Both men had consistently protested their innocence during their trial for the murders at the Cameo Cinema. Connolly died in 1997 without knowing that he had been exonerated.
A Dead Man Speaks
Joseph Williams, tried and acquitted of murder, gloated about how he had cheated the hangman and made a confession that remained a secret until his death twelve years later.
On 21 May 1939, Walter Dinivan, a wealthy retired businessman, was found unconscious and badly injured at his home at Branksome, Bournemouth in the UK. He died the next day in hospital from severe head wounds. It appeared that he had been attacked with a hammer and an attempt had also been made to strangle him.
Examination of the crime scene revealed no signs of forced entry to the house, suggesting that Dinivan knew his attacker. The safe in the drawing room had been emptied and a watch and rings taken from the dead man. The crime scene was a treasure trove of clues. On a side table were a bottle of beer and two glasses, one of which bore a thumb print. On the floor was a paper bag which might have been used to wrap a hammer and a number of cigarette butts were strewn about.
Regular visitors to the house had their fingerprints checked but no match was found with the impression on the beer glass, Local enquiries were fruitful, with reports that Dinivan had a friend who called on him, it was believed with the intention of borrowing money. The visitor was sixty-nine-year-old Joseph Williams who had a reputation for pleading poverty but, since Dinivan’s death, seemed to have come into some money.
Williams, a former soldier, was out of work and lived a squalid life. When questioned, he admitted calling on Dinivan a few days before he died and borrowing five pounds. He explained his recent free spending as the result of a win on the horses.
The murder investigation focussed on the cigarette butts found at the crime scene and the possibility of testing saliva traces for blood-grouping. It was discovered that the smoker had a rare blood group shared by just three per cent of the population.
Williams was the prime suspect and, by devious means, detectives collected a cigarette butt he had discarded in a pub and sent it for laboratory testing. Williams, it seemed, belonged to the same three per cent as the smoker at the crime scene. A search of his home produced a supply of paper bags identical to the one found near Dinivan’s body. When Williams’ thumb print matched that on the beer glass, the police lost no time in charging him with the murder.
When he appeared on trial at Dorset Assizes Williams loudly and aggressively maintained his innocence but a conviction on forensic evidence seemed assured. But to the consternation of
the police and prosecution, the jury found him not guilty and he walked free.
Twelve years later, Williams died of natural causes and the following day, his confession to murder was published in a national newspaper. He was interviewed by a journalist on the day of his acquittal. Over a whisky he toasted “. . . the hangman who had been cheated of a victim” and made a full confession which had remained secret until his death.
“Forgive Me . . .”
Besotted with his love for another man’s wife, William Pettit took her life away with a dagger inscribed with the words, “I cut my way.”
Pettit, a twenty-seven-year-old labourer from Eltham in south London, lodged with Mr and Mrs Brown. René Brown was old enough to be his mother but he believed he was in love with her. He had a history of violent behaviour and convictions for petty crime. When his attentions towards René Brown became a nuisance, he was told to leave their house. In his anger, he broke one of the windows.
Some time later, in mid-September 1963, a woman’s body was found in a field near Chislehurst in Kent. Identified as René Brown, wife of a civil servant with her home in Eltham, she had been killed with a single knife thrust to the heart.
At the Coroner’s inquest, Mr Brown stated that he knew who had killed his wife and named William Pettit. He also said that he was consulting a medium with a view to establishing Pettit’s whereabouts. The police had other ideas and made history by having the missing man’s description and photograph broadcast on television. Pettit thereby contributed a footnote in the annals of crime.
The television transmission was preceded by a great deal of soul-searching as to the ethics involved. The appeal for information came after the national news and before a magic show. A detailed description of Pettit was given, stating his height, sallow complexion and dark brown bushy hair. His clothes were described and nothing was left out regarding
his appearance, including his sunken cheeks and cleft chin. The transmission, delivered with gravitas by John Snagge, and accompanied by a photograph of the wanted man, produced a huge response. There were hundreds of calls from viewers who claimed to have seen Pettit. All of this was backed up by massive coverage in the press.
