As a police reporter on one of the large dailies, I am in a position to know
lood does not flow in the gutters with the frequency that it does in other metropolises.
n Saturday, July 31, 1949—the day before the start of the province’s civic holiday—
illion’ residents in the greater area of the City of Churches were shaken by the news
ruthless killer was at large.
prything about this case had with it a mark of violence. It had all begun when 250 shop-
m the Loblaws super market on Parliament Street witnessed one of the boldest holdups
city’s history. With his hand gripping a revolver in his coat pocket, a thug walked to
nager’s office at the rear, backed him against the wall and forced him to put $1/000
he store safe into a paper bag.
kill you if you make a move or shout before I get out,” he threatened.
pn he walked casually through the crowd of shoppers, heading for the door. Ignoring
andit’s warning, the manager yelled an alarm to Leonard Leftly, 19, one of his clerks.
rushed forward and got a grip on the gunman, who whirled around and shot him in
. Leftly fell to the floor. Women screamed. Cashiers ducked under the counters as the
Man continued his flight.
louple of men waiting outside the super market for their wives were almost bowled over
onrushing bandit.
fanwhile, unaware of what was transpiring, Alfred Layng, 24, was wheeling a baby car-
toward the store. As the thug approached him, Layng heard: the shouts “Grab him.
him!” Despite the fact that he saw the running man had a gun, Layng did not hesitate.
nged forward and got a grim hold on the fugitive’s arm.
et go, or you will get it too!” the gunman yelled. Layng held firm. There followed first
ot. Layng gasped with pain, but held on,’ Then there was a second shot through his
The killer pointed his revolver at those standing back, and sprinted to freedom. He

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tly liked him, he kept telling himself.

be ae 6

more than

an impossible feat, even for a well man,
let alone one with a broken arm and other
injuries. But it happened just the same.

The Fates were kind to him, it seemed.

Almost too kind, he felt, for they had:

kept his five guns carefully hidden from
the police. In an apartment in Santa
Monica Frank ‘began operations again.

He wanted to get enough money to pay

for the defense of Jeannie:

He was doing well, too, until the Fates
pulled another trick. He was cleaning
his guns, with which he was completely
familiar,. when somehow one of them
went off. The slug tore. in and. out, of

the fleshy palm of his left hand. It wasn’t.

a serious wound. But it-seemed that ‘the
Fates were trying to warn him that it
was that very area of his palm which had
marked. him for death. The print was
almost, but not quite, obliterated. .

Frank treated his own, wound and went
on with his robbery, work.

It was on August 11 that the Fates
decided again to deliver Frank to the

-police. They seemed to enjoy dangling

him before them. Frank was riding in
a stolen car on Sunset Boulevard. The
stolen car was recognized by radio of-
ficers. They gave chase.

Frank deserted the car and took cover
in the shrubbery in Barnsdale Park at
Sunset’ and Vermont. Within a few min-
utes more than 50 police officers sur-
rounded the area. Frank opened up when
a pair of officers got too close to him.
He nicked one. Within seconds guns were
cracking from every direction. The_bat-
tle was brief but furious. The Fates
spared Frank’s life then, but he was
forced to surrender when his ammuni-
tion was exhausted and all avenues of
escape were closed.

This time officérs found Frank’s guns
and a good supply of ammunition in the
Santa Monica apartment, some of it cop-
per-jacketed .38 caliber ammunition.

When Sergeant Camp saw the ammuni-
tion in the Los Angeles Scientific Bureau,
he called Zander and Bates. The officers
hurried to Camp’s laboratory. They wait-
ed while he fired test slugs from one of
the five guns. When it was over he said,
“This is the gun.”

At this point the Fates seemed to be

i

30 feet to the street, This was

c =r TS

oa cea ee =
through’ with. Frank’ Miller.
‘men rolled his palm prints and soon
matched it, in spite of the wound,' to the
V-shaped section left at the scene of the
Edmunds murder. :

Frank, Miller, who was further identi-
fied as Frank Thomas Buckowski, wanted
for robbery and murder in Toronto and
for crimes in a dozen other places, re-
fused to admit anything. “I don’t know
what you're talking about,” he repeated
in answer to each questign.:

Zander and Bates then turned to Jean-
nie, who had been convicted of forgery
and was serving a sentence in the County
Jail. She, too, refused to admit knowing
anything. But when they told her they
could prove positively that Frank had
murdered Mrs. Edmunds, she made a
statement.

“We were out.walking one night. Frank |

told me to wait as we passed a house. He
went to ‘the back. Later he came out
and said, ‘I had to kill someone in there.’”
Her complete’ statement was recorded
and later played back to Frank himself.
“It’s Jeannie’s voice, all right,” he said.
“How you got her to say those ' things,
I'll never know. I don’t know anyhting
about them.” ‘ ;
Frank stuck to that statement, too. He
never once admitted anything. *
Superiér Court Judge Charles Fricke
heard the case without jury. On De-
cember 1 he found Frank guilty of mur-
der in thé first degree. He dismissed
the murder charge against Jeannie, ab-
solving her completely in the matter.

OR three days Frank Buckowski waited
for the Fates to hand him another
trick. while Judge Fricke decided upon

the sentence. On Monday, December 4,
the’ Fates smiled contentedly as Judge
Fricke sentenced Frank to death in the
gas chamber. It was the first time in
the long judicial career of Judge Fricke
that he ever pronounced a death sentence
after hearing a case without a jury.

The Fates seemed then to have lost all
interest in the case. Unless they should
suddenly revive it. Frank Buckowski
has but one other move—from the death
row of San Quentin to the small, green
chamber of death on the floor below.
That’s Frank’s destination—death.

GIRL TRAIL TO THE HUMAN TORCH

Continued from page 23

He walked out of the house to the
garage and examined the ledges and poked
about in the corners without finding the
weapon. He even moved a’ five-gallon
gasoline can on the chance that it might
be hidden behind it. It wasn’t.

It wasn’t until more than an hour later,
after a fruitless search for the rifle, that
he abandoned his plan.

“Pll give Tommy one more chance,”
he told himself.

Tommy Egleston, in the early part of
September, 1950, brushed close to death
and his life was spared. He was, though
he didn’t know it, already living on bor-
rowed time. :

OMMY went right on arranging dates
for Celia with other boys in the gang.
_ Victor was pretty well left out of
things. Even Celia ran out of excuses for
not going out with him and finally told
him, as gently as she could, that she was
dating someone else. '
Victor didn’t give up hope. Celia real-

a we PE |

ioe fag asd:

She’d come back to him after she’d had
her little fling. He even told that to
Tommy and asked him to see if he
couldn’t fix it up so that he could go out
with Celia again.

And the grinning, impish 17-year-old
Tommy Egleston playfully punched his
buddy on the shoulder and said ‘laughing-
ly, “Don't be a stupe, you _stupe! What
would a smart babe like Celia see it a
dumb bunny like you?”

“Please, Tommy,” Victor begged.

“I'll see what I can do,” Tommy said.

On Sunday evening, November 12th,
Tommy called Victor. “The gang’s going
cut tonight,” he said. “Get a date ‘and
come along.”

“T'l]_ call Celia,” Victor said eagerly.
“Maybe she’ll go with me.”

“Don’t call Celia,” Tommy laughed.
“She’s engaged. She’s getting married in
a couple of weeks.”

The. phone slip from Victor’s~nerve-

less fingers. He felt cold and numb. He

could hear a senseless jabbering coming
from the phone on the floor. Then that,

Fingerprint

,

too, went dead—:
felt.

The numbness
little while. He k«
kill Tommy! I’ve

It wasn’t a new
thinking about it.
the idea, for at
knew that
- But hov

He didn

Four days late
November 16, T:
be killer to go ali
couple of other
up some beer ¢
raise the roof an

“No. girls.”. 7
come along?”

“Sure,” Vic sa
until the knuckl
me in.”

Tommy, acco
River boys, pick
hour later. The
Painesville, wh:
bottles of beer

They spent th
ing wildly, all
wine and beer
at the wheel +i
mad pace over
The four of the
sang, drank, tr
up some wome

Finally they
weaving unstea:
dropped the tw
Then, Vic besi
Justinger farm
began to do n
strained to sec
crete and gave

“You drive,

'T WAS 11:1
| into his di
motor and
gency brake.
his companio!
Tommy we
sprawled ove!
propped again
and the yout!
responded wit

pletely

Vic supped
into the gara
caught his at
dismissing th
came. Too
could never

Then he s:

The plot, :
er, came to
perfect. Dor
floor of the
small fire th
across the fi
oline. The
would go t
flame.

The plan,
quickly carr
line can t
liquid over
seat. He p
floor of the
if Tommy :
life. He di

It was th
a flaming '
book. He \
had taken
paper. The
into the ca

* for the ho

His pare

38 Master

“Your name Louis Bundy?” one
of the officers asked. The boy
nodded as he sized up the callers.

“You know Harold Ziesche, don’t
you, and have heard all about what
happened to him last night?”

“Yes, | know him. Wasn’t it aw-
ful? But I didn’t see him last
night,” he replied.

“That pair of shoes you have
on—did you wear them last night?”

The youth nodded again.

“Well, let’s take a look at them,”
said White.

The shoe soles were apparently
the same size as the ones which
had left the imprints at the mur-
der ditch, but the shape was dif-
ferent and there were no telltale
markings on either one. To the
next question the youth replied
that the shoes were the only pair he
had.

“Since you say you didn’t see
Harold last night, then tell us just
where you were—at home?” one
of the detectives insisted.

“No. 1 took the car and went
down to Los Angeles and saw a
show at the Hippodrome on Main
Street. Why?”

“Well, we want you to come with us to the police station
to try and help clear up this mystery,” Detective White said
as he directed the smiling, indifferent youth to their car.

The officers first took him to the East Side Police Station
for preliminary questioning; then removed him to Central
Headquarters, where Captain Flammer interviewed the
youth. All questions were put to him in a friendly manner,
and no direct accusations made. But youn Bundy met
every query with a consistent denial of all knowledge of the
slaying. He had not seen the victim the previous evening,
of that he was quite certain, because he had gone to a show
down in the city.

When asked about the show, he told a straightforward
story of having gone to the Hippodrome down on North
Main Street, described the vaudeville program which he
had enjoyed—and which was on the bill according to sub-
sequent checkup—showed no signs of nervousness and
seemed willing to do all he could to aid in finding the
slayer of his young friend. Although called “Sullen’” by
some of his pals, his manner did not seem to justify the
nickname.

An hour of this interview; then back to Bundy’s home
went White, accompanied by Detective Hosick. They
gave the place a general once-over; then went down to the
cellar. This basement, dug mainly under one room, appar-
ently served as a catch-all, the officers decided at the first
glance. Odds and ends of old lumber were lying about the
floor, and there was an old bench, and other discarded
articles. The officers turned things over, but found noth-
ing of value.

Back from the top of one wall the house flooring stretched
away to a dark recess. Still not satisfied with the search,
White began to wedge his frame under the house. The
house floor cleared the ground sufficiently for him to work
his way slowly back.

THE officer groped about as he edged himself along.

Presently his fingers felt the sides of a flooring support;
then touched something else. An object came hurtling out
to land on the cellar bottom.

“There, take a look at that,’ White called as he edged
over to take a deep breath.

“Why, it’s a heavy shoe. Looks rather clean to be com-
ing out from under there. And I see no irregular stitching,”
came the reply. .

White grunted; then began to wedge himself farther back
under the flooring. A few moments later another object
landed near Hosick’s feet.

“Well, look that one over then,” White challenged.

Hosick examined the bottom of another shoe, saw a new

Detective

E DEL.

4

From this Los Angeles drug store (now under a new name) Harold
Ziesche was lured by the wily, ruthless slayer to meet a frightful doom

rubber heel and sole; then his eyes widened and he called
to his fellow officer:

“Say, quit trying to get fast under that house and come
out here and see what I see. This shoe’s got the irregular
stitch pattern that we’ve been looking for! And blamed if
the side of the heel isn’t worn, too!”

White wormed his way out and scrutinized the shoes.
“Well, this one with the poor stitching matches the other
shoe, and the pair must have been worn by the person
who killed Harold Ziesche,” he concluded.

But were these young Bundy’s shoes, and had he or some
one else worn them the previous evening? That question
was rather an incriminating one to ask the parents, especially
since the mother was in frail health.

Outside, where the light was better, the stitch and worn
heel marks showed up distinctly. The officers looked at
each other.

“Just two more comparisons and then—” said Hosick as
he and White hurried for their car.

The detectives took the shoes back to the station house
and compared them with the plaster casts made by Winn.
The shoes fitted. the casts, the stitch marks coincided and
the worn sides of the heels tallied exactly! Then, to make
doubly certain, Ziegler took the shoes to the Italian shop
at the corner of Avenue 39 and Pasadena Avenue. The
proprietor recognized the officer, glanced once at the sewing
on the soles, then looked at his son and said something in
Italian. Ziegler didn’t know what was said, but from the
tone he inferred it was a stern reminder that any slip-shod
job of shoe repairing is always fraught with what the
American customer would term a “kick-back.” At least the
expression on the proprietor’s face indicated: ‘‘Well, here’s
that bum job of yours back again!”

The son looked at the shoes and readily identified them as
the pair which Louis Bundy had had half-soled; then he
hastened to explain the “bum job.”

“You see, it was like this: When I had that shoe on the
stitching machine, | turned my head to look at a new auto-
mobile passing along the street in front of the shop. The
shoe slipped a bit, and that’s what made the stitches
crooked. It looks bad, of course, but really it doesn’t
hurt—”

Ziegler left in the midst of explanations, went back to
Headquarters and confronted the suspect.

“All right, Bundy, these are the shoes that you had half-
soled at the shop on the corner of Avenue 39 and Pasadena
Avenue. And they’re the shoes that left the telltale tracks
in the ditch where your young friend was murdered. Now
we're making you no promises, but we’re going to insist that
you come through with the whole story. Let’s have it.”

i ica

Then it
not his ind
revelation
been broug

“Well, a
burned the
I work a |
a butcher
days ago |
ing that sh
night. I w
mas _ preser
broke. An

“T knew
So I went
then went
used the p
guised my
magnesia a

| WAIT!
didn’t
store and }
Harold con
away. | sta
with me, g:
He had a |
“At the
near one Si:
under my
Harold the
my club. |
flashlight.’
while he w
blow stunn
“T picke:
down to tl
ditch. The
in his insid
ing very lc
down the
twice in th
was scared
didn’t dare
back of the
“At hom
also the bi
family kno
I stopped
the station


36 Master

few times but did not regain consciousness. When the lad
was placed upon the operating table, a brief examination
revealed the worst. He died a few minutes later.

The body was removed to a Los Angeles morgue where
an examination performed by Dr. A. F. Wagner, County
Autopsy Surgeon, revealed an eleven-inch fracture on the
left side of the skull, a broken jaw, face and head bruises
and lacerations, and a broken index finger of the left hand.
When the clothes were examined it was found that the
purse and $19.75 which Mrs. Thurston had given the victim
were missing.

Reynolds’ call to the police department went to detective
headquarters of Captain Paul E. Flammer, who dispatched
Detectives T. H. Ziegler, William D. White, James Hosick
(now a prominent Los Angeles attorney) and H. F. Glaze
to make an investigation. The officers reported to. the
drug store where they were directed to the death scene and
the vacant house.

With the aid of flashlights the sleuths scrutinized the
yellowish clay soil, soaked with recent rains, and found a
sixteen-pound rock smeared with blood, but no other evi-
dence to indicate that any struggle had taken place. It
was now around eight o'clock. Harold Ziesche had left the
pharmacy at 6:40. Therefore the Slayer had a leeway of
more than an hour.

Near where the body had lain, Detective Ziegler discov-
cred footprints made by man-sized shoes. Comparison
showed that the imprints had not. been made by either
lhurston or Reynolds when they found the victim. The
Suspicious tracks were deep and ‘clear-cut in the soft clay.
Ziegler and Hosick got down with their flashlights and stud-
ied the prints closely for several minutes. They saw that
the right foot imprint had a small triangular mark as though
some heavy sewing thread had been irregularly stitched in
the side of the sole, :

These detectives, veterans of the force with many years
of successful sleuthing to their credit, immediately realized
the Importance of those tracks, especially the imprints with
the queer markings. They studied the tiny three-cornered
pattern so as to fix the shape indelibly in mind. Then, ex-
hanging a quick glance of quiet determination, they arose
from their scrutiny,

‘AIL right. boys, suppose you go to work on the rest of
the case and I'll see what | can run down by means of this
peculiar mark on the shoe sole,” Ziegler announced to the
officers,

With his flashlight he started to follow the tracks from
the spot where the body had been found, up a little hill
back from the street, but found that the soil was so dry
that the imprints faded out. In the meantime the other
detectives began searching the premises about the vacant
house. Near the side of the driveway they found a flash-
light. Thurston promptly identified it as the one his wife
had given Harold Ziesche at the store that evening. There
was no blood on the flashlight, nor anything to indicate that
it had been used to beat the victim

IEW feet from where the flashlight had been found, the
officers discovered a package which proved to be the
bottle of citrate of magnesia which Harold had attempted to
deliver that evening. Thurston identified the package from
the tint and texture of the wrapping paper that he used at
the store.

And then, about thirty feet from the front of the house
and several feet to one side of the driveway, the detectives
threw their light on a short, stout club. The cudgel was of
seasoned hickory, and judging from its size and shape was
2 plek or mattock handle. One end, which apparently had
been freshly sawed off, was splotched with fresh blood. The
weapon Was carefuly saved for fingerprint tests, but as it
subsequently turned out, none was found. This was in 19]3,
when fingerprinting was not as scientifically developed as
now. hence such imprints were not considered the conclusive
evidence they are today,

One officer remained on guard at the place where the
victim’s body had been found, lest the shoe tracks in the
clay soil be destroyed by those attracted through morbid
curiosity. The other sleuths made a thorough investigation
of the vacant house, but their search revealed nothing in-
criminating. The officers did note, however, that there was
a telephone just inside the rear door, and that the door

Detective

was not locked. The telephone was on the Sunset exchange,

Thurston’s instrument was also on the Sunset exchange,
and he felt certain that the voice he had heard ordering the
citrate of magnesia earlier that evening had come over the
same exchange. He based his contention on the volume of
tone in comparison with that of calls coming over different
exchanges of the Los Angeles system. But beyond that
Thurston could tell little. He concentrated long on the call,
trying to connect the tone of voice with those he knew, but
finally decided that he had never heard it before. The tone
was unnaturally low, and too throaty on some words to be
distinct.

“Well, it’s a sure thing that whoever placed the call would
try to disguise his voice,” Hosick commented.

The detectives searched the premises about the vacant
house for tracks. But news of the attack and slaying had
traveled fast; had brought out many neighbors, and the
grounds were too badly trampled. Throughout the rest of
the night the officers worked on, doing their best to unearth
more clues. Neighbors were questioned, but no one had
seen Harold Ziesche go down. the Street, nor heard any

(Right) Diagram
showing points of in-
terest mentioned in
the story, the crime
scene, and the vari-
ous places visited by
detectives deter-
mined to avenge the
brutal murder of the
young apprentice

sounds of an
owner of the °
eltizen who
nor knew of a
When daylig
Captain Flam:
vestigation
arrived at the
closely Heon
sole imprint,
heel was appa
markings indi
recently re-sol
Winn hurr
plaster of Par
clay imprints
and the worn ¢
the mold, Wi
from the sideln
he had of ever
In the mean

7

j ERI

& MURDE
“Loccur

“T hit him over the
head with my club.
... He fell... . 1

hit him again,” said
the crafty and ruth-

less young man (be-
low), as he told of
the murder of the
trusting boy who
had been his friend

“BUSPECT'S )
SHOES FIXED

40

~MIOLAND


e Sunset exchange.
> Sunset exchange,
heard ordering the
jad come over the
on the volume of
ning over different
But beyond that
ed long on the call,
those he knew, but
t before. The tone
some words to be

aced the call would
ited.
about the vacant
k and slaying had
neighbors, and the
sughout the rest of
‘eir best to unearth
but no one had
et, nor heard any

Scilla BON

Snaring California’s Club Slayer a7

sounds of an attack. The detectives checked up on the
owner of the vacant house and found him to be a reputable
citizen who had neither been near the dwelling that night
nor knew of any one who might have been.

When daylight came Detective J. A. Winn, at that time of
Captain Flammer’s office, now Captain in the Bureau of In-
vestigation for District Attorney Buron Fitts’ department,
arrived at the death ditch to inspect the shoe tracks more
closely. He noted the telltale stitching at the side of one
sole imprint, and also noted that the inner side of each
heel was apparently worn slightly away. Yet the general
markings indicated the, shoes were either new or had been
recently re-soled.

\Vinn hurried back to his office and returned with some
plaster of Paris. Thirty minutes later he had a mold of the
clay imprints, clearly showing the impressions of the stitches
and the worn edges of the heels. While he was busy making
the mold, Winn received dozens of the usual suggestions
from the sidelines, some of which emphasized the slim chance
he had of ever getting the impressions matched.

In the meantime Ziegler was busy on another angle. As

ERE ence
MURDER ee
“LOCCURRED

\

td
SUSPECTS
HOME .

rnd
i ¥

=

ie) ave |
oad Bs ty

Qa
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a VICTIM —
= LEFT
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store

soon as near-by shoe repair shops were open, he began call-
ing on the proprietors, describing the queer marking left by
one sole and asking if they could recall having mended a
pair of shoes in such a manner that an odd triangular im-
print would be made. There were a good many cobbler
shops in that part of Los Angeles, but at none of them did
Ziegler find a proprietor who remembered, or admitted, that
he had done such a bizarre half-soling job.

Finally, after wearing out a lot of his own shoe leather
and realizing that he was getting nowhere by describing the
sole markings, Ziegler began looking for some cobbler who
had half-soled a pair of shoes and used a type of thread
heavy enough to leave a plain imprint in wet clay soil, At
the next shop he entered, the detective obtained an interest-
ing bit of information.

“A heavy thread would indicate that the half-soling job
was done by an Italian,” he was told. “1 don’t know wheth-
er it is custom, economy or what. but almost without ex-
ception you will find that Italian cobblers use a special type
of heavy thread which is manufactured back in New Jersey
I've never seen or heard of an Italian shoemaker in Los An-
geles who used any other kind of sole thread.”

But that did not explain the queer, triangular markings
in the stitches on one sole, for Ziegler was told that
Italian shoemakers generally used the same make of sewing
machines as other cobblers, and that their style of stitching
usually coincided with the work turned out at any shop
However, as far-fetched as this thread angle seemed, Detec-
tive Ziegler decided to call on Italian shops.

But after the sleuth had called on a few Italian proprie-
tors it appeared that the thread angle was only leading him
on a wild-goose chase. Each Italian proprietor disclaimed
any knowledge of having put on a pair of half soles which
would leave an odd marking in wet soil. However, Ziegler
did note that the thread they used was heavy and stout.

Al the carner of Avenue 39 and Pasadena Avenue, not fa!

from the Thurston pharmacy, Ziegler found the proprie-
tor especially emphatic in explaining that his trade was a
time-honored one in a long line of Italian ancestry; that
he was proud of his work and that he never turned out a
job of shoe repairing which he would be ashamed to admit
The man’s very insistence caused Ziegler to become insistent.
too. Either this proprietor was right or he was not. The
detective asked to look over the daily Job book to see who
had had work done there recently. But the shop used only
a number and tag system and a cash register, hence no rec-
ord of customers’ names was kept.

A few feet away stood a youth working at a bench and
glancing around occasionally at the officer. Ziegler asked
who the young man was, and learned that he was the pro-
prietor’s son. The detective stepped over to him and in-
quired if he could recall having done any sewing job which
had left an irregular, triangular stitch-mark on a half sole

The youth looked at his father, and said something in
Italian, whereupon the latter expostulated, gradually sim-
mered down, and finally stood staring at his son. With
resignation the young man turned to Ziegler

“T just admitted to my father that | recently did a job
such as you describe, and he’s given me the very dickens
for doing that kind of work, and told me to tell the truth
So ['m telling you I did that piece of work.”

“Well, you should be proud of a father who has such
pride in his craft. You're sure that you did this job ot
sewing that I’ve mentioned?”

“Very sure. | know the customer well and | was afraid
that he would not take the shoes if he saw a few crooked
stitches, so | placed the shoes with the soles down on the
counter. When the customer came back he picked up the
pair, didn’t look at the soles, paid the bill and went out.”

That, plus one thing more, was all Ziegler wanted to know
just then. Who was the customer? The young cobbler knew
not only his name but also the address, and again told the
truth.

When Ziegler reported his investigation to the office of
Captain Flammer, orders went out for Detectives White
and Glaze to interview a youth who had patronized the
shoe shop at Avenue 39 and Pasadena Avenue. The officers
went to 124 Avenue 42, a little over three blocks from the
Thurston pharmacy, and found a husky. eighteen-vear-old
youth working on the lawn.

ne


ame) Harold
rightful doom

ned and he called

it house and come
s got the irregular
r! And blamed if

itinized the shoes.
matches the other
rm by the person

nd had he or some
2? That question
parents, especially

ve stitch and worn
officers looked at

—" said Hosick as

the station house
ts made by Winn.
irks coincided and
vy! Then, to make
) the Italian shop
ena Avenue. The
once at the sewing
said something in
said, but from the
that any slip-shod
it with what the
ack.” At least the
ited: “Well, here’s

identified them as
ialf-soled; then he

1 that shoe on the
ok at a new auto-
of the shop. The
made the stitches
really it doesn’t

ons, went back to

that you had half-
e 39 and Pasadena
the telltale tracks
as murdered. Now
going to insist that
Let's have it.”

Snaring California’s Club Slayer 39

Then it was that Louis Bundy changed his story, but
not his indifferent demeanor. His narration was a shocking
revelation of rare extremes resorted to by a youth who had
been brought up in a good Christian home.

“Well, a little while ago I told the officers here that I had
burned the shoes I wore last night,” he began. “You see,
I work a little as a gardener, and before that I worked in
a butcher shop, but I never made much money. A few
days ago | got a letter from my girl, up near Ventura, say-
ing that she was ——" here on the seven-thirty train last
night. I wanted to take her to a show and buy her a Christ-
mas present, but I had lost my money, betting, and was
broke. And I didn’t want her to think I was a cheap skate.

“| knew that Harold made deliveries for the drug store.
So I went down cellar at home, sawed off a pick handle,
then went to the vacant house at 219 West Avenue 42 and
used the phone on the back porch to call the store. I dis-
guised my voice and asked the store to send some citrate of
magnesia and change for a twenty-dollar bill.

| WAITED at the vacant house for some time, but Harold

didn’t show up. It got dark, so I went up to the drug
store and hung around near the front a while. Then I saw
Harold come out with a package, get on his wheel and start
away, | started up the street ahead of him, and he caught up
with me, got off his bicycle and walked along talking to me.
He had a flashlight and he let me carry it.

“At the 219 West Avenue 42 address he left his wheel
near one side of the driveway. I had the pick handle hidden
under my coat. As he walked up the driveway I handed
Harold the flashlight and then hit him over the head with
my club. He fell and cried: ‘Don’t hit me again! Keep the
flashlight.’ He thought that that was what I wanted. But
while he was down | hit him again with the club. The last
blow stunned him and he stopped screaming.

“I picked him up and carried him across the street and
down to that small dip where I threw the body beside the
ditch. Then I went through his clothes and found the purse
in his inside coat pocket. About that time he began groan-
ing very loud and I saw the light of a motorcycle coming
down the street. So I picked up a big rock and hit him
twice in the face with it. He still groaned a little. But |
was scared that the motorcyclist would hear him, and |
didn’t dare stick around, so beat it up over the little hill
back of the lot and ran home.

“At home I cleaned some blood off my dark blue trousers,
also the blood and mud off my shoes, without letting the
family know. Then I got into the car and drove downtown.
| stopped on my way and got a shoe shine; then went to
the station to meet my girl friend at seven-thirty. But the

train had come in at seven o'clock and she was gone!

“Then I went to the Hippodrome and saw a swell vaude-
ville show. I spent $1.50 of the money I got off Harold.
When | got back I hid the purse with the rest of the money
under some sand in the cellar. I also hid the head of the

ick there, and my trousers in a box down cellar because
| wase't sure that | had cleaned off all the blood spots.”

A shocking story, matched only by the coolness with
which the criminal told it.

Detectives Glaze and White, along with John Gray, re-

rter for the Los Angeles Examiner, took Bundy out to his
ait where he dug up the purse from under a pile of sand
in the cellar. The purse contained a ten-dollar gold piece,
a five-dollar bill and $3.25 in silver, which left $1.50 miss-
ing—the amount Bundy said he had spent. Moreover, the
youth produced his dark blue trousers from a box down in
the cellar, and also gave the officers the saw with which he
had cut off the pick handle. Then he unearthed the pick
head with the stub handle.

District Attorney J. D. Fredericks immediately filed a
murder charge against Bundy and assigned me to prosecute
the case. I was a young deputy district attorney, then,
among a corps of veteran prosecutors, and | realized the
responsibility the assignment carried. Bundy was arraigned
on January 6th, and on motion of Frank E. Dominguez, de-
fense attorney, time to plead was continued to January 8th,
when he entered a plea of “Not guilty.” Date of trial was
set for January 27th in Department 17, Superior Court.

When Judge Frank R. Willis opened court on that date,
Bundy was represented not only by Attorney Dominguez,
but also by the late Earl Rogers, one of the ablest defense
lawyers of his day, later to become the main character in the
book, “Take the Witness,” a volume of the best-seller class.
I realized that, despite the confession of Bundy, | would
have a real battle on my hands in fighting for a hanging
verdict. I did not know just what the defense would be,
but decided to present the criminal evidence in logical se-
quence; let the facts speak for themselves and depend upon
the judgment of an impartial jury.

Rogers, immaculate in attire and scholarly in bearing,
arose and outlined the plan of defense.

“We are not going to controvert or in any wise dispute that
Bundy, most unfortunately, most regrettably—I haven't
words to express my sorrow and regret—took the life of this
boy, Harold Ziesche. I am not standing here to say to you
that we shall palliate in any wise the horror of the tragedy
which has been unrolled before you. But we shall show
as best we may, how a boy of eighteen—just a youth—how
a boy well born, well raised and one who attempted to be-
come educated . . . chanced to do this awful thing which
does not occur once in a century.
We will show you that this defen-
dant, starting out with a brain not
fully developed and _ entirely
equipped at the age of eight, was
struck on the head by a baseball
bat during a ball game—struck on
the side of the head most sensitive
to outside influences, most sensi-
tive to what doctors call trauma, or
violence.

“We shall produce learned men
in the science of medicine who will
tell you that this defendant is un-
sound mentally. Now, gentlemen,
I am going to be frank with you
—and | venture that this has never
been said before to a jury in this
country—I am not going to ask
you to turn this defendant loose. |
say that he belongs in one of two
places: either in the insane asylum
or the penitentiary, where in the
exercise of proper methods of pro-
cedure, he may be benefited—per-
haps cured.”

Then, to prove that Bundy
might be the victim of a deranged

Arrow indicates the shop, a shoe store at the time of the harrowing crime, mind, Rogers and Dominguez

to which the slender clue of the peculiar footprint. was traced by a
persistent detective—a clue that led to the slayer of Harold Ziesche

called as witnesses the defendant’s
father and (Continued on page 66)

-

amare TS

100

it with a fictitious check to which he
had signed the name Charles G.
Thompson. He also disclosed that after
leaving his parents’ home Monday
morning he had gone to the Los An-
geles Gas Company at Seventh and
Alameda Streets where he quit his job,
collecting all wages due him.

As Corsini and I left the police sta-
tion, I was more convinced than ever
of Burkhart’s guilt. ;

“He deliberately plotted to kill her,”
I told my partner, “He never intended
to start out anew with Ann. His mother
says he was up and down all Sunday
night. That shows he had something
on his mind, something that would not
let him sleep.

“If he was sincere in starting anew
with his wife, he would never have
quit his job. Neither would he have
started out on the wrong foot by
buying a car with a fictitious check and
then giving another bum check to pay
the rent.

“No matter how stupid he might be,
he couldn’t help but know that the
checks would bounce and that it would
be only a matter of days before he was
tripped up. He bought the car to fool
her into thinking he was sincere and
then took her to that bungalow with
the deliberdte intention of killing her.

“That was why he gave another
name to the manager. That he got
drunk and probably killed her while
out in the machine is immaterial. He
killed her.”

Corsini nodded thoughtfully.

“But why did he kill her?” he asked.
“He was nuts about her. Everything
we’ve uncovered so far shows that.
It seems to me he’d be tickled to have
her back; to start on a second honey-
moon, as he said. It just doesn’t sound
sensible that he’d plot to kill her when
she was ready to go back to him.”

I HAD TO ADMIT there was logic.

in Corsini’s words. Yet I was con-
vinced thoroughly that Burkhart had
plotted his wife’s death and that he had
a reason. That reason it was up to us
to discover,

We checked Burkhart’s statements
about the automobile and about quit-
ting his job and learned he had told
the truth. We also checked Ann Burk-
hart’s life since she had left her
husband but could discover no trace
of anyone who would have the slightest
reason for killing her.

Two days after the murder, Police
Chemist Welsh completed his tests and
made an astounding report—a report
that shocked Los Angeles and Holly-
wood as they seldom have been
shocked.

Welsh reported that Ann Burkhart
had been ravished after death! ‘

Welsh gave a detailed statement of
his examination of Burkhart’s clothes
and concluded with the following
observation:

“From the condition of the front of
the trousers, the owner could and
doubtless did have intercourse with
the victim after her death.

(Signed) Rex E. Welsh.”

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

Corsini and I were as horrified as
was the public at this report. Yet,
somehow, I was not completely sur-
prised.

“The man must be a beast, to do a
thing like that,” Corsini growled. “If
it’s true, he ought to hang.”

I agreed with him. But we needed
more evidence. Particularly a convinc-
ing motive. Two days later, Detective
Lieutenant Dwight found that motive.
It was contained in a letter which he
discovered in Ann Burkhart’s effects—
a letter written to her by Burkhart
while she was visiting at the home of
her parents in Englewood, Colorado,
after she separated from Burkhart..:

The letter revealed the bitter tur-
moil of. a man who felt that he had
lost his wife’s love but who was un-
willing to acknowledge the fact. It was
dated December 12, 1928, and read:

“Dearest: After reading your rather
sarcastic letter over a dozen times, I
came to the conclusion you are deeply
infatuated with some other man, or

infiienced by someone else. Your —

lettcr was mean and it hurt. Do you
get a kick out of persecuting the one
tha! sincerely loves you?

“Do. you think you can cast my love
aside like an old glove? Well, you are
wrong, You have aroused a love in me
that is unconquerable. So you have
been having a marvelous time with
he-men, eh! I guess I am not a he-man.
But remember, I am still your husband.
You repeated the line after the judge
“To death do we part.” I myself have
formed a firm resolution of adhering
to that line. Do you understand me?
If not, here ’tis in plain American:

“Over my dead, body some other man
can have you.” I have a little streak
of Indian in me and when somebody

infringes, I seek revenge. You are not “<4

playing with an ordinary person. I
have suffered and seen life from all
angles, so by my experience I readily
know what path to pursue.”

After reading» this remarkable ~
epistle, I felt.that we need look no

longer for a motive. “

“There it is, right there,,’ I said so- a
berly to Corsini. “The man was jeal- =

ous, murderously, insanely jealous.”

rir .
wee ee

Sie > se Nib Re

“It fits,” said Corsini slowly. “He 7“)

could not have her and he refused to ©
see any other man have her. So he de- *

cided upon murder,”

After reading the letter, we knew =>
that Burkhart had been lying when he «~~

said Ann had promised to go back to ..”

him. Previously, we had believed that
part of his story, although Ann’s sister

had constantly insisted Ann had never +

intended to return to him.

“She was through with him,” Mrs. Be

Hoskins had stated positively. “If she
intended to go back to him, she would
have told me.”

We did not doubt but that Ann
Burkhart went to the bungalow wil-
lingly enough, But, we reasoned, she
had gone only at his insistence and
with no intention of staying. Probably,

when they left-the bungalow in his _
machine, it was because she insisted %

on-being taken to her sister’s home.

Somewhere on that ride she had been =,

killed.

a
~ee8
ie

oe Die

ae

ae

According to our theory—and the i 4
physical facts bore it out—he had shot \y"
her through the left arm and the body,

Blood On the Seat

When Hollywood police officérs searched the suspected husband’s auto they founda”
tell-tale bloodstains that aided them in reconstructing the strange case.

sit i Sapa, li i mn Palins a as

and again thr:
sat in the ca
wounded, sh¢
tempting to e
times more.
After the kil
the crime, he
Place address
the bungalow
wine tonic to
There, mad
blood and con:
lust to prove h
of his wife,
revolting deec
in blood, he 1
her once-lov:
physically wi
At last he fe
the handsome

ITHIN a:

found the
police ballisti:
examination o
Ann Burkhart
in the machine
tively that the
from the gu

of people. The:
ester, Jan and
an Austin, Ca:
Phillip Barre
Blackburn foi
first one, ther
His final clev
murderer give
nious twist to
Gangsters a
can fiction bu
interesting. W
Douglas (Lip;
boy known bc
Nemo, kidnap
crime, brought
into a life of
skirmishes, ca
encounters wi
outdoes his r
love with a
Mademoiselle
selves out of t
exciting story.
Hospitals re
ground for mi
THE ACCIDF
by Rhoda Tri
centered abou
occur in the a
hospital. You
was coming b:
having dinner
Challoner, an
aman witha.
like this were
usual thing to
he found a la
man’s body t!
if the case had
disappearance
made it necess
and swiftly Al


FIRE ee eg ey

enter of the room
We followed this
ere the body lay.
> living room and
1 stopped him,” I

ther. I could see -
“Come on, we've
the way to the
‘as parked at the

Burkhart and his
: opened the door

rior of the coupe
ied with blood. So
nation disclosed a
‘ond one between

Gacen ty ig aS ec A EE es a

ee eee

Above: The film colony’s Franklin Place. To

one of these attractive bungalows the fiend

lured his estranged bride for a “honeymoon”
that became a saturnalia of death.

Left: The ravished, murdered body of beauti-
ful Ann Burkhart is shown after its discovery
by horrified neighbors, who had been sum-
moned to the scene by the killer himself.

“This looks as though she was shot in the car,” said
Corsini in mystification. “Yet there’s blood all over the
bungalow. And you catch him dragging the body from
the bungalow to the car. Not from the car to the bunga-
low. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Youre right,” said Dwight. “Another thing. That gun
I took from him was fully loaded. T think it had been fired
recently, but we haven’t been able ‘o find any shells,
discharged or loaded. Explain that.”

We couldn’t.

“There were at least five shots fired,” I eniatond: “Did
you find anyone who heard them?”

Dwight shook his head. “That’s another funny thing.
There have been people in and around these courts all
evening. Yet no one heard a single shot. They are positive
about that. They might not have heard one shot but they
could hardly help but hear five.”

Driver had made his pictures of the body. Stewart now
set up his camera to take pictures of the automobile and
the bullet holes, from which we had pried the bullets.
These were rushed to the police laboratory for Spencer
Moxley, police ballistic expert, to determine if they were
fired from the gun taken from Burkhart’s pocket.

But it would be many hours before we could get a
report on the bullets. Meanwhile, there was much work
to be done. We returned to the bungalow and made a
further, more thorough search. The only thing of im-
portance we discovered was a couple of empty wine tonic
bottles.

Wine tonic was a popular Hollywood drink during
prohibition. But it was a fearsome beverage. In order to

make it theoretically unfit for consumption as an intoxi-
tant, certain drugs were placed in it by the manufac-
turers, but they did not prevent the wine tonic addicts
from drinking it in large quantities. The drugs merely

Above:

a eg fi.
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This blood-stain and pillow on the floor of

Burkhart’s living-room showed police the exact
spot where, according to his own confession, he as-

made of
hardenec
explaine:
But cc
We qu
hopes of
were un:
confused
that in t
“We a
able to
nothing
Burkh
wood de
to quest:
cated an
statemer
Asad
Dickey <«
there to
physicia: .

finally b «:
_a from normal when brought back to the

Thoug
Hollywo
that was
threw qi

Eventi
tastic tal
tory. We

He tol:
dead wc
Burkhar
stage. Tl
on the m
many pe
screen, t

He hac
while A)

Santa M 1)
f» had been one

married

saulted his victim’s corpse.

concoction which would rob even the most
inker of his senses. The wine tonic bottles
e stupefied condition of Burkhart.

it explain murder?

oned occupants of the court again in the
‘overing someone who had heard shots, but
assful. The more we investigated, the more
became. The blood in the automobile and
cungalow was difficult to explain.

ot going to get anywhere until Burkhart is
” said Captain Bean decisively. “There’s
> we can do here right now.”

vas led toa police car and taken to the Holly-
ve bureau where another attempt was made
iim. It was hopeless. He seemed too intoxi-
rugged from the tonic to give a coherent

ic measure, it was decided to take him to the
Cass Emergency hospital and ask surgeons
what they could do to sober him up. The
orked on him for more than an hour, and he
. to emerge from his “stupor.

letective bureau, he could talk some; and
iat we wanted. For more than an hour we
ions at him,

y, we learned his story. It was a weird, fan-
imbling, disjointed and not entirely satisfac-

- ened with close attention as it unfolded.

os that his name really was Burkhart and the

-a was his estranged wife, Ann McKnight
ye was a dancer and had appeared on many a

had met a few years before while working
» lots and had been married two years. Like
is who had attempted to win fame on the

«, had won nothing but unhappiness, and both
finally h. d
-asen a job with the Los Angeles Gas Company

»een forced to abandon the movies.
iad secured work in an Owl Drug Store at

‘a and Western Avenue in Hollywood. Their
(Continued on page 98)

oN

98 ,

/RONT PAGE DETECTIVE

THE TRAGE®’ OF THE SECOND HONEYMOON

(Continued from page 29)

"

of many quarrels and, eight months
previously, she had left him because of
his drinking.

H® HAD BEEN seeing her intermit-
tently since that time and the day
before had talked to her. She had
| promised him that if he would rent an
apartment and buy a Car, she would

} go back to him and give him another
4 chance. Anxious to get her back, he
had bought the car and rented the
; bungalow.

i “Why did you rent it under the name
of Burns?” asked Captain Bean.

i Burkhart shrugged. “I didn’t have
{ any money left after buying the auto-
i mobile,” he said. “I gave the manager
i a bum check for the rent. That was
i why I didn’t use my own name. I in-
Ni tended to tell Ann about it later.

ii “We were going on a sort of a second
- honeymoon and I didn’t want her to

know I was broke. I was afraid she

might walk out on me.”

After renting the bungalow, he said
he drove to the drug store in which
Ann was employed, picked her up
when she was through work for the
day and drove to the bungalow. There
he met the manager as they were

walking into the house and he was
forced to introduce Ann as Mrs.
Burns. '

He said his wife later asked him why
he had introduced her as Mrs. Burns
but he had evaded answering. He had
been drinking and Ann became angry
and attempted to leave. That was when
she screamed and he pulled her back
into the bungalow where, he said, he
quieted her by making love-to her.

Later she wanted to go for a ride
and they drove toward the beach. He
had continued to drink wine tonic, he
related, and was hazy about what
happened on the ride. He said he re-
membered getting out of the car once
to buy some cigarettes. When he came
back to the machine, Ann told him she
was sick and he drove toward the
bungalow.

Ann leaned heavily against him and
finally laid her head on his lap. Arriv-
ing at the Franklin Place address, he
declared, he carried her to the bun-
galow and was going to lay her on the
bed when she asked to be placed on
the floor. He said he placed her in the
middle of the floor and put a pillow
under her head, as she requested.

Burkhart told us that he remembered
her asking him to get her some medi-

f cine, and he left to get it, but forgot the

kind she wanted and returned. When
he attempted to talk to her, she did not
answer, so he went to sleep. When he
awoke, he tried to pick her from the
floor to take her to a doctor but was
too drunk to carry her. That was when
he went to the bungalow next door
1 and asked Thompson to aid him. He
did not remember anythingat all about

roving the body from the bungalow.

‘Do you mean to tell us you did not
k.ow your wife was shot when you
« rried her from the automobile to the
b ingalow?” I asked incredulously.

“Mister, I did not,” he replied

e rnestly. ‘The first time I knew she
was shot was when the officers told
ne.”
He also denied any knowledge of the
ein, although he remembered Dwight
t king it from his pocket. The gun was
4 .38 Smith and Wesson, but he stated
vehemently that he did not know
“here it came from’ and had never
scen it before.

“J don’t own a gun,” he said.

Well, that was the weird and almost
ineredible story Burkhart told us. We
looked at one another in amazement.
It sounded as crazy as some of the
weird plots hatched in the fertile minds
of Hollywood writers.

