For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Jazz Age Chicago (49 page)

There was, he claimed, something mysterious about the relationship between the two killers. How had they become locked together in their mutual embrace? Their supposed fantasies, Crowe argued, were fabrications, constructed after the murder, all part of an elaborate scheme to fool the judge into believing that Nathan and Richard were mentally ill. Before the day of the killing, no one had ever heard Nathan mention his desire to be the powerful slave of a beneficent king; nor had Richard ever confided to anyone—apart from Nathan—his wish that he might be a master criminal capable of committing the perfect crime. Because the fantasies had been conjured into existence only after the murder, Crowe argued, those fantasies could not, as the defense had claimed, explain the relationship between Nathan and Richard.

One passage in the Bowman-Hulbert report, the secret report prepared by the defense but leaked to the newspapers, had caught Crowe’s attention. Richard had mentioned four crimes—denoted by the letters A, B, C, and D—to the scientists. What were those crimes, Crowe wondered. No one knew; the defense psychiatrists had decided not to ask Richard about them. Did anyone know the deeds Richard claimed to have committed? Yes, replied Crowe, in answer to his own question; there was one person who did know. Nathan Leopold knew, and Nathan had blackmailed Richard Loeb into a sexual relationship. “I will tell you, your honor, and I think I will demonstrate it beyond the peradventure of a doubt,” Crowe explained, “that these four episodes, that these four crimes, were known to Leopold, and he blackmailed Loeb, he threatened Loeb with exposure if he did not submit to him, and Loeb had to go along with Leopold…. Loeb had committed major crimes, four of them, that he would not even tell his lawyers about, that he would not tell the doctors about, and they concluded it was a bad thing to make inquiry about…. Leopold knew about these…. Loeb was afraid of Leopold…. He contemplated killing him so that he would not be in his power.”
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The defense had not intended that the Bowman-Hulbert report be made public, but it had found its way to the state’s attorney’s office nevertheless. Crowe waved his copy triumphantly in his right hand as he addressed the court. What, Crowe asked, as he prepared to read from the report, had Richard Loeb said to the psychiatrists about his companion, Nathan Leopold? “Let us see what the evidence is on that…. ‘In a way, I have always been sort of afraid of him. He intimidated me by threatening to expose me…and I could not stand it.’” Richard had been terrified that Nathan would spill his secrets, terrified enough to contemplate killing Nathan. “He was afraid,” Crowe continued, “of Leopold; he was afraid that Leopold might tell of A, B, C and D. ‘I could not stand it. I had often thought of the possibility of shooting him.’”
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There had been a reason, a very good reason, for Richard’s insistence that they kill Bobby Franks by strangulation, each boy pulling on the end of a rope tied around the victim’s neck. As soon as Nathan pulled on that rope, he too would be guilty of murder and would no longer be able to blackmail Richard into a sexual relationship. Richard Loeb, Crowe explained, was “to pull one end and Leopold the other; and the reason he wanted that done was [that]…Leopold had something on him. Leopold knew about the crimes A, B, C and D, and in this murder he was going to make Leopold pull the rope so he would have something equal on Leopold.”
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The newspapers had spoken of the search for excitement, a thrill, as a motive for the killing. Two teenagers with too much time on their hands, perhaps, looking for a new sensation. But the Bowman-Hulbert report indicated that Richard Loeb had been a quiet, studious boy. Crowe picked up his copy of the report. “What does Bowman and Hulbert say about it? ‘He never appeared to crave a thrill or excitement, but was rather quiet in his conduct.’” Nor, according to the report, had either Nathan or Richard derived any pleasure from the thought of murder. On the contrary; each boy had approached the task with revulsion and apprehension. It was not true, Crowe continued, that the killing had provided Nathan and Richard, as the defense had claimed, with “the thrill that they tried to make you believe. ‘They anticipated a few unpleasant minutes.’ Not pleasant minutes; not the thrill and the delight and the fast beating heart that they tell you Dickie Loeb has, if he has got a heart at all. ‘They anticipated a few unpleasant minutes in strangling him.’”
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Clarence Darrow had sneered at the state for its claim that ransom was the motive for the murder. But, Crowe continued, the Bowman-Hulbert report itself, a report commissioned by the defense, demonstrated that money provided the rationale for the kidnapping. Had not Nathan and Richard first fixed on kidnapping a boy whom Nathan disliked, a boy who had insulted Nathan? At that moment, they had not yet thought of a secure way to obtain the money, and so they had abandoned the plan. But if they had been seeking a thrill, why would they not go ahead with the plan? If the ransom was insignificant, as Clarence Darrow had claimed, why would they abandon their plan on account of the difficulty in obtaining the ransom? And why had Nathan and Richard asked that the ransom be paid in old, unmarked bills? If they had desired only excitement, a thrill, what difference would it have made if the ransom money was marked or unmarked? If they had had no need of the money, why would they have asked for old bills?