Most of the sightings of the wanted man came from people in the London area and, indeed, that was where he was eventually found – to be precise, in the City of London. He lay dead in a bombed building near Cannon Street. The identity card in his pocket confirmed his name. Next to his body was a scribbled note, reading, “Forgive me for what I have done. I could have gone on living with Mr and Mrs Brown but not without Mrs Brown. I love her. I love her. I love her.”
A post-mortem revealed that Pettit was suffering from an advanced form of tuberculosis. That is what may have killed him and death was given as probably due to natural causes. The pathologist estimated that he had died between four and six weeks prior to the discovery of his body. That implied he was already dead before the groundbreaking media appeal was launched to find the wanted man.
Fairplay
What might have been a perfect murder was foiled by an anonymous letter to the police urging them to look more closely into the recent death of a local man. Having been alerted, they called in detectives from Scotland Yard to help their enquiries and set about finding a poisoner.
Forty-four-year-old Arthur Major, a lorry driver, lived with his wife Ethel and their fourteen-year-old son at Kirkby-on-Bain in Lincolnshire. Neighbours regarded them as an odd couple. Ethel was unpopular and known for being difficult, while her husband spent a great deal of time in the pub.
On 22 May 1934, Ethel called on the local doctor to tell him that her husband had collapsed with a fit and, two days later, reported that he had died. A death certificate was issued
giving epilepsy as the cause of death. Preparations were made for Arthur Major’s funeral.
Then, on 26 May, police at Horncastle received a letter signed, “Fairplay”, which drew their attention to the recent death. The anonymous writer raised several questions, one of which was why had Arthur Major complained about the bad taste of his food and thrown it out to the neighbour’s dog which later died?
The police were used to receiving occasional cranky or malicious letters but they acted on “Fairplay’s” warning and the coroner ordered the funeral of Arthur Major to be stopped. The corpse of the dog referred to had been buried in the garden and was exhumed for post-mortem examination. An autopsy was also carried out on Mr Major. Both dog and man were shown to have strychnine in their bodies.
Scotland Yard officers were called in to lead the investigation into what was now a murder case. Detectives interviewed Ethel Major and learned something of the strained relationship with her husband who had published a notice in the local paper saying that he was not responsible for his wife’s debts.
During the interview, Mrs Major was at great pains to impress on the officers that her husband’s last meal consisted of corned beef, a product she would never buy herself. It later emerged that she had sent her son to buy a tin. She did not appear to be grief-stricken over her loss. The next question was to find the source of the strychnine.
Tom Brown, Ethel’s father, was a former gamekeeper. He said he had a small supply of strychnine that he kept in a box of which he had the only key. When he thought about it, though, he remembered there had been another key that was lost. A search of Ethel’s home produced the second key, which she kept in her purse.
Ethel Major was tried for murder at Lincoln Assizes in November 1935. She pleaded not guilty and was defended by Sir Norman Birkett. Her defence was based on mitigating circumstances involving her abusive husband who she believed was seeing another woman. She did not give evidence.
The jury found her guilty but made a strong recommendation to mercy. She was sentenced to death and the jury’s recommendation was not followed. Ethel Major was executed on 19 December 1935. The identity of the letter writer who precipitated the police investigation was never established.
“I Cannot Live Without You . . .”
Forty-seven-year-old Cecil Maltby had inherited his father’s tailoring business which he ran from a shop near Regent’s Park, London. His world had begun to disintegrate when he became bankrupt and his wife and child lived apart from him. He also took to drink but his prospects possibly looked brighter when Alice Middleton moved in with him to share the accommodation above the shop in 1922.
Mrs Middleton was the wife of an officer in the merchant navy and it was her custom to live in lodgings when he was away at sea for a long time. With her husband in the Far East, she went to live with Cecil Maltby. As he had lost interest in his business, he was free to entertain her, which he did by taking her to race meetings.