But its very craziness made us
pause and think. Was it possible the
man was telling the truth? Could.
someone else have taken advantage
of his drunken condition to blast life
from the girl and then place the
murder weapon in the stupefied Burk-
hart’s pocket? Stranger things had
happened. Not a few of us in the de-
tective bureau had seen them happen.

All this time I had been studying
Burkhart closely. He fascinated and

2

repelled me—for I saw in him a type”

of person whose unhealthy complexes
often end in the police courts. But this
man, if he was guilty of anything,
had committed a singularly revolting
crime.

EALOUSY is a common motive. for
husband-and-wife slayings. In this
case, the wife was very beautiful, pos-
sessing the tropical, sensuous allure-
ment commonly associated with red-
headed girls of a certain type. Ann
Burkhart belonged to this exotic type.
That she must have been maddeningly
attractive to many men, I could easily
surmise. Also, it occurred to me, that

in the nature of things her ill-balanced, -

psychotic husband probably could not
command a monopoly of her emo-
tional life.

“Your wife was a charming girl,”
I observed to Burkhart carelessly.

In spite of his condition, his eyes
flared with jungle-like suspicion. He
was obviously intensely jealous; and
they had been separated. Was that the
setup for uxoricide—or had, perhaps,
another of the girl’s suitors killed her
when she returned to her husband?

“Do you know any men your wife
went around with?” I asked.

“Yeah—,” Burkhart’s face lit up.
“When Ann and I were riding we met
Charlie Hunter on Santa Monica Bou-
levard. My wife called to him and he
got into the car with us. We talked
about having a party. I didn’t’ have

Lia clilla..-ahimanli

ellis sil ee i

any cigaret so I stopped and left
the car to buy some. When I returned,
Hunter told me the party was off, and.

then he left us.” a

“Who is Hunter?” Captain Bean},
wanted to know: is

“Oh,” said Burkhart, “he’s a guy Te
had a fight with over Ann when we
were working at the studio. I don’t”
know anything about where he lives ~
or what he does now.” aay

We were mildly interested in the
Hunter angle, and questioned him very
closely. His description of Hunter was
vague, especially for a man he had
known well enough to fight with be=”
cause of his attentions to Ann. All he _
could remember was that Hunter was
short and stocky.

“What was Ann’s condition when
you returned to the car after buying
the cigarettes?” Corsini asked.

We all waited curiously for his
answer to that one.

“J don’t remember,” he said slowly.
“Tt seems to me she agreed with Hunter _
about calling off the party and said
she wanted. to go back to the bun-
galow. It. was shortly after that she
told me she was sick and laid her head
on my lap.” : eee

We bombarded him with more
questions but learned little that has:
not already been told here. He was
taken to a cell while we discussed the _
weird case. ie

“Well, what do you boys think of:
it?” asked. Captain Bean. on.

“I think he’s guilty as hell,” said
Page. “He remembers too much and
then he remembers too little. He killed
that girl. ’ll grant he was pretty drunk
but I’ll bet he knows he killed her and
is pretending to have been more be-

fuddled than he actually was.”

“How do you explain Hunter?” =~
“Page shrugged. “Is there such a per=
son as Hunter? All we have is his word
for it.?.38 at
“He couldn’t describe him very well,
could he?” Corsini mused. sf
“What do you think, Sanderso ?
Captain Bean asked me. wae
» [did not know what to think. On the
face of it, Burkhart looked, as Page
had said, as guilty as hell. He had been
found with the body, had been arrested
dragging it from the bungalow court.
Then there was the gun which had
been found in his possession. —
“Did you examine it closely?” I'asked
Dwight. ‘(When you took it away from
Burkhart, I mean.” 35 4
“Yes. It was bloody, but it was
loaded. However, I could smell powder
as if it had been fired recently. The
blood showed ‘he had handled it, re-
gardless of what he said about never
having seen it before.” gees
“Somebody else’s hands could have’.
left the blood on it,” suggested Bean.
“Yes,” Dwight admitted grudgingly.
“But I do not think so.” “by:

We discuss
do not think <
Burkhart hac
had been e:
killed his wif
prove that h
all, there we
story, wild a
The Hunter a:

We had lear
hart that his
paration, bee
Mrs. Joy Hos}
Street.

It was thre
then. But the
means nothin
a murder c
brought to tI

She provec
woman, as be
sister. She h:z
Naturally, s!
at her sister’

“It was Bu
ately. “I aly
something di
and said if }
body else co

She told 1
been marrie
parated in.
after, Ann h:
an interlocu

“Ann was
“Less than
parated, she
a badly bru
located thur
had met her

“She secu
him at that t
court. But A
cute and he
ise that he
again. He ne
then, he has
to go back i

Hollywood's
wi


1 and left
‘ returned,
as off, and

ain Bean

‘sa guy I
when we
o. I don’t
‘e he lives

ted in the
dhim very
funter was
in he had
t with be~
nn. All he
‘unter was

ion when
‘er buying
<ed.

y for his

id slowly.
th Hunter
and said
the bun-
that she
| her head

ith more
that has
. He was
ussed the

think of

ell,” said
nuch and
He killed
tty drunk
d her and

ich a per-
;his word

ery well,
iderson?”’

ik. On the

as Page
had been
1 arrested
»w court.
hich had

’” Tasked
yay from

it was
| powder
itly. The
-d it, re-
ut never

uld have
ed Bean.
udgingly.

ig EES

alae ara

ene

. We discussed the case at length. I
do not.think a detective there believed
Burkhart had told the truth. But he
had. been emphatic in denying he
killed his wife and it was up to us to
prove that he did, or did not. After
all, there was a possibility that his
story, wild as it sounded, was true.
The Hunter angle needed looking into.

We had learned in questioning Burk-
hart that his wife had, since their se-
paration, been living with her sister,
Mrs. Joy Hoskins, at 933 North La Jolla
Street.

It was three o’clock in the morning,

then. But the hour of the day or night
means nothing in the investigation of
a murder case. Mrs. Hoskins was
brought to the station and questioned.

She proved to be a beautiful young
woman, as beautiful as her unfortunate
sister. She had also played in pictures.

Naturally, she was horribly shocked |

at her sister’s murder. | Li
“It was Burkhart,” she said passion-
ately. “I always knew he would do

something dreadful. He threatened her :

and said if he could not have her, no-
body else could.” 2

She told us Ann and Burkhart had. -
been married in March, 1928, and se--

parated in July, 1929. Shortly there-

after, Ann had applied for and secured,

an. interlocutory decree of divorce.
“Ann was afraid of him,” she said.

“Less than. a month after they se-_

parated, she came home one night with
a badly bruised left side and a dis-
located thumb. She told me Burkhart
had met her and beat her up..

“She secured a complaint against

him at that time and he was taken into.
court. But Ann did not want to prose~ .

cute and he was released on his prom-
ise that he would not molest her

again. He never kept his promise. Since :

then, he has repeatedly tried to get her
to go back to him and has threatened

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

to kill her if she refused to obey him.”

“Did he ever threaten her with a
gun?” Corsini asked.

“No, I never saw him with a gun.
I do not believe Ann did, either.”

“Do you know Charlie Hunter?” I
asked casually.

Mrs. Hoskins looked blank, and
shook her head.

‘THE STORY told by the victim’s

sister made it look worse than ever
for Burkhart. We decided to make an
attempt to break his story. The body
of Ann Burkhart had been taken to
the county morgue in the Hall of Jus-
tice in I~ Angeles. Burkhart wanted
to sleep but we were not giving him
that opportunity. It was three-thirty
in the morning then.

We hustled him to a police car and
took. him to the morgue. There we
followed him into a room where the
body of his wife lay. Burkhart was in
a terrible state of nerves, partly no
doubt from the liquor. But he did not

_ break as we had hoped.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he said
as he looked down on the face of the
girl who a few short hours before had
been brimming with life and vivacity.

“Beautiful, yes,” growled Page.
“Why did you have to kill her?”

“I didn’t kill her, I-swear I didn’t.”
Burkhart was almost hysterical in his
denial. “I loved her.”

“You loved her and you killed her,”
I said. “Come on, Burkhart, come clean,
You know you quarrelled with her on
that ride and shot her. Why don’t you
tell us what happened and get it off
your chest?”

“I didn’t kill her,” he insisted stub-

, bornly. “If I did, prove it.”

Novelists write about people’s hearts
leaping and mine did right there. Up
to that moment I was not certain Burk-
hart had killed his wife, but when he

sin eons eae
least alll.

Hollywood’s beas

Where ‘‘Honeymoon’’ Meant Death

“ Sa: fai’ 8 dae

t slayer chose this beautiful setting for the murder of his estranged

wife who believed that she was to have a “second honeymoon.’

challenged “Prove it,” I was convinced
as surely’ as though he had confessed
that he was guilty. Any hazy idea that
the mysterious Hunter might be in-
volved was wiped from my mind. I
might say here that although we
checked thoroughly we never found a
Charlie Hunter.

An innocent person is seldom defiant.
He is invariably outraged and worried.
But Burkhart was certainly defiant
there in the morgue. We pounded him
with questions but it was useless, so
far as a confession was concerned. He
was shaken, but he stubbornly main-
tained his innocence. So we took him
back to the police station and then
went to 5346 Monroe Street, the home
of his parents with whom he had been
living.

I will never forget the despairing
look on the faces of that father and
mother when we told them, at five
o’clock of a gray morning, that we
were holding their boy on suspicion
of murdering his wife.

“He didn’t do it. He didn’t,” the
mother moaned.

“Let us hope not,” said Corsini
gently. “But we have to investigate.
I am sure you will help us.”

The father and mother told us they
had formerly resided at Pittsburg,
Kansas, but had moved to Los Angeles
in August, 1929, to be near their boy.
That was within a few weeks after
he had separated from his wife.

“He often told us he loved her very
dearly,” said Mrs. Burkhart.

She informed us Burkhart had been
very nervous and upset since he and
Ann separated. It was on Tuesday
morning, eight or ten hours after the
murder, that we questioned the
parents. Mrs. Burkhart said that Sun-
day night, her son had not slept but
was up and around the house all night.

On Monday, she said, he moved his
clothing from their home but would
not say where he was going. That was
the last they had heard from him until
we arrived with the news that he was
held for murder.

We searched a few personal effects
that Burkhart had left in the house
but were unable to discover anything
incriminating. We looked particularly
for cartridges but did not find any, nor
any evidence that he owned a gun.

Daylight was breaking when we left
the Burkhart home but our task was
only begun. We returned to the Holly-
wood detective bureau where we met
Police Chemist Welsh. We went with
Welsh to the Franklin Place bungalow
where he took samples of the stains
on the carpet and the cushions.

With the’ necessary detail work at
the bungalow completed, we went
back to the police station where Burk-
hart’s clothes were taken from him
and given to Welsh. While the clothes
were being given a chemical examina-
tion we questioned Burkhart again.
Me still protested his innocence but we
did worm some further information
from him.

He had purchased the Ford coupe
Sunday from the Henry S. Perrin Co.,
1220 South Figueroa Street, paying for

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to the. brink of death and i uring! noon, Monday, at. Seay at) Slant


9 cunciesipe withoat aey.of panecus-
| sary delpy: The men according to their
mi own admissions arg guilty of cold-bloud-
ed premeditated. warder and are de-
§ verving of ae little consideration a8 they
showed their gray haired victim ta hie
mountain home, Here is. the * gist of
Keliy’s confession, which has io mort
} parte bees confirmed by Brown: . *
| *We Grat eppie abost. Duane while
camped at Waldo; “Then again the fol-
lowing Hight’ while camped ja..e cabin
on Shelly creek. It was bere that: the
rourder was planned and.clab ‘cut with
which to do the deed. Funnd two men
at Dunne’s. Told them they could get
work at Monomental to get them away.
Brown and I stayed behind the barn
antil the then left and then went into
the cabin. It wae pladned that I should
attack Dunne. Got afraid and did not
commence and ‘Brown nodded to me
several times,- I then .ehuved Danne
and he eturted at Brown, esying: “That
ia what you are af.ér.” Brown grabbed
him by the throat and atrack bim eever-
al Mimes ov bead with the clab he had
concealed under hie coat. Dunne eank
to a crouching position.. I strack him
a couple of timee with an. axe. Brown
then took the axe from me and finished
Ithe job. The stage pareed while we
were inthe houee. We searched for
inoney and then left the cabin and walk.
ed toward Gaequete,”” : len a

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We Yer Moats Recokd
Dec Norte, C4
(—)4-|705


PLEAD Nor eunty. © 65)
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vided. for each cares, “see ge


STATE OF CALIFORNIA

DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH SERVICES

PLACE OF OZATH

tig

COUNTY OF

city OF.

CALIFORNIA STATE BOARD OF HEALTH

BUREAU OF VITAL STATISTICS 8 —

ORIGINAL CERTIFICATE OF DEATH Sue

ata + B=023585 {death occurred in a Hospital rca
(No. le Le aes o) sive ite wan instead of strect sad samber.
oe

(If death occurs away from usuvAL
RESIDENCE, give facts called for
under “Special Information."’}

Full Name.

PERSONAL AND STATISTICAL PARTICULARS

MEDICAL CERTIFICATE OP DEATH

LENGTH OF RESIDENCE

DATE OF DEATH 7 “~~

At Place of Drath SS os oe ae r ao . ¢
In Califersia Se ae 4 (Month)

i> + tcl ie sso sniligla

@ HE REBY ies 5 that I attended _Meceased

SoA,

(Day)

“SINGLE, MARHIED,
wiDOwEéb OR DIVORCED

CnLA

(State

/ OCCUPATION nee
| So

NAME OF
FATHER

"BIRTH PLAC E
Contributory -

(duration) -

100... (Addropcaert

SPECIAL INFORMATION only for Neasitale, lactitutions, Tren-

slents, or Recent Residents
isw at
cs Fees deans? tere

(Signed)

{
,
j
'
j

| BIRTHPLACE
OF FATHER Pormer or

Usual Residence.

Where was disease contracted,
if pot aj, place of death?

_ fatale or Lountry)

MAIDEN NAME
OF MOTHER "4

OF BU LOR hal OAPE OF BURIAL

s ; a fa ih

BIRTHPLACE
OF MOTHER

a or Country)
THE ABOVE STATED PERSONAL PARTICULARS ARE TRUE TO THE

BEST OF my ey AND BELIEF
te

(INFORMANT) (. a

ZY,

(ADoRESS) . iv

Form $— Original Certificate of Death

This is to certify that this document is a true copy of the official record filed with the
Office of State Registrar.
Kenneth W. Kizer, MD, MPH, Director and State Registrar of Vital Statistics

OY Oued Lu. aittebelt

DAVID MITCHELL, CHIEF
OFFICE OF STATE REGISTRAR

DATE ISSUED

JUL 23 1991

This copy not valid unless prepared on engraved border displaying seal and signature of Registrar.

473633


The trig of Frank Kelly, who with)
Harty Brown, mordered George Dange |
at Patricks Creek on the 20th of Inet Re-
cember, commenced Monday 1 dhe
Supertor Court'and ended Tuesday @v-

ening with a verdict of guilty, with thei

death eentence as the penalty. Follow.
ing were the jursmen:

SO Christenson, H LL Becketed,: F
Huaesey, J. T,. Love, Joe Kotbgesener,
Ba John Weber, MW Carneen, Jaines Brouk-

field, Frank Tron. Thoe McNamaia, A
B Evaneand Frank Mieer.
Forty-eix ont of a venire of 75 jarore
were examined before the jury ‘was se-
cared, the defenee exhaueting their pre
emptory challenges, ‘The evidence snb-
mitted, in. enbetance verified the con.
feesion of Kellpg which was tu the ef
fect that he with Harry Brown planned
the murder an@ equipped themeelves
;with acinb todo the marderoue deed
; Sith, atacabin ooar Otto Andersons
ma the hight previons. That they came
| to the bome of their. victim about;

mm oclock next morhhg; that to ald them
to be rid of two men stopping with their
victim they lured them on to Monamen-
ital with astory of there. being an. op-
portanity to obtaia employment, Brown
(ani Kelly hid behiad a fence until the
two tmnen had gut out of sight on. the
_road to Monumental, when they left
‘cover and went to Danne’s cabin, where
toes found tue old man. attending. to
bouselold«niies. After some hesita-
|tron Kel'y attacked Danne ee wae plan-

ned anu Brown commenced beating him

ntnue head withthe clab. About thie
time Kelly had secured a double bitted
jaxe and etrock Donne on the head with |
ittwoor three limes. Brown. theo
touk the axe aud completed the murder,

[be following jory was empaneled to
try Brown and aredeliberating on the
‘evidence as the Kecorp goes tu press:

Pe'er Maas, C Steele, PD Holcomb,
Jake Bertech, Chris Sach, Chas. Horn,
J B Barney, Horace Moore, Jotin Goinge
FE Torner, Clarence. | Woodruff. and
Wil) Melndve,

Semvarmercte Stem etcnig ees
Trial.

“™e See. le the the amoust tof expea-
908, to date, in the Danne moarder trial.
Aboat $250.00 more will be added to the
amoant, when all bille are ia.: Should «
new trial be granted the smonat idan! be
doubled:

Post mortem examination ‘body. of
George Danne, -$25.00;> Caronet’s . in-
quest, $33.62; Teleponing, §3.48; Board

of Brown and Kelly, prisovers, $31.00;

Sapplies to Brown and. Kelly, $4.60;

i) District Attorney's expen $4.00, a

total of $108.28...
destice Court expenses. Wises, 4,

| Fesocrtaing otimoay, 410.07 Jenin
fo, su, aol of Weca bertagerd F


went back over their records of un-
solved crimes, this time in far more de-
tail.

Would Miller’s perilous feat have an
ironical aftermath which would leave
him worse off than before? Would it
bring him under suspicion of a crime
far more serious than attempted bur-
glary? This question was soon to be an-
swered.

A few days before his escape, his wife
Jean, a very attractive girl of 21, had
been arrested charged with forging
money orders, and was released on bail
pending trial. Miller had not been told
of his wife’s arrest.

When she was informed of his es-
cape she became hysterical, screaming
that she loved her husband and that
she knew the only reason he had taken
such terrible chances in escaping was
because he wanted to see her.

The officers did not disillusion her,
But if the fugitive had any such mo-
tive in mind he did not make it appar-
ent, as police watched day and night
the little apartment in which the Mil-
lers had been living, and Miller made
no attempt to visit it.

On July 12 Mrs. Miller was found
guilty of the forgery charge. Later, she
was given a four-month sentence and
put on probation for three years.

Captain William Zink of the Los An-
geles force supervised the job of recap-
turing the daring “escape artist,” as
the papers tagged him. His flight from
the drug-store job with a broken ankle,
and the gamble which he took with his
life in fleeing the hospital ward, con-
vinced the Captain that the man with
whom they were dealing was no cheap
punk, but a desperate thug who could
be expected to shoot it out if he was
cornered.

Captain Zink gave strict instructions
to his men to take: no chances under
any circumstances, and to forget their
pride and call for reenforcements if
necessary.

OTHING was heard or seen of Miller

until August 1. Then Radio Officers
H. W. Sherbourne and L. B. Bovee
spotted him in a car at the corner of
Sunset Boulevard and Vermont Avenue.
At the same instant, Miller spotted
them and sensed that he had been
recognized.

With the same recklessness he had
displayed previously, he pushed the car
up to 60, then 70 miles an hour, careen-
ing through the crowded street, sweep-
ing in and out between vehicles and
whipping past pedestrians scampering
for their lives.

In Sherbourne and Bovee he found
two men willing to take as many
chances as he. With open siren they
kept right on hjs trail.

Three blocks beyond, twisting crazily
to get out of the way of a car at Sunset
and Kenmore Avenue, Miller’s machine
skidded straight toward a fire plug. He
made a frenzied attempt to right him-

self, but his luck had run out. The car
hit the plug head on, shearing it off as
with a knife and sending a huge geyser
of water into the air.

It was a smashing impact which
could be heard for blocks. It shattered
the machine beyond any possibility of
repair. But, strangely enough, Miller
escaped without a scratch. He
scrambled to the pavement and sped
into the shrubbery of Barnsdall Park,
near by.

Even then he might have got away
had it not been for the fortunate cir-
cumstance that Ralph Wilderman, a
policeman off duty, saw him duck into
the bushes. In a few minutes, and be-
fore the fleeing man had time to desert
his shelter, the area was swarming with
police and a call had gone to Head-
quarters for more.

Among those responding was Cap-
tain Zink. He deployed his men
around the patch of shrubbery, again
warning them that they were dealing
with a desperate man. Then he called:
“Come on out, Miller.”

The answer was a series of staccato
explosions. A half-dozen __ bullets
snipped off bits. of twigs and leaves
and sent the officers scampering for
shelter.

They poured a cascade of slugs into
all parts of the shrubbery, hopeful that
at least one would find a target.

Captain Zink counted the hunted
man’s bullets. After he had fired eight,
the Captain crawled from one tree to
another to inform his men of his plan:

“When I say, ‘Ready,’ we’ll rush him.
He’s probably shot his bolt. But if he
starts firing again, duck back to shelter.
Keep sending slugs in there. Fire as
you goin. He’ll get you if you don’t get

him.”
He crawled -back, then _ yelled
“Ready!” The officers leaped from be-

hind the. trees, crouched down and
raced toward the shrubbery, piercing it
with a dozen bullets. But another
fusillade came at them. They scram-
bled back.

A full hour of almost continuous
firing from both sides followed. Then
Zink decided on another rush. Once
more, at his signal, the officers spurted
forward. They reached the shrubbery
and tore through it to a little clearing
in its center. .

They found Miller lying on the
ground, shot in the arm, leg and neck.
But all three were mere flesh wounds
and not at all serious.

The reason for the huge number of
bullets he had fired was soon apparent.
Lying beside him were five guns, every
ene of which he had emptied.

Again he was taken to the prison
ward of the General Hospital. But this
time he was put in a special cell which
had no access to the windows, and a 24-
hour guard was placed over him. In
addition all privileges were taken
away.

Even under constant surveillance,

however, Miller managed to cause
trouble. In some manner he got into
communication with two other prison-
ers and at the same time on the night
of Monday, September 4, the three
severed the veins in their wrists in an
apparent suicide attempt. :

But Miller admitted that the attempt
was & phony, for the purpose of enlist-
ing public sympathy and getting them
out of the special cells, in all probability
for another opportunity to escape. “If
I really wanted to commit suicide,”
Miller asserted, “I'd do a good job. But
this can won’t be able to hold me, no
matter where you put me. I’ve got
more on the ball than the best screw
or flattie who ever breathed.”

TRE officers let him brag. They al-
ready had lighted a bomb under him
of which he was in complete ignorance.
It concerned something which had
taken place in Los Angeles on the night
of February 1, 1950.

Mrs. Helen Edmunds, a widow of 78,
had been asleep in her home on South
Benton Street that night when she was
aroused by a noise. She got out of bed,
slipped on a dressing-gown and stepped
into the hall. From out of the darkness
came a shot. The aged woman slipped
to the floor, probably already dead be-
fore her body even struck. A neighbor
suffering with insomnia, who thought
she had heard a shot from the direction
of Mrs. Edmunds’ home, tried to call
her on the phone. The line was dead,
having been cut by the intruder. The
neighbor thereupon notified the police.

The only clue detectives found was
the print of a palm of a hand on a piece
of glass broken off the rear door,
through which the burglar gained en-
trance. It was dim but easily visible
when magnified.

After Miller’s desperate escape, the
police again went over, this time more
in detail, the record of unsolved crimes.
The almost forgotten piece of glass
came to light.

The imprint on it tallied line for line
with Miller’s palm!

The officers knew that questioning
Miller would be futile. Since his re-
capture he had been surly and defiant,
at one time throwing a cup of hot
coffee into the face of a reporter who
tried to interview him. But they were
not so sure about the wife. She was
by no means as hard-boiled as he, and
she appeared to be far more susceptible
to persuasion and flattery.

She became upset when questioned
about. the Edmunds murder, claiming
that neither she nor her husband had
had anything to do with it. One of the
most convincing officers of the Depart-
ment was assigned to talk with her.
He pretended to accept her claim of
innocence, and told her he was certain
they could convince his doubting fellow-
pong if she would take a lie-detector
test.

The general result of the test did not

surprise anyone. For the zigzag spurt
of the tell-tale needle following every
question pertinent to the Edmunds
murder indicated the complete falsity
of her answers.

This was all that was needed to break
her down. To Policewoman Norene
Statzil and Detectives Harry Hansen
and G. H. Bates she related:

“On the night of February first
Frank and I were walking near the Ed-
munds home. Frank left me on the
sidewalk and went to the rear of the
house. I heard glass breaking and went
back to take a look. Frank ran out
and said, ‘Let’s get out of here—I’ve
just shot a man.’

“We went home then and listened to
the police calls, but there was no re-
port on the murder. until the next day.”

Evidently, in the dark, her husband
had been unable to tell whether the per-
son coming out of the bedroom was a
man or a woman.

On September 7, 1950, Frank Miller
was arraigned on a charge of murder.

In the meantime the Los Angeles
police had been puzzled at not receiv-
ing a report from the FBI concerning
Miller’s finger-prints sent to them on
June 2. They finally decided to send
another set. This was dispatched in
mid-August, and was followed by a
very prompt report.

Bot it did not go to Los Angeles alone.
It went also to Chief Constable Chis-
holm, of Toronto, and to the Royal Ca-
nadian Mounted Police at Ottawa.

And it informed them that Frank
Miller, awaiting trial for murder in
Los Angeles, was in reality Stanley
Buckoski who was wanted for the slay-
ing of Alfred Layng in Toronto more
than a year before.

Possibly, police theorized, the origi-
nal Los Angeles report to the FBI had
been lost in the mail.

Inspector Nimmo took a plane to Los
Angeles to arrange for extradition. But
according to the International Extra-
dition Law, fugitives facing trial or al-
ready convicted are not surrendered to
another country unless they are
acquitted or their sentence expires.

Miller went on trial in Los Angeles
for the Edmunds murder November 27.
The jury didn’t take long to decide,
for on November 28, 1950, a verdict of
guilty in the first degree was returned.
On December 4, 1950, Miller was sen-
tenced to death.

The marble-hearted thug who had
gambled so recklessly not only with
the lives of others, but with his own as
well, was coming to the end of his rope
at last.

Mrs. Buckoski was cleared of all
charges in connection with the murder
of Mrs. Edmunds.

Buckoski-Miller has appealed his
death sentence to the Supreme Court.
Should he win this appeal by any
chance, he still can be brought to trial
in Canada.

Flying Hot Lead at Bagdad (Continued from Page 13)  ogriciac DETECTIVE STORIES

“It’s not likely that her information
will help us,” the Sheriff returned. “But
ask her to get in touch with us when
she comes home, will you? We can talk
with her then.”

The case was stagnant then and
Haynes turned the investigation over
to his Undersheriff.

Then, on August 21, Harry Blaize died
and the robbery and assault to kill case
automatically changed to one of homi-
cide.

On the following morning the Un-
dersheriff received news which sent his
hopes soaring. Kansas City, Missouri,
police phoned him.

“We're holding five stickup artists,”
the Kansas City officer said, ‘“‘and one
of them had a Colt forty-five revolver.
Your killer used a forty-five, didn’t
he?”

Ballistics experts already had deter-
mined that the death slug was .45 cali-
ber and Sutherland promised to drive
to Kansas City at once. He also told

54

the Kansas City man that he would
bring two of the victims along for pos-
sible identification of the suspects.

In Kansas City, all of the five men
denied the Bagdad ‘tholdup and the
owner of the Colt, Willie Lawson, was
especially vehement in asserting his
innocence.

The two victims studied the prisoners
closely for several minutes. Then one
pointed to the man who had carried
the huge revolver.

“I can’t be absolutely positive,” he
declared, “but that fellow certainly
looks like the one who shot Blaize. And
that man—” he indicated Lew Olds, an-
other of the suspects—‘resembles the
one who took.up the collection.”

The other witness agreed with this
partial identification.

Sutherland felt that solution of the
case was near at hand. He turned the
lethal slug over to the ballistics expert
and in a few minutes he had his report.

“There is a little doubt here,” the

expert informed him. “The test bullets
from this Colt match the one you sub-
mitted in many ways. But some points
still have to be cleared up. The barrel
of this gun is in terrible shape and we
want to make more test shots before
being positive.”

MABAN WHILE, intensive questioning
of Willie Lawson brought an ad-
mission that he had been in southeast
Kansas on the day of the crime.

“But I don’t know anything about
this deal you're trying to pin on me!”
he shouted defiantly. “I got that rod
from Lew Olds, and I’ve only known
him a few days! I don’t know where
he’s been or what he’s done!”

Olds was brought in.

“Why, you dirty, lousy rat!” he
yelled. ‘“You’re lying to save your own
mangy hide! I never owned a forty-
five. in my life! I never even been in

or anywhere near that yokel
joint that was heisted.” |

But Sutherland went over Olds’ ef-
fects and found a traffic ticket which
had been issued August 12 at Iola,
Kansas, about 100 miles from the Bag-
dad. August 12 was the day before the
shooting.

Sutherland showed this to the Kansas
City detectives. ‘Lawson also admits
being in that district the night Blaize
was killed,” he said. “It looks as if the
boys might be trying to pass the buck
to each other.”

Then the ballistics man reported
again. “I know this is tough on you,”
he told Sutherland, “but this is defin-
itely not the gun you’re looking for.”

Lawson then made a new statement.
He asserted that he had bought the re-
volver from a dealer in Kansas City on
August 20, and that Olds had sold the
gun to this dealer originally. He had
not mentioned this because he thought
that Olds might have used the weapon
in the Bagdad holdup. Now he realized
that the dealer’s records would show


,

La

“By:

MALDEN GRANGE BISHOP _

Fate brought a kindly old
lady and a cruel young man

together in a burst of fury.

T’S a strange hand which the god-
desses of Fate lay upon us as they
guide us in our headlong’ plunge
down the Road of Destiny. Some-

times the hand is warm and tender as
one of the Fates guides us safely ,
around a mysterious curve OT lifts us
above the jagged rocks of a raging
stream. And sometimes the hand is
cold and ruthless as it pushes us over
a sharp ledge into a bottomless abyss
of despair. The ways of these strange
goddesses, who dwell in the mytho-
logical depth of Demogorgon, we can’t
understand.

There is, for instance, no way to
explain why the Fates should bring
together for a flashing moment of
violent death a kindly old lady and
a brutal young man—two people who
had never seen each other and who
barely saw each other in that one
instant. It was a meeting which
couldn’t have lasted more than a sec-
ond or two as time is measured. But
that was all. that was needed to
deliver the two at their destination—
death. f

It may be that it was because Mrs.
Helen Edmunds was ready to die any-
way. She had lived out the fruitful
years of her life. She had had her
chance at the cup of joy and happi-
ness. And she had drunk deep from
the cup. Her ‘husband was already
gone, Her frail body was wasting
away. Alone but unafraid, she was
| merely marking time, waiting for the
chilly hand of one of “the Fates to
touch her ruthlessly. It may be, then,
that she was just an instrument which
the Fates used to carry out another
and more tragic plan.

It may be that it was because the
young man’s life was already twisted
and battered—distorted beyond hope
of straightening. He had had his
chance at greed and bitterness, and he
had gulped at the very dregs of the
cup. Although his body was Virile and
supple, it may be that he, too, was
ready to die. .

Whatever the

reason, it was 4

,

vicTIM—

Neighbors found the riddled body of Helen Edmunds sprawled a

strange twist which crossed the paths
of these two.

Mrs. Edmunds seemed to have had
a warning of the impending destiny.
Only a week before, the woman -who
ordinarily had little or no contact with
her neighbors went next door and
handed Mrs. Mary McMahon a key
to her front door.

“T’ve been thinking,” she said, and
then she stopped. “If you don’t: see
me around,” she went on without ex-
plaining what she had been thinking,
“come in. and: see if I’m all right.
Something might happen.”

“Why, sure, Mrs. Edmunds.
I will,” Mrs. McMahon said.
feeling all right?”

“Well as could be expected,” ‘Mrs.
Edmunds assured her. “But you never

Sure,
“You

know.”

o’clock on the evening —
1, 1950, Frances and
Clara Preston, who roomed with Mrs.
McMahon at 252 South Benton Way;
Los Angeles, were entertaining friends ©
in the, front (Continued on-page 8)

T about nine
A of February

HEADQUARTERS DETECTIVE, March, 1951

cross her bed.

Was arrested for passing forged checks.

Dropped thirty feet in bid for freedom. |


”
ce
ee
Bs
is

it

¢ = | ie

BREAKING POINT—

Detective Lieutenant Hansen shows where the intruder tried to force porch door.

room. Clara was playing the piano. Sud-
denly there was a cracking sound, muf-
fled by distance.

“That’s a gun?” someone asked.

Clara stopped her playing. “Maybe a
car.” She wasn't sure whether she had
really heard it or not. .

Slowly the flow of conversation re-
sumed, and Clara again began picking
out the melody of a new piece. But Fran-
ces was disturbed. She went to the front
door and looked out into the street. She
saw nothing. She stepped outside, and
her eyes turned toward the vine-covered
house at 252 South Benton Way, where

.Mrs. Edmunds lived.

There were no lights, no sounds from
Mrs. Edmunds’ house. She went back
through the McMahon house and looked
out the back way. She saw and heard
nothing.

It was nothing, she told herself as
she went back inside. But still something
tugged at her attention. “You don't
reckon that was from over there?” she
said to Mrs. McMahon. ‘

“Don’t think so,” Mrs. McMahon said.
“Maybe we'd better call. Might have

frightened her.”

Frances dialed Mrs. Edmunds’ telephone
nimber. She heard the muffled buzz in
the receiver. She’ heard it three or four
times, then put the receiver back. “Must
be asleep,” she announced.

All the next day that strange something
tugged at Frances. A hundred times she
thought of Mrs. Edmunds. And as soon
as she returned home from work, at
about four o'clock, she looked out from
the McMahon house to the French doors
¢ the bedroom where Mrs.‘ Edmunds
slept. 2

“Mrs. McMahon,” she called to her

landlady, “come here.” She pointed to

the blinds drawn tight on the French
doors. “She never leaves those blinds
down all day.”

Mrs. .McMahon’s ' face: clouded, and
she turned toward the kitchen. “I'll get

the key. We'll see about her. Come to

think of it, I haven’t seen her all day.”

When there was no response to the
doorbell and their calls, the two women
entered. And through the partially open
door of one of the bedrooms they saw
the lifeless ~body of Mrs. Edmunds. She
was sprawled: over the edge of the bed.
The front of her flannel nightgown was
soaked with blood.

Detective Sergeant Gilbert A. Encinas
and E. J. Sanchez of the Central Homi-
cide Bureau’s night watch, who had just
reported for duty, followed the. radio
cars to. the address.

It required but a brief examination to
tell the officers that it was a case of
homicide. There was a single bullet
wound over the heart area: The location
of the wound and the position of the
body indicated clearly that the fatal slug
had been fired by someone standing in
the doorway as the aged victim was get-
ting out of bed. , .

How the killer had entered and _ left
the house was plain. The screen of the
rear door of the porch had been slit
along the edge. And the glass of the
rear kitchen door had been shattered onto
the clean linoleum floor. Outside the
house the telephone wires had been neat-
ly clipped in two.at the. connection box.

‘But why the killer had come to murder |

wasn’t immediately clear. There was no

indication of a struggle. The covers of —

the bed had been thrown back. Nothing,
for all they could see at the moment,
had been disturbed in the bedroom or
any other place in the house. It seemed

that the killer had come with the intent

of murder, had cut the telephone wire,
forced his way into the house and gone
am to the bedroom to fire the fatal
shot.

Encinas flashed a quick report to Cap-
tain R. B. Steed, commanding the Homi-
cide Bureau. Captain Steed immediately
assigned Detective Sergeants Herman
“Bud” Zander and Glen H. Bates, who
were just going off duty, to the case.

While they awaited the arrival of the

day watch team, Encinas and Sanchez,

threw into high gear all the routine de-
tective procedures. Experts fromi the
Scientific Investigation Division were
called. The Coroner’s Office was notified.
Uniformed men were ‘assigned to guard
the house and the yard areas. Traffic
officers were stationed to keep the street
clear. And the detectives began noting
the names and addresses of people who
might have any information.

attracted the attention of the entire

neighborhood. Across the street a
Plymouth coupe rolled slowly to the
curb, and two men sat watching the house
of dtath. Something about them drew
the attention of Mrs. McMahon. Al-
though she couldn’t see them distinctly in
the failing light of the day, she was sure
that they didn’t belong in the neighbor-
hood.

Mrs. McMahon kept watching the men.
Finally she started across the street to see
who they were, but before she could
reach the other side, the car suddenly
jerked out from the curb. It startled Mrs.
McMahon, but she nevertheless photo-
graphed’ the license plate in her mind.

Zander and Bates arrived at the scene.
After a quick briefing by Encinas and
Sanchez, they turned their attention to
an examination of the death room and
the house while Encinas and Sanchez
interviewed Mrs. McMahon, the Prestoa
sisters and other neighbors. ys

The first important discovery was a
tiny mark on a piece of the glass which
still remained in the kitchen door. “That's
the- mark of a glass cutter,” Bates decided.

Zander nodded in argeement. “Came
prepared to get inside. And knew what
he was doing.”

‘The screen of the porch door appeared
to have been slit with the same tool.
And the clipped telephone wire had defi-
nitely been cut with wire snips.

“Professional burglar,” Bates suggested.

“Looks like it,” Zander said. “Except
for the gun. A réal burglar never carries
a gun and certainly doesn’t use it unless
he’s trapped. An old lady wouldn’t cause
him to shoot so readily, would she?”

Bates shook his head. “Exception to

Ts presence of police cars, as usual,

“the rule maybe.”

“Now, a bandit would have a gun,
even a glass cutter, and pliers,” Zander
went on with his line of reasoning. ~

“But a professional bandit wouldn't
come unless he knew there was money,”
Bates objected. “It doesn’t look as if
he took anything—not that there would
be much in a house like this to take.. Why
would he waste time in a residence?”

“Maybe he knew there was something
to get. Maybe he got it.”

“Maybe,” Bates said. “And maybe he
just came to kill her.” ©

“Why, then, all the breaking-in? He
could have killed her without all that.”

“To make it look like something else,”
Bates ventured.

The fingerprint men arrived and began

combing the house, particularly the doors. ,

Encinas and Sanchez learned from Mrs.
McMahon and (Continued on page 43)

Y.
STATE
Regardle:

¢ ag
future earni:
regulated by
For example
ume, you pz
the money .
our of three
Signature on
are also mad
you live, yc
Finance Com

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Complete privy
for a loan. Al!
home,fnd ent
ABOUT IT!

Old Rel
THAN 5

STATE FINAN
During the ¢


Chief,” he said to Free.

vith the men at’ the Sikes
‘ay that Banger put. his
2sterday morning for a
were busy and couldn't
today. They ‘found that
-d it and then brought it

h had looked so promis-
/ faded out. But it did
in Danville, and to Ward
that one of them knew
the Sikes’ Garage.

k door to that garage,”
“It’s usually locked, so
ave had a key. One of
works there, has worked
close friend who does.”

ffs, aided by Freeman,
ireline and Detectives
rrisay, followed this line
The murder car was

ters where it was check- -

The car was covered
ints, but none of them
gh to be of value.
nith obtained a list of
ees of the garage. On

name of John Allen.

2,” Bireline commented.. °

red and he hasn’t got
but he’s mixed up with
r guys who are more
‘ere in Danville.”
™ "p,” Freeman told
aven’t anything on
ds.”
ig Allen was given
1an Goldstein, who had
ough section of Dan-
hours later he reported

| seen with a couple
(rangers around here,”
Charles Nichols and
Shelby, who is 50,
a thumb missing from
guess he’s the man
zot_ a bad record. [
any time you say the

‘eeman ordered. “I’]]
Sheriff Ward with me
Where is Nichols?”
g the boys is that he
r the last two days,”
“He probably beat

went out to pick up
enior Officers started
en miles from Dan-

sent a delivery boy
was wanted on the
y store. He fell for
he walked into the
ers had him covered,
ed, “don’t get rough.
with me?”

Ward snapped “and

ow

idquarters when the
-d in with Shelby.
»y denied any knowl-
r or of the murder
fficers didn’t bother
ley were taken down

~

< one look at them
it gray-haired man .
up who got out of
guy stayed in the

taken to Anna
She screamed
Shelby. Quieted,

1 Allen without any ,

oped into the Ver-
id locked up before

ws Arete be

se a se oe Th

Bg WEL SE ee TE ae aa

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the news” leaked out that an arrest. had
been made in the Schrader case. Sheriff
Ward questioned both about the murder
of, Newton Cozard. At first they denied
it, but when Bireline arrived with a wom-
an who lived next to Shelby’s hidé-out
in Tilton and told how she had seen a
bloodstained shirt'on the clothesline the
morning after. Cozard had been killed,
Shelby shrugged and said he might. as
well tell everything.

Allen also admitted he had been pres-
ent when Cozard was killed. He and
Shelby were charged with the murder of
Mary Schrader.

The jury only took one ballot to find
them guilty. The judge sentenced them
to die in the electric chair. : ;

And on the night of December 22,
1933 the two killers walked into the
death house at the state prison. Five
minutes later both were pronounced dead.

Marble_ Hill, Missouri. He was brought
back to Newton to stand trial. State’s
attorney Kasserman, because of the time
that had elapsed; accepted a plea of
guilty of manslaughter. Nichols claimed,
and had some grounds for his claim, that
he had been forced to accompany Shelby
_and Allen to the murder scenes, Hé was
given 14 years at hard labor.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The name _ Charles
Nichols is fictitious.

x

DESTINATION: DEATH

Continued from page 8

the’ Preston sisters about the shot heard

about the telephone call. The fact that
the phone had seemed to ring puzzled
them, since the killer probably cut the
telephone wires before entering the house.
This point was later cleared up by the
telephone. company. The muffled sound
of a “ringing” phone heard by the person
dialing a live number is actually not the
sound of the ring itself. And the signal
would be heard even though the lines had
\been cut.

The officers learned that Mrs. Edmunds
had lived in the house for many years and
owned the property. ‘She had lived alone
since the- death of her husband in 1945
except for a time when Mrs. Nell White-
head, a friend, had lived. with her. Her
only relatives, so far as was known, were
two nieces who livéd in the Van Nuys
area of the San Fernando Valley. She
wasn’t believed to have had any money;
she lived on an old age pension.

In the meantime the fingerprint experts
found that the doors, casings and other
areas held. no prints. There were none
on the glass still remaining in the kitchen,
a place where they were most likely to
be found. The-pieces of glass which had
been broken from the door had shattered
into a hundred small pieces, except for
one small, irregular piece.

the Fates seemed to have preserved,

that a strange print was found. At
first the impression puzzled the experts
dusting the glass. It was a small V-
shaped print. It wasn’t until they studied
it carefully that they decided that it was
a part of the heel of a palm. The strange

|" WAS on this piece, a piece which

had worn a glove but hadn’t fastened the
glove around his wrist. The opening had
left a tiny V-shaped pattern as the heel
of the hand had been pressed against the

glass to push it.

SR ia ae

A year later Nichols was located at

at nine o’clock the evening before and.

Shape had been left because the person -

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By Deputy District Attorney
ARTHUR L. VEITCH
Los Angeles County, California

As told to
JACK VAN CLUTE

Deputy District Attorney
Arthur Veitch, who tells
this heart-rending story of
mystery and horror. His
skilful prosecution dur-
ing the sensational trial
resulted in the conviction
of the youth who slew for
an inexplicable motive

MASTER DETECTIVE MAGAZINE,
June, 1938

T 6:10 o'clock on the evening of De-
cember 19th, the telephone in the
pharmacy at 3856 Pasadena Avenue,
l.os Angeles, buzzed. Emory W.
Thurston, proprietor, took down the

receiver and reached for a pad to add another
item to the growing list of Christmas orders
which were beginning to come in.

“Thurston’s Pharmacy,” he answered.

“Say, is it too late for the store to make a
delivery?” came a voice, low, throaty and quite
unfamiliar to the druggist.

‘Why. no, sir-—we'll be glad to take care of
your order. What do you wish?”

‘Could you send a bottle of citrate of mag-
nesia to 219 West Avenue 42?”

‘Certainly! That’s not far. I'll have it
there as soon as the errand boy comes into the
store,” Thurston replied.

“And say—have the boy bring change for
a twenty-dollar bill, please.”

“If I have that much change I'll send it. If
not we'll deliver the order, anyhow,” the drug-
gist assured the caller.

Harold Ziesche, fifteen, son of E. M. Ziesche.
cigar maker, of 124 East Avenue 40, about a
block from the store, would arrive soon at the
pharmacy to begin another evening of regular
duties as an apprentice. His tasks included
making neighborhood deliveries, as well as the
usual run of work which falls to the lot of a
youth learning to be a druggist. Thurston
wrapped up the bottle of citrate of magnesia
in grayish-tinted paper which the store used,
set the package near the cash register, and
went to the back of the store to eat his supper
while his wife, Grace F, Thurston, remained in
front to take care of customers.