“Money is the motive in this case,” shouted Crowe, taking up the report once again, “and I will prove it repeatedly by their own evidence…. ‘Neither of them, however, could think of any simple or certain way of securing the money. They continued to discuss the matter, weighing the pros and con, suggesting methods only to pick flaws in them. In March 1924 the patient conceived the idea of securing’—What? The thrill? The excitement? No. ‘—conceived the idea of securing the money by having it thrown off of a moving train. This idea was discussed in great detail, and gradually developed into a carefully systematized plan.’”
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They had kidnapped Bobby Franks for the ransom, but because Bobby could identify Richard to the police, they had killed him as soon as he had stepped into the car. The murder was ancillary to the kidnapping. If they could have kidnapped the boy without killing him, they would have done so, but since they would have put themselves at risk of capture, they had to commit murder.

“Then the motive for the murder was their own self preservation. You do not have to take my word for it. Take the word of…the alienists, who say the boys told them that themselves. ‘It was necessary to kill him at once, to avoid any possible identification by the victim should he escape, or their plans go awry.’ Was this killing done as we have been led to believe by the defense, merely for the thrill, your honor, or the excitement? What does the doctor further say on that? ‘The patient’—Loeb—‘did not anticipate the actual killing with any pleasure.’ It was not for the thrill or the excitement. The original crime was the kidnaping for money. The killing was an afterthought, to prevent their identification, and their subsequent apprehension and punishment. He said he did not anticipate the killing with any pleasure. It was merely necessary in order to get the money. Motive? ‘The killing apparently has no other significance’—now, this is not my argument, your honor, but of their own report, their own evidence—‘The killing apparently has no other significance than being an inevitable part of a perfect crime in covering one possible trace of identification.’ Drs. Hulbert and Bowman were told by these defendants, as I told your honor, that the killing had no significance here except to prevent their being apprehended and convicted if the victim escaped.”
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Crowe had now finished reading from the Bowman-Hulbert report. As he replaced it on the table, he took up a sheaf of letters held together by a large black metal clip. Several were from Richard’s elder brother Allan; others were from Richard’s classmates at the University of Michigan; and, as Crowe read each one to the courtroom, his audience heard the evidence of Richard’s gambling. Here was a letter from Allan Loeb, dated 19 May 1924, just two days before the murder, warning Richard not to wager so high. Allan was glad to hear that Richard had won so much money from Sammy Schmaltz in a recent card game, but suppose, he warned Richard, instead of winning such a large amount, he had lost. And here was a letter from one of Richard’s friends at the University of Michigan, regretting that he had not seen Richard on a recent visit to Chicago—“but I always feel as though I am intruding when you guys are gambling, because I don’t gamble that high”—but hoping, nevertheless, to see him soon.
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Crowe had more documents on the table, bank statements for Richard’s accounts. He picked them up, then spread them fanwise before him on the table. What, Crowe asked, could explain the large amounts of money that flowed into and out of Richard’s accounts each month? Richard received a monthly allowance of $250 from his father; yet each month, large sums of money, considerably larger than his allowance, entered and left his bank accounts. In May 1923, he had deposited $645 into his account at the Bank of Charlevoix; in June, he had deposited $683; in July, $588; and in September, $602. In October, Richard had deposited $535 in his account at the Hyde Park State Bank; in November, $1,549; and in December, $420. In 1924, he had continued to deposit approximately $500 into his account each month. On Thursday, 15 May, just one week before the murder, he had deposited $536.
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What was the source of this money? Had he won it at cards? Or was it the proceeds of his crimes? “Would A, B, C and D explain it,” Crowe asked, “or explain part of them, or are these moneys that he won in gambling?…All the way through, if your honor please, all the way through this most unusual crime runs money, money, money.”