Alice Middleton was not seen after 15 August and, when her husband returned from his seafaring in December, he was confronted with the situation that his wife had gone missing. He reported her disappearance to the police and, in due course, officers came knocking at Mr Maltby’s door.
Maltby would not allow the officers to enter but shouted down from an upstairs window. He said that Alice Middleton had left him and he did not know where she was. This dialogue in the street attracted the attention of neighbours, especially when Maltby’s house was put under surveillance. The story reached the newspapers and public curiosity continued to grow. The man under scrutiny made occasional appearances at an upstairs window but he declined to come down.
The stalemate was broken after a week when a magistrate’s order was granted, allowing the premises to be entered on health grounds. On 10 January 1923, medical health officials escorted by armed police officers approached the house.
Watched by a crowd of spectators, officers simultaneously broke their way into the front and rear of the premises.
The raiding parties were greeted by the sound of a gunshot coming from the first-floor bedroom. Breaking down the door, they found Cecil Maltby lying on the bed mortally wounded by a shot he had fired through his mouth. Further revelations came when officers searched the premises and made a grisly discovery in the kitchen. In the bath, wrapped in a sheet and covered with a board, was the decomposing body of Alice Middleton.
On the body was a note, “In memory of darling Pat, who committed suicide on 24 August 1922, 8.30 a.m.” Nailed to the bedroom door was another note, “In memory of Alice H. Middleton”, recording her suicide and asking, “. . . why did you do it? . . . I cannot live without you”, and signed, “Cecil Maltby”. Other letters were found in different parts of the house. One of these indicated that she planned to shoot herself and there was a struggle over the gun, which she succeeded in using against herself.
Maltby wrote, “I put Mrs Middleton in the bath, and have not liked to part with the dear soul.” Medical examiners confirmed that she had died from three shots entering her body from behind. The coroner’s inquest returned a verdict of murder and of suicide against Maltby.
“. . . Take Three Paces Forward”
When two young robbers murdered an elderly, reclusive farmer who was rumoured to be wealthy, they came away with a few pounds and a couple of watches. What they had missed, lying on their victim’s desk, were written instructions on how to reach his savings; “From the stone doorposts of the pigsty, take three paces forward. Go three feet down”, read the note. The problem for the robbers was that it was written in Spanish.
William Rowe was an elderly bachelor who lived on his own at Nanjarrow Farm in Cornwall in the UK. He lived frugally, rarely went out and was not keen to admit people to his farmhouse. He was respected as an astute cattle dealer and local gossip had it that he was a wealthy man.
The rumours reached the ears of Russell Pascoe and Dennis Whitty, both in their twenties, who lived locally. In the summer of 1960, they chose a day when Rowe made one of his rare outings to Truro, and broke into his farmhouse. They found money salted away in old jars and tins and came away with £250. The police had their suspicions about who was responsible but could not bring charges as the evidence was insufficient.
In August 1963, William Rowe suffered another break-in, this time with fatal consequences. When a cattle dealer visited the farm he found the old man lying dead in a corner of the yard. He had been severely battered and the house ransacked. Contents of cupboards and drawers were strewn about on the floor and mattresses had been torn apart in an obvious search.
Suspecting that the attackers were local, the police focussed again on Pascoe and Whitty. It was not long before their enquiries produced results. Pascoe had parted from his wife and child and gone to live with Whitty in a caravan and with the company of three girls.
The girls had been threatened to keep their mouths shut but under police questioning, the truth emerged. Pascoe and Whitty said they were going to do a job and armed themselves with a knife and a crowbar. When they returned, they said they had killed the farmer. Confronted with these admissions, each blamed the other.
Their story was that they thought Rowe was absent from home and when they arrived and found lights on, they resorted to a ruse to get him to unlock the door. On the pretext that a plane had crashed nearby, they asked to use the telephone. Rowe did not have a telephone but he opened the door to give them directions to the nearest call box. As soon as he appeared on the doorstep, he was clubbed with a crowbar. The pair ransacked the house in their hunt for money and found next to nothing. Having bludgeoned the old man, they finished him off with stab wounds to the chest and neck.