Harold arrived at the store a few minutes
later, lighted an oil burner and attended to a
number of other routine tasks, all of which re-
quired about thirty minutes. Then he asked
if there were any deliveries to make. Mrs.
Thurston told him about the order to go to
219 West Avenue 42, a few blocks from the
store, and gave the boy the package,

Mrs. Thurston took a long, brown purse with
two pockets and put in a ten-dollar gold piece,
a five-dollar bill and $4.75 in silver, allowing
twenty-five cents for the bottle of citrate of
magnesia. Harold picked up the package and
then placed the purse in the inside pocket of
his coat. Mrs. Thurston made sure that the
boy was provided with a flashlight, for it was
dark outside at that time of the year, and pub-
lic improvements had not provided the exten-
sive street lighting system which one sees
today in that part of Los Angeles. Then, with
a hand on the lad’s shoulder, she walked with
him to the door, told him to take care of him-
self, and waved good-by as he mounted his
bicycle and rode away. Mrs. Thurston liked
Harold. He was a bright, honest lad, and she
took as much interest in his apprenticeship and
welfare as she would have in a younger brother.

—

Some twenty
of the store t
which had just
but her mind
thought that
glanced at the
her husband.

“It’s Harold
how I can't he
was only a few
before now. ©
about everythi

Perhaps the
dental. Perha;
things are asc:
husband, in th
Instead, he wer
out to meet Ha

With the hea
crisply into the
Avenue 42, only
with dark an
around. Thurs
then called his

Now it was t
boy had alway
more, he knew
some justificat:

Since there w
tion to return b
the pharmacy
Thurston becan
husband’s repor

Back over the
cycle. repeated!
familiar whist
Thurston mista
house number
little over an }
found the hous:
borhood to see
but not likely
store first.

HURSTON

macy. Haro
a neighbor,. was
curb.

“I’m afraid H
off his whee!
nounced. “At
you come with

Reynolds was
machine and dr
side to side an
headed for the \'
way leading to °
light fell on an
to leap from the
Harold’s bicycle
way! Hasty in
but the owner «

Thurston and
the premises
no avail. Then


BUNDY, Louis, white, 19, hanged Calif, (LA) 11-5-1915.

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evening of De-
‘lephone in_ the
asadena Avenue,
d. Emory W.
took down the
d to add another
christmas orders
>In.

answered,

store to make a
hroaty and quite

1 to take care of
she”

f citrate of mag-
ir. = Ul have it
Yy comes into the

sring change for

ze I'll send it. If
vhow,” the drug-

of FE. M. Ziesche,
enue 40, about a
rrive soon at the
vening of regular
s tasks included
es, as Well as the
s to the lot of a
iggist. Thurston
rate of magnesia
1 the store used,
ish register, and
to eat his supper
ston, remained in
5
e a few minutes
id attended to a
. all of which re-
Then he asked
to make. Mrs.
- order to go to
blocks from the
package.
brown purse with
dollar gold piece,
1 silver, allowing
tle of citrate of
the package and
inside pocket of
ide sure that the
hlight, for it was
ne year, and pub-
vided the exten-
which one sees
geles. Then, with
she walked with
take care of him-
he mounted his
s. Thurston liked
nest lad, and she
pprenticeship and
vounger brother.

*y 77

4

Some twenty minutes later Thurston came to the front
of the store to find his wife looking over a few magazines
which had just come in. She was turning the leaves slowly,
but her mind was obviously on something else. Thurston
thought that she looked worried, and told her so. She
glanced at the clock, which said 7:10, and then turned to
her husband.

“It’s Harold. He’s been gone twenty minutes and some-
how | can’t help but feel worried about him. His delivery
was only a few blocks away and he should have been back
before now. You know, Emory, he’s always so prompt
about everything. And it’s so dark outside.”

Perhaps the darkness and her feelings were but coinci-
dental. Perhaps it was only that quality to which so many
things are ascribed—woman’s intuition. At any rate the
husband, in this case, did not pause to discuss the matter.
Instead, he went outside, mounted his motorcycle and struck
out to meet Harold.

With the headlight on full and the motor exhaust cutting
crisply into the evening air, Thurston rode up to 219 West
Avenue 42, only to find that this address was a vacant house
with dark and empty windows. Harold was nowhere
around. Thurston gave a familiar whistle for the lad and
then called his name several times. But no answer came.

Now it was the pharmacist’s turn to become worried. The
boy had always been punctilious about his work. Further-
more, he knew the neighborhood well. There seemed to be
some justification for Mrs. Thurston's anxiety.

Since there was a possibility that Harold had taken a no-
tion to return by a roundabout way, Thurston sped back to
the pharmacy. But the lad had not shown up, and Mrs.
Thurston became more acutely worried when she heard her
husband’s report.

Back over the same route went the druggist on his motor-
cycle, repeatedly calling the boy’s name and giving that
familiar whistle. But there was again no answer. Had
Thurston mistaken the address when he jotted down the
house number as it had come to him over the telephone a
little over an hour before? He wondered. Had Harold
found the house vacant and set out to canvass the neigh-
borhood to see if he could locate the customer? Possibly,
but not likely. Surely he would have come back to the
store first.

TT HURSTON streaked his motorcycle back to the phar-
macy. Harold was still absent. But Kenneth Reynolds,
a neighbor, was there with his automobile parked at the
curb.

“I'm afraid Harold has had an accident—may have fallen
off his wheel somewhere and been hurt,” Thurston an-
nounced. “At least | can’t find him. Mr. Reynolds, will
you come with your car and help me look for him?”

Reynolds was glad to do so. The two men entered the
machine and drove up the street, waving a flashlight from
side to side and peering into the heavy darkness. They
headed for the West Avenue 42 address and entered a drive-
way leading to the garage. Suddenly the rays of the flash-
light fell on an object, the sight of which caused Thurston
to leap from the automobile with a gasp of surprise. It was
Harold’s bicycle, lying a few feet from the side of the drive-
way! Hasty inspection showed the bicycle was unbroken,
but the owner was not to be seen.

Thurston and Reynolds hurried about the yard, searching
the premises. The former whistled and called, but all to
no avail. Then he rushed on foot along the avenue and

(Top) This club spelled death for fifteen-year-old
Harold Ziesche (circle), who, broken and uncon-
scious, his body horribly battered, was found by
Emory Thurston, his employer, after a frantic search

played the flashlight on either side, while Reynolds followed
in the car, endeavoring to assist with the headlights

Almost directly across the street from the empty housc
were an elder bush and a eucalyptus tree. Thurston ran
there and looked around. Here was a lot, rough and weed
grown, and with several small depressions or hollows. Once
more the druggist called the lad’s name. A moment 0!
silence; then, from a depression a few feet away came 2
groan which chilled the blood of the searchers

Thurston took a few steps forward, stopped to thrust his
flashlight about, and then pointed it at the bottom of the
depression. As the light funneled through the thick darkness
it spread upon a gruesome sight. There below, curled up
at the side of a small irrigation ditch, was Harold, who bul
a short time before, had been blithe and radiant in health
and spirit, now a broken, unconscious form. One side of his
head was bashed in; his twisted face a mask of blood and
earth. The sight was as revolting as it was shocking. Mo-
mentarily the two men stood and stared, transfixed by the
horror the darkness had yielded. Then, as if shaking of]
some dreadful incubus, Thurston stooped and gently called
the lad’s name.

The answer was a weak moan. Tenderly the men picked
up the boy and carried him to the automobile. Thurston
held his young pal in his arms as Reynolds sped the ma-
chine back to the store. There the driver leaped out, called
to Mrs. Thurston to steel herself, rushed to the telephone
and notified the police. Then he reentered the auto and
raced to the Los Angeles Receiving Hospital

En route to the hospital the youthful victim moaned

35


PASSIONS SPURS FOR THE

THWARTED

LOVI

BIZARRE RIDDLE OF‘
‘THE RAVISHED ACTRESS 4

BY

JACK LA TOUCHE,

STRANGE CARGO——
When he opened the door,
she fell out into his arms.

1929 Ford coupe halted jerkily in front of the stucco
bungalow court in the 6700 block, Franklin Place,
near the heart of Hollywood. It was 8:50 p.m.,
March 24th, 1930. —

The driver shut off his motor, leaning heavily across
the steering wheel to do so. Then he remained there, as
though asleep. In the opposite side of the car, already
slumped down as though in sleep, was a beautiful young
red-headed woman. Many pedestrians passed the parked
car, but few shot a second glance at the recumbent
couple inside. In 1930, Prohibition was still in effect, and
even then it was no unusual sight to see couples sprawled
in automobiles, overcome by the effects of bootleg
liquor. It was a sight to be expected.

16

Suddenly the man in the car began to stir. He pulled
himself together, and crawled slowly out. He nearly
fell, but drew himself erect with an effort and walked
around to the woman’s side of the vehicle.

“Come on, honey; we’re home!” he mumbled.

When he opened the door, the woman fell out into
his arms, almost knocking him down. Holding her up
by an awkward grip across her body, so that her feet
dragged on the ground, he carried her to the bungalow
marked 674244.

He kept talking. “’Sall right, honey; I’ll get a doctor.
You'll feel better—”

The door was not locked. With his awkward burden,
he got inside somehow, turned on the lights, and pulled

rte
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and again through the left side, as she

sat in the car. Then when, mortally |

wounded, she turned her back at-
tempting to escape, he shot her three
times more.. ‘
After the killing, as we reconstructed
the crime, he drove to the Franklin
Place address, carried her body into
the bungalow and then drank enough
wine tonic to stupefy him. ae
There, maddened by his orgy of
blood and consumed with an animalian

- Just to prove his triumph over the body

of his wife, he committed his last
revolting deed. As his wife’s corpse lay
in blood, he ripped the clothing from
her once-lovely form, ravished her
physically with degenerate ardor.

At last he felt complete mastery over
the handsome girl!

WITHIN a few hours after Dwight

found the letter, Spencer Moxley, -

police ballistic expert, completed his:
examination of the bullets taken from
Ann Burkhart’s body and those found
in the machine. The report stated posi-
tively that the bullets had been fired
from the gun found in Burkhart’s

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE

pocket. This was conclusive evidence.
We never did find the discharged

- cartridges. No doubt Burkhart threw

them from the car after shooting his
wife, and reloaded the weapon from
cartridges in his pocket.

However, confronted with the damn-
ing array of facts against him, Burk-
hart admitted that he had stolen the
revolver from a mail truck three

‘months previously, ‘but he still stub-

bornly maintained that he did not kill
his wife. ;
Nevertheless, we went to court with
the evidence outlined. Burkhart was
represented by Alfred Paonessa, now

- a judge in the Los Angeles municipal

courts, Paonessa’s brother, Ralph, and
C. J. Orbison. He entered a plea of
not guilty and not guilty by reason of
insanity but, when the case went to
trial July 7, 1930, he withdrew the
insariity statement and elected to take
a chance on the single not guilty plea.

The case was tried before Superior
Judge Marshall McComb, recently
appointed to the appellate bench. Evi-
dence was completed and the case
given to the jury July 17 at 7:30 P. M.

toh:

101

but it was not until 5:10 P. M. on July
19 that a verdict was reached.

The jury found Burkhart guilty of
murder in the first degree with no re-
commendation of mercy, making a

hanging sentence mandatory. Most of |

the time in the jury room had been
spent in debating on whether or not
a hanging sentence should be imposed.

Judge McComb imposed the death
sentence on Monday, July 21, 1930, but
Burkhart’s attorneys took the case
through the Appellate to the California
Supreme Court, waging a bitter battle
to save his life.

In the ensuing yearand a half, the
late Governor Rolph granted six stays
of execution while the Supreme Court
considered the case three times and
three times refused to recommend a
commutation to life emprisonment. A
fourth time, December 4, 1931, the
Supreme Court spurned a plea of
insanity. ¢

With that decision, every legz',
method of saving Burkhart had been
exhausted.

‘He was hanged in San Quentin
prison January 29, 1932.

DETECTIVE FICTION ©

(Continued from page 90)

of people. There were Professor Roch-
ester, Jan and Owen, his children, Bri-
an Austin, Camilla Ward, his fiancee,
Phillip Barrett and Rollo Morgan.
Blackburn found himself suspecting
first one, then another of the group.
His final clever apprehension of the
murderer gives an original and inge-
nious twist to the mystery.

Gangsters are out of style in Ameri-
can fiction but the English find them
interesting. WHO IS NEMO? by Roy
Douglas (Lippincott) is the story of a
boy known both as Tony Walton and
Nemo, kidnaped from the scene of a
crime, brought up by crooks and forced
into a life of crime. There are gang
skirmishes, car chases and numerous
encounters with the police, and Nemo
outdoes his masters until he falls in
love with a mysterious girl called

Mademoiselle X. How they get them-.

selves out of the gang makes a lively,
exciting story.

Hospitals remain a fascinating back-
ground for murder stories. This one—
THE ACCIDENT WARD MYSTERY
by Rhoda Truax (Little, Brown)—is
centered about a series of crimes that
occur in the accident ward of a large
hospital.;, Young Dr. Alan Spaulding
was coming back to the hospital after
having dinner with his fiancée, Marta
Challoner, an actress, when he found
a man with a gashed throat. Accidents
like this were right pretty much. the
usual thing to Alan, and it wasn’t until
he found a large roll of bills on the
man’s body that he began to wonder
if the case had any undercurrents. The
disappearance of the roll of money
made it necessary to call the police in,
and swiftly Alan, Marta and the other

doctors and nurses at the hospital
were involved in a murder probe
which uncovered a sinister dope ring.
This tale has its full measure of sus-
pense and thrills and is guaranteed to
hold fans’ interest until the very last
page.

When an unidentified body, obvious-
ly a murder victim, was found by the
roadside near a little English village,
Scotland Yard put Inspectors Clancy
and Straker to work on the case. The
inspectors had had much experience
in dealing with “the American type of
crime” and the dead gentleman had all
the earmarks of having been taken for
a ride. Sure enough, the Scotland Yard

“Do ya wanna buy a gat?”

men found that one King Pearl, an im-
portant figure in the American under-

world, was missing, but they made no-

headway in the solution of the crime
until they stumbled across the mystery
of the “Sinister Madonna.” This was a
beautiful painting that had got its
name from the fact that destruction
had always dogged the footsteps of its
owners. i

King Pearl had come into posses-
sion of the masterpiece less legitimate-
ly than he should have, and owning
the picture undoubtedly shortened
his life considerably. Clancy and Stra-
ker tenaciously track down the slayer,
restore the Madonna to her rightful
owner, and before they know it find
themselves on a steamship bound for
the United States. Readers will like
THE SINISTER MADONNA by Wal-
lace Jackson (John H. Hopkins).

Naturally the police were suspicious
when Craven Embree, New York
broker, was found dead in the offices
of Stephen Dongan for it was whis-
pered that Dongan was in love with
Linnet Embree, Craven’s wife. Add to
that the fact that Dongan had just pre-
sented Linnet with a fabulously valu-
able emerald, and the whole affair be-
came a Roman holiday for the metro-
politan tabloids until Garrett Maynard,
amateur sleuth and author, stepped in
to see if things were as obvious as
they seemed to the hard-boiled detec-
tives who were covering the case.

THE CORPSE IN THE DERBY HAT
by Howard Swigett (Little, Brown)
is on entertaining tale of murder in
the very social set of New York and
Long Island.

SEES Ks

be ap es s
Esc 4 a se

3
4
4


the room a man who stood swaying drunk-
enly. The stranger mumbled thickly, “Say,
somebody come over an’ help me, will you?
My wife's sick.”

Mrs. Thompson gave a choked cry. “‘Are
you hurt?” she asked.

The man blinked owlishly. Then: “I
dunno. Am 1?”

“Your shirt front—it’s all covered with
blood!”

That gave him a long pause. He wiped
his hand across his lips and nose, looked
at it. “Maybe had a biff on the nose. Ain’t
exactly shober.” Then he giggled hysteri-
cally, and remarked, “Fact ish, I’m stiff.
But my wife's stiffer yet. You oughta see

her.” Then he started violently, and cried,

“Oh! She’s sick, my wife is.
help. Get a doctor. Come on!”

He led a weaving course across the court
lawn to his own bungalow. Against Mrs.
Thompson’s instinctive protests, her hus-
band followed, with King at his heels.

The man was undoubtedly very drunk,
but in addition to that, it seemed to Thomp-
son and King that he was otherwise un-
balanced or terrifically keyed up. Instinc-
tive feelings of dread sent chills racing
along the spines of the studio men.

The lights of the bungalow to which the
man led them were on, but the instant he
crossed the threshold, he switched them off.

Gotta get


own. all the Chades! - BLOOD MARKS—
Then “he turned the . the place where the body
-lights off again. lay inside the living room.

For a. long while,
there. was ‘silence and darkness at 674.2% Franklin

mio

Seas Harry King, a fellow worker of Thompson’s at
First National Studios.
“Hey,” Thompson told his wife, “that redhead and
her man who moved in today must have gone to bed
early. Or else they’re not at home.” He explained to
_ King, “The missus said they had a quarrel, right after
they moved in. The girl started to run out on him,
but he hauled her back. Maybe this neighborhood is
ct ‘going to liven up at last!”
‘Thompsori and King began a game of rummy. Just

-then the doorbell rang, and Mrs. Thompson answered.
When she returned she was laughing.
>“It was the new neighbor, and was he drunk!’ she
exclaimed. “He wouldn’t come in—but he borrowed
Some matches.”

Not long afterward, there came a loud knock on the
door. Thompson answered this time, and brought into

SHE STARRED——
in a real life tragedy
that ended with death.

paren aesic snr s.

7


a]

CAMPBELL, hanged San Quentin on 642241923 - Continued, : a

‘ 7 ;
“they thought I was going to break down and cry or collapse at that news I foohed: then,

didn't I? I suppose Utley is satisfied now, if he ain't, he ought to be,! Mrs, Ni-
chols, wife of the murdered. man, was in court when the verdict was received, sobbing
quietly as the court read the solmen words, and said several times, Thank God, Thank
God.' Charles Davis, Campbell's partner in the crime, was sitting beside him and
twisted his face into his peculiar grin as he realized that, Campbell will have to pay
the extreme penalty.’ ‘vith all his show of indifference, the, verdict was undoubtedly
a blow to Campbell who confidently expected ‘the jury to return a verdict of life im-
prisonrient, After’ the jury retired to deliberate on the case, he sat talking to
several court attaches and a reporter, to whom he stated he believed the vekdict woul
be guilty, but with a life imprisonment recommendation, He said further that he had
put one over on Davis, and explained ‘that a former inmate of the state prison, now in
the county jail, told him that one who stands trial for murder and gets life imprison-
ment is eligible for parole after serving five years, whereas one who pleads guilty
and gets life, must serve 15 years before he can be paroled, As Davis has already
entered a pléa of guilty, Campbell believed he had done the wisest thing in standing
trial, He showed not the slightest sign of anxiety as he awaited the return of the
jury, laughing and joking with anyone who would talk with him, After recovering from
her breakdown upon hearing the verdict, Mrs, ‘Nichols and memhers of her party thanked
the members of the jury as they filed from the jury box following their discharge. by
the court, After the court had been emptied she remained chatting with District
Attorney Ut'hey “to whom she extended her most ‘fervent thanks. To a reporter she.
stated, 'I don't think I am unduly vindictive nor revengeful over the verdict, for
Mr, Nichols! death was so horrible and these boys showed such fiendish cruelty to.
him, that I think it only justice that they 'should pay the extréme penalty of the
lawe'eee' IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Gentno, CA, April 12, 1923 (1:8.) |

Pn @

"As calm and collected as at any time during his trial, @xcept that he occassion ally
twitched! his fingers, Lawrence C, Campbell,.,sat in the witness chair in. Department
No. 1 of the superior court this morning and heard, Judge Franklin J. Cole sentence
him to be hanged ‘at San Quentin prison .on June 22, Campbell turned his eyes toward
the judge as the solegn words fell from his lips, and did not drop them until the
sentence had been finished. He then cooly walked from the stand and resumed his
seat beside his partner in crime, Charles Davis.e.“t.the c onclusion of the sentence
the, court remarked to. Campbell that though it might seem.to him that the penalty is
severe, and that nothing is accomplished by carrying it out, the fact, that his exe-
cution may save the lives of innocent people by causing other criminals to hesitate
from taking life, justifies the severity of the death penalty. Asked if he had any=
thing to say, Campbell replied in the negative, Previous to imposing sentence, the
court made the usual inquiries regarding Campbell s personal history, the condeyned
youth giving his answers in a low even voice, JHe“smiled plainly, when he was asked
if he had ever been married, and the question evidently struck the queer streak of
humor that the youngster possesses, Asked by his counsel, while waiting for court to
open, just what his thoughts are about being hanged, Campbell replied that he has
taken a human life and believes it is just that he should forfeit his own, At the
conclusion of court while on his way down stairs, he made some remark to Davis about
a rope, evidently trying to twit his companion relative to his appearance before the
court this afternoon for sentence, Placed in the sheriff's car for transportation
back to jail, he asked for a cigarette, and when a package was given hin, remarked
that he now has almost enough tagarettes to do him as long as he has to live, To
a Press representative, he said this morning, after thanking him for copies of the
Press for which he had asked, so that he can read about his trial, 'If there is
anything in this superstition stuff, I guess I'ma goner. M&xKXE Here it is, Fri-
day, the 13th, and a fellow hit me with a broom this morning, It's a sure sign of
bad luck to be hit with a broom.' Davis is rapidly weakening from the attitude of
ndifference which he has maintained since his arrest. The change was plainly
noticeable to members of the sheriff's staff and court attaches, His eyes were red
and showed the marks of weeping, and he was extremely nervouse .+.During the time

he was in court, he shifted and squirmed in his seat and moved restlessly as he
heard sentence pasnounced upon Campbelle.eA fair sized crowd was in attendanceat

court, nearly one-half of them being women," IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro,
April 12, 1923 (lsl.)


wCharles Davis was sentenced to prison for life this morningssIn imposing life sen-

tence on Davis, the court stated the opinion that the California law which prohibits
the imposition of the death penalty where the murderer is less than 18 years of age,
is unsatisfactory and that the decision as to wehther or not a person is old enough to
pay the extreme penalty should'be left with the court or the juryeeeeDavis and Cam-=
bell were. taken to San Quentin prison on the noon trainese" IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS,

El Centro, CAy h+15-1923 (1:8) !

. : : € : a

"San Quentin Penitentiary, June 22 = Lawrence Campbell, 19, today paid on the scaf=
fold the death penalty...Campbell dropped through the trap at 10:13.. Fifteen minutes
later he was pronounced dead, Father Carroll, a Catholic priest, accompanied the
condemned youth to the scaffold, Campbell went to his death bravely. As he reached
to door at the end of the corridor leading into, the room where the scaffold stood,
tears sprang from his eyes and. ran down nis cheeks, He appeared to be on the point
of breaking and his attendants expected him to sob forth a statement. But not a word
escaped his lips, which but an hour before had been smiling in hope. His face set
slightly as he saw the scaffold and the assembled witnesses and he went through with
his final ordeal without change of expression, ‘'Dndoubtedly the bravest human being,
ria or youth, ‘that ever went to his death here,’ prison officials declared following
the hanging, ‘Officials made no attempt; to conceal their admiration for, the, youth ;.
who played “ball ‘in the prison yeard yesterday and whistled merrily this morning while
preparing for ‘his deatn. Campbell never lost hope of obtaining the reprieve that .

never ‘came, Filéh hope of a las t minute delay of execution was not given up until

this morning. Early today whem Campbell was giving his order for breakfast, .he
was in cheerful mood and .declared that 'while there's life, there's hope,' 'Give me

ham and eggs and coffee and toast and make it piping hot,’ he said. Then he started

whistling as he put on the black coat and trousers and the slippers which each man
must wear when he hangs. ‘'Gamest kid we've ever had here, ' said one of the old

guardseee® IMPERIAL VALLEY RRESS, El Centno,y CAy 6=22~1923 (Lele) a es

"Sacramento, June 23 = Governor Richardson late yesterday made public his attitude
toward the pleas for clemency made to him in the case of Lawrence Campbell, 19, who
was hanged at Sam Quentin for murder, In a statement that ‘reviewed the murder of .
Leslie Nichols in all its details the governor closed with these words: 'Thesé two
brutal murderers deserve the full penalty meted ‘out to them, A. foolish law pre=-
vents the hanging of the younger one. Execution of this criminal will prove a pro-
tection to every home in California. - It will mean meater safety to wives and
mothers and less anxiety for their loved ones.'" IMPERIAL VALLEYPRESS, El Centro,

CAy 6-23-1923 (1:2.) = . wees :

“ote in

pe

[he Micuty Colorado River, forming the official
boundary between California and Arizona, raged high,
swollen from torrential rains. Its banks to the north
lay in California, while its ragged precipitous banks to the
southward lay on Arizona soil, only a few hundred feet
from that historical old city of Yuma.

Two youths traveling as “hitch-hikers” or freight train
tourists, as the occasion demanded, watched the river down-
stream from a safe vantage point, where they stood together
near the center of the steel bridge spanning its breadth. It
was dusk of Friday, January 19, 1923, when fate brought
these two boys together with but one mutual interest. Both
were adrift upon the face of the earth, even as the grey green
tumble weeds swept by fickle winds from the desert were
adrift far below them, upon the bosom of the river, helpless
in its swiftly changing currents.

The taller of the two boys was fair complected and blond,
With a manner as guileless as that of a grammar school girl.
He was dressed in worn khaki trousers, brown cotton
sweater, and was hatless. His companion, blue-eyed and
wistful, was of shorter stature and slighter build, and wore
the complete uniform of a sailor of the United States Navy.
He was the first to spcak:

“Well, pal, where are you bound 2?”

The civilian replicd, “Nowhere in particular. I thought
I'd hitch-hike back to northern Tennessee where my grand-
pappy lives, but I’ve gone as far east as I want to. Right
here I’m back-trackin’ into California. The east is all right
but I don’t crave it in January with ragged shoes, thin
clothes, and a ‘lank’ belly. My name’s Charley Davis, what’s
yours ?”

“Lawrence Campbell. But that name’s never brought me
any good luck,” the sailor confided. “I just got out of the
Navy. Left the outfit two weeks ago in San Diego, got paid
off. Went by passenger train from San Diego to Los

20

y

Outonthe Arizona desert, coyotes
do not customarily howl in the
daytime. Twoyoung hitch-hikers,
in custody as automobile thieves,
did not know this fact. When, in
mid-afternoon, they led officers of
the law out onto the blistering
sands, to point out where they said
they had found an abandoned car,
the howl of a coyote led to a grue-
some find. This is the strange,
true-fact story of how the law
solved the brutal killing of Leslie
Nichols near Blythe, California.

by F. HARRY Le BARRON

Former Constable of Blythe, California,
as told to A. Virginia Wright


353 P -2nd= 53 affirming after reversal in 335 P -2nd= 11)
CARTIER, Raymond L,, 32, white, asphyxiated San Quentin (San Diego), Dec, 28, 1960,

"Aas demonstratorsprotested, Raymond L, Cartier ate his last meal - roast prime rib of
beef = last night and prepared with outward calm for the execution he had requested =
scehduled at 10 asm, today in San Cuentin's gas chamber, Officials said Cartier, of
San Diego, asked to see Rev. Edward Dingberg, the prison's chaplain, after being
brought downstairs from Death Row to the hold cell outside the gas chamber, For the
last week, they said, Cartier has slept well and watched television until midnight, a
privelege reserved for condemned men in their final week,

"Four women pickets paraded in front of the Los Angeles state building yesterday,
Others were to protest the execution in Berkeley's Consthtutional Square last night
and this morning. Ever since his second conviction nearly two years ago, C,rtier has
insisted he wants the death penalty, Superior Court Judge John A, Mewicker labled

the murder of Geneva Ellen Cartier, 32, as California's 'most brutal,' Her body -
slashed more than 50 times with three knives and a mealt cleaver - was found Nove 7,
1957, in the couple's bumed duplex at 280); 6th Street, Firemen who answered an
alarm found her heart cut from her body,

"Cartier, now 32, who had spent 13 years in the navy before being honorable discharged
as a commissaryman, second class, was found guilty of the murder Feb. 7, 1958, and sen-
tenced to death by Hewicker, in whose court the case was heard, ‘This was the most
brutal crime ever committed in California,' Hewicker said before pronouncing sentence,
After Cartier had spent nearly a year on death row, however, the state Supreme Court
held that Hewicker had committed a judicial error and ordered a new trial. The Supreme
Yourt pointed out that recordings of interviews with Cartier were not made available
to the defense and that testimony by a defense psychiatrist wasnot permitted, At

his second trial, in which Cartier waived a jury hearing, he was found guilty again,
this time by Superior Court Judge William P, Mahedy, who stated: 'Such horrible
butchery required considerable thought and skill,'

"Cartier said before being ruled guilty in May, 1959, by Mahedy that he wished to die
and save his parents further grief, His father, George, is a truck driver in St, Paul,
Minnesota, and his mother, Belle, is a telephone operator, The ex-sailer, anwexpert
handler of cutlery, had testified at both trials that he did not remember striking

his wife or setting fire to their duplex apartment. He remained clam and quiet
throughout the proceedings, Witnesses testified that Cartier and his wife had made a
round of downtown bars the n&ght before the slaying and that they had been quarreling.
Mahedy last August set Oct. 26 as Cartier's execution date, lowever, in early Octo-
ber he appealed for clemency through his attorney, Alden J, Fulkerson, At a hearing
soon afterward he reversed this and in a letter told Gov, Brown he did not want his
life spared, At that hearing a psychiatric examination brought out that Cartier had

a deep-seated hostility toward women, Before the hearing San Diego District Attorney
Don Keller said: 'We felt that this was one of the most heinous crimes in the history
of San Diego County.' Gov, Brown on Oct, 25 granted Cartier a 30-day reppieve to per-
mit further psychiat&ic examinations, Monday he told the San Diego UNION that the
tests had failed to show that Cartier was legally insane, Mahedy in November set
today as the new date of execution, Earlier this month, Cartier, in a letwer to
Brown, said again he did not want his life spared. He also said that he did not

wish commutation of sentence without possibility of parole, 'That, to me, would be
greater punishment than the original punishment,' he wrote," —
UNION, San Diego, California, 13a (1/3-5 with photograph of Cartier.) (YkL5// 960

"Raymond L, Cartier, 32, went calmly to his death in the San Quentin gas chamber yes-
terday for murdering his wife three years ago in San Diego, The cyanide pellets were
dropped in at 10:03 a.m, Cartier wasprounced dead at 10:10 asm, ‘'He was one of the
calmest I've ever seen,' said Warden Fred Dickson, Cartier ate a last dinner of roast
prime ribs of beef Tuesday, He ordered a large chocolate cake and offered pieces

to his visitors, Dickson, Associate Warden Dale Frady,y and the Rv. Eqward Dingberg,
prison chaplain, He went to sleep about 1 a.m, and slept soundly until 6:0 asm. He
had no breakfaste,eeCcartier once tried to commit suicide in his cell, Later, at the
request of his parents, Mr.and Mrs, George C,rtier, of St, Paul, Minnesota, he whan=
ged his mind and said he wanted to live, His body was claimed by his parents, Out-
side the prison gates, a half-dozen Qwkers, including an ll-yeareold girl, prayed
against capital punishment in a vigil that began at midnight," UNION, San Diego,
California, Dece 29, 1960 (21a - 5/7e)


re

oe

they had
ed to be
custody.
the ones
uty said,

lown the

vt letting
it you've

wearily.
cause I
‘

iving his

together
tigation,”
1 in here
of them.

ult of the
rmed by
1 six club
the right
resulted
nposition
have oc-
-dnesday.
the date

f's hopes.
hich day

tips that
ad talked
Grimes
ly in-

‘raw-
that club
vear only

specula-
carpenter
made the

the Del
them. He
prisoners

- cried at

nental so
”

iiused by
to know
scused of,
On a ke-
ver heard

uid. “We
n, Thurs-

other ex-
as telling
-ady mak-
in order
r charge?
zzle with
ed to hold
witnesses
to sub-
er of them
Then he
separately.
ian in his
ata, Hum-
ames and
tives who
spectable
en, but he
story.
rown,
rvous
on he
ilibi in all
was an

orphan, and named two maiden ladies ina
small California town with whom he had
lived for six or seven years. He had an
uncle in Chehalis, Wash., he revealed.
This uncle had a large horse ranch, and
he and Brown were hoboing their way up
there to work on the ranch.

After these interviews, George Craw-
ford talked the situation over with his
brother.

“We'll check up on them,” the sheriff
said, “and if their story stands up—if they
were never as far north as Patrick’s
Creek—well, that will be just too bad for
Carver and Brady!”

Joe Crawford said, “Brown wants his
tobacco so he can roll a smoke. Shall I
let him have it?”

The sheriff nodded absent-mindedly;
then he gave a start. “What kind of to-
bacco is 1t?” he demanded.

The under-sheriff went to a desk drawer
and prought out the articles he had taken
from Brown and Kelly when they were
jailed. These consisted of two pocket
knives, a magnifying glass, three purses,
four sacks of Pedro tobacco, and $7.60 in
silver coins.

Sheriff Crawford looked at the tobacco
sacks, two of which had not been opened.
Then he went to the telephone and called
the Monumental mine. He got the as-
sayer and storekeeper, Clerc, on the wire.

“What kind of tobacco did you put up
for old George Dunne?” he asked.

The assayer’s reply was electrifying.
He had wrapped up 50 cents worth of
tobacco, all the same brand: There were
four bags, at two for a quarter.

“Can you swear to what brand of to-
bacco it was?” demanded the sheriff.

“Yes, I can. It was four sacks of
Pedro. The old man never bought any
other kind,” came the answer.

The rest of that New Year’s day was
filled with feverish activity for both of-
ficers. On the following morning, Mon-
day, Jan. 2, 1905, Frank Kelly and Harry
Brown were arraigned before Justice
W.S. Riley.

Charged with the murder of George
Dunne, they were informed of their rights.
When they swore they were without
funds, two attorneys were appointed to
defend them. They were held without
bail and bound over to the superior court.

Old George Dunne had been one of the
first to urge me to try for the judgeship.
He had watched my career as county
clerk, then as district attorney, and one
day he had said to me: “Young man, you
ought to run for superior judge. You’d
make a good one.”

Now, having successfully followed his
advice, I was faced with the duty of try-
ing two youths accused of murdering the
old man. '

Early in the trial, which began on Feb.
6, it became apparent to me that both
Brown and Kelly would be convicted.
District Attorney Frank W. Taft ywas
able.to produce decisive evidence against
the pair.

Fred A. Grittan swore that he had
passed the defendants on the road two
miles south of Dunne’s cabin on Thurs-
day, Dec. 29. He had also passed Brady
and Carver some six miles north of the
cabin, which indicated that they had left
the Dunne place ahead of Brown and
Kelly.

But the most important witness was
John Endert, who ran a hotel at Gasquet
Flat. .He positively identified. the de-
fendants as the two who had arrived at
his place on the 29th., They had stayed
overnight, he testified, and had paid for

4

their meals and lodging with a dollar bill
which he had given to George Dunne a
few days earlier.

There were few pieces of paper cur-
rency in circulation in those days, espe-
cially in the Far West. Endert had a
good memory, and he had made note of
the serial number of the dollar bill.

Furthermore, the hotel keeper had sold
Brown a pair of second-hand shoes. They
were the shoes Brown wore at the trial.
He stated that Kelly had been soaked to
the skin on the rainy day in question,
while Brown had been wearing a good
overcoat. The prosecution produced a
bloodstained overcoat which Sheriff
Crawford had found in the brush near
Patrick’s Creek, two days before the trial.
The coat fitted Kelly perfectly.

At 3:25 p.m., on Feb. 11, the jury
brought in a verdict of guilty, and fixed
the death penalty. But the district at-
torney had failed to prove venue; that is,
the indictment did not state where the
crime had been committed; and on tech-
nical errors, the defense attorneys won a
new trial,

HEN Kelly came up for retrial, he

changed his plea to guilty. Without
asking for leniency, he made a complete
confession.

He and Brown had heard rumors that
old George Dunne was a hermit who
hoarded gold and money because he dis-
trusted banks. The old man had grown
talkative in his later years and often
boasted how he had narrowly missed be-
coming a millionaire when he lived in
Canada. This had led to all kinds of wild
rumors, and was his undoing.

“Brown made a club and hid it under
his coat,” Kelly confessed. “He grabbed
Dunne by the throat and hit him, but
couldn’t down him. The ax was handy,
so to help out I grabbed it up, but I was
too excited. Finally Brown hit the old
man such a blow on the head that he fell
to his knees. He took the ax from me
and finished him.”

Both Carver and Brady were com-
pletely exonerated by Kelly’s confession
and by the testimony of others. A twist
of fate had placed them in a dangerous
situation but they were innocent of any
wrongdoing, and the officers thanked
them for their earnest cooperation in
solving the crime.

Expert testimony had revealed that
Kelly was not insane or feeble-minded.
Certainly he was guilty of murder. But

became convinced that he was a youth
of unstable will power, and that Harry
Brown was the vicious instigator of the
horrible crime. Accordingly, I sentenced
Frank Kelly to life imprisonment at San
Quentin. After serving several years, he
fell ill and died.

Harry Brown was tried a second time.
He was again convicted, with no recom-
mendation of mercy. I pronounced the
death penalty and fixed the date of exe-
cution, but his attorneys appealed to a
higher court. The appeal was formally
denied on July 2, 1906.

On the morning of Sept. 7, 1906, a grim
procession took place in San Quentin
prison. In the presence of Warden John
C. Edgar and the legal number of wit-
nesses, Harry Brown was led upon the
scaffold. At 10:32, he dropped through
the trap.

(Editor’s note: To protect the identity of innocent
persons the names Jim Carver and Pat Brady as
used in this story are not real but fictitious.)

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Requa Indian village. Together they had
hunted up the pair, who appeared to be
tramps, and had taken them into custody.

“We thought they might be the ones
who killed old Dunne,” the deputy said,
“but they say they’re from down the
other way. I’ve been thinking of letting
them go, but I waited to see what you've
found out.”

The sheriff shook his head wearily.
“That’s funny,” he said, “because I
brought in a pair on suspicion, too.”

He outlined his activities, giving his
suspects’ alibi in detail.

“If their story doesn’t hang together
after I’ve made a complete investigation,”
he concluded, “we'll bring them in here
and try to force a confession out of them.
Now, what about the autopsy?”

Joe Crawford explained the result of the
post mortem examination performed by
Dr. E. M. Fine. There had been six club
blows ranging from the eye up the right
side of the skull but death had resulted
from the ax wound. No decomposition
had set in but the slaying might have oc-
curred as early as Tuesday or Wednesday.
It was impossible to establish the date
exactly.

This was a blow to the sheriff’s hopes.
So much might depend upon which day
George Dunne had been killed.

The deputy told about false tips that
had come in, and said that he had talked
with both stage drivers, Lafe Grimes
and Joe Adkinson. Both were clearly in-
nocent.

“One thing more,” the younger Craw-
ford said. ‘I’ve been looking at that club
we found in the cabin, and I’d swear only
a woodsman carved the handle.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed specula-
tively. Carver had said he was a carpenter
and expert woodsman. Had he made the
club?

Carver and Brady were at the Del
Norte hotel when he called for them. He
took them to the jail to view the prisoners
Joe Crawford had brought in.

“That's them, Sheriff!’’ Brady cried at
once. ‘They sent us to Monumental so
they could kill poor old Dunne.”

Bez prisoners seemed confused by
this assertion. They asked to know
what crime they were being accused of,
besides forcing their attentions on a re-
sentful Indian girl, They had never heard
of Monumental or Dunne.

“They’re bluffing,” Carver said. ‘We
met them both at Dunne’s cabin, Thurs-
day morning.”

George Crawford and his brother ex-
changed glances. Which pair was telling
the truth? Were Carver and Brady mak-
ing a false identification, purely in order
to save themselves from a murder charge?

The sheriff attacked the puzzle with
characteristic energy. He decided to hold
Carver and Brady as material witnesses
until he could secure evidence to sub-
stantiate their assertions. Neither of them
objected to the arrangement. Then he
questioned Brown and Kelly separately.

Harry Brown, a tall young man in his
early 20’s said he was from Arcata, Hum-
boldt county. He gave the names and
addresses of several of his relatives who
appeared to be prominent, respectable
people. He was angry and sullen, but he
seemed to be telling a straight story.

Frank Kelly was younger than Brown,
and of smaller build. He was nervous
and excited, but for all his confusion he
corroborated his companion’s alibi in all
essential details. He said he was an

al.) PEOPLE v. TOWN OF ONTARIO, 205

In Bank. Appeal from Superior Court,
‘Pel Norte County; J. L. Childs, Judge.
*.Harry Brown was convicted of murder,
fand he appeals. Affirmed.

~ &. E. Winters, for appellant. U.S. Webb,
‘Atty. Gen., and J. C. Daly, Deputy Atty.
Gen., for the People.

HENSHAW, J. Defendant was tried and
‘eonvicted of the crime of murder, and the
death penalty was imposed. He appeals
from the judgment and from the order deny-
ing his motion for a new trial.

Section 1240 of the Penal Code provides
that in a criminal case “appeal is taken by
filing with the clerk of the court in which
the judgment or order appealed from is en-
tered or filed, a notice stating the appeal
from the same, and serving a copy thereof
«upon the attorney of the adverse party.”
In People v. Colon, 119 Cal. 668, 51 Pac.
1082, it was held that the proceedings speci-
“fied in section 1240 must be taken to confer
“upon this court jurisdiction to hear and
determine the appeal. People v. Colon
‘quotes from People v. Bell, 70 Cal. 33, 11
‘Pac. 327, where it is said: “The transcript
“herein does not show that the notice of ap-
~peal was served on anyone. The law re-
squires that it shall be served on the attorneys
-of the adverse party (Pen. Code, § 1240),
vand the transcript on appeal must show it.
fPeople v. Phillips, 45 Cal. 44; People v.
4Clark, 49 Cal. 455. This not being the case,
tthe appeal cannot be considered.” As this
omission and error was called to appellant’s
zattention by respondent’s brief, and as no
#effort has been made to cure the omission,
sor to show that service was in fact made, it
‘must be concluded that no service was made,

and that the court is without jurisdiction
to consider this appeal.

‘yt may, however, be added that this court,
dn its natural reluctance to deny a hearing

to an appellant under sentence of death, has

rearefully examined the alleged errors pre-
sented upon the appeal, and find them, one
and all, to be without merit. The single
‘Proposition presented upon the appeal is
that the court erred in its rulings to the
Challenges of defendant to certain of the
jurors, which challenges, after examination,
ywere interposed for cause. The defendant
whad exhausted his peremptory challenges.
-As to each of the jurors the case was the
,usual one, where they had heard common
@umors and reports and had read the news-
‘Papers. From these rumors and from their
feading, they had formed opinions which
jwould require evidence to remove. At the
‘Same time they could and would, if sworn
‘48 jurors, set aside their opinions and be
influenced solely by the evidence and by the
Jaw, and would require the prosecution by
sits evidence to prove the guilt of the defend-
ant beyond a reasonable doubt, or they
Would “vote to set him free.’ The case

_ 3thus presented comes within the rule as de-

clared in People v. Owens, 123 Cal. 482, 56
Pac. 251, and People v. Miller, 125 Cal. 44,
57 Pac. 770, where, upon a like state of
the evidence, it was declared that the jurors
were not disqualified.

For the foregoing reasons, the judgment
and order appealed from are affirmed.

We concur: McFARLAND, J.: ANGEL-
LOTTI, J.; SHAW, J.; LORIGAN, J.

148 Cal. 625

PEOPLE v. TOWN OF ONTARIO.
(L. A. 1,483.)

| (Supreme Court of California. Feb. 8, 1906.

On Rehearing, March 5, 1906.)

1. CONSTITUTIONAL LAW — DELEGATION OF
LEGISLATIVE POWER — FIXING BoUNDARIES
OF TOWNS—ANNEXATION OF TERRITORY.

St. 1889, p. 358, c. 247, providing that new
territory may be annexed to any town by the
filing of a petition describing the territory de-
desired to be annexed and a favorable vote at the
election called pursuant to the petition, thus
leaving the determination of the boundaries of
the annexed territory to the inhabitants, is not
for this reason invalid as a delegation of legisla-

tive authority, since under Const. art. 11, § 6,

forbidding the Legislature to create or provide

for the organization of municipal corporations
by any other than general laws, fixing the
boundaries of towns is not a legislative function.

[Ed. Note.—For cases in point, see vol. 10,
Cent. Dig. Constitutional Law, §§ 116, 120.]