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It was now almost over. Crowe spoke again on Thursday, 28 August, excoriating Darrow for his philosophy—“his peculiar philosophy of life”—and warning Caverly that any sentence less than hanging would be tantamount to the court’s approval of Darrow’s beliefs. It was not an end to capital punishment that Darrow sought, Crowe cautioned, but an end to all punishment. For if Leopold and Loeb were not accountable for their actions, could anyone be held to account for any action? Environment and heredity had determined the boys’ actions, Darrow had argued, and as a consequence, any punishment for the murder was inappropriate and futile. Darrow, in his closing speech, had absolved Leopold and Loeb of blame for the murder—his success would surely undermine the system of criminal justice.
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To sentence them to the penitentiary would be to accept Darrow’s argument. Without fixing responsibility, how could one inflict punishment? And without punishment, what would deter crime? It was a recipe for chaos, Crowe warned, and Caverly, if he failed to sentence Leopold and Loeb to death, would condemn himself to obloquy. “I want to tell you the real defense in this case, your honor.” Crowe’s nasal voice, raspy after speaking for three days, rose above the courtroom like a buzz saw. Crowe’s anger was visible in his face as he pointed an accusatory finger at Clarence Darrow. “It is Clarence Darrow’s dangerous philosophy of life. He said to your honor that he was not pleading alone for these two young men. He said he was looking to the future, that he was thinking of the ten thousand young boys that in the future would fill the chairs his clients filled and he wants to soften the law…. I want to tell your honor that it would be much better if God had not caused this crime to be disclosed. It would have been much better if it went unsolved and these men went unwhipped of justice. It would not have done near the harm to this community as will be done if your honor, as chief justice of this great court, puts your official seal of approval upon the doctrines of anarchy preached by Clarence Darrow as a defense in this case. Society can endure, the law can endure and criminals escape, but if a court such as this court should say that he believes in the doctrine of Darrow, that you ought not to hang when the law says you should, a greater blow has been struck to our institutions than by a hundred, yes, a thousand murders.”
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It had been Robert Crowe’s most eloquent speech in the Criminal Court. He had countered the defense point by point, blow by blow; he had exposed Darrow as a dangerous charlatan; he had even established a motive for the crime. Crowe resumed his seat with quiet confidence and, around him, his colleagues and associates pressed forward to touch his arm and to whisper their congratulations.

John Caverly had already started speaking, addressing himself to the many critics who had faulted his conduct of the hearing. There had been no delay in the administration of justice, Caverly explained. The police had arrested Leopold and Loeb just ten days after the murder; the state’s attorney had indicted the suspects within a few days; and the trial had begun six weeks after the grand jury had voted the indictments. The Criminal Court had brought the indictments to trial ahead of thirty-four other indictments for murder in Cook County that year. The wealth and reputation of the families had had no bearing on the case and had never caused any delay in the proceedings.
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Some critics wondered why—because Leopold and Loeb had readily confessed—it had been necessary for the Criminal Court to hear any evidence on the murder. But, according to the criminal code of Illinois, Caverly explained, it was the obligation of the court to listen to testimony both in mitigation and in aggravation if either the defense or the prosecution so requested. Commentators in the daily newspapers had frequently made comparisons with the speedy administration of criminal justice in Britain, but such comparisons were beside the point. Since a defendant could not be legally executed in Illinois before the tenth day of the term of the state supreme court after judgment, there could have been no executions in Illinois, whatever the circumstances of the case, before October.
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