Some murder cases considered solved at the time, reappear at a later date with sufficient doubt to be returned to the unsolved category. One such is the conviction of Dr Crippen in 1910 for murdering his wife in London. Over ninety years later, new evidence has been adduced to suggest that the human remains believed to be those of his wife, belonged to another, unknown individual.
Scientific advances, particularly in the field of DNA technology, make possible the re-examination of forensic evidence stored by the police or gleaned from other sources. This was the background to developments in the Crippen case and the grounds on which his descendants are seeking a pardon.
Pressure from campaigning groups and families of victims or murder suspects, where an injustice is perceived, may persuade the legal authorities to re-open a once-closed case. The body of Albert De Salvo, self-confessed “Boston Stranger” and murderer of thirteen women, was exhumed in 2001. He died in prison in 1973 and was believed to have made a false confession. Comparison of DNA taken from his exhumed body was compared with that of traces found on the last murder victim. The result showed that whatever De Salvo may have said, he was not the “Boston Strangler”. This left the uncomfortable conclusion that the real murderer got away with the crimes and that the case is far from being closed.
Similarly, the hoped-for solution of the “Bible John” murders in Glasgow in the late 1960s failed to materialize with the exhumation of the body of a man regarded as a strong suspect. Comparison of the suspect DNA with traces found on the last victim did not match, so the three murders remain unsolved.
The Black Dahlia murder in 1947 is probably America’s most notorious unsolved murder case. Various suspects have been named over the years but none has been confirmed. In 2003, a former detective named his father as the likely killer using new information. And the Zodiac Murders in San Francisco in the late 1960s, with the enigmatic messages left by the killer, have defied all attempts at resolution. Again, a re-examination of the available evidence in 2007 has been used in an attempt to provide an answer. Like the infamous Jack the Ripper murders in 1888, high-profile unsolved killings taunt those of an inquisitive persuasion to find answers.
There are a few notable cases whose status changes at the whim of the chief suspect, when previous denials turn into confessions of guilt. In a world where things are not always as they seem, reverses happen and court verdicts are turned on their heads. Tony Mancini won an outstanding not guilty verdict when he was tried for the murder of Violette Kaye in 1934. And, forty-two years later, what had been an unsolved case acquired a different status when he made a confession to murder. Harold Loughans took rather less time, a mere twenty years, to confess to the crime for which he had been judged not guilty in 1943.
The converse of this is when a blameless individual who has been wrongly punished for a crime he did not commit, is re-judged and given back his innocence. Such were the circumstances that overtook Stefan Kisko when his conviction was quashed in 1992 after he had spent sixteen years in prison.
The judicial process is sufficiently robust to absorb these reversals aided, as it was in the Kisko case, by advances in forensic technology. It shows that with the passage of time, a self-correcting process can set the innocent free and call to account some guilty fugitives. Such are the dynamics of solved and unsolved crimes.
A Killing At ‘‘Cock House’’
Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Workman, known to his friends by his middle name, Riley, was shot dead on his doorstep on 7 January 2004. Several residents of the peaceful Hertfordshire village of Furneux Pelham in the UK heard a noise at around 8 p.m., which sounded like a car backfiring. His body was found sprawled on the doorstep of his cottage early the next morning by his daily care worker.
It was only when the eighty-three-year-old man’s body was moved for transit to the mortuary that it was realized he had been shot. He had been killed with a blast from a 12-bore shotgun fired from close range. Death would have been instantaneous.
At about 5 a.m., and before the body was found, an unidentified caller dialled 999 from a public phone box in the neighbouring village of Braughing. The caller asked for an ambulance to be sent to “Holly Hock Cottage” at Furneux. The ambulance operator sought clarification by asking the caller to spell out the destination. He responded by incorrectly giving the house name as “Hollycock” and also misspelled Furneux. Colonel Workman’s cottage had been renamed, Cock House, twenty-four years previously. The identity of this mystery caller was never established.