2. SAME — DEPARTMENTS OF GOVERNMENT —
MUNICIPAL FUNCTIONS.

Neither Const. art. 3, § 1, providing that
the pone of government shall be exercised
by the legislative, executive, and judicial de-
partments, and that no person exercising pow-
ers belonging to one department shall exercise
any of the functions of another department, nor
article 11, § 13, providing that the Legislature
shall not delegate to any association or individ-
ual power to perform any municipal function,
has any application to or affects the validity
of St. 1889, p, 358, c. 247, permitting territory
to be annexed to towns at the discretion of the
inhabitants.

[Ed. Note.—For cases in point, see vol. 10,
Cent. Dig. Constitutional Law, §§ 116, 120.]

38. MUNICIPAL CORPORATIONS — ANNEXING
'TERRITORY—STATUTES APPLICABLE.

Under St. 1889, p. 358, ce. 247. providing
that territory may be annexed to any incorporat-
ed town by the filing of a petition describing the
territory desired to be annexed and a favorable
vote by the inhabitants of the town and the
territory to be annexed, territory, portions of
which are uninhabited, may be annexed if as
a whole it may fairly be said to be inhabited;
St. 1899, p, 37, c. 41, providing for the annexa-
tion of uninhabited territory, and expressly
stating that it shall not be construed to repeal
any part of any act relating to the annexation
of inhabiced territory, applying only to terri-
tory all of which is uninhabited.

[Ed. Note.—For cases in point, see vol. 36,
Cent. Dig. Municipal Corporations, § 74.]

4. SAME—SPECIAL ELECTION—PETITION—SUF-
FICIENCY — FINDING OF BoARD—RECORD —
NECESSITY.

Under St. 1889, p. 358, c. 247, providing
that the board of trustees of a town, on receiv-
ing a petition signed by one-fifth of the voters
of the town and of territory sought to be an-
nexed, Shall call a special election and submit
the question of annexation to a popular vote,
ic is not necessary that any record of the detez-


DLW Vin ’

nged san guentin (Del

204 84 PACIFIC REPORTER.

~~

of the fund. If hardship to the owner seems
to result from this, it may be answered that
it is always in his power to guard against
loss by making the completion payment large
enough to protect him, or by exacting an
undertaking from the contractor for this pur-
pose; while, upon the other hand, if en-
croachments were allowed upon this fund, the
practical result would be, in most instances, to
deprive materialmen and laborers of the lien
guarantied them by the Constitution. For
this excess payment then, of $1,066.33, the
owner’s right of recovery is against the con
tractor aloae.

3. We think the notice to withhold, served
on behalf of the Humboldt Lumber Mill Com-
pany, though inartificially drawn, was suffi-
cient under the requirements of section 1184
ef the Code of Civil Procedure. Schallert-
Ganahl] Lumber Co. v. Neal, 91 Cal. 362, 27
Pac. 743; French v. Powell, 135 Cal. 640, 68
Pac. 92; Corbett v. Chambers, 109 Cal. 178,
41 Pac. 873. As has been said, under subdi-
vision 2, foregoing, it became the duty of the
owner, upon service of this notice, to with-
hold sufficient funds to pay the claim of the
lumber company, together with attorneys’
fees in the sum of $100 and estimated costs,
and his subsequent payments after service of
that notice, even though legal and within the
contemplation of the contract, cannot be al-
lowed to affect so much of the fund as was
thus set apart by force of this notice, oper
ating in the nature of a garnishment.

4. The firm of Sanborn & Vail had sold
picture-molding to Christensen, used in the
building, to the amount of $145.73. They
filed no lien, and the court found and decreed,
and its decree was carried into the judgment,
that Sanborn & Vail were entitled to a judg-
ment against the defendant, Christensen,
for this amount, with interest, but that they
were not entitled to a lien upon the property
of Franzoi. So far, there is no objection to
the finding. But the finding proceeds: “The
said Sanborn & Vail Company are entitled
to have said judgment satisfied out of any
residue that may appear in the hands of the
said defendant, Franzoi, after the claims of
all the lien claimants herein adjudicated have
been fully satisfied.” If “residue” here
means surplus moneys due from the owner
to the contractor after payment of all liens,
this also is unobjectionable. If it means a
residue belonging to Franzoi, as appears from
the further finding that Sanborn & Vail are
entitled to. have their judgment satisfied
“from the product of the sale of the property
after the claims of all the lien claimants
have been fully satisfied,” then, manifestly,
it is error in awarding a judgment payable
out of the funds of the owner in favor of
one who has no lien upon the owner’s prop-
erty.

5. The appeal of the United States Fidelity
& Guaranty Company is sustained, with di-
rections to the trial court to enter judgment
in its favor upon the ground that the pur-

7 ay ry
Norte) 9-7-

(Cab

ported undertaking given by it {s void.
Shaughnessy v. American Surety Co., 138 Cal.
543, 69 Pac. 250, 71 Pac. 701.

6. This court, under its decisions, is unable
to review the action of the trial court in
fixing attorneys’ fees in the absence of a
showing of a plain abuse of discretion upon
the part of that court. Clancy v. Plover, 107
Cal. 272, 40 Pac. 394; Mulcahy v. Buckley,
100 Cal. 490, 35 Pac. 144; Pacific Mutual Life
Ins. Co. v. Fischer, 106 Cal. 224, 39 Pac. 758.
And it cannot be said that such abuse was
established in this case. No evidence was
taken, and the record does not enable us to
say that the separate amounts awarded for
attorneys’ fees were excessive.

A new trial in this case is unnecessary,
and it is, therefore, ordered that the consoli-
dated judgment of the court here appealed
from be, as to the appellant, the United
States Fidelity & Guaranty Company, re
versed, with instructions to enter a judgment
upon the findings in its favor, and as to the
appellant, Franzoi, that, upon the findings,
the judgment be modified to conform to the
views of the court above expressed. Appel-
lants will recover their costs upon appeal.

We concur: LORIGAN, J.; McFAR-
LAND, J.

In Bank.

PER CURIAM. The opinion heretofore
rendered in department is modified by strik-
ing therefrom all of paragraph 6, down to
and including the words “fees were excess-
ive.’ So modified, the opinion and judg-
ment in department are approved and adopt-
ed as the opinion and judgment of the court
in bank.

148 Cal. 743
PEOPLE v. BROWN. (Cr. 1,266.)

(Supreme Court of California. Feb. 26, 1906.)

1. CriminaL LAw — APPEAL — TRANSCRIPT —
CoNTENTS—NOTICE—SEBVICE. ;

Pen. Code. § 1240, provides that in a
criminal case an appeal is taken by filing with
the clerk of the court in which the judgment or
order appealed from is entered or filed a notice
stating the appeal from the same and serving
a copy thereof on the attorney of the adverse
party. Held that, where a transcript on a
criminal appeal failed to show that the notice
of appeal was served on any one, the appeal
cannot be considered.

2. JuRY — QUALIFICATION OF JURORS — OPIN-
IONS.

Where jurors had heard common rumors
and reports, had read newspapers, and from
such rumors and reading had formed opinions
which required evidence to remove, but they
testified that if sworn as jurors they could and
would set aside their opinions and be influenced
solely by the evidence and by the law, and
would require the prosecution by its evidence
to prove defendant’s guilt beyond a reasonable
doubt, or they would “vote to sct him free,”
they were qualified to sit.

[Ed. Note.—For cases in point, see vol. 31,
Cent. Dig. Jury, §§ 461478. ]


» solve a triple
nurder, a scoop

a slayer's lips!

feronto Daily Star

, & kidnaping or a multiple
on the scene to cover it for
first stained his fingers with
going great guns ever since.
rked up to the job of cub
Crime Reporter. Since 1941,
s big crime outbreaks. The
Thomas’ only scoop. In 1946,
s exclusive story on the Dick
canada's first kidnaping—the
ands of miles to get a first-
+ exciting story’ Thomas tells
exclusive interview, Earlier,
Ark., where he talked to a
en. TRUE POLICE CASES is
id account of his latest suc-
just won for him the 195!
t-enews reporting in Canada.

: are proud of its law-
in a position to know
in other metropolises.
vince’s civic holiday—
e shaken by the news

begun when 250 shop-
of the boldest holdups
icket, a thug walked to
‘ced him to put $1;000

atened.

or the door. Ignoring
19, one of his clerks.
sund and shot him in
er the counters as the

re almost bowled over

3 wheeling a baby car-
1e shouts “Grab him.
ayng did not hesitate.

a. There followed first
cond shot through his
rinted to freedom. He

That the cold-blooded slaying of Gloria, above,
and Bob McKay, below, was somehow linked with
an earlier murder was Reporter Thomas’ hunch.

dropped the $1,000 in the gutter. Thus, then, was the curtain
rising on Toronto’s worst murder week end. It was also the
start of the greatest case in my 20-year newspaper career, to
end when I got a sensational death-cell confession from a man
in San Quentin Penitentiary 3,500 miles away.
_ Layng’s murder touched off public feeling in Toronto against
criminals as nothing had for many years. Rewards soared to
a new high of $8,000 for the arrest of the murderer.

Chief of Police John Chisholm, recognized as one of the

‘top law-enforcement officers on the continent, took personal

charge of every phase of the investigation.

Red-eyed from a sleepless week end, Inspector of Detectives
Alexander A. McCathie was in his office the following Tues-
day, talking the case over with a group of us police reporters.
He said that he and his men had picked up no lead. He then
asked that we beseech our readers to come forward with any
information—no matter how small—concerning the crimes.

Just as I was leaving with the others, Inspector McCathie’s
telephone rang. I could see from his expression that he was
receiving some hot information. He slammed down the re-
ceiver and shouted to his deputy, Inspector John B. Nimmo,
“That was the North York Township police. They’ve found
a body!”

North York is directly north of Toronto. The spot where
the body had been found was actually a subdivision in the
township which was being built up with new homes. Because
the street was still unnamed, McCathie relayed instructions
to Nimmo on how to get to the scene.

Nimmo grabbed his hat, shouted to his driver and sped to
the lonely section where a workman had chanced to look in a
clump of bushes. Nimmo rolled the body over. It was that of a
man with one bullet hole in the head, a second between the

shoulder blades and a third through the heart.

The inspector took a wallet from the dead man’s back pocket,
picked, out the driver’s license. It had been issued to Robert

McKay.

“What’ve we got here?” Nimmo asked as he looked over
the scene. “He’s been dragged along the road and dumped in
the bushes.” He pointed to slight grooves in the dried mud

ee
ere
ti Sex)

“Our little daughter and I awaken in tears at night,”
said Mrs. Alfred Layng, left, widow of slain hero
who tried to stop gunman fleeing from Loblaws, above.


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70

3 Murders Have |

[Continued from page 31]

The man went to the basement and came
up with a dust-covered box. There he
found the name and address of the pur-
chaser. It was Stanley Buckowski, and
his residence was a rooming house on
Isabelle Street.

A check at the address revealed that
Buckowski had moved without leaving a
forwarding address.

At headquarters, Detectives Genno and
O'Driscoll checked the records and
learned that Buckowski was a 27-year-old
ex-convict.

Meanwhile, the other detectives had
found the optician who had made the
glasses. He recognized his own work, just
as dentists, tailors and other craftsmen
can spot theirs. The customer was Buc-
kowski. The optician had a record card
to prove it. ~ \ .

Sergeant Payne sent out an order to
pick up Buckowski for questioning. He
tracked down his blonde wife, Jeannie, at
the Isabella Hotel, where she operated
the switchboard. Without revealing their
hand, the investigators questioned her.
They led her to believe that they sought
to question her husband about recent
house burglaries—an old calling of Buc-
kowski’s.

“He just up and left a month ago,” she
told,them. “I’ve never heard from him
since.” The officers realized that it was
now almost a-month to the day since
Layng and the McKays were killed. A
warrant charging Buckowski with the
murder of Layng was sworn out. This
information was not released to the press.

It was during my search of background
material on Buckowski, to use in a story
on him when he was arrested, that ]
stumbled on a sensational bit of informa-
tion. While the police knew that Buckow-
ski had shot and killed Alfred Layng, they
had nothing whatsoever on the murders
of the McKays. I had come across a lead
that would link Buckowski to the slaying
of all three!

My hunch developed while I was ques-
tioning one of Buckowski’s chums for my
story material on the fugitiye, “Funny
thing,” the man told me, “I’ve never heard
from him since he asked me to go to
Wasaga Beach and pick up his ‘car. He
told me he got drunk at a party and had
left his car beside a cabin he had rented.
I took a bus to the beach and brought his
car back, but when I looked for Buckow-
ski I couldn’t find him. He’d blown.”

That was all the man had told me. But
in that short statement he had given me
what I believed to be a startling clue. I
remembered that Gloria and Bob McKay,
when last seen, were en route toa week-
end visit at a farm not far from Wasaga
Beach. If Buckowski had been anywhere
in that vicinity, there was a strong likeli-
hood that the desperate killer, in trying
to escape, had decided to switch. getaway
cars and had somehow killed the McKays
to get theirs.

I told Sergeant Payne my theory. He
went along with me and agreed that this
was a strong link. But his superiors took
the view—and rightly so—that to blame
the three murders on the same man with-
out definite proof might shake the public’s
confidence in the police rather than
strengthen it. ;

Bullets taken from the bodies! of the
three murdered people were tested by
ballistic experts of the Royal) Canadian
Mounted Police at Ottawa, the ration’s
capital. Their report Jeft no doubt but

\

that the gun used in the Layng murder
was different from that employed in the
McKay double slayings.

To say I was disappointed would be
putting it mildly, but I was unshaken in
my convictions. I knew Buckowski’s
criminal record. He wasn’t the type to
content himself with one gun. After the
Layng killing he could have disposed of
the murder weapon, and have used an-
other one in the McKay slayings.

Then I discovered another thing about
Buckowski that fitted the pattern of the
killer that I had formed in my mind. He
was a dog lover. He owned a spaniel
which was, except for the color, just like
the McKays’. He lavished his affections
on it. The animal was his constant com-
panion—he’d sit for hours with it on his
lap, stroking its ears, his friends told me.
And for what reason other than a’gun-
man’s love for dogs would a ruthless killer
have spared the life of the McKay cocker
spaniel, which must have barked when
his. master and mistress were being at-
tacked?

All hope of finding’ Buckowski in. To-
ronto vanished. Police had _ searched
everywhere. Inspector McCathie kept
Payne on the case. He worked night and
day looking for the elusive clue to lead
him to the killer.

Payne kept his eye on Buckowski’s
wife by dropping into the midtown hotel
occasionally.. Then one day he learned
she had failed to turn up. The police the-
orized that she had received some word
from her husband, who had arranged for
a pieeting.

McCathie, a never-say-die veteran of
30 years’ service, was glum but unde-
feated when Payne broke the news to
him of her disappearance. “Don’t worry
—we'll get him. He’ll be in trouble some-
where soon.”

Months after Mrs. Buckowski left her
place of employment, word came to Ser-
geant Payne that Buckowski was in New
Orleans, living a high life, spending lav-
ishly. But he had gone from there before
steps for his capture were completed.

Nothing more developed for months.
Then one summer night the telephone
rang in the home of Inspector McCathie.
“Canadian National Telegraphs calling,”
said the sweet feminine voice. “We have
a Western Union message from Director
J. Edgar Hoover of the FBI in Wash-
ington,” ; .

The operator read the telegram which
McCathie said was about the best news
he’d ever received. The fingerprints of one
Frank Miller, held by Los Angeles police,
matched those of Buckowski, which had

-been_ sent to the Washington bureau by

the Ontario police.

When I got word of this, I decided to
play my hunch to the limit.

From: my desk at the Toronto Star, I
called Los Angeles the next day and
talked to Captain of Detectives William
Zink. For well over half an hour the cap-
tain described to me how Miller, as he
was known to the.Los Angeles police,
had been captured after a gun fight.

His men had arrested Miller following
a burglary, But because the prisoner had
a badly sprained ankle, he was placed in
the prison ward of the Los Angeles Gen--
eral Hospital. The ward was situated nine
stories above street level.

“Then one morning his bed was empty.”
Captain Zink continued. “Outside the
window were knotted bed sheets that
hung down five floors. He still had four
flights to drop, and he made it. It was
one of the most daring things I’ve ever
heard of, and at first I could hardly be-
lieve my eyes.”

Every patrolman in Los Angeles was

alerted. On July 26, Mill
Kenmore Avenue and S
sitting in a parked autc
the police car drive up a:
running toward Vermon
Angeles’ most fashional

“He was known as a
the detective captain to!
more than a dozen heavi
a park where he was hic
shrubbery. But even ther
pared for what followed.
him to surrender and to
bushes. The answer was

“When he fired about
thought he must have «
and our men started to
were firing as they we:
Miller started shooting

“There was so much
knows how many shots
half an hour he ran out
We found him lying on
five empty guns beside h:
hit three times. The wou:

Charges of attempted
patrolman who had first.
charges of housebreaki
armed holdup were lodge
That was enough to ;
$27,500.

It was only a matter
Los Angeles defectives
wife, Jeannie. Cautiously
her, for in the back of
the belief that Buckowsk
name he was using at th
burglar who had shot an
old Mrs. Elizabeth Ed:
house burglary in an exc
Los Angeles not long bx

Jeannie told this stor:
her husband’s name was
and not Miller. After h
fled from Canada, she h:
New York. From there t
New Orleans. She unfc
which her husband had
crime across thé country.
had ne part in any of his }
had begged him to refc
himself up to the police.

Sobbing bitterly, bare!
herself, Jeannie told of
she had believed was t
walk with her husband. /
had noticed a house in d
ordered her to stay outs

Inside, the elderly w

Trial by jury did
prominence until the
was then generally t
was a holy number—:
12 tribes of Israel,
Jesus, and so on. A
logic of medieval aut’
in accord could not re
clusion even if they t
French, the pronounc


traced back to a paved

.sts of the markings and

Nimmo drove to the
: where it was learned
occupied a neatly fur-

2 since they went away
the landlord told the

because it was not un-
time. They sometimes
When they didn’t come
eir work. Both of them
ley were saving to buy

tion of Robert McKay.
xay’s widowed mother,
‘Tia’s parents.

olice learned little that
and the disappearance
rom Gloria. They said
looking forward to an
ved up enough for the
ces and a shortage of
brown cocker spaniel,
e holiday week end.

1is detectives on round-
ovincial detective and
ght into the case with

often had begged her
tm and to surrender.

Professor L. Joselyn Rogers, a government criminologist.

The impetus of the man hunt for the Layng murderer was
blunted by the search that went on for Gloria McKay and
the McKay car. It wasn’t until 11 a.m. on August 4, two
mornings after McKay was found, that a beat-duty. officer

came across the missing sedan in the parking lot of the.

Christie Street Military Hospital.

His attention was drawn to it because, tied to the bumper
by a length of cord, was a shivering, sad-eyed, brown cocker
spaniel.

The officer remembered that the police Teletype alarm
message for the pickup of the car had mentioned the spaniel
as being missing with Gloria McKay. Another glance and
a check with his notebook, and the patrolman was sure he
had found the right car.

Looking in through the window of the sedan, he could
see a woman’s feet protruding from under a motor robe.
She was obviously dead. Her hat lay on the front seat, par-
tially covering a large bloodstain. Blood was on the floor of
the back-seat section.

The body was soon established as that of attractive Gloria
McKay. Dr. Smirle Lawson, the chief coroner, said death
had occurred about 35 hours earlier. The girl had been shot
twice: once in the head and again through the heart.

Early investigation indicated that revenge lay behind the
double killing. However, this motive soon was discarded.
Gloria and Bob were popular and had had no skeletons in
their closets of life. They never spoke of anyone holding
malice toward them, their relatives said.

With an air of mystery and intrigue about the motive,
the McKay murders occupied the spotlight of publicity
ahead of the Layng killing.

The Layng investigation was in the hands of Sergeant
of Detectives Adolphus J. Payne, regarded as one of To-
ronto’s top detectives. He painstakingly questioned the many
witnesses who had seen Layng’s killer make his escape.
They sat down with Maurice Inglis, a police artist. Bit by

Left, Det. Sgt. Payne with poster’
of coat and tie that the killer dis-
carded in flight. When murderer,
above, saw newspaper reproduction
of sketch, right, made from eye-
witnesses’ description, he thought
it was an actual photo of himself.

bit after hours and hours of work, from the descriptions they
gave him, Inglis sketched a face which all witnesses agreed
was as good a likeness of the murderer as an actual photo-
graph.

The killer wore glasses, had a thin, pock-marked face and
a pencil mustache.

The whole area had already been searched foot by foot,
but Sergeant Payne went over it again. He combed the lanes
and back yards taken by the killer in his run to freedom.

The ace investigator came up with three valuable clues:
a pair of eyeglasses, a brown pin-striped suit coat and a tie
with a swordfish design. These were buried under a pile of
ashes beneath the back porch of a house about 200 yards
from where Layng had grappled with the bandit until he
died.

Four detectives, Harold Genno, Frank O’Driscoll, Ber-

nard Loveridge and Jim Morgan, were called into con-
ference with Inspectors McCathie and Nimmo.
_ “Find the tailor who made that coat and the optician who
made the glasses,” Nimmo ordered. “Go to the cloth whole-
salers first, and then the tailors. It’s our only chance and
you'll have to work fast.”

First the department stores and then the larger down-
town tailors were checked. Day after day tailors shook their
heads. The search seemed endless. Each of the detectives
had a sample of the cloth. The coat, tie and glasses were put
on a dummy in a shop window near the super market where
the holdup had occurred. Police thought this might help.

In the third week of the hunt for the tailor who had made
the double-breasted coat, Detectives Genno and O’Driscoll
were in a small West End shop. The tailor took a closer
look at the cloth.

“Sure, Thad cloth like that!” he said. “I remember having
only enough left for one suit and I didn’t think I’d ever get
rid of it, when this fellow saw it and took a liking to it.”

With his fingers crossed, Genno asked the tailor if his
records would show who bought it. [Continued on page 70]

a
te
Ie.

8 BUCKOWSK!
12

8 1950 |

31


that started close to tire tread marks. These were traced back to a paved
road. ,

Leaving homicide technicians to make plaster casts of the markings and
photographs of the surrounding area, Inspector Nimmo drove to the
address on the driver’s license, a midtown house where it was learned
that Robert McKay, 25, and his wife, Gloria, 23, occupied a neatly fur-
nished flat.

“Neither Mr. nor Mrs. McKay have been home since they went away
to a relative’s farm for the holiday week end,” the landlord told the
inspector. “It’s about 60 miles north of here.”

He said he hadn’t reported the couple missing because it was not un-
usual for them to stay away for several days at a time. They sometimes
remained at the farm until the end of a holiday. “When they didn’t come

: home Sunday, I guessed they’d gone straight to their work. Both of them
go to business,” he explained in further detail. “They were saving to buy
their dream home.” ‘

At the city morgue the landlord made identification of Robert McKay.
Detectives were then dispatched to interview McKay’s widowed mother,
Mrs. Nancy McKay, and to learn the address of Gloria’s parents.

From the girl’s distraught mother and father, police learned little that
would help them in solving the murder of the youth and the disappearance
of his attractive wife. Neither of them had heard from Gloria. They said
the couple had enjoyed a happy marriage and were looking forward to an
early purchase of a house. They had just about saved up enough for the
down payment, high because of inflationary prices and a shortage of ki
houses, They had last been seen with their dog, a brown cocker spaniel, k
driving their Dodge sedan toward the farm for the holiday week end.

. Meanwhile, Inspector McCathie had ordered all his detectives on round-
the-clock duty. Wildford J. Franks, an astute provincial detective and
veteran of many murder investigations, was brought into the case with

TSP RSP 9 TE

Jeannie, below, often had begged her
husband to reform and to surrender.

mre

Despite sprained ankle, desperado,
right, made daring escape by jump-
“ing 4 stories to ground after he
had slid down knotted sheets, above.

WISTS

Professor L. |
The impetus
blunted by the
the McKay ca
mornings afte
came across t
Christie Stree
His attentio
by a length of
spaniel.

The officer
message for tt
as being miss:
a check with
had found the

Looking in
see a woman
She was obvic
tially covering
the back-seat

The body w
McKay. Dr. :
had occurred
twice: once in

Early inves
double killing
Gloria and Bi:
their closets «
malice towar«

With an ai
the McKay 1
ahead of the |

The Layng
of Detectives
ronto’s top clet
witnesses wh
They sat dow


By Toi HART

RUGGIST EMORY W. THURS-
D TON turned from the telephone
with a memorandum pad in his

hand just as 15-year-old Harold Ziesche
entered the pharmacy. Thurston smiled
amiably. Harold, a Los Angeles, Calif.,
high school honor student, was working
for him as a messenger boy during the
Christmas holidays, and the druggist
liked both the boy and his work.

“Here’s a little job for you, Harold,
first thing,” Thurston said briskly. “A
man just telephoned for a bottle of
citrate of magnesia right away, over on
Avenue Forty-Two. He’ll give you a
twenty-dollar gold piece and you’re to
give him these.”

from his employer’s hands, the youth
took a wallet containing $19.75 and a
bottle of medicine marked 25c. Grinning,
he touched his cap and with true, teen-
age enthusiasm bolted from the store.

As time passed Thurston became
worried. He knew Harold Ziesche to be
a quick, trustworthy lad, yet he should
have returned from his errand in about
ten minutes. Had something happened to
Harold out there in the darkness? The
thought spurred the druggist to action.

EAVING his wife in charge of the

store, Thurston climbed aboard his
motorcycle to find out what had happened
to his messenger boy. Thurston quested
about the neighborhood for a few min-
utes but failed to find the youth. Perhaps,
he thought, Harold had delivered his
package and pedaled his bicycle back to
the store by a different route. Thurston,
returned to the pharmacy and was met
at the door by his wife.

“He hasn’t come back yet,” she said
simply. Grim-faced, the druggist strode
to the telephone.

Motorcycle Officer William B. White
was sitting in the East Side call station,
from which he responded to orders from
downtown headquarters as well as attend-
ing to the neighborhood patrol, when
Thurston’s call was relayed from the
central station at 7 o’clock on that crisp
December evening. “Harold Ziesche,
drug-store messenger boy, is missing,”
White was told over the telephone. “His
boss thinks he may have been robbed.”

Big Bill White strode outside, swung
a leg over his motorcycle and sped to

Thurston’s drug store. He then rode
rapidly toward Avenue Forty-Two. As
he swung into the 200-block he saw his
headlight beam upon shiny metal at the
roadside midway down the block.

It was Harold Ziesche’s bicycle, lying
on its side. White drew alongside, leaped
off his motorcycle, and threw the beam of
his flashlight all about the spot. At first
he noted nothing suspicious, but as he
paused tensely his ears caught the sound
of muffled moaning. It came froma ravine

_ beside the road, a few feet from where a

storm-drain was discharging a_ thin
stream of muddy water.

Limp, battered and bleeding, with his
face half-buried in crimsoned mud, lay
Harold Ziesche. His skull had been split
open from behind by a savage blow. The
boy was unconscious. Beside him lay the
new flashlight his mother had just given
him to help pick out his house numbers
during night deliveries. He was to have
received it for Christmas, but his mother
had given it to him for use during: the
pre-holiday rush.

White took in the scene in a swift, all-
comprehensive glance, and then rushed
across the street to telephone for help.
Within a few minutes his partner, Officer
Harry F. Glaze, had joined him.

“Harry, this is going into the records
as murder unless this boy is taken to the
hospital in a hurry,” White said sharply.
“You attend to that while I see what I
can find.”

White gingerly retrieved the boy’s
flashlight from the bloodstained mud,

. being careful to leave its surfaces un-

disturbed to preserve possible finger-
prints. His cloth cap, trampled into the
mud, also was retrieved.

“And what’s this?” White exclaimed
to himself as his flashlight picked out a
dozen vari-colored little objects and a
small paper bag. A closer inspection
made the officer wince as the full brutality
of the crime was impressed on him. The
little objects were jellybeans which had
spilled out of the wounded boy’s breast
pocket.

Just under the lip of the culvert White
found what he had been looking for. It
was a stout piece of hickory, 13% inches
long. One end showed that: it recently
had been sawed from a_ pick-handle.
White picked it up, careful to avoid dis-
turbing fingerprints. Shuddering, he
noticed instantly that one end of the club
was bloody, with bits of hair still clinging
to it.

White still was searching the ravine
eagerly yet cautiously in order not to
disturb anything which might indicate
the identity of the slugger, when Officer
Glaze rejoined him.

“Harry, get a wooden box,” White
said as he stooped over a spot in the mud
near where the body had lain. ““Here’s a
good print made by a rubber heel. It looks
too big for Harold to have made and it
has a cat’s-paw design in the middle. I
want you to put a box over it and guard

it until morning so we can make a plaster

cast.”

EAVING Glaze

at the _ scene,
White hurried to the
emergency hospital.
Charles Whitehead,
the chief male nurse,
answered the officer’s
unspoken query at
the door of the op-
erating room.

“It’s no go, Bill,”
Whitehead whis-
pered. “The kid’s ‘a
goner. They laid his
brain wide open. He
can’t last much-
longer.”

White tiptoed to
the operating table
and looked at the
dying messenger
boy. Several times
the patient gave a
low moan, but if he
was striving to utter
the name of his
assailant, he failed) =~
Shortly before dawn
Harold Ziesche died.

Pausing only long
enough to gulp down
a cup .of coffee,
White returned to
the ravine, where
uniformed policemen
had roped off the
area to prevent spec-
tators from encroach-
ing. Dawn was just
breaking as White
lifted the wooden
box from the foot-
print. He mixed his
materials on the spot
and made a plaster

cast. As sor
handle, Wh
station and
“Want s
White?” a
chief of Los
“No than
about this j<
“T know mc
and maybe -
The assig
was filled
chase, and
superiors t)


66

Master Detective

Snaring California’s Club Slayer

sister, a group of acquaintances and five
doctors whose testimony tended to show
that due to the effects of a blow on the
head when young, the youth was at times
mentally unbalanced. As a part of his
legal training, Dr. Rogers had_ studied
medicine. I had studied that branch a
little, too, and so for hours the courtroom
atmosphere was thick with terms of trau-
matic epilepsy, lesions, neurology, reflexes
and psychiatry ad infinitum.

Finally, in rebuttal, | placed on the
stand Dr. Cecil Howard Reynolds, a grad-
uate of the Royal College of Surgeons and
the Royal College of Physicians, London,
England, who had taken the Fellow’s
medal in diagnosis work and had been
a resident surgeon at the University Col-
lege Hospital of England, where he had
worked under Sir Victor Horsley, consid-
ered one of the greatest brain surgeons in
the world. He had examined Bundy, he
stated, and said that he believed the de-
fendant was sane. Despite prolonged and
technically intricate cross-examination,
Dr. Reynolds’ testimony remained un-
shakert.

Next | called Dr. Thomas J. Orbison,
then a young Los Angeles physician, now
at the top of his profession and _interna-
tionally known, especially for his execu-
tive and medical work in Russia follow-
ing the World War. He was graduated
with two degrees from the University of
Pennsylvania, Doctor of Medicine and
Doctor of Medical Legal Jurisprudence.
Dr. Orbison had given the defendant a
thorough examination at the jail; had
discussed the youth’s early training and

secretary, but that young man seemed
to know nothing of his employer's ap-
pointment at the schoolhouse. Bravo said:

“The friends of Josefina Velasquez all
told me the same story—that she was a
girl of exceptional character, not the sort
to have a love affair with a married man.
They one and all had only nice things
to say about the slain teacher.”

“Wait for me here,” Gallardo finally
said. “I’m going out toe talk to Dofia
Rosa Maria. | won’t be gone long.”

“Why, it’s nearly midnight!” objected
Bravo.

“Never mind that. The investigation
can’t remain at a standstill now. Every
moment is precious.

The imposing Galarza residence stood
out against the surrounding darkness, for
lights shone from many of its windows in
spite of the late hour. A servant ushered

allardo into a dimly lighted living-room,
where he waited for several minutes for
the young widow to appear. When she
did, he caught his breath sharply. She
was even more beautiful than the pictures
he had seen of her.

She came into the room slowly, head
held high: but her large eyes were s\wol-
len with weeping. Her blonde hair was
like a halo about her pale face. A black
gown clung to her slim body and swept the
floor. When Gallardo apologized for dis-
turbing her at such an hour, she replied:

“It is quite all right. I wish to do
everything in my power to clear up this
terrible crime. [ had not gone to bed; |
cannot sleep.”

After a few preliminary questions Gal-
lardo asked: “Were you aware of the

(Continued from page 39)

mental, moral and physical habits.

“{ found no symptoms of epilepsy and
believe that Bundy is sane and that he
was sane at the time he killed the boy,”
he announced to the jury.

Again Rogers was there with technical
cross-examination, but again the rebuttal
testimony went unchanged into the court
record,

In his defense argument, Dominguez be-
gan to picture the cruelty and horror of
capital punishment, but | quickly objected
on the grounds that such punishment was
the law of the state, therefore not a ques-
tion for the jury to decide. My objec-
tions were sustained by Judge Willis.

Then Rogers made a lengthy, eloquent
appeal for the jury to show pity for the
young defendant; pictured him a victim
of circumstance about to be sent up to
the gallows steps, and denounced the old
Mosaic law when a young life was at
stake. As always, his address to the jury
was impressive, for Rogers was a master
of public speaking.

hen came my turn. “All right, let us
show this defendant the same pity that
he showed his poor little victim that night
when he picked up that senseless, quiver-
ing body, carried it across the street, threw
it into a ditch and then took this sixteen-
pound rock and smashed it down twice
with all his might—like this—right on to
the helpless, upturned face of little Harold
Ziesche,” | worked up to a climax; then
demonstrated by taking the heavy rock
in both hands and crashing it to the
floor. The impact broke the floor boards.

At 12:25 p. m., January 20th, 1914, the

Crimson Tryst
(Continued from page 7)

friendship existing between Dr. Galarza
and Josefina Velasquez?”

The widow’s head tilted back in a proud
gesture. “If | had known of it I should
have divorced Gualberto. I still can’t be-
lieve it was true.”

“At what time did he leave the house
today?”

“He didn’t go to his office today be-
cause it is Saturday,” she explained. “He
stayed with me and the children until
around two o'clock when he went out.
He knew I had the committee meeting and
he had planned to spend the afternoon

“If your scheme works out we'll be
dealing with a killer, and a desperate
one,” declared Detective Nicolas
Bravo (above) as he and his colleague
planned to trap the veiled slayer

jury retired to deliberate. At 8:45
that evening the twelve men filed back
into the courtroom to report that they had
reached a verdict. A hush came over the
packed room as Cyrus Trueblood, fore-
man, read the findings: “We, the jury,
find the defendant guilty of murder in the
first degree!”

Thus ended one of the very few mur-
der cases that Rogers ever lost, and the
first one in which his client received the
death verdict. That verdict, however, did
not mean the end of Rogers’ efforts to
save Bundy from the rope. But after de-
nial of several motions and pleas the de-
fendant came before Judge Willis on Feb-
ruary 10th, and heard the words that
sentenced him to die on the gallows at San
Quentin Prison, on April 24th, 1914.

Further appeals made to the Supreme
Court delayed, but did not save Biney
from the noose. On November 5th, 1915,
a now repentant youth trudged up the
thirteen steps of San Quentin’s gallows and

aid with his life for one of the most
rutal and cold-blooded crimes of that
decade; a crime that exacted a toll of
two young lives—all because one of them
did not want his girl to think him a
“cheap skate.”

An average boy in school work, Bundy’s
downfall, | believe, was due to weakness
of will and selfish pride which blinded him
to responsibility and probability. With
him, the result, no matter how selfish or
contrary to society, always justified the
means. Let youths who read this story
think of Bundy, if ever they are tempted
to commit an unlawful act.

at his club. I! left the house around
three-thirty, | think. The meeting was at
four and I was there for some time before
that, and it takes me about twenty
minutes to reach the home where it was
held. I received no word from him be-

' fore I left here.”

“Did he, do you know, receive any tele-
phone call or letter this morning, arrang-
ing the rendezvous?”

“Not that I know of. The servants
might know. Question them if you like.”

Before he left, he queried the servants.
They bore out their mistress’ statement
that Dr. Galarza had left the house
around two o'clock. They knew of no
mysterious communication, however, which
he had received. They also said that
Dofia Rosa Maria had left at  three-
thirty, at the very time the shots were
being fired. That same night Gallardo and
Bravo boarded the river boat for Guar-
anda,

“We've got to find out more about the
romance, and who knew of it,” explained
the detective to his associate, “before we
can push the investigation.”

They at once contacted several of the
teachers in the Guaranda school where
Josefina Velasquez had taught for two
years, and learned from them that the
girl had been very popular in the small
city; everyone had felt sorry when she
decided to return to Guayaquil. She had
not been in love with any man to their
knowledge; and the only person who had
visited her during her two-year stay
was her brother, Raul. He had come
about once a month, and _ frequently
they went for short trips in the neighbor-

June, 1938

ing country
When the |!
Gallardo real
quez, but a
berto Galarza
and Bravo pp
trying to fin
did not appe
steamship off
negative resu!
of the passen
Nevertheles
had been the
was determin
of his visits
crime had b
ousy, either t
or a woman
He spoke litt!
aquil.
Meanwhile
check the g
owned it. S«
success. Det
the lawyer’s
bring out ac
when he once
hind his desk
stared at the

Anita Acur
formatio:

expression. W
to be checkm
answer to ea
him.

He wondere
tecting their «
holding infor
into his halt
forming a pl

Next morn
trance to the
the garb of ;
vant who di
he followed
the day’s pro
homeward. h
to carry some

She glanced
then, seeing t!
face, she sent
him a large
beside her, te
trying to get
her for days,
spend that ev
to be her m
she agreed t
in front of a
name, she Sai

That eveni:
the role of a
He walked u;
front, wonder
their appoint
he peered an:
felt he was «


ng the ravine
order not to
night indicate
, when Officer

box,”’ White
pot in the mud
lain. ‘“Here’s a
or heel. It looks
e made and it
the middle. I
-y it and guard

make a plaster

cast. As soon as it was hard enough to
handle, White took it back to his call-
station and locked it up.

“Want someone to relieve you now,
White?” asked Capt. Paul Flammer,
chief of Los Angeles detectives.

“No thanks, Chief. I have some ideas
about this job,” the officer said hurriedly.
“I know most of the people around here
and maybe I can find out something.”

The assignment pleased White, for he
was filled with the excitement of the
chase, and hoped to demonstrate to his
superiors that he could perform good

Rk tb

detective work. He rode down Figueroa
street to Sycamore Grove, a huge public
park on the outskirts of Los Angeles.
White made his way cautiously toward
the tennis courts and hid himself where
he had an unobstructed view.

He saw a stocky youth batting a ball
aimlessly against the fence. Soon he was
joined by another youth, and the pair
engaged .in a desultory game of tennis.
Their play was several times interrupted
by whispered conferences at the net. The
hidden officer knew one of the young men.
He had been instrumental in sending the

youth to San Quentin penitentiary on a
burglary conviction, and had quietly
kept a check on him since his parole more
than a year previously. And White, as he
watched, remembered something with
which he might induce the youth to talk
freely—provided, of course, that he
really knew something about the murder.
White suspected that he did. In a
neighborhood like this one, all the law-
breakers seemed to be acquainted.

Before the messenger could ring the bell,
the killer struck with deadly force.

THIS CASE IS LOCATED IN LOS ANGELES


=a

a a

ean MTR IIE

The pair finished their conference,
and their tennis, and then parted. White
swung about in the bushes to watch the
San Quentin parolee as the latter
sauntered over to Figueroa street and
hitched a ride on the back of a truck
toiling up an incline. The other youth
had vanished in the opposite direction.

Near his call station White overtook
the truck at a stop sign and ordered the
youth to drop to the ground. He escorted
his quarry to the basement of the police
station where they would be undisturbed,
and began firing questions.

The prisoner, “Red” Johnson, gave a
plausible, if brief, account of his where-
abouts during the murder hour. “I was
in bed, asleep,” he said defiantly, leaning
back in his chair and crossing his legs.
“Try to prove I wasn’t!”

White’s response was sudden and dis-
concerting, He grabbed one of Johnson’s
ankles and pulled his foot up. One glance
told him that the youth’s shoe was leather-
heeled.

“What shoes were you wearing last
night, Red?” he snapped.

“The ones I've got on,” said Johnson,
rubbing his ankle gingerly. “Only pair
I’ve got. Why?”

“T’ll ask the questions,” White said
gruffly. ‘‘Now, who was that: fellow you
were talking to down at the park?”

“Him? His name’s Bob Brown. He’s
okay.”

“Where was Brown last night?”
White demanded. “And what were you
whispering about ?”

“Brownie went to a show,” Johnson
answered, “That’s what he said, anyway,
when I asked him this morning, I wanted
to find out—that is, I wondered if—”

“Wondered if what?’ White said
quickly, as the suspect fell silent.

“Well, I wondered if he had anything
to do with robbing young Ziesche,”
Johnson finished almost in a whisper. He
eyed the officer in apparent fear of having
his secret thoughts read by the alert
White.

“What made you think Brown might
have had anything to do with it?” White
prodded.

“Well, we had been talking with
another guy about pulling something to
get some money for Christmas, Like we
did to a Jap last year. I mean—”’

Wreits leaped to capitalize on the
slip. “So you’re the hoodlums who
slugged that Japanese messenger in High-
land Park last Christmas ! Nearly finished
him, too, didn’t you? Well, Red, I guess
that'll hold you for as long as we need
you in this case.” White turned to a
patrolman who had been listening to the
grilling. “Keep Red right here, where
nobody can see him,” he directed. “‘No-
body, understand ?”

White rushed to Brown’s address,
given by Johnson, but his quarry was not
at home. Following a hunch, he then went
to the scene of the murder. Several
hundred citizens were milling around,
and as White forced his way through the
crowd he heard mutters of what some
of the outraged citizens would like to

50

do if they could get their hands on
the murderer of popular young Ziesche.

Forewarned of possible trouble, White
made a silent arrest with the aid of
gestures when he found Brown on the

front fringe of the throng. The youth
understood perfectly. Back in the police
station basement, White examined
Brown’s shoe soles before he began his
questioning. Brown’s shoes had leather

DARING

heels and hi
enough. ‘‘}
“who was th
cussing a rol
out with it!

DETECTI\


ay

‘Oh, there you ure!” was the drunk’s panting, labored
grecting. “Thought you fellows had run out on me
You gotta help me get her to a doctor-—-"

Then, as he seemed to realize that these were not the
men to whom he had talked before, he let go of the
woman’s legs, which fell stiffly

Page flashed his torch on the body, while Dwight
examined the drunk. To grufl Inquiry, he replied. “My
wife’s sick. Got to get her to a doctor, J"

A sharp exclamation bit through his mumbled. raim-
bling words. Page's flashlight revealed on the body
smudges and streaks of blood. Her clothing was also
horribly stained with sticky crimson. some of which had
dried.

“She’s not sick,” Page exlaimed His own voice
sounded sickish, however. “She's been shot four or five
times, through the breast.’ .

“Did you shoot this woman’” Dwight asked

“Don’t ‘worry—she’s been like this lotsa times,”
whined the drunk. “But I gotta get her to a doctor.”

Dwight’s skillful hands slapped the man’s pockets. A
hard bulk in the right hip pocket of the trousers turned
out to be a .38 Smith and Wesson, literally covered with
sticky blood. The lining of the pocket, pulled inside out

GLAMOROUS——.
Mrs. Joy Hoskins, sister
of the murdered woman.


Now the only light was street-lamp reflections and a
dim bulb in the hall.

“Hey, why did you do that?” King exclaimed.

“Come on,” the fellow mumbled. “It’s my wife. She’s
sick.”

“Did you call a doctor?”

“J wanna carry her out to my car. You got to help
me.”

To their astonishment, Thompson and King were led
clear through the house, and out the back door. Tere,
in a pitiful, huddled and motionless heap on the cold
cement beside an incinerator, lay a woman’s form.

The light was dim, but the newcomers could make
out that her skirt was disarranged. A ghastly pale
face stared upward toward the stars. Thompson bent

over and touched one of her ASS
He recoiled with an audible g f horror. “My God,

this woman’s dead!” he cried. “Her body is stone cold.”

“Always passes out cold when she drinks,” the man
insisted. “Catch hold and help me carry her out to my
car.”

King made a move as though to obey, but his friend
pulled him back, saying, “We’re aa to tsi the
police immediately. Thisisa rane
for them to look into.”

“Hey, help me get a doc!”’

WIDOWER——.
William Burkhart
is seen in circle,

the drunk chokingly called after them, as they fairly
ran back through the house, across the lawn, and into
the Thompson bungalow.

While Thompson reassured his anxious wife, King
phoned the Hollywood police station.

In record time two crack detective lieutenants, J. A.
Page and J. L. Dwight, of Hollywood division, brought
their car to a screeching stop in front of the Franklin
Place court.

Before Thompson and King could point out the
mystery bungalow to the officers, Dwight was. halted
in his tracks by a strange sight. He nudged Page and
pointed.

Bent low, staggering and grunting with effort, a man
in disheveled clothing was dragging a heavy object
toward the street, along a narrow cement walk back
of the bungalow courts. As he came forward into better

_ light under an archway, the detectives made out what

e was dragging.
nder each of his arms was a woman’s leg. He was
between the legs, as a beast of burden walks between
the shafts of a cart. Behind him was plainly revealed
a woman’s body.
“She’s nude! And look—something’s tied around her
be and shoulders!” whispered Page.
“Her clothes,” Dwight whispered.
Ny pulled up over her head.”
$4 The dicks stepped forward, and blocked
the fellow’s path.

“They’re

COPS AT WORK——
Homicide sleuths probe
the builets and the gun.

BLOOD TRAIL——.

traces the corpse's path
as it was dragged by the
heels to the street from
the rear of the bungalow.

EVIDENCE——

in the front seat of the car.

when the detective tugged at the gun, was also saturated
with blood.

Page whistled, and examined the prisoner’s hands.
They, too, were blood-smeared.

“you shot her with this revolver!” Dwight accused.

The man stared at the gun, bent closer as though
to see it better. “Where'd that come from? I got no gun.
Lemme get my wife to a doctor, you!”

ef the shooting was plentiful _

The detective partners scanned the man shrewdly.
One thing, at least, was apparent. He might be as guilty
as hell, but he was not faking drunkenness.

Page flashed his light back on the body again, and
noted that a breeze had fluttered a blood-spattered but
delicate pink satin slip off the face.

Her beauty of feature and her flaming red hair made
him exclaim. ‘Say! She looks like a movie star!”

Just then, a car full of uniformed officers pulled to a
quick stop at the curb, so they were placed on guard, to
keep the curious at a distance.

Dwight then summoned help from Central Homicide,
in Los Angeles, using Thompson’s telephone. Shortly,
the werewolf wails of several police sirens were heard
approaching at high speed, from various directions.

Out of one of the cars that slid to a stop on the hitherto
quiet street leaped Captain James F. Bean, followed by
Detective Lieutenants Aldo Corsini and Leroy E. Sander-
son, homicide sleuths from Central. From the next car
emerged a fingerprint expert, and photographers A. B.
Stewart and L. C. Driver, lugging their paraphernalia. .

The homicide detectives examined the body without
touching anything, pending completion of the Pphotog-
raphers’ work. It was on this first inspection that Cor-
sini let out his breath in a sharp “Ha!”

Sanderson followed the direction of his partner’s
pointing finger, and gasped, “Holy mackerel!”

The most visible of the wounds that had perforated
the woman’s chest was one on the rounded, firm left
breast. Stuck in that wound was a crimson-soaked 'wad
of paper!

Closer inspection revealed
that all the bullet holes in her
chest had been stoppered in
the same way.

“Whoever did this at-
tempted to cork up _ her
wounds like so many bottles,”
Corsini muttered.

While the photographers
worked, Page led the homi-
cide detectives into the

Thompson bungalow, ex-
iq plaining as they went what

he and his partner had heard
and seen so far.

The drunk was now
propped up in a chair in the
Thompson living room. His
eyes were glazed, his face
livid, and his drooling mouth
hung slack. Sitting there,
apparently awake, he snored
horribly. His hands and his
clothes were covered by
spots, streaks, and smudges
of blood.

“He denies doing it,”
Dwight explained to the
newcomers. “Fact is, he even
‘ denies she’s shot. No doubt
4 about his being drunk—look
~~ at him!”

Captain Bean snorted dis-

gust. Dwight continued:

“T have just talked to Mrs. Nina Scott, manager of the
bungalow court. She says that this man registered
today under the name of C. L. Burns. He gave her a
$45 check for a month’s rent, and later he brought the
red-headed woman in, presenting her as his wife. But
look at these!” :

Dwight pointed to a wallet, driver’s license, and some
letters on the table. “The stuff (Continued on page 90)

21


90

in his pockets indicates he’s William
Henry Burkhart, not Burns. So I
asked him and he admitted that he’s
Burkhart. He says the woman is Mrs.
Burkhart.”

Captain Bean and the two homicide
lieutenants next inspected the bunga-
low Burkhart had rented. As they
flipped on the light switch, their eyes
immediately focussed on a large, ir-
regular splotch of blood in the middle
of the living room rug. Just beyond it
was a cushion, also gore-stained.

“So that’s why Burkhart switched
off the light in here when he brought
those two neighbors through,” San-
derson exclaimed.

“Yes,” Corsini agreed. “Drunk as
he was, he was foxy enough to hide
those bloodstains by darkness.”

Captain Bean, scanning the room
thoughtfully, remarked, “I wouldn’t
jump at the conclusion that the drunk
is the killer, boys. Of course, it looks
pretty bad for him. But we mustn’t
close our minds to the-possibility that
someone else may have shot that poor
woman, taking advantage of Burk-
hart’s drunken condition to frame
him.”

“What puts that thought in your
mind, Captain?” Sanderson asked
quickly.

ELL, if Burkhart did it, why
did he leave that bloodsoaked
gun in his pocket?”

“Maybe he was too drunk to get rid
of it,” Corsini replied. “Then again,
he may have some story figured out in
advance, which will make it seem
likely that the gun was planted on
him.”

While this conversation was going
on, the keen-eyed investigators from
homicide were slowly following a
broad trail of blood from the living
room to the kitchen. In the latter, Cor-
sini’s probing glance lit upon a pair
of “wine tonic” bottles, both empty.

“That’s how he got so drunk,” he
grunted, pointing. |

“And dopey,” agreed Captain Bean.
“In addition to its alcoholic content,
this stuff contains a lot of medication
—so it may be sold under Prohibition
laws. It would stupefy anybody who
took as much as he did.”

From the kitchen, the trail of crim-
son led across a tiny laundry porch,
and out the back door to a cement
walk. Thence it ran to the incinerator,
and along the side of the bungalow to
where the dead woman, now decently
covered by a sheet, was still lying.

Said Captain Bean, “Boys, super-
ficially this looks as though the
woman was killed in the living room.
But, of course, she wasn’t.”

“Why?” Corsini exclaimed.

It was Sanderson who cut in with,
“Because most of the .38_ slugs
ploughed clear through this poor girl’s
body. Yet, there wasn’t a bullet hole
in sight in the living room.”

Dwight and Page, who had just re-
joined the homicide officers, shot sig-
nificant glances at each other. “We’ve
found some bullet holes,” Page said.
“Come and we’ll show you.”

.

CRIME DETECTIVE

The 1929 Ford coupe stood at the
curb. Page led the way to it, and
opened the door. He said:

“Mrs. Scott says this is the car the
couple arrived in, so Dwight and I

just gave it the double O.
look.”

The homicide sleuths glanced in,
and grunted in astonishment. There
were the bullet holes, all right, and
blood stains, too. Great smears on
the right-hand end of the seat cush-
ion, and on the back rest above it.

Carefully, Sanderson pried out slugs
from two of the bullet holes, so they
might be rushed to Spencer Moxley
of the police ballistics laboratory, for
the usual comparison microscope test.
The .38 had already been sent in.

‘Did you find any discharged shells
in the gun?” Captain Bean asked.

“No,” was Dwight’s reply. ‘Funny
thing about that. The weapon was
fully loaded with brand-new cart-
ridges, though the smell showed
clearly that it had been fired recently.
And I couldn’t find any other shells,
loaded or empty, on Burkhart or any-
where around the bungalow.”

A search of the car failed to reveal
the discharged cartridge shells, or
any loaded ones.

“Before you fellows came, we asked
the residents of the court if any of
them had heard shots,” Dwight ex-
plained. “No one had heard any.”

“They were fired somewhere else,
then,” Captain Bean declared. “One
ag have been overlooked, but not

ve,”

The detectives moved away to let
photographers and fingerprint men
get at the coupe. The coroner arrived
to remove the body, and Captain Bean
decided to take Burkhart to Holly-
wood detective bureau.

As they were about to leave, Corsini
muttered, “I’d like to know if that
woman has been criminally assaulted.
Maybe this fellow was in the car
somewhere, and passed out. While he
was dead to the world, someone at-
tacked his girl, shot her, and stuck the
gun in the drunk’s pocket.”

“Well, that could be,’ Captain Bean
admitted.

“While we’re looking for those miss-
ing .38 shells, we might also keep an
eye peeled for a pink undergarment
to match the dead woman’s slip,”
Corsini went on.

Burkhart was piled into the police
car, and they rushed off to Hollywood
station. No amount of effort, however,
availed to bring the man out of his
drugged, drunken stupor.

“We're at the stage now where this
monkey must talk,” muttered Captain
Bean. “What he tells us may save a
lot of valuable time. Let’s see if the
surgeons at Dickey and Cass Emer-
gency Hospital can do anything.”

O Burkhart was rushed away

again, and after an hour had
elapsed, was brought back to the
Hollywood station. The hospital doc-
tors had pumped the “tonic” out of
his system, and administered counter-
active medicines. He was awake now,

PASSIONS SPURS

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 21

Take a‘

and in fair shape for questioning.

“Yes, my name’s Burkhart,” he told
the detectives. ‘“‘SShe was my estranged
wife, Ann McKnight Burkhart. She

< was a stage and movie dancer. I met
her on a studio lot a few years ago.”

‘. “You’re in the movies?”
: “No, not now. I’m working for the
Los Angeles Gas Company. She's
been working at the Owl Drug Store,
Santa Monica and Western. We split
up eight months ago, after two years
together.”

“Tell us what happened up to the
time we found you dragging your
wife along that sidewalk,” Seb cain
Bean suggested.

“Well, I'd been seeing her off and
on. She wouldn’t come back to me,
but finally she promised to do so if 1
got a job, a car, and rented a nice
little apartment.”

He explained that he had rented the
place under the name of “Burns” be-
cause he had spent all his money for
the car, and had written a bad check
for the rent.

“You see, 1 was afraid Ann would
walk out on me if she knew I was
broke,” he said. “I thought if she
spent one night with me there, she'd
stay on, and we could square the
check later.

“But I had the rotten luck to run
into the landlady, when I brought Ann
home from the drug store after she
was through work. She called me ‘Mr.
Burns’ and that made Ann quarrel
with me, when we were inside.”

“So you quarrelled, eh? .What hap-
pened then?”

“She bawled me out, and started to
run out of the door. I caught her by
the wrist and pulled her back in.
Then she cried and I took her in my
arms. We kissed and made up.”

Then, he said, they began drinking
wine tonic. She had taken a good
deal, and he had consumed a quart
or more. Suddenly, he declared, his
wife said she wanted to take a little
ride “in our new car.”

They drove in the direction of
Santa Monica Beach, he said. Some-
where en route he stopped to get
cigarettes.

“T was getting pretty drunk by this
time, and I don’t remember clearly
what happened,” he declared. ‘May-
be I got the cigarettes. Maybe I didn’t.
But I think I sat down somewhere.
Seems like it was on the step of a car,
parked with a lot of others. And 1
dropped off to sleep until I fell, or
something. That woke me up.

“IT went back to my car, sobered a
little, because I didn’t know how long
I’d left her. She was slumped in the
corner of the seat, and didn’t stir
when I got in. A wine tonic bottle I'd
brought along was there. I looked at
it, and saw it was empty. I'd left it
half full, so I figured she’d been sore
because I left her, and had hit the
bottle hard.

“When I shook her, she mumbled
something about wanting to be taken
home, and said, ‘I'm so sick.’ I don't
remember driving home, but I sort of
woke up enough to carry her into

oo TAR

CAMPBELL, Lawrence Ce, hanged. at San Queritin Prison (Imperial County) on June 22, 192

"By their own confessions to District Attorney Ernest R, Utley, two boys not yet 18
years old, comfitted murder in this county a week dgo today for $7.50 ~ and the

loan of a Dodge roadster. The boys gave their names as Charlie Tavis, residence
Birmingham, Alabama, and Lawrence C, Campbell, Marquette, Michigan. The murdered
man was Leslie L. Nichols, traveling adjustor of the Northern Assurance Company of
London,. The stories of the two boys as given to the district attorney differ widely ©
as to detials. Each boy charges the other with the murder and makes claim for him-
self that he was only an unwilling participant.” The boys agree, however, in regard
to the brutal details of thé tragedy and*the utterly cold-blooded and unprovoked
slaying of.a man who had béfriended them and,assited them with a ride across the
desert. The murder took place a week ago today, After having met at Indio, beating
their way to Yuma and back to Niland, the boys, according to the story of both,
agreed to picke up a ride with someone and then rob him after they were away from
civilization, The man picked out was Nichols who drove‘up the the filling station
at Niland, Nichols willingly agreéd to’give the boys a ride and they all got into
his Dodge roadster, and started for Blythe, About 15 miles out of Niland, they
stopped to put water in the car and to take a drink. Davis claims that Campbell
pulled a gun on Nichols, stuck him up for his money and shot him through the body
when he found a small pistol in Nichols' pocket, Then ace ording to-Davis, they
ordered Nichols into the car and drove off to the side of the road about a half mile,
again ordered him out of the car and finished him up, shooting him again in the head
and beating his head into a pulp with rocks, Davis claims that Campbell did all the
killing except that he threw one rack,‘ Campbell, who is the smaller and weaker of
the two. boys, claims that after the party stopped for water, Davis pulled the gun,
ordered Nichols into the car and drove into the desert, again ordered Nichols out of
+hercar and compelling him to walk ahead of them out on to the desert from the place
here the car stalled. Campbell claims that Davis truck Nichols on the head from ©
behind and then finished the job, compelling Campbell to throw one rock so that the
would be in it to, Except that each boy charges the other with responsiblity for
she murder, the story agrees that following the killing the boys got into Nichols!
car and returned to Niland, thence by way of the Salton Sea Route back to San Ber=
nardino and then back across the desert to Blythe, At Blythe they were picked up by
Deputy Sheriff LeBarron of Riverside County when attempting to cross the river into:
Arizona, and could not show any license for the car. Le“arron held them on suspi-
gion of having stolen the,car and took them to Riverside. LeYarron fills ina de=
¢ailed indicating how absoleutely abandoned the boys are. The deputy had not even
taken the precaution to handcuff the boys, not knowing thatthere was anything more
serious than stealing an auto, Un the way he became suspicious and turned around
just in time to find-Davis with a rock in'’his hand about so bring it down on his
head, Leanmonnthen drew his gun and’ handcuffed the boys, continuing on the fjourney
to Riverside. At fiverside the boys were given the third degree by Sheriff Ryan
and wonfessed to murder, Yesterday with the two boys and Deputy Le*arron, Sheriff
Ryan started back across the lonely desert trail to the scene of the murder, The
officers of Imerial County were’ wired and Sheriff Gillett and Coroner Lyon met the
party at Niland, After arriving at the scene of the murder, as indicated by the
poys, it required more than. 2 hours to locate the body of Nichols, the boys being
confused as to locations when turned loose in the desert wilderness. After a pro=-
yonged search they gave up and returned to the car. Then mak ing a new start, the
boys were able to locate the body, which was stripped of clothing. Davis showed —
weakness and was apparently afraid to find the bbdy, on several occasions indicating
where the body might be but declintng to go to the place himself, All of the offi-
cers are mystified as to how the boys could have overpowered Nichols, who was evi-
dently a powerful man, weighing perhaps 160 pounds, while both of the boys are mre
mic and small, neigher weighing more than 120 pounds probably, in general the other

evidence tends to support the story of Campbell, especially with reference to the

iri t. Dre Lyons expresses the opinion that Nichols could not —
ST cat a tate ‘ his body was found after having

j f Campbell who says that, he, was ot at
By the most. charitable interpretation i was a

1d blooded murder in which both were implica tgghenrendyaon

been shot. This would confirm the ve
the place where the body was founde

fiendish and co


- crude animal instinct of self preservation, seeking by perjury to fix the crime upon
~ his companion, Leslie L. Nichols is from San Francisco, A card found in his clothes
- gndicated that he is a serrvice man and a member of the Golden Gate Post of the
American “egion of Sdn Franéisco, His work was to trace up stolen cars for the
Northern Assurance Company, a company which insures automobiles, The local
American Legién has taken charge of the case and is to ship the remains to reata-
¢ives at San Francisco, Nichols had ‘ween in EI Centro just prior to the ‘murder
as indicated by papers found on him, +he boy ‘Davis claims that his mother is dead
and that he does not know where his father is, but that he has a grandfather, Bud
Davis, residing at Section, Alabama, He says that he was born at Winchester,
Tennessee, ‘and will‘be 18 on March 5; next. ‘awrence C. Campbell says that his
father is John D.. Campbell, residing at 227 West Rock St., Marquette, Mich, Camp-
bell was found dressed in the dead man's clothes fkom head to foot, indlading
clothes from the navy and exechanged his navy uniform for Nichols clothes after
the murder. Gs. Mueller, special agent of the Northern Assurance Company, with
headquarters at Los Angeles, is in the city and tells of Mr, Nichols as associates
with the comapny and his trip to the desert. Mr, Nichols resides in fan Francis-
co but has been in Los Angeles since last July. He has a wife. “is business was
adjusting automobile losses for the compAny. He came here to seé Wiley Weaver, local
representative, with reference’to a loss and was in El Centro last week just prior
to the tragedy. Mr. Mueller says that the murdered man was‘identified and the de-
tails of the tragedy. pieced together through information furnished to the Motor
Vehicle Department of the state identifying the stolen car as the property of Ni-
chols, The Riverside offiers then gave the boys axgrilling as to what had happened
to Nichols and obtained from the smaller boy, Campbell, the story of the murder,
The boys pawned Nichols!. watch in San Bernardino, The pawn broker identified Campbell
and Davis as the boys who had pawned the watch. Mre Mueller says that‘Nighols was a
fighter and that,it was unthinkable that he shoudd_not have put up a fight for his
jife if he had had a chance, Nichols borrowed an Jyer-Johnson .32 caliber revolver
of' a friend before leaving for the desert saying that he did not know what sort of
company he might fall in. with. Mueller believes that Wichols must have left the
gun in the car when they stopped and that he was attacked when unarmed," IMPERIAL
VALLEY PRESS, El Centroy, California, January 27, 1923 (1:3&li). |
: .

",..Under the new law no person may’suffer the death penalty if under l8years of age,
While both boys claim that, they are only 17 years old, a telegram from John Campbell,
father of Lawrence C,, Campbell, and addressed tothe district attorney, says that
Lawrence was born Nov. 19, 190), This would have made him 18 years old last November
and would put him outside the protection of the juvenile provision, The boy Davis is
evidently older than Campbell. His is more‘mature in every way and displays a ©
broader experience in the ways of the world, The law paaces the burden of proff as to
age upon the defendant and not upon the state...Nothing new developed at the inquest
except that evidences discovered at the autopsy proved that Nichols was actually: shot
from behind,. Coroner Lyons says that there can be no possible doubt of this and the
fact is significant in disproving the. statements both of Campbell and Davis who tes-
tified that the murdered man was shot from the front, Also, the condition of the mid
underclothing tended to disprove the statement of Davis that Nichols remained in an
upright position for a considera ble period after having been shot, Davis having stated
that the shot was fired on the highway, after which “ichols was compelled to get:

into the auto, ride half a mile and then walk half a mile before being dispatched.

Had the body. been in an upright position the blood would necessarily have run down, '
whereas the spots showed circular stains about the wounds. Also lead spots on the
underwarkindicated that Nichols was shot after his outer clothing had been removed,
Davis testified that Nichols removed his coat and vest and drove over the Chocolate ©
Range ih his shirt sleeves, When the officers made the same trip they all found
overcoats very comfortable in addition to coats and vests and all believe it very im-
probable that Nichols removed his coat and vest to be comfortable. In general Coro-
ner Lyons declares that both of the Boys are plainly falsifying for it is easy to dis-
prove either of the stores in some detail,., "IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, CA
Jan, 29, 192 3 (1:8.) | |

*


{ ci

CAMPBELL, hanced San Quentin on 6=22#1923 = Continued.

"Considerable doubt that Charles Davis, accused with Lawrence Campbell of the murder
of Leslie Nichols, is 18 years of age, is contained in:a telegram which District
Attorney Ernest R. Utley has received from the superintendent of the Alabama Boys
Industrial School, in response fo a telegram from the district attorney to the school
asking if they had any records which might show the correct age of Davis. The béte-
gram advises that Davis was committed to the institution on Feb. 28, 1922, by the
judge of dhe probate court of Yackson County, Alabama, and at the time of commitment,
his age was given as 15 years and 11 months, Davis has admitted-he escaped from the
institution eight months ago, but'has refused to tell where he has ,been in the

months elapsing up to the time he met campbelles." IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro,
CA, Feb. 23, -1923 (1:1.) | d

-In reporting arraignment. "...Westley Campbell, brother of Lawrence, who arrived in
this city last week, was present in court-this morning, The young man made a splen-
did impression on court officials and others who met him, ie had a long talk with
Lawrence last week, in which the latter declared his innocence of the crime with
which he is charged, stating he had been forced to do it by Davis, whom he asserted.
continually threatened him with the gun with which Nichols was killed and forced him
to wear the-dead man's clothes," HMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, 2-26-1923 (1:li.)

"Charles Davis, 17, charged with Lawrence Campbell for the murder of Leslie Nichols
on the desert east of Niland, Jan, 20, changed his plea of not guilty, entered at
the time.of his arraignment, to guilty, when the case was called for trial in Dee
partment No, 1 of the superior court this. morning, When the court asked if the case
was ready for trial, Davis announced through his counsel, Yilbur W, Randally that he
wished to change his plea, Standing up.when. called upon by the court, with the same
grin that has characterized him throughout the various phases of the case, he calmly
announced that he wished to plead guilty. The court accepted the plea and announced
.that sentence would, be im posed Friday afternoon at 3 o'clock, Mrs, Nichols, wife
of the murdered man, with a party of. relatives, ws present in court and occupied
seats directly behind the lawyers' table. ‘Mrs, Nichols was dressed in deep mourning
and followed the proceedings closely, Campbell repeated his plea of not guilty‘and
annofinced through his counsel, Charles E, Scott, that he would stand trial...Charles
E, Scott, appointed by the court to defend Campbell, indicated by his questioning
that the defense! will t end to show that Campbell was coerced by Davis ihto the crime
of killing Nocholses.Campbell sat by the side of his wunsel, pale and nervous,
evidently realizing the seriousness of his position..." IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, E1
Centro, )-9-1923 (1:6.) . i

"1, MAXEXS Davis resumed thestand this morning and after a few questions’ from the
istrict attorney, ‘was turned dver to Charles E. Scott for cross examination, Mr.
Scott began with Davis' wanderings for several weeks preceding the crima anc question-
ed him as to his movements from place to place up to the time he met Campbell, Davis
repeated the testimony he gave yesterday. but was tripped up several times in answer=
ing questions, and 'fidgeted now and then as he tried to give answer to the attorney's
gbastions. He maintained his air of indifference, however, and stuck to his story
jn the main, tending to throw all the blame on CampbelleeeDespite the fact that he-
had pleaded guilty yesterday ‘morning to the murder of Nichols, for which he was
charged jointly with Campbell, Davis maintained in his story that Campbell had fired
both shots, either of which was sufficient to kill the man and had also thrown stones
which crashed in Nichol s head as‘he lay helpless and dying in the wilds of the de-
sert,' 6 asserted that°’all he had done was to throw one stone, which he claimed he
was fore’ ed to do by Campbell, Beginning with his meeting with Campbell at Indio,
Davis followed their cqurse to Yuma:and then back to Nihand where they met Nichols,
who offered them a ride over the desert road, how Nichols had gigen them cigarettes
and water, and did everything in his power to make them feel comfortable, +he stop
by*the roadisde, ostensibly to get a drink of water from Nichols! canteen, and which
was the starting point for the real tragedy, was minutely described, Davis narrating

jus t where each of the’ trio stood and what passed between them. He told of Campe
vell's shooting Nichols, then of the trip further into the desert away From the road,

he: i t and his head smashed in with heavy rocks. The sor~-
where Nichols was again shot an S y oe iatton

d4 ds details concerning the removal of the dead man'g clothing and its a

by the murderrs brought a "Lump! to the throats of many specators, but the young wit-

man was offered to him for identification he kept his composure and handled the awe-
qnspriing garments as nonchalantly as one would a mop rage He continued on with his
narrative, telling of their travels after the murder in Nichols' car, and how they
tried to eliminate marks of identity on the automobile, painking out the signs of the
company for which “ichols worked and otherwise altering its appearancée..The latter
(Campbell) sat beside his counsel, pale and wan looking, a flush of color coming to
his face now and again, as he heard Davis’ testimony and apparently failed to agree
with the story as his partner told it. He gulped visibly when his navy uniform was
exposed to Davis for identification, and .again wahen his navy discharge was intro-
duced as evidence. Doubtless thoughts of the disgrace he has brought on the unfifionm
filled his mind, for it has been known among officials that Campbell really ‘Liked

the navy and has stated that he was happy while one of Uncle Sam''s gZoDSe . He evi-
dently resented Davis's statement on the witness stand that he (?Campbell) had been
kicked out of the navy, though he made no sigh other that a slight bow of his headeee"
IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, CA, li-10-1923 (1:h.)

"ee.Campbell took the stand in his own defense yesterday afternoon and practically
repeated the story<as told by Davis the day previous except. that .he maintained that
4he latter fired both shots at Nichols and thew the stones at the dying man, forcing
him’ (Campbell)~to:throw one stone in order to be implicated in the crime...The

latter caused a shudder of revulsion among the spectators as he told how he and Davis
pricked the dying man with cactus thorns as he walked to the’ place where the body was
found, in ordef to make him walk faster. Neither youth«showed any emotion, even at
shis serrible stage in the testimony, Mrs. Nichols, widew of the slain man, broke
down for the first time under the ordeal to which she has’ been sgjbjected.at the #HXX
trial and it was necessary for the court to declare a recess in erder that she might
control her feélings. “he was able to return to court in a few moments and the

trial was resumed, Practically the entire afternoon was spent with Campbell on the
stande tte resumad his story,again this morning, and under the cross examination of
Dist. Atty. Utley became confused in his testimony several timeseeeGrover F, Coulson,
chief quartermaster in the U. S. Navyy and at present on recruiting duty in this
city, gave testimony relative to Campbell s-discharge from the navy as an undesira=
bles Campbell had testified that he was Siven an undesirable discharge because he
was under’age. The navy officer testified that the discharge was given for some

other reason, for if under age was the case, the discharge would have so stated, which

it did not. It did state that Campbell was discharged under special order No. 801
of the commanding officer at San Diego, and Coulson testified the, réal reason for
zhe discharge could only be astertained by examining the commanding officerds records
and that in all probability the discharge was given for some infraction of. the navy
regulations. He also called attenttion to the fact that the reverse of the discharge
did not state that Campbell was eligible for reinlistment as would have been the, case
nad the discharge been given for being under ages District Attorney Utley stated
this morning that previous to taking the stand yesterday, Sampbell without consulting
his attorney bad asked him if he would give him life imprisonment providing he
pleaded guilty as Davis had done. The district attorney refused the offer and told
“im he would have to stand trial and take his chance with the jury as to punishment.
see't IMPFRIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro, Aoril 11, 1923 (1:7-) :
"Too late to be used in testimony in Lawrence Camp beL 1" s trial yesterday, information
regarding his career in the navy was forwarded from San Diego late in the afternoon
by Harry Horton, chief deputy district attorney, who made a special trip .to San Diego
to confer with the commanding officer of Campbell s ship. According to Mr Horton,
the ship only returned yesterday from the annual maneuvers at Panama and after .he had
made known the purpose of his visit, the conmanding officer consulted his records and
;nformed him that Campbell had been tkicked out! of the navy, because he was an un-
desireable, having been caught stealing on several occasions and was generally of an
unruly disposition, He expressed Little surprise at Campbell s fate and offered the
opinion that the latter is a ‘bad youngster.'" IMPERIAL VALLEY PRESS, El Centro,
CA, April 12, 1923 (lhe) Th@ following fommsthe same edition, page l, column 8:
NLawrecne.C. Campbeil, 18-year-old murderer of Leslie Nichols, mus t hang for his

crime, a jury having returned a verdict of first degree murder shortly after 6:0'clock

last night, following little more than an hour's deliberation, The young murderer
took the verdict cool enough, remarking to a spectator sitting beside him 'Well, if

ness was absolutely unmoved, Even when the torn and bloody underclothing of the dead


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The Killer Has 9 Lives

(Continued from page 29)

murder—saw the killer’s mouth twitch.

Then he began to run again. He fired
the gun a second time, a block further down
the street, and Leonard Leftly fell to the
sidewalk, a bullet in his shoulder.

The cat-killer twisted and turned through
Toronto’s crowded downtown business streets
and behind him the hue and cry increased to
a great roar. As he ran, though later no
one could ever figure out why, he pulled a
strip-tease. First he discarded his hat, then
his coat, tie and gloves. Behind him pounded
several policemen now, but they dared not
shoot for fear of hitting an innocent by-
stander.

On Seaton Street the cat-killer suddenly

dodged into the open front door of the Van-

cott home. He raced through the ground
floor and out the back door. He emerged
into Leighton Alley. From his left, where
the alley emptied into Haren Street, came
the hue and cry. A 100 yards to his right
the alley dead-ended against the 15-foot-high
red brick wall of the Ontario Brewing Com-
pany. The cat-killer leaped off to the right
toward that wall.

‘The cops said later that it couldn’t be done
... but he did it with ease. Like a cat he
sprang at the wall, caught the coping at the
top, pulled himself up and was just about to
drop down on the far side when half a
dozen police charged into the alley. Their
volley was fired as though by one man. Then
the cat-killer was gone. Behind him, atop
the wall, to go along with his hat, his coat,
his tie and his gloves, he left half of the rub-
ber heel from his right shoe. A bullet had
clipped it off.

But there was no blood, no broken bones,
nothing. That was the second of his lives
that the cat-killer spent that afternoon. When
the cops finally scaled the wall, he was gone.

The brutal, ruthless crime shocked and
horrified all Toronto. It developed that Al-
fred Layng, the dead man, had been an
RCAF war hero, a model husband and the
father of a 4-year-old girl. The aroused
and indignant businessmen of Ward 2, where
the crime had taken place, started raising a
fund for the widow and child and subse-
quently turned over $20,000 to them.

But neither this expression of sympathy
nor the roaring editorials in the press de-
manding action, helped the police in any way.

They had a killer to nail, an incredibly
lucky killer who seemed to lead a charmed
life.

to say nothing of a hundred descriptions of
him that coincided with one another re-
markably well.

The following day a police circular .was

circulated throughout Canada and the United ©

States. Then, sparked by Inspector of De-

_tectives Alex McCathie, the Toronto officers

went to work on the cat-killer’s clothes. It
took a month of painstaking, heartbreaking
police work to trace the coat, from its begin-
ings in a bolt of raw cloth in a factory at
Rochester, N. Y., through a wholesaler; two
jobbers, a Toronto retail store and finally to
a room in a boarding house on Parliament
Street.

Officers searched the room. The records”

showed that it had last been occupied by
someone named Stanley Buckoski. Buckoski
had foolishly left pictures of himself behind.
From fellow roomers, the cops got additional
descriptions of him. They checked the photos
and descriptions with hundreds of witnesses
to the crime. There could be no doubt.

-receipts.

To catch him‘they had his hat, his |
| coat, his tie and gloves and the rubber heel,

Buckoski was their man. Buckoski was the
cat-killer who had risen from beneath the
wheels of the truck to slay Alfred Layng.
Buckoski was the man who had scaled the
eon wall unscathed amid a hail of flying
ead.

But knowing the killer’s identity was only
the first step. They still had to capture him.
A warrant charging Buckoski with murder
was sworn out. His fingerprints, taken
when he had been arrested on a minor charge
some months before, were sent to é€very
major police department on the continent,
along with a photo and description. The FBI
at Washington and the RCMP at Ottawa
were notified. ~

The net was spread—north, south, east,
west. Would the cat-killer fall into it? How
would he spend his remaining seven lives?.

After escaping from Toronto, the cat-
killer made his way to New Orleans. He
had some vague idea of catching a boat to
Mexico or South America. But the color
and romance of the Creole city appealed to
him. Especially its women and food. The
Canadian police seemed far away and he
decided to hang around a while.

He bought himself a car and a revolver;
he put up at a good hotel; he enjoyed him-

- self—till on August 15 his money ran out.

But this slight economic handicap didn’t dis-
turb him too much, so long as he had the
gun. For a man of his talents, filling stations
to be knocked off were a dime a dozen. He
cased a big one at the intersection of Hubert
and Bruce, studied entrances and exits and
lined up the best avenue of escape in case he
had to get away from there in a hurry.

He packed his bag, checked out of his
hotel, parked his car a mile away from his
proposed job. Then a block further down
the street he hi-jacked an inconspicuous
Chevy that was conveniently parked at the
curb with the keys hanging from the igni-
tion.

It was as simple as that. It was as simple
as that when he walked into the gas station
at 1 a.M., his gun drawn, and. lifted the day’s
But it wasn’t that simple when, as
he was backing out of the office, a cop
walked in behind him and jammed a gun into
his spine.

“Drop the cannon, bud,” said the cop.

The cat-killer knew when he was in a spot.
His revolver clattered to the floor. The
pressure of the gun in his spine was. eased.

“Turn around and let’s get a look at you,”
said the cop.

The cat-killer turned around slowly. To
get a better look at him in perspective the
cop took a long step backward, tripped over
a tire casing on the floor and pitched to the
floor. His gun exploded as he fell but the
bullet whizzed harmlessly over the cat-
killer’s head and ploughed into the ceiling.
The cat-killer didn’t give the cop another
shot. He got out of there in a hurry, ducked
down an alley, raced two blocks south,
walkéd another block east, got. into his stolen
Chevy and drove away.

Five minutes later he switched into his
own car and headed north. No blood, no
broken bones, nothing. He had spent his
third life..

In due time the prints on the gun he had
abandoned in the gas station were checked
back to someone named Stanley Buckowski,
wanted in Canada for murder.

the cat killer was far away.

The cat-killer’s fourth life was needlessly <~
squandered. He threw it away on a back =
road in Missouri. It was the day after hi
get-away from New Orleans. He was heade
for St. Louis ‘and a rendezvous: with a cer
tain brunette by the name of Jean. He didn’t
have a thing on his mind except, perhaps

Toronto.
authorities were notified. But by that time

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;

188 Trial by Ordeal

to pieces. “Gimme a break,” he begged. “Please gimme a
break.” Then he screamed, “Kill me! Kill me!” Then he
pleaded with them not to kill him.

The hypodermic injection put him to sleep. He was put
back into the quiet cell. He unexpectedly awoke an hour
later and whimpered and sobbed the remainder of the night.
When morning came, he was full of obscene defiance and
fight again. He couldn’t stand people and he couldn’t stand
being alone with himself. So he kept busy at building up the
pressure and then letting it blow. He thought he wanted to
kill and kill and kill because in his warped mind he believed
that was the way to peace.

Stanley was transferred to an open cell and given his
property. He threw it out, then asked for it back. He did the
same thing over and over again with his wife’s picture. He
refused letters from her, then demanded them three or four
days later. The rest of us tried to be friendly, remembering
he once had been a rather decent guy, and thinking he might
snap out of it. But he sneered at us, and then most of us
thought, “To hell with him.”

Psychiatrists examined Stanley, found he was “legally
sane” and hence liable for execution. He knew, they found,
the difference between right and wrong; he knew why he
was on the Row and the penalty he was shortly scheduled
to pay. Hence, so far as the law was concerned, he was‘a
mentally fit subject for the execution chamber.

When his attorney came to the prison to see him, Stanley
refused to go to the visiting room. The Warden brought the
attorney to the Row. The attorney explained he had some
papers for Stanley to sign, and told him that if he signed
the papers he doubtless would be granted a stay by the
courts while another attempt was made to have his convic-
tion voided. He laughed erazily, told the lawyer what he
could do with the papers.

We Wait... 189

I’m told his execution wasn't a pleasant thing to watch.

That is what the waiting, coupled with hate, futility and
a sickness called psychopathy, can do. At some point in his
life—Stanley was only twenty-six when he was put to death—
his body and mind had been scarred. His childhood was a
dehumanizing one. He had served time at an institution
where the inmates were flogged. He began to hate; he turned
violently to crime. Inevitably, his hate trapped him. When
it did, he turned it against himself and let it destroy him,
because that was the only “cure” he knew.

Some of us find the waiting too much. A handsome Mex-
ican-American youngster, barely twenty, killed himself by
looping some homemade cord around his neck, tightening
it, and then setting his cell afire, intending apparently to
make a funeral pyre.

Another youngster, thin, tense and defensively rebellious,
got into an argument with the third watch floor officer over
a radio program. He snatched up his mirror and threw it at
the guard. It shattered against the bars. The next morning
he was transferred to a quiet cell on the Isolation side. He
became more emotionally disturbed than ever. A half-hour
check was placed on him. He was found hanging by the neck
from a grated heat vent, dead. He’d taken the mattress tick-
ing and made a noose of it.

We who wait to die often are shocked by the number of
boys, hardly yet men, whom juries doom.

The waiting often finds us teetering on the literal brink of
eternity.


BUCKOWSKI, Stanley, white, asphyx. Calif (LA)

ets
-%
@

z,
o
a

... but there's more than

one way to skin a cat

—and catch a slayer

8
His nint

oski, alias Miller

ifé belongs to Ontario.

BY TONY FIELD

@ THE CAT-KILLER spent two of his
incredible nine lives between the min-
utes of 5:20 and 5:32 p.m. on the
afternoon of July 30, 1949. And in the
very midst of a hail of flaming bullets,
he vanished, unscathed, hale and
hearty, seemingly into thin air. He
had seven lives yet to go. .

But Alfred Layng was not so for-
tunate. He was just a normal Joe.
He had no such deposit with Fate to
draw on. He had only one life to
spend. And when the shooting was
over it was found that he had spent it
gallantly in the gutter of Toronto’s
Parliament Street.

The whole tragic course of events
started when the cat-killer—though he
wasn’t called that until the following
day—flipped away the butt of his
cigarette in a glowing arc, as he stood
before the Loblaw Supermarket with
a shopping bag under his arm. He
could have been anything. A young
husband, maybe, doing the weekly
shopping. A bank clerk, a student, an
actor, even, with his handsome Barry-
more profile. As a matter of fact he
was an actor of sorts—a bad actor, in
both senses of the term. The ham in

him was a yard wide. He had ‘seen

too many Grade B gangster movies *
and he was his own best audience, |
All of which made him comment to %~

himself how steady his nerves were
as he slipped his hand into the side
pocket of his coat and wrapped his~
fingers around the butt of the revolver
nestling there. Somewhere he had
acquired the curious knack of standing
off from himself, as it were, and watch-
ing himself walk into danger. He
stood off from himself, now, and
watched himself walk into the Loblaw
Supermarket.

He knew that there was a tight smile
on his lips. He knew that his Borsa-
lino was snapped down at just the
right angle. He knew that his pin-
striped gray suit ‘was impeccably
tailored. More important, he knew that
the safe in the store was bulging with
upwards of ten thousand dollars, the
receipts after the long shopping day.

He sauntered between the rows of
canned goods and soap powders, passed
the vegetable bins and came at last
to the door at the rear marked “Pri--
vate.”, He entered quietly, pressed the
door closed behind him with his

RS Be Se


shoulder. The blue steel revolver was
in his hand, now. He had timed things
verfectly. He had caught Adam Stod-
lart, the manager of the supermarket,
down on one knee before the “open
safe.

This was the part of the heist he
enjoyed most. The sudden panic in
the eyes of his victim; the dropped
jaw, the frozen face, the trembling
hands. They all gave him a sense of
importance and power.

He used the words he had heard a
hundred times on the screen: “This is
a stickup, brother. Take it easy and
nobody gets hurt.”

Mr. Stoddart took it easy, on one
knee before the open safe. The caf-
killer tossed him the shopping bag
deftly. “Fill it up,” he ordered softly.
“Don’t miss anything.”

There was authority in the blue
steel gun. It was doubled by the glint
in the gunman’s eyes. Mr. Stoddart
had a wife and family to think of.
Anyway, the money was insured. He
stuffed the shopping bag with neat
packets of rubber-banded bills. Cun-
ningly he was about to pour in the
heavy rolls of small change to over-

Dummy of Toronto killer

Looks like this—but not so dumb.

burden the bag when the gunman
snapped him up short.

“That'll do. Never mindthe chicken
feed.”

The cat-killer crossed the office in
three long strides, snatched the ‘loot
from Stoddart’s hand and backed to
the door again. ‘Don’t move,” he
warned, “for five minutes. You’ve got
a store full,of people out there. Try
some funny stuff and maybe one of
your customers gets killed.”

He opened the door, closed it softly
behind him. With his hand in his gun
pocket he strolled past the vegetable
bins, sauntered between the rows of
canned goods and soap powders. He
reached the front of the store. He was
almost tempted to stop and buy a packet
of cigarettes from the cashier at the
door but thought better of it when the
manager’s door at the rear burst open.
Mr. Stoddart hadn’t waited five min-

utes. He had waited only one. Now he.

raised the alarm.

‘The cat-killer stepped out of the
store into the crowd that thronged
Parliament. Street. Then he made his
first mistake. Instead of melting away
inconspicuously, he started to run.

Behind him a. sudden hue and «ry
exploded. Behind him Alfred Layng,
an upright Toronto citizen, gathered
himself together and flung his 160
pounds at him.

The tackle wasn’t entirely successful.
The shopping bag spurted from the
cat-killer’s hand in a wide arc, spilling
a green cascade of bills. The cat-
killer himself pitched headlong into
the street—directly beneath the wheels
of a passing truck. There was a tor-
tured scream of brakes, the smell of
hot rubber. And then, unbelievably
alive, the cat-killer .crawled from
beneath the truck and climbed to his
feet.

No blood, no broken bones, nothing.
He had spent his first life.

There wasn’t a scratch on him. He
hadn’t even lost his hat. The worst
he had suffered was injured dignity.
He was furious. Deliberately he pullect
the revolver from his pocket. Delib-
erately he stood over citizen Layng,
who was climbing to his feet after the
tackle. Deliberately he squeezed the
trigger. Three times. A thousand
people, in unbelieving horror, wit-
nessed the (Continued on page 68)

Angry captive :
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She described the slaying of Mrs. Helen
Edmunds, exactly as told at the beginning
of this narrative. “But my husband didn’t
know whether it was a man or a woman
he’d shot,” she said. “It was dark in there
and He said the person was still talking
when he left, so he didn’t know he'd killed
anyone.”

She professed to know nothing about
the murders in Canada.

or fear that she might later repudiate
her story, we asked if she would repeat
her statement concerning the Edmunds
murder to another officer. When she
agreed we escorted her to the crime
‘laboratory where Sgt. Oak Burger talked
with her in a sound-proof room. A tape
recording was made of their conversa-
tion, to be used later in court if necessary.

Later we obtained a court order to take
Buckowski to the scene of the killing.
When he vociferously denied ever having
seen the Edmunds house before we in-
formed him that his wife had described
the crime to us in detail.

“That’s a lot of bunk. This whole thing
is ridiculous.”

“Supposing you heard a story like that
from Jean.”

“T’'d like that, coming from her.”

“My friend, we'll accommodate you,”
I said.

At the crime laboratory the tape re-
cording of Jean’s statement was played
back to him.

“Now, what have you got to say?” he
was asked.

“T say it’s a damn lie and that you must
have had a gun at her back to make her
say those things.”

Reminded that his palmprint had posi-
tively identified him as the murderer, he
shrugged his shoulders.

On September 7, 1950 a complaint was
filed against Stanley Buckowski charging

one count of murder and one count of
burglary. Buckowski waived his right to
a jury trial and proceedings got under

way on. November 16 before . Charles
W. Fricke, Judge of the Superior
Court.

As the long parade of witnesses, in-
cluding Bates, Zander, Madlock and
myself, as well as experts in the-field of
fingerprinting .and ballistics, took the
stand and testified for the state it became
obvious that Buckowski had no chance
of evading paying the penalty for his
many crimes.

William O. Gibson, crown attorney for
York County, Ontario, Canada, was an
interested spectator. Canadian authori-
ties had tried hard to have the prisoner
extradited to their country, where hang-
ing is the punishment for murder, but
accepted with good grace our decision to
prosecute our own case.

On November 28 Stanley Buckowski
was found guilty of first degree murder.
The death sentence was pronounced six
days later.

Under California law all sentences in
which the death penalty has been imposed
are automatically reviewed by the State
Supreme Court, which has a year in which
to render its findings. When that body
upheld the verdict rendered by Judge
Fricke, Buckowski’s attorney appealed
to the United States Supreme Court. The
bid for.clemency failed when he was
denied a hearing.