Colonel Workman had a record of military service going back to the days when he was ADC to Field-Marshal Slim. Since retirement, he had run an antiques business and, following his wife’s death in 2003, lived quietly as a widower.
Firearms specialists determined that the shotgun ammunition used to commit the murder was not widely available. It was the largest type of shot available and ordinarily used to kill deer. Profilers assisting the police believed the Colonel may have been the victim of a deep-seated and long-held grudge. They discounted the idea of a hitman on the grounds that he had chosen an unusual type of weapon.
Researches into the dead man’s background in December 2004 revealed that he had something of a secret past inasmuch as he had visited London’s gay scene during the 1950s. This led to speculation about his sexual orientation and provided a possible motive for his killing. The police believed the killer lived locally, and offered a £10,000 reward for information.
Attempts to analyse the taped conversation between the mystery caller and the ambulance service produced a number of theories. One such was that the shooting was a mistake and the person involved was simply trying to summon assistance. The voice was described as mature and probably of a person in the age range of fifty to sixty. It was significant that he directed the ambulance to “Holly Hock Cottage”, a name that had long been redundant.
Failure to identify the mystery caller was reminiscent of the Wallace Case in 1931 when a telephone message sent William Wallace on a wild goose chase in Liverpool.
“Hooray, Hooray, Hooray!”
The “Case of The Poisoned Partridge” was a mystery worthy of the attention of Arthur Conan Doyle and his famous sleuth, Sherlock Holmes. It remains unsolved.
On 20 June 1931 Lieutenant Hugh Chevis and his wife, Frances, sat down to dinner in their army quarters at Blackdown Camp, Surrey. Mrs Chevis had ordered a brace of partridges for the meal which was prepared by their cook, Mrs Yeomans, and served by the officer’s batman.
Chevis was fond of game and, no doubt, looking forward to eating the partridge, which had been served with potatoes, peas and bread sauce. But, after one mouthful, he found the bird not to his liking. He complained about the taste and asked his wife to sample it. She agreed that it tasted “ghastly”. Disgruntled at the turn of events, Chevis told his batman to destroy both birds. The remains were thrown into the fire in the kitchen range.
Shortly afterwards, Chevis became ill, with vomiting and suffering convulsions. Mrs Chevis sent for the doctor who arrived quickly and found the sick man saturated in perspiration and lying on the floor with his back unnaturally arched. The doctor recognized the classic symptoms of strychnine poisoning. Meanwhile, Mrs Chevis began to feel ill and the doctor drove both of his patients to hospital. While Frances began to recover, her husband’s condition worsened and his breathing stopped. He was declared dead after several hours of respiration failed to revive him.
Analysis of the dead man’s stomach contents confirmed that he had died of strychnine poisoning. The mystery of how the partridges had become contaminated was pursued by the Surrey police. They checked with the butcher who supplied the birds and still had partridges in his cold store; they were uncontaminated. That left the possibility that the partridges had been interfered with during the time that elapsed between delivery and consumption by the Chevis’. In an age before universal refrigeration, it was common to keep food in a mesh-covered meat safe. In the case of the Chevis’s this was fixed to the outside of their hut and very accessible.
An open verdict was returned by the Coroner’s inquest, although few doubted that Hugh Chevis had been murdered. On the day of his funeral, his father, Sir William Chevis, a distinguished former judge in India, received a telegram; it read simply “Hooray, Hooray, Hooray”. The message had been sent from Dublin and the sender complied with the post clerk’s request to write his name and address on the back of the form. He wrote – “J. Hartigan, Hibernian”. The Hibernian was a hotel in Dawson Street, Dublin.
This message of hatred was maliciously cruel and it was followed five days later by a letter, also from “J. Hartigan” saying, “It is a mystery they will never solve.” Efforts to trace the sender produced no result and this essential part of the poisoning and its aftermath remains a mystery.
There was much speculation as to the motive behind such a murder. In view of the malicious postcard sent to Sir William Chevis, it has been suggested that killing his son was revenge by someone who had a grievance against the former judge.