According to news dispatches from San
Quentin, the doomed man confessed to
Warden Harley O. Teets the slaying of
Alfred Layng and. Mr. and Mrs. Robert
McKay in Canada in 1949,

On May 9, 1952 Stanley Buckowski
went to his death in the gas chamber at
San Quentin Prison.

COLUMBIA’ Ter
DIAMOND RINC

"

PLUS: RICHARD
ING MACHINE,
SET OF ENCYCL
MOWER, KINGST
SUIT, EVEREADY
SETS WITH “IN:
t BILLFOLD SETS,
MANY MORE FR


ath floor. Note sheets.

BURGLAR’S |

| NINE
LIVES

by Sam Balderidge

* THE BANDIT with the gun on the manager of the
Loblaw Groceteria was a young hoodlum of about 35. He
knew his victim wasn’t taking the stick-up calmly. “Don’t
be nervous now,” the thief counseled, when the enraged
manager made a slight move. “I ain’t going to kill you, if
you use your head. Just follow orders. ‘Take it easy. The

green stuff ain’t yours. Open up that safe and stick the.

folding money in this bag. That’ all there is to it.”

The manager wasn’t as much frightened as he was dis-
mayed. It was five-thirty, half an hour from closing time,
and business on this day, July 30th, had been particularly
good. There was about $1,500 in the safe.

Stalling for time, he pretended to work with the com-
bination, although it was not set. All that was necessary was
for him to turn the handle. But the bandit wasn’t so easily
fooled. He stepped around behind the kneeling manager
and jammed the gun painfully into his back.

“Quit horsing around,” he snapped. “I'll give you just
thirty seconds to open up that box. Maybe I won’t get the
cash but you won’t live to be a hero, either. Now, hop to it.”

There was no recourse for him. He swung the door open,
took out the bills, placed them in the bag, and was begin-
ning to scoop up the silver when the thug snatched the

receptacle from his hand. “Forget the pennies. I ain’t no
piker. And don’t try to follow me, if you know what's
good for you. What do you care, anyhow? It ain’t your
money.”

Keeping a watchful eye on the manager, he opened the
door, again threatened the manager, then walked rapidly—
but not fast enough to attract attention—down the stairs
to the crowded first floor,

Mingling with the horde of shoppers, he worked his way
toward the entrance. Then a shout from the top of the
stairs jerked to rigid attention the customers in the store.

“Get that man going out the door! He stuck me up.
The devil has a gun!”

Only one person was quick-witted enough to grasp what
the manager was saying. A checker hurdled the narrow
counter behind which he was standing, sped a few steps to

‘the door and jumped on the gunman’s back, just as he was

stepping to the pavement.

It was a shocking surprise to the bandit, He let out a
curse and a threat and tried to work free his pinioned arms.
The checker held on. Strangely, no one tried to help him.
Those on the street seemed to regard the encounter as a
mere spectacle, something like a dog fight which everyone
watched, but in which no one interfered. The precious
moments in which the desperado could have been over-
come slipped by. :

The husky hud took swift advantage of it. He pulled
one arm free, ripped his gun from his side pocket and sent
a slug into the courageous clerk’s thigh. Groaning, the
youth’s arms slipped away. He fell to the pavement with
a thud.

Free of his burden, the gunman started across the street.

He reached the opposite side, a few feet away from where
Alfred Layng, a 24-year-old air force veteran was standing
with his wife and their four-year-old child. They had
finished their marketing, and were on their way home.
Layng, like all the others on the crowded street, didn’t
know exactly what it was about.

But when a clerk ran from the Loblaw store yelling,
“Stick up! Stick up!” the plot of the drama being played
before his eyes became crystal clear. He was slight of
build, and no match for the bandit physically. But this lack
was offset by his courage. Without hesitation, he raced

27


eek

ee

after the thug. A fast runner, he gained rapidly. When he
was two or three feet away, he dove forward in a fast
flying tackle.

Ordinarily, the impact would have brought the other
man down. But the bandit, aware of his pursuer, pushed
his arm out in a straight jab. It jostled Layng off balance.
He fell to the ground, but started to get up for another
try. For just an instant the bandit stood over his prostrate
adversary, He turned, as if to resume his flight.

Then he changed his mind, spun back, whipped his
gun forward and sent a bullet through the veteran’s heart,
following it with another before he tore up to the first
intersection, turned a corner, and vanished from sight.

The agonized shriek of Mrs. Layng finally bought some
of the stunned onlookers to life. Several rushed to tele-
phones to call the police. Others attended to the half-
conscious checker. But those surrounding the grief-torn
widow, as she bent over her dead husband, could only stand
and watch. There was nothing they could do, nothing they
could say which could alleviate her heartbreak and her
pain.

ORONTO, Canada, has never known such a chase as

followed, one with all the dramatic elements of a movie
pursuit, but with a deadly serious reality lacking in the
cinema.

For the killer himself left a trail—left it as though he -

had done so purposely, as though he enjoyed having his

Officers display assorted guns used by Cat Burglar (seated).

pursuers almost reach him, only to disappear before they
could actually get their hands on him. The trail consisted
of garments which he discarded as he ran.

First he took off his hat and flung it to the pavement. ©

As his flight brought him to Seaton Street, he ripped off
his coat and hurled it to the street, Further on went his
necktie, and then even his gloves.

But, as if worried that this did not give the police
sufficient clues concerning the direction he had taken, he
seemed to go out of his way to do other odd things which
would bring him to people’s attention, which would make
him obvious.

On Seaton. Street, for instance, although no one was

following him at that moment, he dodged into the open .

front door of a home and ran past the startled householder
out through the back door into Leighton Lane.

Seemingly he now had plenty of opportunity to lose
himself. Once again, however, he did something which
would mark his flight as plainly as the proverbial sore
thumb. A man was washing a car in front of a home on
Seaton Street. He straightened up when a strange voice
rasped: “Get in that car, you!”

In the hand of the stranger, now hatless and coatless, was
a gun. The car-washer stared at him incredulously, then
said he didn’t have the keys.

“You're a liar!” the man snarled. “Get back in the house.”

He obeyed the order. The stranger jumped in the car
and got behind the wheel, When he failed to start the

SR POT BLIGE ESAS AEE

Ree a ERIE RSLS:

motor, he leaped o
was stupidity, pan
these foolishly co
jecture. But once n
in the back of a
this time, too, he
putting as much «
his pursuers, the
prefer tactics wh)
with him. He ju
housewife opened
preparatory to tal
~ It was this last
one of those who
the wounding of |
who had at first
He kept looking
glimpse of him a
He gave chase,
a narrow lane. 1
lane’s end, with |
of them was a so
high, beyond wh
The chaser was
possibly scale thi
and there was a
“T’ll count—jus
that time—I’ll—p!
Unarmed, he
end of the lane.
The impossib]
flying leap, gras}
up. He droppec
pursuer was not
brewing plant ir
race into a neal
He knew it
alone, and he t
swarm of Office
from top to bot
He had final]
Police had n
cluding Chief C
John Nimmo,
Frank O’Driscc
score of other
order after anc
squad cars to s
blocks to be se
round up every
either the shoot
or both.
Then he beg
This yielded
shooting had
opportunity to
agreed that he
that he had a s
tion which cou
It wasn’t u
began coming
discarded that
quick solution.
clothing becan
reason could h
There were
garments, But
facturing nam:
was .“The Gay
sold it, “Jess .
was the branc
Berkley” on |
label, somethi:
design, a silve
maroon backg
“Once seen
may help. If
seen it.”
But the tie

BUCKOWSKI, Stanley, wh, gassed CA (Los Angeles) May 9, 1952.

oo --~

a

LL

This is the General Hospital from which the fugitive successfully escaped from the thirteenth floor. Note sheets.

26

AMAZING DETECTIVE, October, 1960

The illusive

CA
Bu

by San

* THE BAN
Loblaw Groce
knew his victi

be nervous n
manager madc
you use your
green stuff ai
folding money
The manag:
mayed. It wa:
and business «
good. There \
Stalling for
bination, altho
for him to tu
fooled. He st
and jammed t!
“Quit hors!

thirty seconds
cash but you \
\ There was |
took out the
ning to scoo;


in the back
didn't want

her in that

as going to

d, but she

{ to lie down

| got a pillow
| pretty soon
king. I guess

ken anapon

n. Anyhow,

z | knew, it

te and I de-

her to her

| tried to

she was too

e over to get
im!’ put in
»ympson, the
ad called the
olice.
ie!’ Burkhart
didn’t come
ou to do any-
't need any of
did,”

tainly

as quick to in-
vhen Mr. King

ute evidence of the
rt

PTT

ol WON a,

AS EE NS

ih a a a

and I went to call the police, you
beat it in your Ford coupe, and
came back a few minutes later.
The Ford’s still out in front.”

“You keep out of this,’’ Burk-
hart ordered Thompson wrath-
fully, his black eyes gleaming
with fury. Then, to me, he
went on: ‘‘That’s the whole
story, just as I told it to you. I
was trying to get Anne out to the
car when these officers. came.”

“Where did you get the gun
that was found on you?” De-
tective Sanderson asked.

“T never owned a gun in my
life!’ was the amazing reply. ‘‘I
don’t know where it came from,
but I do know it was loaded and
that you can’t prove I killed
Anne.” :

“We can’t. eh? Well, that re-
mains to be seen,’’ I retorted.
“But there’s one thing certain:
you're not doing yourself any
good by talking. Your story
sounds pretty thin, to say the
least.”’

At this, Burkhart lapsed into

x

The cement walk skirting the bungalow court, over which the
victim’s body was dragged after the crime

iio A ate! allie ea

“I hope with all my heart that he pays for this crime on

the gallows,” said Joy Hoskins (above), in discussing the

brutal murder of her sister. “I hope he hangs—I hope he
hangs!”’

Four months later a Judge was saying: “... by the neck

until dead, and may God have mercy on your soul’

a sulky silence, broken at intervals by incoherent, maudlin
mutterings.

The thinness of Burkhart’s story became even more ap-
parent when examination of the Ford coupe at the curb
in front of the court revealed blood-stains on the cushions,
and two .38 caliber bullets imbedded in the right-hand
door.

Furthermore, the condition of the bungalow rented by
the suspect for his love-tryst with his estranged wife
proved conclusively that Burkhart had lied when he stated
he thought Anne had merely ‘‘passed out’’ when he at-
tempted to carry her to his car.

On the rug, beneath a fancy pillow that lay in the center
of the floor was a large blood spot. Cushions from the
divan were similarly stained, indicating that efforts had
been made to sop up the blood from the carpet.

ON a small console table was a china ash-tray contain-
ing dozens of cigarette stubs. Two quart bottles—
one half filled with wine tonic—were found in the kitchen.
In addition, there was a broad smear of blood that ex-
tended across the linoleum-covered kitchen floor, out the
door and along the cement walk to the south of the court.
It appeared that Burkhart, despite his robust build, must
have become so enervated by his consumption of wine
tonic that he had found it expedient to drag, rather than
carry, his wife’s inert form from the bungalow.

In the face of these discoveries, we were more than ever

convinced that the greater part of Burkhart’s story was


~~

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True Detective Mysteries

Hollywood’s Shocking Bungalow Horror

(Continued from page 47)

been granted an interlocutory decree of
divorce from him several months before,
but declared he had been meeting her two
or three times a week of late in an effort
to effect a reconciliation and persuade her
to return to him.

“She told me that if I’d rent an apart-
ment, get a little car of some kind and

quit drinking, she’d give me another”

cHance,” he explained.

“She objected to your drinking, did
she?” Lieutenant Page remarked. . “Still,
you say she drank so much wine tonic
tonight—or ‘last ‘ night rather—that she
passed out!” :

“That was a lie. If I said that, I must
have been crazy. She never touched a
drop of liquor in her life, as far’-ag <1
know. She hated the stuff and blamed my
drinking for all our trouble.”

“You were drunk when you said that,”
Lieutenant Sanderson said, in as kindly a
tone as possible, “but you're sober now,
Burkhart. Why won’t you tell us the
truth? Isn’t it a fact that you got a gun
and went to meet your wife today with
the intention of killing her if she refused
to return to you?”

“You're crazy if you think you'll ever
get me to admit that.” Burkhart smiled
sardonically. “It’s up to you fellows to
prove I shot her, and how are you going
to do it when you say yourselves that
that gun was fully loaded when you found
it on me?”

O answer was made to this obviously

ridiculous question, and Burkhart’s
expression indicated that he thought he
had scored heavily in thus propounding an
unexplainable puzzle.

He next suggested that it was possible
his wife had been shot by some stranger
during’ the few minutes that elapsed when
he left the car to purchase cigarettes in a
drug-store.

Again questioned concerning the loca-
tion. of the drug-store, Burkhart declared
he was unable to give even an approxi-
mate address.

He refused to comment when told that
the bullets removed from his wife’s body
were of the same caliber as those used in
the gun’ found in his possession,

Lieutenant Dwight then tried another
tack,

“When you rented that apartment, why
did you give the landlady a check signed
‘Burns’ if your name’s Burkhart?” he
asked.

“Because I wasn’t sure Anne would
come back to me, and I didn’t intend to
fork out forty-five dollars cash for a whole
month’s rent. I figured we might be
living somewhere else before the check
came back.”

Further questioning brought out the fact
that Burkhart had resigned his position as
a meter-installation man early on the morn-
ing of the 24th—the day of the murder—
after collecting his wages in full, In the
afternoon he had given a local Ford dealer
a fictitious check for $150.00 as down pay-
ment on the car in which he had met his
wife that afternoon. ;

“Why did you quit your job?” Dwight
wanted to know. “How were you going

to support your wife in case you did get
her back?”

The blank look with which Burkhart
met this question was more eloquent than
words. He seemed utterly at a loss for
any answer,

“You'd made up your mind to kill her,
then beat it—isn’t that right?” the officer
persisted.

For the first time, the suspected slayer’s
poise seemed to desert him. He bowed
his head in his hands and refused to reply
to any more questions.

After leaving the morgue, Burkhart
was taken to an all-night restaurant,
where he ate an egg sandwich and drank
several cups of black coffee.

Later, he directed the officers to his
home where, while he and Detective Cor-

sini waited in the police automobile, De- ’

tectives Dwight, Page and Sanderson en-
tered the house in a search for further
evidence that might tend to link the sus-
pect with the murder. This search, inci-
dentally, proved futile.

URKHART’S parents, informed only

that their son was being held for in-
vestigation, indicated by their failure to
inquire as to the nature of the charge
against him that they knew him to be in
serious trouble.

After one grief-stricken out-cry, the
suspect’s mother ran from the house to
the automobile in which Burkhart and Cor-
sini sat. A scene so pathetic that it
brought tears to the eyes of the sympa-
thetic Italian officer, was then enacted.

Mrs. Burkhart threw her arms around
her son apd kissed him again and again.
“My boy, my baby!” she sobbed, holding
his manacled hands close to her lips, “tell
the officers the truth, whatever it is you've
done! Tell the truth, my poor, poor
boy.”

“?’m all right, Mother,” Burkhart an-
swered huskily. “Go on back to the house,
dear, and don’t worry about me. I'll be
all right.”

When she had gone, the prisoner turned
to Corsini, a question in his eyes. “What
kind of a gun do you carry?” he demanded,

“A thirty-eight Colt’s Police Positive.
Why ?”

“You can shoot straight, can’t you?”

Assurred that this was so, Burkhart
went grimly on. i

“Well, then, give a fellow a break.
Take these cuffs off me:and let me start
running.”

“Tt’s too late for that,” Corsini replied.
“Don’t talk nonsense.”

Meanwhile, Burkhart, Senior, had in-
formed the officers that he and his wife
had moved from Pittsburg, Kansas, to
Los Angeles in August, 1929, that they
might be near their boy; that “Heinie,”
as they called Burkhart, loved Anne dear-
ly and that he had been very nervous and
upset of late.

“My son was awake all of Sunday
night,” the father declared, “and the next
morning, this morning, he moved all his
clothes from the house. I thought he was
acting peculiarly, and if he’s done any-
thing wrong, it’s because he’s half out of
his head from worrying over Anne. He’s

been
him.”
Sho
hart v
tion «
der.
Bac
check«
tion t
and f
Chica:
charg:
the F:
during
in Le

M’
der n
we he
from
stated
vious
parke
Aven
after
screa!
barke
lude.
succe
eral
drive:
Wi
murd
A
McK
the |
died
her >
Jo:
Anne
point
intr«
pose
or
moti:
fron
some
I
retur
“(
you
ficer
othe:
been
who!
I
dence
hart
aske
the
“y
Joy
An
any:
tact.
ple

but


aia ae es ash oh ele

yas removed to
d to submit to

He appeared
wood jail.

wo o'clock that

6742 Franklin

a $45.00 check
a month’s rent.
utiful girl whom

when he intro-
: said, “but she
-ed the place be-
understand that
. after that, they

scream and saw
[he man grabbed
t time on, every-
hirty, they went
them until ,
iking, when they

at any time dur-
nyself heard any

iess, stated he was
Vitaphone Depart-

statement:
home from a ride
es in the bungalow
game of pinocle.
st National.
tes when someone
und a young fellow
+r the weather from
_and after stalling
f he could borrow a
t away.
ick and asked if he
i, ‘My wife’s stiff.
| didn’t want to
mixed up in any
ble, so I told him
cooked pretty stiff
elf, and suggested
he and his wife go
ved and sleep it off.
says, ‘Oh, I’m all
it, but my wife has
ipletely passed out.
- always gets like this
sn she drinks. Il
at to take her to her
her. He’s a doctor.’
‘To get rid of him, I
i Harry to come on
h me and see if we
ild help the fellow
We followed him
+r to his apartment
ere there was a light
rning, and he stepped
side the doorway.
irry and I started to
me in, but the man
ggered over to the
Jl and pressed a
-ht-switch, leaving the
ice in darkness.

‘About that time,

» pretty dark, but it looked

| away again.”’

my wife came running
out and told me not to
go in that house! At
this, the fellow, Burk-
hart, said his wife wasn’t
in there, but was out on
the sidewalk. He kept in-
sisting that we come along
with him.

“We followed him, and
there, stretched out on
the cement walk that
goes around the outside
of the court, was a girl!
She was lying on her
back, with her clothes
pulled up over her knees.
She didn’t have on-any
shoes, nor a hat. It was

to me like this guy’d
been trying to drag her
down the walk.

| BENT over, thinking

I'd pick her up by the
arms, and that’s when I
got the shock of my life!’”’
Beads of perspiration

, stood out on Thompson’s forehead.as he went on: “The
I put my fingers on her wrist and couldn’t

woman was stiff!

feel any pulse. Then—I knew! ' :

“T turned around to Burkhart*and told him I thought
his wife was dead. He said she*,was only drunk, and for

me to grab hold of her arms and help him lift her
up. I told him I'd do nothing of the sort! Then,
Harry and I went and called the police. While
we were doing that, this bird went away in his
Ford coupe, but we saw him come back a few
minutes later. I was waiting out
in the street when the officers came,
to head him off if he tried to get

Scene at Headquarters on the day following the murder.

evidence, are, (left to right) Detective Aldo Corsini, Detective J. A. Page, Detective L. E. Sanderson (standing), Detective

J. L. Dwight and Police Chemist Rex Welsh

hart was fatally shot.

Ure donsdulaildiers

hole in right side of car

eee

Police photograph of the interior of the coupe in which Anne Burk-

Note blood on cushions and large bullet

her tragic death.

his own.

whisper.

47

which all the bungalow
court tenants were per-
mitted to return to their
homes. It was then well
past midnight.

T three o'clock that

same morning, De-
tectives Dwight, Corsini,
Page and Sanderson, ac-
companied by Burkhart
and a stenographer, went
to the morgue.

There the officers
learned that three ad-
ditional bullet wounds
had been found in the
body of Anne Burkhart,
directly over the spine
at the waist line. Indi-
cations were that the
girl had been shot twice
while sitting in the auto-
mobile, and three times
as: she made a frenzied
attempt to escape the
murderous hail of lead.

It was as he looked
down upon the body of

his beautiful wife, cold and still as the marble slab on which
it lay, that Burkhart showed the first trace of feeling over

“T want to kiss her!’’ he said suddenly, and bending
. over the waxen face, fleetingly touched the cold lips with
“T love you, honey,”’

he said, almost in a

A moment later he had regained his cool self-possession,
and once more challenged the officers to prove he had
killed his wife.

He admitted that she had (Continued on page 124)

Corroborative 7: i ; : /
statements were ; x i a ”

taken from Mrs. ~ 4 peer: Weis Pa

* Thompson and -* Pe, 4 ya ; ai 7 ” \

' Harry King, after __ “a : Be x er ; ie
e0 ee . ~A _ . , : y : 4
~~ 5 ya ee. = .

\ i a tt, “i ia sf : m: ; 7

The sleuths pictured here examining the murder gun and other

46 True Detective Mysteries

“Only over my dead body can some other man have you,”
wrote the killer to Anne Burkhart (above). ‘I have a streak
of Indian in me and when infringed upon I seek revenge’’

an elaborate fabrication drawn entirely from his imagination.

When the Coroner arrived, the body of the deceased was
removed to the county morgue.

Two officers were then
sent to an address on
North La Jolla Street
in Hollywood, where
Burkhart said Mrs. Joy
Hoskins resided, to in-
form her of the tragic
death of her sister.

HORTLY afterward,

accompanied by sev-
eral of the bungalow-
court residents who off-
ered to testify regard-
ing their knowledge of
the circumstances lead-
ing up to the discovery
of the crime, we drove
to the Hollywood Detec-
tive Bureau with our
prisoner.

At first, Burkhart,
when locked in a cell,
seemed to be on the
verge of delirium tre-
mens. Whether this ex-

pared to say. At any rate, the raving man was removed to
the Emergency Hospital where he was forced to submit to
having the contents of his stomach pumped out. He appeared
greatly sobered upon his return to the Hollywood jail.

From Mrs. Nina Scott we learned that at two o'clock that
afternoon, she had rented the bungalow at 6742 Franklin
‘Place to a young man who tendered her a $45.00 check
signed “W. M. Burns,” in payment for a month’s rent.
At six o’clock he had returned with a beautiful girl whom
he introduced to Mrs. Scott as his wife.

“T thought she looked rather startled when he intro-
duced her as Mrs. Burns,” Mrs. Scott said, “‘but she
didn’t say anything. He told me he liked the place be-
cause it looked quiet, and gave me to understand that
they didn’t want to be disturbed. Soon after that, they
went inside the bungalow.

“About half an hour later, I heard a scream and saw
the girl come running out of the door. The man grabbed
her and pulled her back in. From that time on, every-
thing was quiet. Then, about seven-thirty, they went
out together. That's the last time I saw them until 7

“Did they appear to have been drinking, when they
walked out?”

“No, not at all.”

“And nobody heard any shots fired at any time dur-
ing the entire evening?”

“No, sir. None of the tenants nor myself heard any
shots.”

Mr. Charles Thompson, the next witness, stated he was
employed by First National Studios in the Vitaphone Depart-
ment, and resided at 6742}4 Franklin Place.

The following is taken from his official statement:

“At about ten-fifteen tonight, after I got home from a ride
with my wife and Mrs. Harry King, who lives in the bungalow
adjoining ours, Mr. King came in for a game ot pinoc le.
He’s in the Production Department at First National.

“We'd been playing just a few minutes when someone
knocked at the door. I answered it and found a young fellow
there who appeared to be pretty much under the weather from
liquor. He said he was my new neighbor, and after stalling
around a minute or two, wanted to know if he could borrow a
match. I gave him a handful and he went away.

“About fifteen minutes later he came back and asked if he
could speak ‘to me:as a friend. He said, ‘My wife’s stiff.
Will you help me carry her out to the car?’ I didn’t want to

: get mixed up in any
trouble, so I told him
he looked pretty stiff
himself, and suggested
that he and his wife go
to bed and sleep it off.
He says, ‘Oh, I’m all
right, but my wife has
completely passed out.
She always gets like this
when she drinks. I

father. He’s a doctor.’
“To get rid of him, I
told Harry to come on

could help the fellow
out. We followed him
over to his apartment

inside the doorway.
Harry and | started to
come in, but the man
staggered over to the
«wall and pressed a

want to take her to her }

with me and see if we |

where there was a light |
burning, and he stepped |

hibition of intoxication
was staged for our bene-
fit or not, I am not pre-

Interior of the living room in the Franklin Place bungalow where

the victim was brought after the shooting. The dark stain on the

floor—human blood—was covered when detectives arrived. The
killer had placed the cushion over it ~

light-switch, leaving the
place in darkness.
“About that time,

my wife «
out and to
go in that
this, the
hart, said h
in there, bi
the sidewall!
sisting that
with him.
“We follc
there, stret
the cemen:
goes arounc
of the cour
She was |!
back, with
pulled up oy
She didn’t
shoes, nor a
pretty dark,
to me like
been trying
down the w

“T BENT «
I'd pick
arms, and t
got the shoc
Beads of
stood out
woman was
feel any pu
“T turned
his wife wa
me to grab }
up. I told }
Harry and
we were doi
Ford coupe,
minutes lat
in the street
to head hin
away again.
Corrobor:
statements
taken from
Thompson
Harry King,

Scene at
evidence,


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Hollywood's
Psycho Strangler

(Continued from page 26)

shaking and sweating, protested that it was
all a mistake. He assured the officers he
had no intention of stealing the purse.
“Magdalena is a friend of mine,” he ex-
plained. “I’ve known her for a long time.
We work together. I just put my arm
around her in a friendly way, and she
started screaming. She jumped out of the
car and left her purse behind her.”

The jittery lens polisher identified him-
self as Henry Adolph Busch Jr., son of the
former operators of a well-known Holly-
wood ‘restaurant. The station wagon be-
longed to his aunt, Mrs. Margaret Briggs,
he said.

The radio officers did not know quite
what to make of the odd-looking young
man, who stood 6 feet tall and weighed
only 140 pounds. Henry’s sharp-featured
face, with a ragged, wispy mustache, was
topped by tousled light brown hair, crew-
cut on the top but long on the sides. He
looked as though he hadn’t eaten for a
week.

Mrs. Parra insisted on having Busch
locked up. The policemen were a bit
dubious, since the brunette acknowledged
that she knew him and worked with him,
and the early-morning street affray might
turn out to be some sort of personal brawl.
When Officers Baker and McGowan
searched Henry’s pockets, however, the
affair took on a more sinister color. He
was carrying a pair of handcuffs, a wicked-
looking steak knife with a thin, 8-inch
saw-tooth blade, and a razor-blade box-
opener knife—hardly the tools of a lens
polisher.

After taking oral statements from the
indignant brunette and the two truck
drivers, the radio officers decided to take
Henry Busch down to Hollywood Station
and book him for attempted purse-snatch-
ing, pending further investigation. Mrs.
Parra promised to come down later in the
morning to file a complaint. It was 7:20
a.m. when the squad car left the scene;
Officer Baker rode in the back seat with
the prisoner. ;

As soon as he was alone with the police-
men, Busch grew calmer. Dragging on a
cigarette, he became more talkative and
confidential. He seemed to resent the
Officers’ impression that his motive in
attacking the brunette had been to steal
her purse. ‘Yes, I ‘wanted to get that
woman in my car, all right,” he said. “You
fellows don’t want to talk to me just about
purse-snatching.”

Puzzled, Officer Baker let the eccentric
prisoner talk on.

“T guess you've got me,” Busch said with
a sickly grin. “I might as well make a clean
breast of it. You’d find it out anyway.”

“Clean breast of what? What are you
talking about, Henry?”

The gangling young man blinked and the
muscles in his neck worked convulsively.
Then he blurted out, “I’m glad you fellows
got me. I was going to take that woman up
in Griffith Park and kill her!

“I’ve killed some women already,” Henry
went on, as Officer McGowan automatically
slowed the police car. “In fact, there’s a
body right now in my apartment, over on
Mariposa. I’ll show you. There’s another
in one of my mother’s apartments on Vir-
ginia.”

The two startled young radio car officers
looked at each other incredulously. Was
Henry Busch serious? It sounded cockeyed.

It was broad daylight and too early in the
morning. Murder belonged to murky mid-
night. This psycho must be kidding, they
both thought. Probably been seeing too
many horror movies. Nevertheless, they
had to go along with him. The fact that
they were due to go off duty in a few
minutes did not make them any happier.

Henry directed the skeptical officers to
the modest apartment house where he
lived, a few blocks away at 1522 North
Mariposa Avenue, in the Olive Hill sec-
tion on the other side of Barnsdall Park.
Officer Baker remained with the prisoner,
who was now relaxed and smiling as
though at some secret joke, while Officer
McGowan went upstairs,

The manager let him into Henry Busch’s
second-floor-rear bachelor apartment. The
first thing they saw in the semi-darkness
of the little hallway, just inside the door,
was a bulky, brand-new green sleeping
bag, bound with white plastic clothesline.

The manager exclaimed in horror. Officer
McGowan stepped back a pace. The big
sleeping bag had something in it, and that
something had the unmistakable outlines
of a human body. McGowan stepped into
the hallway, bent down and touched the
bag gingerly. He shuddered as he felt the
contours of a head and shoulders.

Investigating no further, McGowan
hastened downstairs and outside to the
squad car, and put in a radio call for the
Hollywood detective bureau. At the busy
movietown police station a couple of miles
away, the shifts were just changing and
the day watch coming on duty. Lieutenant
Charles W. Crumly, the acting detective
commander, who had just sat down at his
desk, took off at once for Olive Hill with
Lieutenant Walter C. Colwell and Sergeant
Edgar Northrup.

The radio officers, well versed in han-
dling such situations, still had Henry Busch
in the back seat of the car in front of the
Mariposa Avenue apartment house. They
had refrained from questioning him fur-
ther.

“He says he killed a couple of women
over the week end, Lieutenant,” Officer
McGowan greeted the detectives. “One
upstairs here and another one over on
Virginia Avenue. There’s sure enough one
upstairs—tied in a sleeping bag!”

“Who's in the bag upstairs, Henry?”
Lieutenant Crumly asked conversationally.

“Why, she’s an elderly lady, a friend of
mine, Mrs. Shirley Payne. She’s about 70
years old. She’s an old-friend of my mother
—lives across the hall from Mother, over
on Virginia. I’ve known her two or three
years. I used to take her out once in a
while.”

“When did you kill her?”

“Last Saturday night, September third,”
Henry answered readily. “I took her to see
the movie ‘Psycho.’ Later, in my apartment,
this urge came over me and I strangled
her.”

That was the start of one of the most
grisly and bizarre multiple-murder con-
fessions in police annals of the Southern
California film colony, which has had its
share of grotesque homicides.

“Why did you kill Mrs. Payne, Henry?”
Lieutenant Crumly asked.

“I don’t know why I did it,” the weird
young man mumbled. “Why does anyone
strangle anyone? All I know is, every now
and then I get this urge to kill somebody.
Most of the time, I get rid of it by watch-
ing TV, or going to the movies. But some-
times, ...

“Well, we saw that picture, and then we
went to my apartment. Suddenly I decided
I had to strangle her, and I did. That’s all
there was to it.”

Adopting a quiet, fatherly tone as he sat
in the back seat of the police car with the
eccentric confessed killer, Crumly pressed

Henry for details. The
coming.

In spite of the dispa:
and gray-haired Mrs
married divorcee, had
pany, according to H
sion, as quoted by
About 4:30 Saturday a
went over to her apart:
building at 5623 Virg
distance away, and in
widely publicized
“Psycho.” They dr¢
Boulevard theater in !

“After the show, I ;
place for some beer. W
tried to make love to !
I forced myself on her

“Afterwards—we we)
dressed—she turned |}
suddenly this urge ca
her. So I grabbed her
from behind, and stra
hands till she was de:
her clothes and tied
and wrapped her in a

Then, he said, he «
soundly, with the won
lying on the floor a fi

“IT got up at 6:30
knew I ought to dispos
how. I decided to tak:
tains and dump it ov
to the big drugstore
bought a sleeping bag
it. Then I found I cou!
left her lying there o
was quoted.

Busch said he slep:
again Sunday night, ;
day Monday, Labor
stepping over and ar
bag.

“That brings us up t
night, Henr Lieuten
as the man sighed an
did you do then? Wh
body, over on Virgini
before or after you kil

“Oh, that’s my aunt
said, brightening, as t!
forgotten his second \
reminded. “I killed }
still over there, in he:

Crumly and Colwe!
and took a quick look
ing bag, which was st
after putting in a cal!
quarters and briefing
Brown, detective com:
palling story, the dete
car men in charge of t!
der scene. They bundle
prisoner into their car
Virginia Avenue, a qu
a few blocks away or
Hollywood Freeway.

Henry calmly direct
his aunt’s apartment
explaining that his n
adjoining building at
Payne had lived acr
He led them to the
ered them in and st:

the air of a showman

production.
The nude body of M
a shapely 53-year-

sprawled on the dining
quite evidently been
were cuts on her body
“I got tired of stavir
the fantastic slayer wa
to come over here
place and bring her
stamps I’d been saving
“She invited me to s
sat and watched the «
movie on TV. Finally |
said good night. It w:
Margaret turned her |

FOROS NSE aR ore Rbe peg EAHE


26

squinting in the early morning sun, the brunette recognized
the driver as Henry Busch, a tall, gaunt, bespectacled, 29-

year-old ex-GI who worked as a lens polisher for the same -

firm. Magdalena smiled and waved a greeting.

“It looks like we’re both early,” Busch grinned, leaning
over the wheel. “How about taking a ride down the street
with me for a cup of coffee?”

Mrs. Parra had never been particularly friendly with
Henry Busch, who was a nervous, taciturn, introverted,
rather weird-looking young man, considered a bit odd by
his fellow workers. She was
invitation, which was out of character, However, she saw
no reason to hurt his feelings by refusing. He held the door
open for her, and she got into the front seat next to him.
Busch, clad in a checked shirt and sports jacket, looked
more harassed and emaciated than usual, He had evidently
had a rough holiday week end, Magdalena thought.

Busch gunned his motor and the station wagon began to
roll down the street. Mrs. Parra, feeling she should make
conversation to put Henry at his ease, began some innocuous
comment about the hot weather.

She never completed it. Without a word. of warning,
Henry turned around in the seat. Flashing a ghastly grin,
he reached out his long right arm and grabbed her by the
nape of the neck,

Fortunately, Magdalena Parra was not the type to faint
from terror. She immediately began to scream and ‘struggle,
Her assailant. let go of the wheel and clamped both of his

powerful, long-fingered hands around her bare throat, The’

car stalled as he threw his weight on his victim and bore
her, kicking, tearing and squirming, down to the floor. His
eyes blazed with a wild gleam behind his gold-rimmed
glasses.

No weakling herself, Magdalena succeeded in breaking
Henry’s strangle hold, She screamed lustily. Wrestling the

surprised at his comradely'

In their prisoner’s apartment Offs. Baker (l.) and McGowan found body of Shirley Payne wrapped in sleeping bag

panting attacker to one side, she got partly up and managed
to yank the door open. Still screeching at the top of her
lungs, the battling brunette jumped or fell out of the car
and tumbled -to the pavement. As she went out the door,
she felt Busch grab at her purse and she let go of it.

The gangling, jug-eared young attacker, with one wild,
frustrated look at his intended victim, jumped out the
opposite door and fled on foot, leaving his stalled station
wagon standing in the middle of the street. ;

Two men, attracted by Mrs. Parra’s screams, came on the
run. They were truck drivers working nearby. Seeing that
the disheveled brunette was all ‘Tight, they chased her
assailant down the block and cornered him in an alley.

-“It was just a personal argument—we’re friends,” the
panting, trembling prisoner protested as his husky captors
brought him back to the car, keeping a firm grip on, his
elbows.

Mrs. Parra’s version was different. “He tried to strangle
me!” she cried. “He snatched my purse. Call the police!”
Henry Busch shrank awkwardly away from the angry
brunette, but one of the men held him firmly, while the
other went to a nearby telephone booth.

The call hit the central Los Angeles police complaint
board at 7.05 a.m. Young Radio Officers Dale K. Baker and
Eugene E. McGowan of Hollywood Division, patrolling
nearby, were dispatched to “investigate an argument.”

Except for a few bruises, Magdalena Parra was unhurt.

_ She was.more mad than scared, “He’s crazy!” she told the
uniformed officers. ‘He must be some kind of a fiend. He

grabbed me by the throat. He was trying to kill me. He
took my purse.”

The two truck driver witnesses confirmed that they had
seen the pair struggling. Mrs, Parra’s purse, which con-
tained a few dollars, lay on the station Wagon seat.

Henry _ Busch, white-faced, (Continued on page 88)

Then Busch |
9

Acting Command


in sleeping bag
&

vartly up and managed
ing at the top of her
or fell out of the car
1e went out the door,
she let go of it.
acker, with one wild,
tim, jumped out the
ng his stalled station
street.

screams, came on the
ig nearby. Seeing that
zht, they chased her
d him in an alley.
—we're friends,” the
as his husky captors
ig a firm grip on, his

“He tried to strangle
irse. Call the police!”
way from the angry
iim firmly, while the
ith.
eles police complaint
‘rs Dale K. Baker and
Division, patrolling
ate an argument.”
va Parra was unhurt.
s crazy!” she told the
> kind of a fiend. He
rying to kill me. He

firmed that they had
S purse, which con-
wagon seat.

inued on page 88)

Sanaa

SONS

' Then Busch led officers to an apartment where the nude body of his aunt, Mrs. Margaret Briggs, lay on dining room floor

) Acting Commander Lt. Crumly chasked on a third strangling Alfred Hitchcock refused to. discuss case with the newsmen

Laas

ao oP Se OEE,

27


so early in the
to murky mid-

kidding, they.

een seeing too
ertheless, they
The fact that
duty in a few
, any happier.
ical officers to
use where he
at 1522 North
Olive Hill sec-
Barnsdall Park.
th the prisoner,
ind smiling as
e, while Officer

) Henry Busch’s
apartment. The
e semi-darkness
inside the door,
green sleeping
istic clothesline.
n horror. Officer
, pace. The big
g in it, and that
takable outlines
‘an stepped into
and touched the
od as he felt the
yulders.
ther, McGowan
outside to the
‘-adio call for the
sau. At the busy
a couple of miles
ist changing and
duty. Lieutenant

acting detective .

t sat down at his
r Olive Hill with
well and Sergeant

\] versed in han-
had Henry Busch
ar in front of the
nent house. They
stioning him fur-

couple of women
eutenant,” Officer
detectives. “One
her one over on
sure enough one

ing bag!”
upstairs, Henry?”
1 conversationally.

y lady, a friend of
ne. She’s about 70
-jend of my mother
from Mother, over
1 her two or three
her out once in a

>

er?”
September third,”
“I took her to see
r, in my apartment,
ne and I strangled

ff one of the most
iltiple-murder con-
s of the Southern
which has had its

-s, Payne, Henry?”

ced.
| did it,” the weird

‘Why does anyone
<now is, every now

to kill somebody.
rid of it by watch-
movies. But some-

picture, and then we

Suddenly I decided
znd I did. That’s all

therly tone as he sat
» police car with the
iler, Crumly pressed

| Henry for details. They were readily forth-

coming.
In spite of the disparity in their ages, he
and gray-haired Mrs. Payne, a twice-

| married divorcee, had been keeping com-

pany, according to Henry Busch’s confes-
sion, as quoted by Lieutenant Crumly.
About 4:30 Saturday afternoon, he said, he
went over to her apartment in his mother’s
building at 5623 Virginia Avenue, a short
distance away, and invited her to see the
widely publicized Alfred Hitchcock film
“Psycho.” They drove to a Hollywood
Boulevard theater in his car.

“After the show, I asked her up to my
place for some beer. When we got there, I
tried to make love to her. She refused. So
I forced myself on her.

“Afterwards—we were standing up, fully
dressed—she turned her back to me, an
suddenly this urge came over me to kill
her. So I grabbed her around the throat
from behind, and strangled her with my
hands till she was dead. Later I took off
her clothes and tied her hands and feet,
and wrapped her in a sheet.” elate

Then, he said, he went to bed and slept
soundly, with the woman’s shrouded body
lying on the floor a few feet away.

“J got up at 6:30 Sunday morning. I
knew I-ought to dispose of the body some-
how. I decided to take it up in the moun-
tains and dump it over a cliff. So I went
to the big drugstore over on Vermont and

pought a sleeping bag and put the body in ~

it. Then I found I couldn’t lift it. So I just
left her lying there on the floor,” Busch
was quoted.

Busch said he slept in the apartment
again Sunday night, and stayed home all
day Monday, Labor Day, presumably
stepping over and around the gruesome
bag.

“That brings us up to Monday night—last
night, Henry,” Lieutenant Crumly prodded
as the man sighed and fell silent. “What
did you do then? What about this other
body, over on Virginia Avenue? Was that
before or after you killed Mrs. Payne?”

“Oh, that’s my aunt, Mrs. Briggs,’ Henry
said, brightening, as though he had all but
forgotten, his second victim and had to be
reminded. “I killed her last night. She’s
still over there, in her apartment.”

Crumly and Colwell hastened upstairs
and took a quick look at the bulky sleep-
ing bag, which was still unopened. Then,
after putting in a call to downtown head-
quarters and briefing Deputy Chief Thad
Brown, detective commander, on the ap-
palling story, the detectives left the radio
car men in charge of the Number One mur-
der scene. They bundled the chain-smoking
prisoner into their car and hurried over to
Virginia Avenue, a quiet residential street
a few blocks away on the other side of
Hollywood Freeway.

Henry calmly directed the detectives to
his aunt’s apartment at 5617%% Virginia,
explaining that his mother lived in the
adjoining building at 5623, where Shirley
Payne had lived across the hall from her.
He led them to the apartment door, ush-
ered them in and stood aside, almost with
the air of a showman unveiling his latest
production.

The nude body of Mrs. Margaret Briggs,
a shapely 53-year-old brunette, lay
sprawled on the dining room floor. She had
quite evidently been strangled, and there
were cuts on her body as well.

“T got tired of staying home last night,”
the fantastic slayer was quoted. “I decided
to come over here to Aunt Margaret’s
place and bring her some green trading
stamps I'd been saving for her.

“She invited me to stay a while, and we
sat and watched the old ‘Ziegfeld Follies’
movie on TV. Finally I got up to leave. We
said good night. It was then, when Aunt
Margaret turned her back-to me, that the

puiaringy ahh atk Sell E

a. clothes, Henry ‘said, he sat

urge suddenly came over. me: again—the |

urge to kill. I couldn't fight it. So “T put.
my arm around her neck from behind, and
. strangled her. (dha Sa Chae om

“After I killed her, I tried to cut off her
clothes with a pocket knife, put it was too
dull. So I took a pair of scissors and cut
them off—right up the middle.” aS

“why did you do that, Henry?” Lieu-
tenant Colwell asked. “Was there any sex
involved?” — ‘ manent a

“No, sir, nothing like that,” young Busch
declared with a spark of vehemence. “After
all, she was my aunt. I cut off her clothes
to make it look like a sex crime. Since I
don’t have any record for anything like
that, I. thought. it would ‘throw the police
off the track.” eee aN

After he killed his aunt and cut off her

on the floor
‘peside her for a while; and was assailed by
remorse, because > Aunt — Margaret had
always been kind to him. He watched a
late TV show. Finally he went to sleep, in
one of the twin beds in her back bedroom.

Apparently the ‘slaying of Mrs. Briggs,
and the. sight of her nude body in the
morning, inspired him to some sober re-
flection. “I realized there was no help for
me. I was on this thing and I couldn’t get
off. I'd killed two women already. Their
bodies would-be found sooner or later. I
had to keep on going. There was nothing
else to do,” Busch was quoted. .

So Henry Busch started out at daybreak
that hot Tuesday morning, taking his
aunt’s station wagon and leaving his own
car, a 1956 Oldsmobile convertible, parked
down the street.

“J went out looking for another victim

_—another woman to kill. I drove by the
lens lab, out of force of habit. I don’t know
whether I could have reported for work
today or not. Then, when I saw Magdalena
Parra walking along the street, I knew it
had to be her. I figured I’d take her up in
the park, up in those hills and kill her. But
she got away from me, even though I had
her down on the floor of the car, choking
her hard.

“Ym glad you

fellows caught me. ‘Now

it’s over.”
“you've told us about’ these two mur-
ders, Henry,” Lieutenant Crumly said

quietly, after a prief silence. “Is that all?
Is there anything else 9n your mind? Did
you ever kill anyone else?” .

The spectacled prisoner looked embar-
rassed. He gulped and stared down at the
floor. “Well, yes, Lieutenant. I may as well
tell you. There was old Mrs. Miller, back
in May—”

The detectives did a startled double-
take. Crumly and Colwell remembered

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186 Trial by Ordeal

measured as effectively by its space-time-thought content,
as by its impact.

To most of us, for example, psychopathy and psychosis are
just big words with sardonic overtones, Yet the men to whom
these words are applied are our neighbors and ourselves.
Here the waiting can bring the psychopathic or psychotically
bent personality to full and terrible flowering. It can cure,
too. But rarely discovered and interpreted is the positive
relationship of frustration to pain, pain to conflict, conflict

to growth, growth to maturity, and maturity to stability and
creativity. ...

His name was Stanley. Three years ago, for several
months, he was one of us. We called him the Mystery Man.
He came to Death Row confident the place couldn’t hold
him. It did. He found that guts, animal cunning and psycho-
pathic ferocity were no match for constant vigilance, armed
guards and cold steel bars. Each one of his escape schemes
fizzled. Whereas before he had been condescending with the
rest of us, he became hostile. He began to play crazy, hoping
to get transferred to the hospital for observation. ( Earlier
he had made a sensational escape from the jail section of
the Los Angeles County General Hospital following his cap-
ture during a burglary. He had fallen through a skylight
when a rope broke and struck his head, knocking himself
insensible. He was recaptured after a blazing gun battle
with the police. Investigation linked him to a local burglary
murder in which he’d snapped a shot in the dark, learned
later he’d killed an old woman. Investigation also revealed
he was wanted for murder in Canada. )

The Mystery Man’s string was running out. Frustration
goaded him. He'd failed to get to the hospital. With a spoon

We Wait Sg 187

and medicine dropper, he tried to “cook” and “shoot” a
sleeping tablet, became violently ill, vomited the rest of the
night. He picked an argument with three other doomed
men during the exercise period. Stanley suddenly went
berserk. Before I knew what had happened Yd lost a tooth
when a fist flew out of nowhere. We tumbled to the floor.
Stanley was literally frothing at the mouth. He was obvi-
ously out of his mind. He snapped at my jugular; his teeth
gashed my throat. Two other guys shoved him into his cell.

The waiting went on. Stanley’s face broke out. It got so
bad he couldn't stand looking at himself. He smashed his
mirror. Late one night I heard him begin to mutter. His
muttering grew louder. He became incoherent. Tension and
rage had built up inside him, were suddenly translated into
an orgy of destruction. With his stool he beat the toilet and
sink off the back wall of his cell. He flooded the corridor.

Club-carrying guards removed him from his cell and
placed him into a “quiet” cell—one of those barren, steel-
fronted cells without lights and without fixtures he could
destroy. When the solid door was shut on him, his hysterical
laughter reverberated along the corridor.

For the next two nights Stanley created sporadic disturb-
ances. He would curse the guards making rounds. He would
sing or whistle, then laugh hysterically. He began to slam a
hinged metal flap against the door. The noise he made this
way sounded like the thunder of doomsday. When the
officers tried to reason with him, he cursed and taunted
them. When they walked away, shaking their heads, he
again would slam the flap. He screamed at them, “Why
don’t you bastards come down here and close this flap!”
(He had devised a way to work the catch loose.)

Left with no alternative, a squad of guards removed
Stanley from his cell after a tussle and held him down while
a doctor prepared a hypodermic. Without warning, he went


BUCKOWSKI, Stanley, white, 26, asphyxiated San Quentin (Los Angeles County) May 5, 1952.

a ° ND
O fy
Zz fy
‘ oe i
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3 yl O x
za
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G4 Sa
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_

TRIAL

Pra oy weer en

PRE

SAE ey

ALSO BY CARYL CHESSMAN: Cell 2455, Death Row

CARYL CHESSMAN


aftern00n

and she wouldn't give me the money, J shot her once and she tried to grab
the gun, so I shot her again.' While Buck was being taken to the police station in
irons, Mrs. Canfield was dying in her room, Several physicians were in attendance
within a few minutes. ‘ a >

"They begged Mrs, Canfield to tell who shot her, in order to get a death statement

for the coming trial, but she could only murmur, 'Oh, give me airs; I can't get air,!
The doctors found the two mortal gounds; one shot entered the abdomen and ranged down-
wards evidently the first shot as she sat in her chair talking to Buck, The second
was apparently through the heart, .the whole neighborhood was thrown into a panic.
Servants would not come to doors for fright, Carriage after carriage came dashing

up to the door-friends of the Canfields, While the woman yet lay dying a photographer
of a yellow journal let off a flashlight explosion which threw a woman of thé néighbor-
hood into hysterics, She ran screaming into the streetseccecs

"At ten o'clock last night the Chief of Detectives interrogated Buck for an hour, and
obtained practically everything about the murder, He gave his name as Morris Buck,
aged 28, and a resident of the St. Elmo Hotel, North Main St., occupying Room No,

70, His statement, in synopsis: 'Was employed by the Canfields five years ago in

the capacity of coachman for a period of 2 months, I was not discharged, Iresigned
my position, Returned to Los Angeles one month ago, For several years have been
roaming about the country, visiting Chicago and other Eastern cities, returning to

the Pacific Coast, stopping at Spokane, Seattle and other Washington cities, Have been
employed for the major portion of the time as a cook and baker. In Chicago purchased
the knife found on my person when I was searched by the afficers, The gun was pur-
chased in Spokane, Wrote Mrs, Canfield that I intended engaging in business and de-
sired the loan of a smalk sum of money, which I intended repaying in installments as
fas as I was able to do so, Expected a letter in the general delivery of the Los An-
geles postoffice today (Saturday) but received none, Consequently visited the Can-
field home XHAXXHKAKKKKA for the purpose of seeing Mrs, Canfield, My letter asking -
for money was delivered by myself at the Canfield residence, and accepted by a young
girl, Was met my Mrs, Canfield, and we conversed regarding the matter of a loan, Mrse
Canfield reached in the direction of her breast, Thought she was in search of a fire-
arme Anticipated some trouble and drew my revolver, firing the shots,' Buck is a
decidedly queer character, In many ways he presented an entirely new study in human
nature to his inquisitor, Capt, Flammer, but the apparent clearness and accuracy with
which he replied to the questions put to him would indicate that he fully realizes

the awful crime with which he has been committed, 'I do not believe he is crazy,‘
said Capt. Flammer. ‘His replies in regard to particular incidents connected with the
murder were *very slow, and back of them was evidently much thought, In a measure he
was cautious when speaking of the crime,’ Buck stated that he formerly resided with
his parents in San Diego, but both his father and mother died in that city several
years ago. hie claims as sisters Mrs. G. S. Davidson, Bisbee, Ariz., and Mrs, Minnie
layman, Douglas, Arize, and states that he has a brother, William l, S, Buck, residing
in Los Angeles, When hard pressed Buck-stated to Capt. Flamer that he feared to visit
the Canfield home last evening without being armed, apparently under the impression
that force would be used to compel him to leave the premiseseseee" IES, Lysadngeles,
California, Jan, 28, 1906 (1/7 - photograph of Mrs, Canfield and sketch of Buck e)
Article further states that Canfield began Galifornia career as a pabtner of &, L.
Doheny*and at the time of murder was on attrip to Mexico with Mr, and Mrs, Doheney

and RXX Canfield's daughter and her husband, Mr, and Mrs, J. M. Danzigger and Miss
Florence Canfield, The Canfiéld daughter at home with her mother was named Ilene,


See 91 PACIFIC 529,
BUCK, Morris, 28, hanged at San Quentin Prison (Los Angeles) on 12-6-1907,

"San Quentin, 12-6-1907-Morris Buck, who murdered Mrs, Charles A, Canfield, wife of a
wealthy Los Angeles oil operator, January 27, 1906, paid with his life for his crime
this morning upon the scaffold at San Quentin prison, Buck had been confined in the
penitentiary since 1906, and during this time he showed no sign of regret for his
crime, A few days ago Warden Hoyle had the condemned man removed to the wooden cage
which is situated in the room next to the scaffold, , The noise made by the men
testing the rope and fixing the trap did not bother Buck, who freely talked to his
watchers. During yesterday afternoon and evening he was visited by Fathers Callopy
and Walsh, who prepared him for his end, He slept well during the night, and did not
once show any signs of nerviousness. He said he would die game, and he did, This
morning he awoke early, and after dressing himself in the clothes in which he was
to be. executed, he ate a hearty breakfast, Father Callopy remained with him until
he was declared dead, A few minutes before the time set for the execution the war-
den entered the condemned cell and read the death warrant, Butck's hands were then
strapped to his sides, and the march to the gallows was begun at 10:50, Warden
Hoyle took the lead, then came the priests, chanting the prayers for the dying, and
following came the condemned man, a guard on each side, He then stood upon the trap,
Guard Albrogast placed the rope about his neck, drew the black cap, the signal was
given and his body dropped, Below the trap stood the prison physician, Dr, Stone,
and Dr, Galehuse of San Rafael, In 1); minutes the condemned man was declared deade
“he -body was cut down and placed in a prison coffin, Last, evening Buck made a reouest
to see his brothers, who live in Los Angeles, but neither came,"" TIMES, Los Ange-
les, CA, 12-7-1907 (5/3.)

"Mrse Ce A, Canfield, wife of the oil magnate, was shot and killed on the porch of her
palatial home at Alvarado and Ninth Streets late yesterday afternoon by Morris Buck,

a discharged coachman, He was captured, after a wild chase, and is now in jail.

Buck, who is a dope fiend and half-crazy, had twice demanded money of her and had
been refused. Yesterday he came to make a final demand, Mrs, Canfield again refused,
With cold, crazy malice, hd drew a revolver and fired, the bullet going through the >
body as she sat trying to reason with him, He placed the muzzle of the gun close

to her gown. Her little daughter, who had been on the porch, ran screaming into the
house, and Mrs, Canfield rose bravely and tried to grapple with the man, wounded unto
death as she was, He shot her again, this time through the heart, Standing over her
as she lay dying, he .turned to confront the excited crowd that had gathered, ‘Pointing
the pistol to his own temple, he called out: 'Shall I, or shall I not?! Some one from
the crowd yelled out 'Yest to him, but he did not shoot,

"Hofrified #XKHKAXSEXAXAX eyewitnesses claim that for some minutes the murderer
stayed on the front porch, wandering coolly around, stkpping over the dying woman,
looking interestedly out over the growing crowd, Finally he sat down in the chair
where Mrs, Canfield had been when he shot her; sat there looking down at her pros=
trate form, Several men.in the crowd had pasteles but dared not shoot because of

the people in the house. Special Officer "oster, who had been notified by telephone,
came up on a bicycle, Leaving it at the curb near the house, he advanced with drawn
revolver toward the porch, The murderer kept half hidden behind the great posts.

As Foster circled round the front of the house to get a better shot, the murderer

ran to the end of the porch, jumped to the lawn, and set off at a wild run down the
street. Perhaps a dozen men joined in the hue and cry, As he ran down 8th Street,
Foster fired twice and another man shot twice, At Lake Street, the murdered turned
and rushed wildly in the direction of Westlake, Breathless and with dilated eyes, he
rushed up to the Westlake boatman and begged to be locked up in the boathouse until
the officers arrived, 'They will lynch me,! he cried.

"He ran headlong into the boathouse where Foster found him crouching behind the
counter, Without a word he meekly handed over his pistol and submitted to being
handcuffed, One of the men in pursuit was so excited that he burst through the crowd
about the handcuffed man and tried to kill him - he was disarmed, On the way to

the police station, he was asked by Foster why he had killed Mrs, Canfield. His reply
was cool and without emotion. 'Well, I used to work for her,' he said, 'I asked her
for $2,600 and she had the coachman put me off the place, I went to see her again this

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Walther automatic. His pockets yielded
black leather gloves, a pair of diagonals
(small pliers used for cutting wire), and
$32 in currency.

Reiner took out his notebook. “Your
name?”

“Frank Miller.”

“Address?”

He gave a number on Saturn Street.

Taken to Georgia Street Receiving
Hospital for treatment of his wounds, he
was later removed to the prison ward of
General Hospital. At Wilshire Station,
Reiner and Gross entered an absentee
booking against the prisoner, charging
him with suspicion of burglary.

The next morning Capt. Harry, Didion,
commander of Wilshire Detective Bureau,
sent Sgts. Stanley Plummer and Robert
Madlock to interview Miller, who had
been assigned to a bed in the isolation
ward on the 13th floor of the hospital.
When the officers walked into the room
and introduced themselves he glared at
them with hate-filled eyes.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions,”
-Madlock said.

Miller gave him a look of disgust. “Hell,
I wouldn’t tell you guys the time of day.”

“Where did you come from?”

There was no answer.

“You might as well talk. Your finger-
prints are on the way to Washington,
D. C. right now.”

“T lived in Toronto, Canada before I

‘ came here, if it’s any of your business.”

“You want your wife to know where
you are, don’t you?” Madlock ventured,
ee knowing whether or not he had a
wife.

The gamble paid off. “Yeah,” Miller
grunted, “you can tell her.”

“Where is she, out at the Saturn Street
place?”

“T guess so.’

The aeatiess called on Miller’s wife,
Jean, that afternoon, to inform her of her
husband’s whereabouts and the charges
against him. She received the news
calmly, as though it did not concern her
in any way. Brought to the station for
questioning, she assumed an air’ of out-
raged innocence and denied knowing any-
thing whatever regarding her husband’s
criminal activities,

“I work nights at a drive-in,” she said.
“How could I know what he was doing?
If he broke into that drugstore he must
have been drunk.”

“Did you marry him in Canada?”

Her ‘lips clamped together tightly. “I’m
not answering any more questions.”

Finally, in view of her stubborn refusal
to volunteer any further information and
the fact that there was insufficient evi-
dence upon which to hold her, she was
permitted to leave.

But her freedom was to be short lived.

Less than a month later the young lady
found herself in jail. In April her hus-
band had burglarized a home in the Wil-
shire area, carrying away a small safe
containing the owner’s passport, a num-
ber of travelers checks and some valuable
jewels. On May 14, Jean Miller brazenly
registered at the swank Hollywood-
Roosevelt Hotel under the name on the
travelers checks. During her three-day
sojourn there she signed and cashed four
of the $100 checks.

Some time later while checking reports
of crimes committed in the Wilshire and
Hollywood districts, Madlock and Plum-
mer came across the complaint made by
the Hollywood-Roosevelt. The descrip-
tion of the forger—a girl in her early 20s
with dark hair and brown eyes—tallied
roughly with that of Jean Miller. A
photograph and specimens of her hand-
writing were shown to the hotel clerk
who had cashed the checks. Identification
was immediate and positive.

On June 11, while her husband was still
confined to General Hospital, Jean was
arrested and lodged in the county jail.
At her trial on August 2 she pleaded guilty
to one count of forgery. One of the con-
ditions of the three years’ probation
granted her was that she serve the first
120 days of a year’s suspended sentence
in jail. Upon her release deportation pro-
ceedings were to be instituted against
her, since she had claimed Canadian citi-

zenship. '

While Jean languished in the women’s
section of the county jail her husband was
rapidly recuperating from his injuries in
General Hospital. His fractured left wrist,
though still in a cast, was nearly healed.
At 3 o’clock on,the morning of June’ 26
he made a spectacular bid for freedom
from his 13th floor room.

With the cooperation of fellow inmates
he fashioned a long rope from a dozen
bed sheets. Looping the rope over one
of the eight-inch metal strips on the out-
side of the window, he stepped out onto
the narrow 13th floor ledge, then slid
down a floor or two at a time, drawing
the knotted sheets down after him and
repeating the performance until he
reached a landing on the fifth floor that
led to the interior of the hospital.

_ are in pajamas, slippers and a robe,

B -pagnees softly down the stairway un-
ti e reached a door that opened onto
a side street. His hands bleeding and
burned from the friction caused by the
rope, he made his way to a nearby resi-
dence and crawled under the porch where
he remained for two days. On the second
night he broke into a house on North
Cornwell Street and stole a pair of dark
blue trousers, a shirt, a gray sports coat
and a pair of moccasin-type shoes, leav-
ing behind him the hospital clothing he
had worn. Miller remained at large for
several weeks.

Then, on the night of July 31, Policemen
H. W. Sherbourne and L. B. Bovee of
Radio Unit 66 spotted a blue sedan, listed
on the “hot sheet,” being driven rapidly
east on Hollywood Boulevard. Ignoring
the flashing red light and siren of the
police-car, the driver of the fleeing auto-
mobile stepped on the accelerator and

_sped to Vermont Avenue where he made

a sharp right turn south to Sunset Boule-
vard, then headed west.

As the speed of the racing cars in-
creased to 80 miles per hour Sherbourne
took a shot at the tires of the vehicle
ahead of him. At the intersection of Ken-
more Avenue and Sunset he fired again
when he saw the fugitive’s head sil-
houetted against the windshield. At the
third shot the careening sedan swerved

rd &
out oO! contr

plug and cain
The driver

startec

When

him he
an alley. As +
pursuit the xg
in his directic
the street to s
Meanwhile
Wilson and
joined in the
The two office
and entered t
saw a shadow
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them. Exting
they ordered
open. Dead
Two warning
head of the de
into the shrul
all to bring hin
“I’m hit, I’m
From his ri
empty .32 calib
receiving emer;
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at the Hollywe
Was removed t
eral Hospital.
Recognized :
burglar” who }
that institutio:
given a bloo
chained to his
measure.

A few days
tain Steed wha
toward solving
Edmunds.

iT
. Not much
Zander have cor

with the one o:
none of them n
“Well, since Z
pose you and B
case again. St:
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Edmund e
still vacz
dition that it wa
Then on the n
Russell Camp,
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Frank Miller’s
his most recen:
a bullet of that
of Mrs. Edmun
We immediat
Plummer of \\
Miller had been
said he had not.
the reason for ¢
print all burglars
sonnel of Centra
Miller’s arrests |
shire and Hollyw
been subjected ti
That afternoon
to the county jai
incarcerated, ani
palmprinted. Br
unwillingly subm
palms pressed cd
With high hop
Sgt. A. R. Mcl
Fingerprints Dis
thirty minutes h
Laughlin was tall
over the phone.
“Frank Miller’
nounced. “There
similarity betwee:
found on the glas:
Wilshire officer:

cs aatimcaai

young lady
ril her hus-
in the Wil-

small safe
ort, a num-
me valuable
ler brazenly
Holly wood-
yame on the
er three-day
cashed four

king reports
Wilshire and
k and Plum-
iint made by
The descrip-
her early 20s
eyes—tallied
n Miller. A
of her hand-
» hotel clerk
dentification

and was still
al, Jean was

county jail.
leaded guilty
1e of the con-
rs’ probation
erve the first
ded sentence
sortation pro-
tuted against
‘anadian citi-

the women’s

r husband was
jis injuries in
ired left wrist,
rly healed.

of June’ 26

r freedom

fellow inmates
from a dozen
rope over one
ps on the out-
pped out onto
ige, then slid
time, drawing
ifter him and
ice until he
Afth floor that
spital.
ers anda robe,
stairway un-
t opened onto
bleeding and
caused by the
a nearby resi-
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On the second
use on North
a pair of dark

ray sports coat

pe shoes, leav-
tal clothing he
1 at large for

31, Policemen
B. Bovee of

ie sedan, listed
driven rapidly
vard. Ignoring
d siren of the
ie Heeing auto-
iccelerator and
where he made
) Sunset Boule-

‘acing cars in-
sur Sherbourne

. of the vehicle
rsection of Ken-

he fired again
tive’s head sil-
dshield. At the
dan swerved

out of control, smashed against a fire-
plug and came to a halt.

The driver leaped to the sidewalk and
started running toward Barnsdall Park.
When Sherbourne was within ten feet of
him he whirled and fired, then darted into
an alley. As the officer again started in
pursuit the gunman sent another bullet
in his direction. Sherbourne ran back to
the street to summon reinforcements.

Meanwhile Motorcycle Officers S. A.
Wilson and E. W. Hathaway, who had
joined in the chase, reached the scene.
The two officers parked their motorcycles
and entered the park, guns drawn. They
saw a shadowy figure jump from behind
a tree, kneel and point his gun toward
them. Extinguishing their flashlights,
they ordered him to come out into the
open. Dead silence met the command.
Two warning shots were fired over the
head of the desperado, who again darted
into the shrubbery. It took six shots in
all to bring him to the ground.

“T’m hit, I’m through,” he gasped.

From his right hand they took an
empty .32 caliber Colt automatic. After
receiving emergency treatment for bullet
wounds in his left thigh and left forearm
at the Hollywood Receiving Hospital he
was removed to the prison ward of Gen-
eral Hospital.

Recognized as Frank Miller, the “cat
burglar” who had made his escape from
that institution 35 days earlier, he was
given a blood transfusion and then
chained to his bed as a precautionary
measure.

A few days later I was asked by Cap-
tain Steed what progress had been made
toward solving the murder of Mrs. Helen
Edmunds.

€

Not much,” | answered. “Bates and
Zander have compared a lot of palmprints
with the one on that piece of glass, but
none of them matched.”

“Well, since Zander is on vacation, sup-
pose you and Bates go to work on that
case again. Start from scratch. There
may be something that was overlooked.”

Our first act was to re-photograph the
Edmunds house which, fortunately, was
still vacant and in exactly the same con-
dition that it was on the day of the crime.

Then on the morning of August 28 Sgt.
Russell Camp, since retired, notified us
that some .38 caliber copper-jacketed bul-
lets of British issue had been found in
Frank Miller’s possession at the time of
his most recent arrest. We knew that
a bullet of that type had taken the life
of Mrs. Edmunds.

We immediately contacted Sergeant
Plummer of Wilshire to ask whether
Miller had been palmprinted. Plummer
said he had not. We subsequently learned
the reason for this. The order to palm-
print all burglars had been issued to per-
sonnel of Central Division only, and since
Miller’s arrests had taken place in Wil-
shire and Hollywood Divisions he had not
been subjected to the test.

That afternoon my partner, Bates, went
to the county jail where Miller was now
incarcerated, and requested that he be
palmprinted. Brought from his cell, he
unwillingly submitted to having his inked
palms pressed down on a white card.

With high hopes we took the card to
Sgt. A. R. McLaughlin of the Latent
Fingerprints Division. No more than
thirty minutes had elapsed before Mc-
Laughlin was talking with Captain Steed
over the phone.

“Frank Miller’s your man,” he an-
nounced. “There are nineteen. points of
similarity between his palmprint and that
found on the glass in the Edmunds case.”

Wilshire officers had been in communi-

cation with Canadian authorities in an
effort to ascertain whether Miller had a
criminal record there. Finally a telegram
arrived from the Toronto police stating
that they had been informed by the FBI
that Miller’s fingerprint classification was
identical with that of one Stanley Buck-
owski, wanted there for the murder of
Alfred Layng, young Canadian war hero,
during the hold up of a super-market on
July 30, 1949. j

Furthermore, Buckowski was sus-
pected of having slain Gloria and Robert
McKay, a young couple whose bodies
were found on the following day, some
fifty miles from Toronto. It was believed
that he had shot them after hitch-hiking
a ride with them during his flight from
Toronto.

Bates and I went to see the man we
had known as Frank Miller. “So your
true name is Buckowski, is it?” I began.

“Buckowski... Miller... what the hell
difference does it make?” was the surly
reply. “Is it a crime for a man to change
his name?”

“Depends on his reason for changing
it. For instance, if you killed a few people
in Canada while using the name of
Buckowski—”

“Nuts. I never killed anybody.”

“Your palmprints say you murdered an
old lady last February over on Benton
Way. Remember that?”

“You're off your rocker. I told you I
never killed anybody. I might have com-
mitted a few burglaries, but that’s all.”

With a murder rap looming before him,
Buckowski became suddenly cooperative
regarding the burglaries he had com-
mitted.

“Any jobs pulled between La Brea
Avenue and La Cienega during the past
four months you can lay to.me,” he said
magnanimously.

“We're not interested in burglaries just
now. See you later, Buckowski.”

Our next move was to interview his
wife Jean, who was still confined.

Accompanied by Policewoman Norene
Statzel, we obtained an order from the
Superior Court to take Jean with us on a
tour of the various places in Los Angeles
where we knew she’d lived.

A glimmer of surprise registered in her
eyes when we addressed her as “Mrs.
Buckowski,” but aside from that she re-
mained unemotional, almost indifferent.

Asked where she had obtained the
travelers checks, the cashing of which
had led to her arrest, she said she’d found
them underneath a mattress in one of the
apartments they’d occupied.

Finally we drove to the vine-covered
house on Benton Way.

“Ever see this place before?”
asked.

“I don’t think so. Should I remember
it?”

“You should. Your husband killed a
woman in that house.”

She pretended to be shocked. “Oh, no!
You must be mistaken. He wouldn’t do
a thing like that.”

“How soon did you join him after he
shot and killed that man in Toronto?”
I inquired:

“He didn’t kill anyone in Toronto. He
left there to go to New Orleans and I
followed a few weeks later.”

As a last resort I suggested that she
might like to discuss her situation with
Policewoman Statzel, alone. A few min-
utes later the two women were closeted
in a small room used for interviewing.
Almost two hours elapsed before Mrs.
Statzel opened the door.

“Jean’s ready to talk now. I’ve con-
vinced her that she owes it to herself to
tell the truth.”

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Using a rope of sheets, the cat burglar
escaped from the 13th floor jail ward.
Below, he whispers to wife during trial.

from a
persons.


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a

End of the Road for
a Tough Guy

[Continued from page 38]

arms. “Listen. If I ever get caught and
they start asking you questions, clam up.
Tell ’em nothing, do you understand?”

“Yes. You're hurting me.”

“Tell them you just met me a few days
ago. You don’t know my real name or
where I came from. I picked you up on
Hollywood Boulevard while you were
walking the streets looking for work.”
His green eyes bored into hers. “You
know what would happen if you ever
ratted on me, don’t you? I’d come back
and kill you if it was the last act of my
life.”

Several times they stiffened to atten-
tion as the radio announcer’s voice
droned: “All units in the vicinity of
Street, investigate a shooting. All units
———” But the address given was always
in another part of the city.

In the vine-covered cottage on Benton
Way Mrs. Helen Edmunds, a frail little
82-year-old widow, also lay in an attitude
of relaxation, but for her there would be
no awakening. She was dead from a
single bullet fired by the marauding bur-
glar.

The shot that had snuffed out her life
was heard by some eee whom I will
call the Misses Lorna and Annette Bent-
ley.

“That sounded like a shot,” Annette
said. “Could have been an automobile
backfiring, of course.” They went to the
window and looked up and down the
street. There was no car, no pedestrian
in sight.

A moment later they heard a weird
noise which they later said sounded “like
someone with laryngitis moaning.” Lorna
hastily donned a coat. “I think. there is
something wrong with Mrs. Edmunds,”
she said, and hurried downstairs.

Going to the bedroom window of the
elderly woman’s residence she found the
shades drawn and no light within the
darkened structure. Knowing that Mrs.
Edmunds often retired early, and not
wishing to alarm her needlessly, Miss
Bentley returned to her own home.

But at 4 o’clock the next afternoon
when the sisters observed that the shades
of the Edmunds house were still drawn,
they told another close friend and neigh-
bor of Mrs. Edmunds, to whom I will
give the name Mrs. Lucy Gardner, of the
noises that had aroused their suspicions
the night before.

“Mrs. Edmunds gave me a key to her

house and said for me to let myself in ,

if her blinds were not up by 10 o’clock
every morning,”’ Mrs. Gardner said anx-
iously. “Let's see if she’s all right.”

They entered by way of the front door,
switching on lights as they went. In a
rear bedroom their worst fears were con-
firmed when they found the body of the
elderly woman stretched across the bed.

Officers E. J. Sanchez and E. G.
Encinas of the Homicide Night Watch
arrived on the scene ten minutes later.
All physical evidence pointed to burglary
as the motive for the wanton crime.

The slayer had cut the telephone wires
outside the house, made a_twelve-inch
slash in the back screen-door, reached in,
unhooked it and knocked a pane of glass
from the upper part of the door that led
from the kitchen to the service-porch,
thus enabling him to slide the bolt.

Sgt. H. M. Stahl of the Police ‘Scien-
tific Investigation Division, summoned
from his home, made a detailed search for
fingerprints. There was one tiny im-
pression on a piece of broken glass—not
a fingerprint, Stahl immediately deduced,
but a partial palmprint.

Evidently the killer had worn gloves
when he smashed the glass from the door
but they had been too short to cover his
palms completely. Stahl placed the frag-
ment of glass, about six inches in diam-
eter, in an envelope for future photo-
graphing and processing.

On the following morning Capt. Blaine
Steed, then commander of the Homicide
Division, assigned two of my co-workers,
Detectives Glenn Bates and Herman Zan-
der, to investigate the murder of Mrs.
Edmunds. ;

The detectives arrived ‘at the conclu-
sion that the victim had been awakened
by the sound of breaking glass and had
risen from bed, only to be shot down by
the callous killer, who then had fled with-
out attempting to steal anything.

The peculiar-looking, copper-jacketed
bullet that had been removed from the
victim’s body was of .38 caliber. After
examining it, Sgt. Irwin Uhde of the
ballistics section expressed the opinion
that it had been fired from a British Com-
mando—a rare weapon in this country.

Since the palmprint on the broken glass
constituted the only available clue to the
killer’s identity, Bates and Zander issued
a special order to officers attached to
Central Division. It read: “All persons
arrested on burglary charges are to be
palmprinted.”

During succeeding months the palm-
prints of hundreds of suspects were com-
pared with the partial impression on file
in the Edmunds case, but no marks of
similarity were found.

In the meanwhile the killer and his wife
were still circulating freely about Los
Angeles. Three days after the murder of
Mrs. Edmunds they had moved to an
apartment over a garage in the rear of
a house on Saturn Street in the Wilshire
district. From this headquarters, the man
continued his depredations.

During the pre-dawn hours of Sunday,
May 21, the man essayed a lone thieving
expedition. At 2 a.m. he let himself down
through the skylight of a drugstore
located at 6161 West Pico Boulevard. It
was then that the phenomenal luck that
had accompanied him on previous crimes,
including the murder committed fourteen
weeks before, deserted him. The short
length of rope which he used to lower
himself through the skylight broke, and
he fell through a showcase, fracturing his
left wrist. .

A news vendor at the corner of Pico
and La Cienega heard the sound of break-
ing glass. Peering inside the drugstore
he saw a man moving about in the
shadows, and promptly raced across the
street to a public pay-phone booth to
summon police. By the time he returned
to his corner there was a large, jagged
hole in the plate glass window of the store.

Within five minutes two radio cars
manned by Policemen R. E. Reiner, C. R.
Gross, R. E. Taylor and J. R. Sevarin had
converged at the address. While one team
of officers searched the inside of the drug-
store the others deployed on the outside
of the building. On the sidewalk in front
their flashlights picked up a trail of blood
spots. Reiner and Gross followed them
to the Lido Theater in the next block,
where they abruptly ended.

“T’ll take the back,” Reiner said to his
partner. “You watch the front entrance.”

Walking softly, Reiner went to the rear
of the building, flashing his light on and

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>

NI
“I

oe. ciliata Alls sata. ‘ oe

ng Bungalo

into the court.
r learned was
f the court in
et them.

our-two!”’ she

.e direction in-
t yelled: ““No—
yuth side of the

7
w!

hed around the
galow they al-
riously dragging
et! At sight of
short, dropping
id.

vhile Page knelt

nched his right
p and dived for
ul arm shot out
is securely hand-
nated.

Y 7
Captain JAMES F. BEAN

Formerly of the Los Angeles
Police Department

As told to
MADELINE KELLEY

“What the — are you trying to pull off
here?” Dwight demanded.

“I’m—I was taking my wife out to the
car. She’s dead drunk.”

“She's dead, you mean,” Page snapped.
“There's blood all over her clothes,’”’

“She’s not dead! She's just passed out.
Anne! Anne! Tell ’em you're all right!”’

The man swayed drunkenly, then dropped
to his knees beside the still form.

Detective Dwight hauled him to his feet.
“Pull yourself together. |What's your
name, anyway?”

“MY name’s Bill Burkhart. And that’s
my wife, Anne. She’s not dead, I tell

you—she’s just stiff!” :

Dwight turned to his partner. +

“Call Captain Clark. .Tell him to send for
Central Homicide Squad and the coroner.
And get an ambulance witha doctor out here.”

I was at that time in command of the
Homicide Squad of Central Police Head-
quarters, with supervision over investiga-
tions of all crimes of a homicidal nature that
occurred within the city of Los Angeles and
its environs, which included Hollywood.

Twenty minutes after the call came ‘in
from Hollywood Division, I was at the
Franklin Place bungalow. With me had
come Detectives L. E. Sanderson and Aldo
Corsini, Police Photographer L. C. Driver and Officer G. A.
Munns of the Fingerprint Bureau.

The Hollywood officers briefly stated the facts of the
case starting from the moment they arrived on the scene.

At first sight of
the slain girl’s
features, as seen
in the bright glow
of a half dozen
flashlights, I was
struck by her un-
usual beauty. Her
hair of rich au-
burn flung back
from a face
smoothly and ex-.

A view of the
bungalow court on
Franklin Place, Los
Angeles, where
Anne Burkhart
spent the evening
of March 24th,
1930—her last night
on earth

“WITH ALL MY LOVE” :
Anne McKnight Burkhart, the victim in Hollywood’s bungalow horror. This
photo was found among the murderer’s effects and the message thereon was
written to him

quisitely lovely even in the pale rigidity of death, long-lashed
lids half closed over eyes of a deep, clear blue.

The body was photographed from various angles. Finger-
prints were taken as a matter of routine.

Then, without disturbing the position of the body, Detec-
tive Sanderson gently removed the clothing from the upper
part of the slender figure.

Two small round holes had been drilled through the soft

flesh of the girl’s chest. Visible in one was a -38 caliber
copper-jacketed lead bullet; into the other opening, a small
portion of wadded-up newspaper had been stuffed, with evi-
dent intent to staunch the flow of blood.

Meanwhile, an ambulance from the Receiving Hospital
had arrived. The police-surgeon in attendance declared the
girl had been dead at least two hours.

Burkhart, standing in stolid silence, under guard, denied
all knowledge of the shooting when I questioned him.

“ll admit I’m drunk,” he said, almost boastfully, “but
you can’t hang this on me. The gun they said they found
on me was fully loaded, wasn’t it? How are you going to
prove I shot her? I didn’t even know she was dead till this
fellow across the court here told me she was!”’

He was suspiciously unmoved by the fact that his beautiful
young wife had been mysteriously shot to death!

43


“I WANT TO KISS HER!”

Those were the words of Anne Burkhart’s murderer (strikingly pictured

above) when he gazed on the still form of his victim as it lay on a cold marble

slab in the morgue
“You see,” explained the killer, ‘‘I love her!’’

lobbies were crowded with laughing, carefree, homeward-
bound patrons. Smart shops displayed the latest fashions
of the cinema world. Famous stars were driving by ‘in
their expensive foreign-make cars to rendezvous at the Mont-
martre, the Roosevelt “Blossom Room,” and the Moscow
Inn for an evening’s entertainment. That was Hollywood
Boulevard at 11 o'clock on, the night of March 24th, 1930.
And—such are life’s stark contrasts—at that same hour,
on a quiet, tree-bordered side-street only a few short blocks
from this brilliant scene of life and gaiety, a pitiful tragedy
was being enacted.

[ was night-time in Hollywood. Brightly-lighted theater

—o—

“Police? This is Charlie Thompson at six-seven-four-
naught Franklin Place. A woman’s-been killed here! Send
somebody quick, before the man gets away!”

This was the gist of the frantic telephone message received
by the night operator at Hollywood Detective Bureau, who
instantly relayed the call to Acting Captain of Detectives
Bruce Clark.

Five minutes later, a police car zoomed down the quiet
thoroughfare and came to a stop in front of the bungalow
court at 6740 Franklin Place. Detectives J. L. Dwight and

Who was the Evil
Genius that wantonly
snuffed out the life of
this divinely beautiful
girl—this innocent
soul who met a Fate
that no one could
possibly deserve?

J. A. Page leaped out and ran into the court.
A woman, whom they later learned was

Mrs. Nina Scott, landlady of the court in

question, came running to meet them.

‘Tt’s apartment six-seven-four-two!’’ she
cried excitedly.

As the officers raced in the direction in-
dicated, a voice from the street yelled: ‘‘No—
not there! Go ’round to the south side of the
* court! The fellow’s there now!”

WHEN the detectives dashed around the
corner of the front bungalow they al-
most collided with a man laboriously dragging
the body of a woman by the feet! At sight of
the officers the man stopped short, dropping
the slender ankles he had held.

Dwight seized his wrists, while Page knelt
over the woman.

In a flash, the man wrenched his right
hand from the officer’s grasp and dived for
his hip-picket. Instantly, Dwight’s powerful arm shot out
and it was but a moment before the man was securely hand-
cuffed and all danger of escape was eliminated.

From the
prisoner's right
hip-pocket Page
jerked a revolver.
Dwight trained
his pocket flash-
light on the
weapon. It was
found to be
loaded with five
.38 caliber bul-
lets, while its butt
and sides were
smeared with
what appeared to
be blood.

The officer then
flashed the light
full on the dis-
torted face of the
prisoner.

he


44 True Detective Mysteries

(Above) Anne Burkhart (right) and her sister, Joy McKnight
Hoskins, as they appeared in vaudeville, where they were
billed as the McKnight Sisters

“Well,” I told him, “if you can clear yourself of this,
you're privileged to make a statement here and now, if
you wish. Begin with when you first met your wife today
and tell everything that happened, as briefly as possible.’

Bp xe right, I'll spill the whole works. I met her at
the Owl Drug Store at Santa Monica Boulevard
and Western Avenue, where she works, at about half past
five this afternoon. We drove over here where I’d rented an
apartment and stayed a couple of hours, I guess.

‘“We've been separated and I wanted to try to get her to
come back to me. We drank some wine tonic, then went
for a ride toward the beach. I ”

‘What beach?” I interrupted.

“What beach?” he repeated, wonderingly. ‘‘That’s
funny—damned if I can remember which one. Anyway,
we didn’t get there, after all. I stopped the car once and
went around the corner to buy some cigarettes. That’s
the only time | was away from her, and I swear to God I
don’t know how this could have happened!”

“When did you first notice there was something wrong
with her?”’

“When I came back with the cigarettes. [ got in the
car and Anne sort of leaned over against me. A few
minutes later she said she was sick, and put her head in
my lap. I thought she’d just passed out from drinking too
much, so I roused her and told her I guessed I’d better take
her back to Joy’s house. Joy’s her sister. But Anne
said no, that she’d rather go back to the apartment, so |

brought her on here.”

“What time was that?”

“Tcouldn’tsay. Somewhere around nine o'clock, I guess.”

“How did you get her into the house?” :

““{ carried her in the back
way because I didn’t want
anyone to see her in that
condition. I was going to
put her to bed, but she
said she wanted to lie down
on the floor. I got a pillow
for her, and pretty soon
she stopped talking. I guess
I must have taken a nap on
the couch, then. Anyhow,
the next thing I knew, it
was getting late and I de-
cided to take her to her
sister's house. I tried to
carry her, but she was too
heavy.”

“So he came over to get
me to help him!’’ put in
Charles Thompson, the
tenant who had called the
Hollywood police.

“That’s a lie!’ Burkhart
shouted. ‘I didn’t come
over to get you to do any-
thing! I didn’t need any of
your help!”

“You certainly did,”
Thompson was quick to in-
sist. “And when Mr. King

A crimson trail in the horror bungalow—mute evidence of the
horrible end of Anne Burkhart

and I we:

beat it i:

came ba
The For

“You

}
h

hart ord

fully, hi

s

with fur
went on
story, jus
was tryin;

car wher
“Wher
that was

tective S:

4e
I nev
life!’ was
don’t knc

€

€

but I do k

that you
Anne.”
“We ca
Mains to
“But ther
you’re no
good by
sounds pr:
least."’
At this,

The cement
vic


<a enn

538 145 PACIFIC REPORTER (Ca!

said by the trial judge in his instructions to
the jury:

“Tf he has reasoning capacity sufficient to
distinguish between right and wrong as to the
particular act he is doing, knowledge and con-
sciousness that what he is doing is wrong and
criminal and will subject him to punishment,
he must be held responsible for his conduct.”

{3] Certain suggestions were made on the
oral argument as to the instructions given by
the trial judge to the jury. We find nothing
therein that would warrant a reversal. The
omission of the judge to state which instruc-
tions were given at the request of the prose-

cution and which at the request of the de-
fendant was commendable, rather than
blameworthy. No reason appears to us why
the jury should be told which of the parties
requested a requested instruction given by
the court, or that it was requested by either
party.

{4] The judge gave certain instructions
cautioning the jury substantially that while
the defense of insanity was to be weighed
fully, fairly, and justly, and when satisfac-
torily established is one that must commend
itself to the.sense of humanity and justice
of the jury, they must examine it with great
care, lest an ingenious counterfeit of this
mental infirmity shall furnish immunity to
guilt. It is admitted that no instruction was
given in this connection that would warrant
a reversal, in view of previous decisions of
this court; but i€ is suggested that the giv-
ing of such cautionary instructions prior to
the giving of any of defendant’s instructions
on insanity ‘practically nullifies the effect
of defendant’s instructions.” We see no
force whatever in this claim. The instruc-
tions given in regard to what the court call-
ed “moral insanity” were correct, and the
evidence was such as to make the giving of
these instructions advisable and proper. The
same is true as to the instructions as to
“partial insanity.” There was no conflict
in the instructions given upon this subject.

[5,6] The instruction upon the subject of
lack of apparent motive and the supposed

- claim of defendant’s counsel, based thereon,

that defendant must have been acting under
a powerful and irresistible influence of homi-
cidal tendency, was not happily worded in
all respects, and probably should not have
been given at all. But we are unable to see
that any prejudice could have been caused
defendant by the giving of this instruction.
The jury could not reasonably have under-
stood this instruction otherwise than as
telling them substantially that they could not
safely infer the existence of such an influ-

well have been omitted, but it was not prej.
udicial.

{7,8] The ground mainly urged for rever-
sal is that the trial court improperly allowed
two doctors called as witnesses by the dis
trict attorney to give their opinions on the
question of defendant’s sanity. The opinion
of each of these witnesses, who were suffi
ciently shown to be experts on the subject.
was based upon examinations, both physical
and mental, of the defendant by the witness
Dr, Reynolds examined him twice and Dr
Orbison once. Dr. Reynolds’ second examil-
nation was had three days before he test!
fied, and Dr. Orbison’s two days before the
trial commenced. At the time of the se
ond examination by Dr. Reynolds and the
examination by Dr. Orbison, defendant had
eounsel, and they were not notified that any
examination was to be had and had ne
knowledge thereof. Defendant was in cue
tody, confined in the county jail, where the
examinations were had. He was informe!
by Dr. Orbison prior to his examination that
he (Orbison) was employed by the district
attorney to make an examination. Dr. Rey®
olds had first examined him the day -after
his arrest, and when asked’ by the doctet
if he objected to being examined, said, “No
sir.” Dr. Reynolds examined him very thor
oughly on this occasion, and on the secon?
examination simply made a few tests, tested
his sense of smell, his sense of taste, and his
eyesight. The first examination by Dr. Rey
olds was not made at the instance of the
authorities, but at the request of a newsp*
per editor. Defendant made no objeciies
whatever to being examined at any time
and conversed very freely with each of th
doctors. The claim of counsel is that, by
allowing the doctors to give their opiniones
based upon their examinations, defendant
was compelled to be a witness against his
self, in violation of section 18, art. 1, of the
Constitution, which provides that “No pet
son shall * * * be compelled, in #%
criminal case, to be a witness against bis
self. * * *” See, also, section 1323, Pes
Code. It may freely be admitted that, #
view of this provision, one accused of crim?
may not be compelled to divulge to another.
to be used by that other as basis for bie
testimony on the trial, facts which he bt
a right to hold secret. Whether one ac
of crime can properly be compelled to so>
mit to an examination by medical expert
for the purpose of determining whether Sal
not he is of sound mind is a question that &
is not necessary to discuss here. There »

ence from the lack of apparent motive alone,
which is entirely true. A reading of the evi-
dence on the trial discloses no case of lack
of apparent motive. According to his own
admissions made before the trial, defendant
killed young Ziesche, because, having just
violently assaulted and robbed him, he was
afraid that Ziesche would inform against
him. As we have said, the instruction might

nothing in the constitutional provision

on that prohibits such a person from
nishing evidence against himself if he choe*
es to do so. He shall not be compelled to #
so, but whatever fact he may disclos'
force or compulsion of any kind, or ¥

not within the fnhibition. Jones on EY.
400. No decision brought to our a

‘

e withot

ever testimony he may voluntarily give, # a

Cal) PEOPLE vy. ALLISON 539

holds to the contrary. And with special ref-
erence to examinations for the purpose of
ascertaining whether an accused is of un-
sound mind, it is said in 4 Wigmore on Evi-
dence, § 2265, that:

“The use of the accused’s utterances for form-
ing a witness’ opinion as to sanity is a dubita-
std Ae only when compulsion has been resort-
ha! Ne

lerhaps utterances induced by fraud might
likewise fall within the dubitable cases. In
the ease at bar an appellate court would cer-
tainly not be warranted by the record in hold-
ing that any force or compulsion was used,
er that the accused did not voluntarily sub-
mit to the examinations. There was nothing
in the nature’ of fraud on the part of the
medical men, the authorities, or anybody
else. The fact that defendant’s counsel were
not notified of the proposed examinations
end had no knowledge thereof in no way af-
fects the question of the admissibility of the
evidence complained of. There is nothing
in the law that makes notice or knowledge
to counsel essential to a voluntary disclo-
sure of facts by an accused person. Nor does
the fact that the defendant was only just
iS years of age materially affect the ques-
tien. For the purpose of a determination of

_ the question whether the trial court erred in

the admission of this evidence, that court
must be assumed here to have held upon the
testimony that no force or compulsion was
eed and that the defendant voluntarily sub-
mitted to the examinations. The testimony
oa such as to fully support such a conclu-
sion.

a) A careful examination of the record
@seloses no reason to doubt that defendant
had a fair and impartial trial. No error was
committed that can be held to have prejudic-
ol him. Of course, learned counsel for de-
fendant, by his suggestion that the penalty
ef death should not be inflicted for a crime
‘ommitted by one who at the time of such
‘mmission was not quite 18 years of age,
«3 not mean to intimate that this court has
fewer to set aside or modify the judgment
® any such ground. It is needless to say
fat this court has no such power.