An alternative theory was that Chevis was accidentally poisoned by strychnine that had been ingested by the partridges when they had fed on contaminated berries. Strychnine was readily available at the time for use as rat poison and might conceivably have been employed by a farmer for that purpose. If that was the case, the explanation for the telegram was that it was sent out of malice at the news of Hugh Chevis’ death. If the poisoning was deliberate, there was ample precedence for its effectiveness in the murder committed in the 1890s by Dr Thomas Neill Cream.
Poisoned Ale
“I have removed him as I might a weed from the garden,” was the chilling message sent after a cleverly contrived death by poison.
Doctor W.H. Wilson was dining with his family at their Philadelphia home on a warm summer’s evening in June 1908. The sultry weather reminded the doctor that he had been sent a bottle of special ale, which was in the kitchen. He poured the ale and remarked on its taste before becoming dizzy and collapsing. He was rushed to hospital but died soon afterwards.
Attention focussed on the bottle of ale, which proved to have been laced with cyanide. Wilson had received a letter purporting to have been sent by a brewery company as part of a campaign to inform physicians about their new health-giving product. A bottle of ale was brought to his home by special delivery.
Police enquiries established that the letter was a forgery and that the brewery company was not marketing a new product. The delivery company’s employee said a man brought a package to the office and paid for it to be delivered to Dr Wilson’s address. It appeared that someone had targeted Wilson, forging the letter to disarm any suspicions, and doctoring, labelling and re-capping the bottle of ale which would be the means of killing him.
An investigation into Wilson’s background produced a few surprises. To start with, he was not a qualified doctor, although he was known to everyone as “Doc”. His neighbours regarded him as a pleasant person who gave no offence, although there was some mystery about the exact nature of his business. It was observed that callers tended to be mostly women and frequently well-to-do. Little by little, it emerged that “Doc” Wilson ran an abortion clinic.
Wilson’s death captured the newspaper headlines and much speculation ensued. His practice as an abortionist demanded secrecy and also provided a possible motive for someone wishing to kill him. A patient may have wanted to exact some kind of revenge or a husband might have discovered a guilty secret. With this in mind, the coroner took charge of Wilson’s case records.
One of the theories about the mystery came into focus when the coroner received a letter from “An outraged husband and father”, stating that his wife had died as the result of treatment administered by Dr Wilson. The letter continued, “I have removed him as I might a weed from the garden,” adding, “. . . let those who live by poison die by poison.”
That this letter had been sent by the poisoner was strengthened by the knowledge that it was posted the day after Wilson’s death and made a reference to poison, and cyanide in particular, which had not been made public.
The sender of the letter, and presumed murderer, was never traced and never identified.
“. . . A Bad Business”
The discovery of an axe-murder victim’s body in a smoke-filled room shocked New York in 1836 and created great excitement when the murder suspect was put on trial.
Twenty-three-year-old Helen Jewett was a lady with a certain reputation of whom it was reported that, “she had seduced more young men than any (woman) known to police records”. She entertained a string of lovers in what some writers liked to call the city’s demi-monde. In 1834, she met Richard P. Robinson who worked as a clerk and enjoyed the status of a man about town.
Robinson, described as frequenting every
maison de plaisir
(pleasure house), added Helen to his retinue of female conquests. They endured a stormy relationship and she became jealous of his other lady friends. Matters came to a head when she surprised him courting one of his lovers and a fight broke out between the two women.
Robinson tried to keep his distance from Helen but she pursued him with entreaties to take her back. He relented but toyed with her feelings by sending anonymous letters criticising her morals. After another major quarrel, he told her he would not see her again.
A year passed and then, in October 1835, they met by chance and Helen discovered that he was intending to marry another woman. She used all her wiles to coax him back, including a threat to expose his attempt to poison one of his former girlfriends who had died in mysterious circumstances.
Early in the following year, Robinson’s marriage plans fell into disarray when his bride-to-be reacted unfavourably to his colourful past. Whether or not Helen had any part in this was not clear but she took the blame.