The appeal from the order denying the mo-
en in arrest of judgment is dismissed. The

he.
redement and order denying a new trial are
armed,

—: concur: SULLIVAN, C. J.; SLOSS,
} SIIAW, Ju; HENSHAW, J.; MELVIN,
4; LORIGAN, J.

© Cal. A. 746) .
PEOPLE vy. ALLISON. (Cr. 335.)
istrict Court of Appeal, Second District,
California. Nov. 13, 1914.)

1. Sopo 5

MY (§ 5*) — INDICTMENT — “
sewieece? ENT CARNAL
As indictment accusing defendant of the
us crime against nature, and alleging

Love” by “having carnal knowledge of the body
of said Frank B. Love,” is insufficient to charge
the crime against nature, since, if “Frank B.
Love” was a female, as the court must assume,
it merely charged defendant with sexual inter-
course with a female; “carnal knowledge”
meaning sexual intercourse.

Cent. Dig. § 6; Dec. Dig. § 5.* ‘
For other definitions, see Words and Phrases,
First and Second Series, Carnal Knowledge.]
2. CriminaL Law (§ 304*) — EVIDENCE —
JupIcraL Novice.

The court cannot take judicial knowledge
of the sex of a person on whom a crime is al-
leged to have been committed from the name
alone.

{Ed. _ Note.—For other cases, see Criminal
+304 opnt Dig. §§ 700-717, 2951%%; Dec. Dig.
ov! .

3. INDICTMENT AND INFORMATION (§ 117*)—
SraTruTory OFFENSES—SUFFICIENCY OF IN-
DICTMENT.

Though an indictment is sufficient where
the crime is substantially alleged in the words
of the statute or their equivalent, yet, where
the facts stated are capable of two construc-
tions, on one of which the facts may be true
and not constitute a crime, the indictment is
seoeapcn ws and cannot be aided by presump-
ions.

ba Pecan Pegg ter ar Rox Indictment
a nformation, Cent. “ 10; Dee. Dig.
§ 117%] — sg
Appeal from Superior Court, San Luis
Obispo County; BE. P. Unangst, Judge.
James F. Allison was convicted of crime,
and he appeals. Reversed.

Thomas Rhodes, of San Luis Obispo, for
appellant. U. S. Webb, Atty. Gen. and
George Beebe, Deputy Atty. Gen., for the
People.

SHAW, J. Defendant was prosecuted un-
der section 286 of the Penal Code, which
provides that: :

“Tevery person who is guilty of the infamous
crime against nature, committed with man-
kind or with any animal, is punishable by im-
prisonment in the state prison not less than five
years.

Defendant appeals from the judgment of
eonviction and attacks the indictment, to
which he interposed a demurrer upon the
ground that the facts stated in the indict-

which was overruled. The indictment is as
follows:

_ “James F. Allison is accused by the grand
jury * * * of the infamous erime against
nature, committed as follows, to wit: The said
James F. Allison * * * did willfully, unlaw-
fully, and feloniously commit the infamous crime
against nature with and upon one Frank B.
Love, by then and there having carnal knowl-
edge of, the body of said Frank B. Love.

female person is not made to appear, other
than by the statement that defendant had
earnal knowledge of the body of said per-
son, an act which could not have occurred
Save and except upon the theory that Frank

tha x :
be committed the crime on one “Frank B.

B. Love was a female. Carnal knowledge is

Te :
ether cases see same topic and section NUMBER in Dec, Dig. & Am. Dig. Key-No. Series & Rep'r Indexes

{Ed. Note——For other cases, see Sodomy,

ment did not constitute a public offense,’

{1] Whether Frank B. Love was a male or

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24

BY EVERETT WILSON

When police found the bodies of two

- of his women victims, all he had to say

was, “I had an urge to kill...”

attempted purse-snatching, found they had seized a killer

Radio Offs. McGowan (I.) and Baker, who arrested man for.

ne

HE COPPERY SUN, rising through the heat”

_ ff haze over the desert mountains, gave promise
g day as’residents of the

sleepily back to work on
‘Tuesday morning, September 6, 1960, after the

long Labor Day holiday week end. The morning
. news was slow. Principal domestic headline was the
death of 415 persons in holiday traffic accidents

over the nation. Traffic was the main concern of the

with the freeways jammed
dy closing in as the metro-
alf millions returned reluc-

of another swelterin
Los Angeles area went

busy Los Angeles police,
early and the smog alrea
politan area’s six-and-a-h

- tantly to workaday life.

_ A few minutes before 7 a.m.
49-year-old resident of Highla
ing lot.off busy Hollywood Bo

inthe eastern section

from the optical labora

“Avenues, where she wor.

es

_ The optical plant was

to work.a few minutes

traffic. She parked her c

, Mrs. Magdalena A. Parra, a
nd Park, drove into the park-
ulevard and Vermont Avenue
of Hollywood, around the corner
tory at Hillhurst and Prospect
ked as a technical inspector.
not yet open. Mrs. Parra had come
early to beat the heavy morning
ar, got out and sauntered casually
... -up Prospect Avenue, an attractive, shapely brunette in a
‘light sleeveless summer dress,
handbag. Abruptly, a 1958 For
to the curb and the driver hail ;
* The car’ was a strange one to Mrs. Parra, and her first
"reaction was to.shy away witha frown of annoyance. Then, »

swinging her large black
d station wagon pulled up


ennes, Ind., for the 33
cate Trooper Cloyd  2@
ion of Scott started =
ting first in investi: ~ ;
termed a two-state ~ “@
investigation: re-
a Peoria County
law-enforcement

personnel. The barrage of criticism against
the sheriff’s office by the Grand. Jury
included such terms as “definite laxness”
and favors to criminals. The jury said:
@ Known police characters and ex-convicts
have been permitted to roam the highways
at night, even though armed, without any
effort being made to arrest them or ques-
tion them to‘determine their activities,

“e Some members of the sheriff’s office
have associated with ex-convicts and known
“hoodlums” against whom criminal charges
were pending.

@ Persons concealing and __ possessing
stolen goods, known to the: sheriff’s office
to have been stolen, were allowed to avoid
investigation or prosecution by returning
the stolen goods.

Henry Busch has received court per-
mission to be hypnotized so that it may
be ascertained why he allegedly strangled
three elderly women. Los Angeles, Cal.,

. Superior Judge John G. Barnes approved

the examination after the optical techni-
cian’s attorney said it would be performed
by a member of the: American Institute.
Of Hypnosis. He will also undergo psychi-
atric and brain tests, including an electro-
encephalogram test, since, the defendant’s
attorneys say he has told them, he suffers
from epilepsy. Busch supposedly admitted
after his arrest that he had “very strong
urges to kill,” but was unable to give any
more specific reason to account for the
deaths of Shirley Paine, Margaret Briggs,
and Elmyra Miller. (Go It, Killer, Go It,
December INsIDE, 1960.)

wee

Candy Barr is back in show biz, her
act drastically changed: for the twenty-
ninth annual Texas Prison Rodeo, Candy

Canpby Barr
No bumps, no grinds—just rolls.

has been slotted to sing and play the
drums .. . in a cowgirl outfit that does
not include any of. the paraphernalia for
doing her famous strip-tease act. Which
answers, for this year at least, the ques-

tion Are Candy’s Dancing Days Over?
(June rInsIvE, 1959). Candy had been
sentenced to 15 years at Goree Farm for
possession of narcotics.

‘Robert Lee Kidd has been convicted of
the 1954 murder of 71-year-old Albert
Clarke, a San Francisco, Cal., junk dealer.
A jury ruled he be given a death sentence.
At the time, a bloody thumbprint was
found on a sword, believed to have been
the weapon used to stab Clarke. Six years
later, Kidd got into a barroom brawl and
was routinely fingerprinted. His print

. matched the one found on the sword. Kidd

admitted being in the shop before the mur-
der, but said he and a friend were “horsing
around” with swords and he was cut,
accounting for the thumbprint; the defense
has denied that the sword was the death
weapon, as the prosecution contended. (On
The Undertaker’s Day Off, September
INSIDE, 1960.) ,

Sophia Loren received a telephone call
from London reporting that the $500,000
worth of jewels stolen from her last sum-
mer were all in London (Not In The Script,
September INsIDE, 1960). The friend who
revealed the information about the phone
call was quoted as saying “A London news-
paper called . . ..they said only this, and
that Sophia might be called to London
soon to claim the jewels. They didn’t say
whether this came from police or from
the underworld.” In London, a Scotland

‘Yard spokesman said he had no knowledge

of the report.

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ugh the heat
gave promise
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HEY GOT INTO THE car and drove back

through Niland, and skirting the Salton
Sea, drove northeast to San Bernardino
where they pawned their victim’s watch
for $7.50, dividing the amount evenly be-
tween them. They remained there two
days and nights, and painted both doors
of the car to obscure the words in two-
inch lettering, “NORTHERN ASSUR-
ANCE COMPANY, SAN FRANCISCO,
CALIFORNIA.” Leaving San Bernar-
dino they drove southward to Blythe,
where their trail of criminal adventure
ended with their arrest. ;

Upon cross-examination by District At-
torney Ernest R. Utley regarding the
Colts revolver which I had found hidden
in the top of the stolen car, both boys read-
ily admitted that it was the murder weapon

TRAPPING THE WILY

up to the agreed corner, it contained not
only Chin Wah and Chin Gooi, the driver,
but a strange Chinese. Hanks was pulled:
into the front seat where he could not turn
to look at the stranger and the car again
shot off down Madison.

[ WAS ONE of the most dangerous posi-
tions in which Hanks had ever found
himself. One of the dangers of this entire
procedure was that if Hanks were arrested
by other enforcement officers, ostensibly
aiding and abetting deliveries of narcotics,
to save “face” he might have to be placed
through the regular routine of conviction
with a penitentiary sentence. Suddenly
Chin Gooi had to stop for a red light and
a car drew up alongside containing a white
woman and a man who eyed Hanks curi-
ously. What could this white man, be do-
ing with these three Chinese? Hanks was
certain he was some sort of. officer off
duty, probably with his wife. Hanks, nat-
urally, began to perspire. The satne thing
was repeated at the next intersection, but
probably because the officer was with his
wife, nothing was done. Soon the car ap-
proached 23rd and Wentworth and stopped.
The strange Chinese got out of the car,
Hanks handed him the package containing
the ten cans of opium in broad daylight
and the Chinese scuttled across the street
carrying the package.

Four more deliveries were made in the
same manner. To different Chinese Hanks
was introduced by Chin Wah proudly as a
new member of the firm and a man who
could give them all much assistance. On
February 7, all proceeded to Detroit where
much the same procedure took place,
Hanks all along enlisting the aid of cus-
toms officers to check his every movement
and to help identify the Chinese.

The trip to St. Louis was abandoned be-
cause the opium in stock had all been dis-
posed of and also because Chin Wah
learned that the price had gone down in
that city and that a trip there would not
be profitable.

February 21, 1935—more than a year
after he began patiently to get the evi-
dence on the close-knit company—Hanks
arrived back in Seattle with his chain of
evidence complete. He knew the exact re-
lationships of the three men in Seattle’s
Chinatown who directed the big operations ;
who their henchmen were and where they
were located; the volume of their business
and where their shipments were sold.
There now remained only one thing—to
catch his prey red-handed and to have the
“corpus delicti” the law considers so neces-
sary in criminal cases.

The chance came on February 23.

The British vessel Tantalus was due
to dock at Pier 41, in Seattle, arriving

86

which had been. the property of Leslie
Nichols. ;

“And if I’d got hold of that gun when
we stopped that day on our way to the
Riverside jail, I intended to use that last
bullet on LeBarron,” offered Campbell.

The trial consumed some four weeks.
A search of Davis’ police record in_the
state of Alabama resulted in delays. Evi-
dence was eventually introduced to the
effect that Charles Davis had been con-
victed in Jackson County, Alabama, on a
charge of grand larceny for theft of an
automobile. He served three months in
an Industrial School in that state and had
been in California since November of the
year previous.

The jury returned a quick verdict of
first degree murder. On April 11, 1923,
Judge Franklin Cole sentenced Lawrence

OPIUM SMUGGLERS

from the Orient. The “Number One Boy”
(the chief steward) aboard the Tantalus
was reported to Chin Wah to have 200
cans of fine Malwa opium consigned from
Macao to Chin Wah, Chin Pak and Chin
Hong. Chin Wah had ordered a much
larger shipment but the unrest due to
labor conditions had prevented the Number
One Boy from being able to conceal a
larger amount.. The Chinese were de-
lighted, however, inasmuch as the long-
shoremen’s strikes on the coast had sky-
rocketed the price of the “smoke.”

That, evening Chin Wah_ telephoned
Hanks at his home and arranged another
rendezvous to discuss the landing of the

contraband from the Tantalus. Hanks’

hurriedly summoned Girard Polite and
again placed him in the back of his car
with the stethoscope-receivers in his ears.
Melvin Hanks picked up Chin Wah at_the
corner of 15th and Jefferson Avenue. Chin
Wah wished to go to some restaurant but
Hanks persuaded him to stay in the car.
They mad: their plans. Hanks agreed that
no Coast Guard vessels were to follow the
Tantalus and that the customs inspectors
would not make any unnecessary search-
ings. Hanks was to be on the pier and no
other men were to be with him.

Hanks added that the President Grant
was docked on the other side of Pier 41
in Seattle and that he would tip the cus-
toms inspectors off that there was opium
somewhere on the President Grant so that
they would be busy away from the Tanta-
lus. Then the speedy M-39, under cover
of darkness that evening, was to leave
her berth and approach within a half
mile of the stern of the Tantalus and
send a rowboat into which the Num-
ber One Boy aboard the ship would
drop the packages. from somewhere
on the stern. Hanks, on the pier, was to
signal the M-39 when to send the row-
boat and also signal the Number One Boy
that.the rowboat was ready. Chin Wah
and Hanks shook hands on the agreement
and Hanks returned home. Polite made a

report of the conversations, caught by the —

stethoscope in his ears.

Perrone HOME, Melvin Hanks tele-
phoned Commander .Zeusler of the
Coast Guard and informed him that his
great case was about to break. Hanks
asked that two Coast Guard boats be made
available in Seattle’s harbor at certain
stated positions. One was the vessel
Arcata, a slow boat, the other, particularly
requested by Hanks, was the “816,” which
in Prohibition days was the rum-runner
Zez, noted for her speed. Commander
Zeusler promised that the vessels would
be available and ‘promised to instruct his
men to follow Hanks’ request to the letter.

Campbell to death, date of execution set

for June 22, 1923, The same judge sen-
tenced Charles Davis to life imprisonment
in San Quentin Prison. In sentencing Da-
vis, he stated that only because of the
established fact that the boy was under
eighteen years of age, was he giving him
a life term instead of the death penalty.

More than twelve years have passed
since that day in April, 1923, when the two
boy hitch-hikers, as convicted murderers,
entered the gray stone walls of San Quen-
tin. There, Campbell’s day of execution
awaited him only a few weeks removed.
He was hanged on June 22, 1923, at 10:28
A.M.

And Charles Davis exchanged his name
for a number, 37726, when the heavy iron
gates clanged behind him for keeps.

From page 41

The following morning Hanks spent in
conference with the government attorneys,
to whom he outlined the entire case and
rehearsed the evidence. That afternoon
he was busy with a second conference, this
time with customs inspectors and_ the
Coast Guard. Hanks drew a map indicat-
ing the exact position the M-39 should be
in and the time when the rowboat should
be expected from the M-39 under the stern
of the Tantalus. As soon as Hanks had
verified the fact that the packages of opium
had been dropped into the boat, Hanks .was
to fire a rocket from a Very pistol into
the air, a signal not only for the Coast
Guard vessels Arcata and “816” to close
in on the M-39 but also for the customs
inspectors, supposedly on the Grant but
really in rowboats under the pier, to close
in on the rowboat.

In the middle of this conference, Chin
Wah called Hanks at his own office and
begged an immediate interview. Hanks
left the conference at 2:15 and went with
his car to meet Chin Wah who was under
an unaccountable fear that something was
about to go wrong. Chin Wah requested
Hanks to call off all preparations and in-
sisted that the delivery should not be
made that evening, as arranged, but should
be made a day or two later, perhaps when
the Tantalus was at some other Puget
Sound port, like Tacoma or Olympia.
Hanks, seeing his careful preparations
going awry, presumed on his long ac-
-quaintance and roundly “bawled out” Chin
Wah, telling him that his efforts to protect
the operations were being done at the cost
of increasing suspicions in his own office
and that probably not soon again could
he clear the field of all watching as thor-
oughly as he had this time. Chin Wah
admitted he had no very strong grounds
for his fears and grudgingly agreed that
“maybe” he would proceed with the effort
to unload the opium off the ship that night.
_ Hanks returned to the conference and
informed them of what had passed.

ANKS HAD AGREED with Chin Wah to
wear an old tan overcoat and grey
cap on.the dock, which was fairly well lit
- by overhanging electric lights. Hanks had
-agreed to be there at eight o’clock. Con-

“vulsively his hand held in his topcoat

pocket the Very pistol which would notify
the Coast Guard boats to close in on the
prey. Hanks was extremely nervous—he
wanted the business over with; it seemed
impossible that after all these months of
weary double-dealing and intrigue, that
anything could now go wrong. He yet did
not know whether the lurking suspicions in
Chin Wah’s Oriental mind would permit
the plan to go through or not.

Peering into the darkness, Hanks

eran

thought he
waters of E
fishing boat.
his arm, hea
Hanks groai
that of an o
on the pier.
of the steam
was curious
doing in tha:
and wanted
watchman \
father, who
spector and
same work.
Panic seiz
dlesome old
fair to ruin
not dare adn
man would :
the steamsh
heavily fined
band are {
night-watchn
of smugglin:
lowing law-:
coming off
reason Hank
stern of the
had approac
watchman wi

AT PERI

anxious
heard at the
ning to the e
into the dark
two of them
the third wit!
in the air. FE
rowboats hac
and_ had, for
anks cal]
One of the
Hanks dre
pocket, fired j
fired at the s
M-39! A st
a rocket zoo
fully it made
waters of the
Guard boat ‘
Start as soon
away they cor
Arcata startii
as quickly th:
M-39, scampc
illumined sc
faces of the 1
held their ha
chus, ‘the Gr
their feet tl
hundred cans
At the san
linger, Harloy
Tantalus to ar
The Coast (
at her berth,
from high-sp:

Ibe

Erle Stanle,
pended upon
moving, entert
mystery, Tlic
(Morrow), hi
This new Px
mysteriously a


the door
azement
akeshift
sing the
cated a
had torn
had not
was an
- prison-
ually de-

in down
th about
eply into
The pa-
int James
uad was
ed hypo-
used, but
rry of a
missioner
lered that
- allowing

But the
had even

found an
samination
the paper

ase do not
be happy.
living hell.
rid.”

- husband,
» for him,
two more
ere: “For-

iten Island
sband’s ar-
the police
her pose
the line-
formed her
de, but the
‘lieve them.
torted. “If
<e me talk,

y could con-
iad, indeed,
son road—
wn making.

om page 23

vords of the
‘lated by the
e we went to
d them both
ivities which
id apparently
iey looked so
re upon their
d inoffensive
» myself that
whole affair
iversation as
-emed at that
as I gazed
unbers at that
ier suspicions

them asking
ut that desert
| a morosely
ourselves on
e Davis and I
end of some
Campbell sud-
o hold-up, we

ust as we told

but one alter-
to their slum-
ch needed rest.
received word

from the Northern Assurance Company of
San Francisco concerning the Dodge road-

ster, saying they had notified their branch.

office located in Los Angeles and had re-
ferred the matter to their manager in
charge there, who in turn would investi-
gate by checking the route cards sent in
by their numerous special agents who trav-
eled in the southern district, thereby en-
deavoring to ascertain exact circumstances
of the theft of the roadster. They further
advised that their representatives who trav-
eled in certain isolated territories often-
times stored their automobiles in some
sthall town garage for as long as a week
at a time, while they continued their
scheduled route, either by train or bus.

We continued our investigation but the
boys’ story remained unchanged. They
still denied any hold-up. We obtained their
promise to point out to us the exact loca-
tion in the desert where they had found
the car. By this far-fetched method we
hoped to unearth some clue which would
lead to the true solution of the theft or
hold-up, whichever it might prove.

In order to gain this end, we completed
arrangements whereby the prisoners were
to accompany us to the exact location in
Imperial County. We telephoned former
Sheriff Charles Gillett of that county, who
agreed to meet us the following day. Our
trysting place was to be Beal’s Well, some
twenty-five miles east of Niland, Cali-
fornia.

WE Lert Riverside County jail two
hours before daybreak that fateful
Saturday, January 27, 1923. Our official
party escorting the prisoners consisted of
Sheriff Ryan, one of his Riverside depu-
ties and myself. The desert trip was un-
eventful; the boys were friendly and con-
versed in cheerful tones as we drove along.

We arrived at Beal’s Well: at noon, find-
ing Sheriff Gillett and his deputy awaiting
us.. After brief questioning by Gillett, the
boys consented to direct us where they
claimed to have found the automobile. We
seated them in the car with the Imperial
Valley officers, and followed in our car at a
close distance behind.

We drove east a few miles long the main
highway toward Niland. Suddenly turn-
ing south off the highway we followed a
trail, perhaps blazed by some lonely pros-
pector. We traveled near the base of the
grim hills, the road dwindling into a pair
of shallow ruts, turning here to avoid an
outcropping of rocky terrain, there to skirt
a ravine or desert “wash” with an occa-
sional safe detour away from the wide,
sharp-spined cacti. To the north and east,
forming a rugged wall of the great Im-
perial Valley were the hills, rising above
us until their heights gave way to austere
mountains, gray and shimmering giants
looking down on the desolate desert world,
a realm of solitude and scheming mystery.

Our motor party had half circled the
base of a steep hill, when we _ noticed
Sheriff Gillett’s car stop. We saw the
officers and the boys alight. We stopped,
got out of our car and joined them. The
boys argued concerning directions; then
held a whispered conversation.

“We think we can find the auto tracks
about two hundred feet west,” announced
Davis.

They started in the direction indicated.
We followed making our way with diffi-
culty among the giant cacti and chaparral.
It was obvious that no automobile could
have been driven through such a desert
undergrowth, indeed a burro would have
found it hard going. Turning in his tracks,
Campbell suddenly stopped.

“Davis is all wrong in his directions,”
he protested. With that they turned south.
We followed and soon, southeast of the

hill, we found smooth sand and what ap-
peared to be the faint tracks of some ve-
hicle. We wondered if the boys were
deliberately misguiding us or were they
themselves confused in their directions.
Were we on a wild goose chase? Were
we to meet definite defeat in this unusual
effort to solve the riddle? To me it
seemed a lost hope. But little did we
dream how soon and how shockingly all
these queries would be answered.

Geeur GILLETT appeared disgusted and
suddenly suggested that we all return
to the cars. He wanted to talk with the
boys. Making our way back, Gillett or-
dered the boys to sit on the running board
of his car, while he seated himself be-
tween them.

“We'll sit right here until you kids de-
cide to tell the whole truth. So far you’ve
told only a part of it,” Gillett announced.
Anger streaked through Davis and we saw
a sign of stubbornness along the straight
mouth of Campbell. The two other depu-
ties seated themselves in the back seat of
Gillett’s car, while we, Sheriff Ryan and
myself, sauntered away together, thinking
to give Sheriff Gillett full reign in ques-
tioning the boys.

Making our way through the under-
growth skirting the north base of the hill,
we suddenly noticed where the sagebrush
and cacti had been beaten down, as though
someone had broken a path back to_the
north towards the main highway. With
difficulty we followed this trail and crossed
a rocky ravine. The terrain was thickly
infested with cactus. Huge rocks, brown
and smooth, from the size of large apples
to huge round proportions, lay everywhere.
There were sudden piles of them as though
some giant hand, in abandoned fury had
tossed and left them there.

Suddenly we heard the desolate cry of a
lone coyote. How strange that_a coyote
should howl in mid-afternoon! We of the
desert places knew that coyotes, “wolf-
dogs of the waste lands,” rarely call to
their mates except before dawn or long
after sunset. True, they gave a piercing
wail, a long and cheerless cry, whenever
they killed their prey or came upon the
unexpected repast of a dead goat or rab-
bit. But the bleak wail of that coyote
seemed so very near us as it echoed and
re-echoed, and died back into silence. As
we advanced, the path narrowed.

Suddenly we were startled by a lank,
grizzled coyote as he slunk like a swift
wraith through the sagebrush directly
ahead of us. And the next moment we
stood in speechless amazement. At our
very feet, half concealed beneath the ever
shifting sands of the desert, lay the body
of a man, face downward. His arms were
folded beneath his head, elbows bent as
though he had made a last effort to raise
himself in futile defiance of that grim
pursuer, death. The back of his head had
been cruelly crushed. Nearby lay several
heavy rocks smeared with telltale dark red
stains.

VY sewers A sPpoKEN word we both
stooped down beside the lonely corpse.
He appeared to have been about thirty-
five years of age. The body was dressed
only in underwear. Had the sand drifted
over a portion of his body, or had he been
placed in that shallow grave?

Never shall I forget that scene, like a
swift panoramic nightmare. A sight to
numb the stoutest heart. Those bloody
stones lying all about offering mute evi-
dence of the cruel part they had played
in a crime upon which we had so unwit-
tingly stumbled. And that lonely grave—
the mesquite had dropped its pale yellow
blooms upon it, making, as I thought, a

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‘i 83


lovely “perpetual care” of the desert’s own.

Ryan was the first to speak. “LeBarron,
this man has been murdered,” he said.

And I in reply could only voice my
thoughts, “Who could have killed him?”

Ryan excitedly continued, “I'll fire my
revolver twice to attract the attention of
the men; that will be easier and quicker
than to go back and tell them.”

Hardly had the shots rung out and re-
verberated through the wilderness, when
we heard answering: shouts from the men,
We hallooed so that they might have a
definite direction to follow. Within a few
minutes we saw Gillett as he picked his
way towards us through the rugged ravine
and along the path we had come. The boy
prisoners followed immediately behind.
Then came the two deputies. We hastily
explained our gruesome, discovery as they
joined us.

But in the brief interval after Ryan had
fired his revolver, and while we had
awaited them. I noticed a sinall mound
of sand in a spot free of. stones and un-
dergrowth, about thirty feet from where
the body lay.

After a few tense moments I drew their
attention to it. We noticed that beside the
mound lay two dry club-like prongs from
the ocotillo cactus, about three feet in
length. Upon closer inspection we noticed
that the many sharp spines peculiar to that
specie of cactus remained in one end of
the dry branches or prongs, while the other
ends were clean and free of the needles.
I picked up one of the dried clubs and
found it surprisingly heavy; among the
thorn-like spines at one end clung heavy
clots of dried blood. :

We decided to investigate the mound
and I donned my heavy leather gloves and
raked into the soft loose sand, while the
others, including the silent boy prisoners
whom we had momentarily forgotten,
looked on. Almost immediately I brought
forth from the sand a portion of dark
blue garment. Stooping down I easily
lifted it out with my ‘hands. And as I
held it up it proved to be a sailor’s dark
blue middy blouse. We noticed marks
upon the sleeve denoting “2nd class Sea-
man, United States Navy.”

H” THE DEAD MAN been a sailor? Why
had a sailor come such a long, lonely
distance to keep a tryst with the grim
reaper? The next thing brought forth
from the mound proved to be a dark blue
pair of wide bottomed trousers, thus mak-
ing the complete sailor’s uniform of Uncle
Sam’s Navy, except for the neckerchief
and hat. The regulation white hat we
found last. It was folded around a man’s
leather wallet, several business letters, and
a small book of poems. Upon opening the
wallet we found on an inside flap en-
graved in gold lettering the following in-
scription, “LESLIE NICHOLS, Northern
Assurance Company, San Francisco, Cali-
fornia.” Each of the envelopes also bore
the name “Leslie Nichols.” Inside the
book, as though it had been used as a
marker, was a twenty dollar bill (cur-
rency). For a full moment we were too
amazed to speak, as the articles -were
passed from one to the other of the of-
ficers present.

Did the wallet belong to the dead man?
Was his name Leslie Nichols? If so then
we had definite proof that it was he who
had driven the Dodge roadster, and had
traveled as Special Agent for the San
Francisco insurance company. But why
had no alarm been sent out that he was
missing? Stark murder was obvious, but
what had been the motive?

So astonishingly fast had events trans-
pired in those few preceding moments that
we had paid slight attention to our pris-

84

oners. But simultaneously we seemed to
remember them and why we had brought
them to the desert. . .

“Well, what do you boys know about
this murder? What about the sailor’s uni-
form?” I queried. Davis remained silent
and deathly pale.

Campbell, with eyes downcast, replied,
“The uniform is mine, I buried it here last
Saturday just a week ago today. The man
gave us a lift at Niland and we came out
here in the desert and Davis killed him.”

“Campbell, you lie,” Davis hurled back.

Campbell laconically continued, “I needed
civilian clothes for I had none, so I re-
moved the man’s clothes after he was dead.
I’m wearing them now, but they’re not a
very good fit,” and he casually appraised
his personal appearance.

Gillett immediately handcuffed the boys
together, as he grimly announced, “You
boys will come along to the county jail in
E! Centro. You can finish your story at
the inquest later, and remember that mur-
der is murder, and the law is the law.”

As they made ready to retrace their steps
to the cars, it was agreed that Sheriff Ryan
should accompany them as far as Nilan
and there await Coroner W. L. Lyons and
Undersheriff A. R. Underwood, whom Gil-
lett was to summon by telephone from El
Centro. Ryan was to meet and accom-
pany them back, directing them to where
the Riverside Deputy Sheriff and myself
remained and waited for the dead man.

Bes DESERT LOCALE of that gruesome set-
ting remains starkly vivid in my mem-
ory. As a contrast to the torrid heat of
mid-day it grew cooler, and the haze off
towards the hills was purpling, as we be-
gan our vigil there where a man’s life had
been so hideously abbreviated. The moun-
tain heights inspired awe and reverence
as they towered in the east above us, like
something paternal and divine. The day-
light waned and we watched as the uncer-
tain beams of the setting sun lowered in
the mountain ridges and canyons, filling
them with luminous, august shadows. So
far from civilization we seemed, that it
was hard to realize that within a few
miles to the north ran a shining ribbon
of road, a highway that linked together
two great western states, “the crossroads
of the new West.” I thought of that
brave Mormon battalion which, a hundred
years before, had brought the first wagons
to follow the desert route. Even before
them had come that intrepid Spanish ad-
venturer, Captain Juan Bautiste de Anza,
whose path of exploration had passed
within a few miles of where we waited.

Three hours dragged slowly by. A des-
ert moon hung low in the heavens with
a brilliancy that only a desert moon dis-
plays, when Sheriff Ryan returned to the
scene accompanied by the Imperial County
Coroner and Undersheriff Underwood. We
assisted the Coroner in removing the body
from the shallow grave and were dis-
mayed that the deceased, aside from be-
ing dressed in underwear, was without
shoes, The soles of his socks hung in
tatters and were bloodstained, plainly in-
dicating that he had taken many weary,
painful steps without his shoes.

Several of the bloodstained stones,
along with the significant cactus clubs,
were carefully placed in paper which Un-
dersheriff Underwood had brought for that
purpose.

With much difficulty we carried the body
along the rough trail, back to where the
coroner had left his car. We returned to
our waiting car and led the way back to
the main highway. There, under the des-
ert moon we said a hasty farewell to the
Imperial County officers and returned to
Riverside. wore ga se :

We were duly summoned to appear as
witnesses at the Coroner’s Inquest in the
case of Leslie Nichols, in El Centro, Cali-
fornia, which was held on Monday, Janu-
ary 29, 1923.

Ernest R. Utley, District Attorney of
Imperial County, conducted the inquest,
assisted by Coroner Lyons. Twelve men,
citizens of El Centro, formed the coroner’s
jury. The first witness called to testify,
was a representative of the Northern As-
surance Company of San Francisco, who
came from the branch office of the firm in
Los Angeles. He identified the body of
the dead man as that of Leslie Nichols,
who had been their special agent a number
of years and resided in San Francisco, Cal-
ifornia. The representative also stated
that a route card had been duly sent from
San Diego, California, by, the deceased on
January 19, 1923, indicating that he had
planned to leave San Diego that date to
cover his usual field of activities in the
isolated desert territory. Thus it was
clearly explained why there had been no
report concerning the missing man or the
Dodge car, up to the time the body was
discovered. Had the boys succeeded in
crossing the Colorado River by ferry as
had been their intentions on that morning
of January 23, and had proceeded through
Arizona and into the middle west or east-
ern states, many weeks or months might
have elapsed before the body of Leslie
Nichols would have been found.

| Sagi CampBeLt and Charles Davis
were also called as witnesses. Their
testimony in substance was identical ex-
cept that each accused the other of the
actual killing of their mutual benefactor,
whom they stated, had given them a lift
in the Dodge roadster at that little des-
ert railway junction town, Niland, Califor-
nia, at about ten o'clock Saturday morn-
ing, January 20, 1923. They testified fur-
ther that they had each used a long cactus
prong to prod and hasten their victim
along the lonely desert path, so that they
might leave him in an isolated spot after
they had taken his life.

The boys appeared at the inquest wear-
ing the same clothing they had worn on
the morning I arrested them at Blythe.
Campbell testified that the suit and cap he
was wearing were the same he had taken
from the body. And he still wore the
shoes of the deceased which he had worn
since that fateful morning. The shirt worn
by Davis had also belonged to their vic-

im.

Several bloodstained stones and cactus
clubs were entered as exhibits of the state,
same remaining in possession of Coroner
Lyons, later to be submitted at the trial
in Superior Court. It was arranged during
the inquest hearing that the boys be pro-
vided with other clothing, thereby permit-
ting the garments of the dead man to be
entered as official exhibits.

Coroner Lyons, who was also County
Autopsy Surgeon, testifed that Leslie
Nichols came to his death from two bul-
let wounds fired from a .38 caliber re-
volver, one bullet having entered the left
temple, the other having entered through
the diaphragm just below the heart. There
were multiple head injuries and a crushed
skull. After brief deliberation the cor-
oner’s jury found that “said injuries were
inflicted with deliberate homicidal intent by
one Lawrence Campbell and one Charles
Davis.”

The boys were replaced in the County
Jail at El Centro, there to await their ar-
raignment on charges of first degree mur-
der, same being held on February 19, 1923.
Through efforts of relatives residing in
eastern states, two Los Angeles attorneys
were retained to defend Campbell and Da-

y
4
|

vis. To substa
that Davis was
age, resulted 1
of their trial
March 9, 1923,
tro, California,
siding and wit!
ecutor.

Former Sher:
Swanson, and
witriesses for

HE VOLUNTA
those youns
made without
morse, was mo!
ever heard. Te
ing assertions ¢
of Leslie Nich«
of the desert,

Campbell sta:
a personal nar
ginning with a
November 19,
igan, he had eo
Navy, declarn
years of age.
in Chicago fron
shipped to Nor
cember sailed
Transport //ci
was discharge:
Diego Harbor,
U.S. S. Merz
having misrepr
ment.

“They checl
me’ out. The
mander) told
liars in their 4
bell. He spok:
journ in Los
fron¥#San Die;
ture from Los
where, still we
met Davis on
They caught «
California, sle;
there, and co:
jerk” the fol!
east-west hig!
tracks; beg a
motorist travel)
sary kill him f
further planne
given a ride
in the seat w
sit beside the «
age‘to “feel”
being discover
with a slight k

And so, ea:
they had_ sto
and begun the
ture. True t
before, they h
(who happene:
“How's chance
“Fine, hop
“You are welk
as I go, to B
them each a s
was very kind
Campbell sat
on the outside
miles when,
statement, Cat
let and he g:

upon. Camp!
in Mr. Nichol
As the th:

stretch of hi:
they drove oy
road_ tracks,
wished he cot
Angeles.

HEN THI
roadster
Campbell had

o appear as
quest in the
“entro, Cali-
ynday, Janu-

Attorney of
the inquest,
[welve men,

the coroner’s

d to testify,
orthern As-
incisco, who
f the firm in
the body of
slie Nichols,
nt a number
ancisco, Cal-
also stated
ily sent from
deceased on
that he had
that date to
ivities in the
Thus it was
had been no
x» man or the
he body was
succeeded in
by ferry as
that morning
eded through
west or east-
nonths might
ly of Leslie
und,

‘harles Davis
iesses. Their
identical ex-
other of the
al benefactor,
u them a lift
iat little des-
land, Califor-
iturday morn-
testified fur-
| a long cactus
their v&tim
. so that they
ted spot after

inquest wear-
had worn on
em at Blythe.
uit and cap he
he had taken
still wore the
1 he had worn
Che shirt worn
| to their vic-

ves and cactus
its of the state,
mm of Coroner
ed at the trial
rranged during
e boys be pro-
thereby permit-
ead man to be

is also County
d that Leslie
from two bul-
38 caliber re-
ntered the left
ntered through
1e heart. There
s and a crushed
ration the cor-
d injuries were
nicidal intent by
nd one Charles

in the County
await their ar-
rst degree mur-
‘bruary 19, 1923.
ves residing in
ngeles attorneys
umpbell and Da-

vis. To substantiate or refute the claim
that Davis was under eighteen years of
age, resulted in delay and postponement
of their trial which did not begin until
March 9, 1923, in Superior Court, El Cen-
tro, California, Judge Franklin Cole pre-
siding and with Ernest R. Utley. as pros-
ecutor.

Former Sheriff Sam Ryan, Jailer George
Swanson, and myself were summoned as
witriesses for the prosecution.

Ts VOLUNTARY confession in court of
those young hitch-hikers, which they
made without displaying a twinge of re-
morse, was more amazing than any I have
ever heard. To relate in detail their boast-
ing assertions concerning the cruel slaying
of Leslie Nichols, that “Good Samaritan”
of the desert, would prove too revolting:
Campbell started his testimony freely by
a personal narrative of his activities be-
ginning with a date the previous year. On
November 19, 1922, at Marquette, Mich-
igan, he had enlisted in the United States
Navy, declaring he was over eighteen
years of age. He was sworn into service
in Chicago from where he was immediately
shipped to Norfolk, Virginia, and in De-
cember sailed aboard the United States
Transport Henderson for San Diego. He
was discharged from the Navy in San
Diego Harbor, January 7, 1923, from the
U.S. S. Alervine (Destroyer No. 322) for
having misrepresented his age upon enlist-
ment.

“They checked up on me and kicked
me’ out. The ‘Old Man’ (Ship’s Com-
mander) told me they didn’t want any
liars in their personnel,” explained Camp-
bell. He spoke lightly of his brief so-
journ in Los Angeles where he had gone
from San Diego; of his hitch-hiking ven-
ture from Los Angeles to Yuma, Arizona,
where, still wearing his Navy uniform, he
met Davis on the Colorado River bridge.
They caught a freight train for Niland,
California, slept that night in the depot
there, and conspired together to “thumb
jerk” the following morning where the
east-west highway crossed the railroad
tracks; beg a ride from the first willing
motorist traveling east; rob, and if neces-
sary kill him for his money and car. They
further planned that if and when they were
given a ride thev would contrive to sit
in the seat with the driver, Campbell to
sit beside the driver where he would man-
age‘to “feel” for a possible wallet; such
being discovered, he was to signal Davis
with a slight kick to his shins.

And so, early that Saturday morning
they had stood at the railroad crossing
and begun their fatal hitch-hiking adven-
ture. True to their plans of the night
before, they had hailed the first motorist,
(who happened to be Leslie Nichols) with,
“How’s chances for a ride?”

“Fine, hop in, boys,” replied Nichols.
“You are welcome to ride with me as far
as I go, to Blythe, California.” He gave
them each a sandwich and cigarettes and
was very kind and obliging, the boys said.
Campbell sat next to Nichols with Davis
on the outside. They had gone only a few
miles’ when, according to their sworn
statement, Campbell located the man’s wal-
let and he gave Davis the signal agreed
upon. Campbell had also felt a revolver
in Mr. Nichols’ coat pocket.

As the three rode along the lonely
stretch of highway through the desert,
they drove over a hill, and they saw rail-
road tracks, Davis remarked that he
wished he could catch a train back'to Los
Angeles.

Wen THEY HAD ENTERED the Dodge
roadster at the crossing at Niland,
Campbell had noticed a five-gallon water

a

canteen strapped on the running board, and
he remembered that canteen as he sat be-
side Mr. Nichols. He asked for a drink of
water as they rode along, saying he was
thirsty. Certainly, Mr. Nichols was glad
to give them a drink of water. He
stopped the car, they alighted, and al-
though the canteen was: heavy and awk-
ward they managed to drink from it. The
sun was getting hot, and before Nichols
got back into the car to resume the trip,
he removed his coat and folding it loosely,
laid it on the back of the seat.

They rode another fifteen or twenty
miles while the boys discussed Davis’ de-
sire to get back to Los Angeles. Would
Mr. Nichols stop the car and let them
out? They had decided to walk back
along the highway a few miles until they
reached the tracks. Thev planned to climb
the hill and try to jump a freight as it
went up the grade. Since the boys had
decided they would go back, and the day

“was warm, Davis thought thev needed an-

other drink of water. Would Mr. Nich-
ols give them another drink? Obligingly
Mr. Nichols stopped the car and again
they alighted. And as Mr. Nichols stooped
‘to unstrap the canteen from the running
board, Campbell swiftly reached for the
folded coat and grabbed the revolver. As
Mr. Nichols raised up with the canteen,
holding it for them to drink, Campbell,
facing him, stuck the gun into his ribs
and without a word, fired. Both boys said
that Mr. Nichols staggered but remained
on his feet. Campbell ordered him to re-
enter the car which he did in wondering,
painful protest. Davis then took the
wheel, Nichols between them.

“Why do you want to shoot me, boys?”
Nichols queried.

“We want your money and your car,”
the boys replied.

Mr. Nichols then begged them to stop
and let him out. He promised he would
not mention the hold-up if they would
spare his life, and he offered, not only his
money and watch, but also his car. Soon
they came to a road which branched off
the main highway towards the south. They
drove as far as they could along this road.
Finally Campbell, with drawn revolver,
ordered Mr. Nichols to get out. He forced
him to remove his shoes as above de-
scribed, then Davis took his pocket knife
and cut from a dry ocotillo cactus two
long clubs which they used to prod their
victim. The wound in Mr. Nichols’ side
was throbbing with pain, but, in his stock-
ing feet, he gamely walked ahead of the
boys, unmindful of the spiney cactus
which struck at his feet like the bite of a
rattlesnake.

The boys said they became tired as the
going was hard along the trail, so they
stopped, took Mr. Nichols’ watch and
money (less than $6.00), and made him
lie face downward in the sand. It was at
that point of their confession they disa-
greed. Campbell claimed he handed the
gun to Davis who fired the fatal shot into
Mr. Nichols’ temple; while Davis vehe-
mently insisted that Campbell did the
shooting. However, both boys stated very
nonchalantly that they took turns in. cast-
ing heavy stones at the head of their bene-
factor until they were sure he was dead.

They stated they then removed his suit
and shirt, Campbell putting on the cap

and suit, burying his own uniform with |

the wallet of the dead man. The boys
overlooked the twenty dollar bill which was
in the book.. When they made their way

- back to the roadster, they drained some

gasoline from. the tank and carefully
cleaned the dead man’s shirt of blood-
stains before Davis put it on, discarding
his own old one.

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