Chicago the musical – My 52 Weeks With Christie

Crime & Christie: Louisa Lindloff’s Ultimate Fate

January 31, 2025October 10, 2024Finder of Lost ThingsLeave a comment

After the state recalled Dr. Miller and a Coroner’s physician to the stand, both of whom swore neither Alma nor Arthur suffered from any disease that would require treatment from an arsenic based medicine (endeavoring to rebut Sadie Ray and Louisa Lindloff’s insistence that the pair had), the state and defense made their closing arguments then rested their collective cases.

At 3:45 pm, on November 5, 1912, the jury started deliberating Louisa Lindloff’s future.

Whilst they did so, Louisa laughed and gossiped with Sadie Ray and other friends in the vacated jury box. Reporters sat in the gallery and started writing yet more copy about how a woman, even a mass murderer, couldn’t get convicted by a Cook County jury. A sentiment most spectators still sitting in the courtroom echoed, much to the despair of the Assistant States Attorneys.

Though the jury created a stir when the bailiffs escorted them to dinner at the Alexandra Hotel and again when they returned at 7:30pm — it wasn’t until a knock sounded on the jury room door at 9:15pm that the butterflies in everyone’s stomachs took flight. After shuffling back into their seats, the jury foreman rose and declared Louisa Lindloff guilty of murdering her son, Arthur Graunke, and sentenced her to twenty-five years in prison.

Seems the jury unanimously agreed on Louisa’s guilt straight away. What took the next five-ish hours to settle was Louisa’s punishment: On the jury’s first ballot – 5 wanted life in prison and 7 wanted Louisa to hang. On the second ballot – 5 voted for life in prison and 7 switched to a term of 40 years. Finally, on the third ballot – the twelve men compromised and settled on 25 years.

The resulting headlines touted Louisa as the first woman convicted by a Cook County jury in three years.

A typical article about Lulu’s crime.

A bulletin that highlights the casual racism of the day.

For you see, only one month before, in the very same judge’s courtroom, Lulu Blackwell was sentenced to thirty-five years in prison for manslaughter. The only difference? Both the Lulu and the victim, Charles Vaughn, were black. A fact which apparently made a difference to the white newspaper editors of Chicago. As not only was there significantly less coverage of Lulu’s crime and trial (in the papers I’ve got access to), when her name was mentioned either during the scant trial coverage or on the lists of women arrested for murder, most papers felt the need to point out Lulu’s skin color, and none (I found) mentioned Lulu’s stretch inside Joliet Prison being longer than Louisa’s — for a lesser charge.

Although there’s a distinct lack of copy on both the murders committed by black women and the subsequent acquittals they won during this stretch of time in Cook County, I did find a few — like Belle Beasley. Who, after five minutes of deliberation, was acquitted. Despite being found standing over her dead husband with a literal smoking gun in one hand and newspaper clippings of other women cleared of murder by Cook County juries clutched in the other.

All that being said, one of the biggest issues for Lulu’s defense was she brought a gun with her to 3212 Dearborn Street. Beyond all the typical problems associated with shooting someone in a fit of jealousy, before their house, on a public sidewalk, in front of witnesses. (Charles was planning to marry another.) By lugging the firearm to the confrontation, Lulu gave the impression, real or not, that some level of plotting went into the act. Making it that much more challenging to convince a jury that Lulu acted in either ‘the heat of the moment,’ self-defense, or needed protection under Chicago’s ‘unwritten law.’

An identical whisper of premeditation would haunt and ultimately help convict Vera Trepagnier at trial seven years later.

Then, there were the barks of laughter Lulu reportedly let loose during the testimony of the witnesses called against her. Remember, the men called to serve on Cook County juries only wanted to see overt displays of contrition, regret, and/or remorse on the faces of the women they were judging. Hence why, Billy Flynn became annoyed with Roxie (in the 2002 film adaptation of Chicago) when reporters asked during We Both Reached for the Gun if she was sorry for murdering her boyfriend and she replied, “Are you kidding?” Had Roxie continued to appear unrepentant, as she nearly did, until a state-sanctioned murder radically changed her tune — ten-to-one, she would’ve found herself facing a length of rope.

This lack of visible contrition also damned Katherine Baluk (aka Kitty Malm, aka Tiger Girl) to life in prison in 1924, for possibly shooting a security guard to death. She was also the real life inspiration for the character Go-to-Hell-Kitty in Chicago (the musical).

Though the reasons behind the jury’s decision to find Lulu guilty are only educated guesses — what isn’t — is the utter shock she displayed upon hearing the word ‘guilty’ ring out in the courtroom. An emotion Louisa would mirror thirty days later after the same exact verdict reached her ears.

While George Remus lept to his feet and motioned for a new trial — Louisa sat stock still. Only after she was led from the courtroom did she break down. After recovering from a fainting spell, Louisa wept and gave reporters this quote: “There is no justice here…Those that are guilty are turned loose and those who are innocent get the worst of it. I will show my innocence before I am through. It will only be a question of time. I did not kill my boy or any others. I am innocent, as God is my witness.”

Interestingly enough, unlike Isabella Nitti and Hilda Exlund, who blamed their conviction on their looks, Louisa didn’t. She blamed a different source: “The spirits lied to me—they lied—they told me I would be acquitted. They promised I should be free—and here I am, convicted. Why have I believed the spirits—they lie.” Though Louisa’s disillusionment in the spirit world quickly faded and new predictions of her imminent release followed — the press, her fellow spiritualists, and the public had already moved on.

Judge Windes presided over Hilda Exlund, Lulu Blackwell, & Louisa Lindloff’s trials. All of whom bucked the trend and were convicted of murder or manslaughter.

A circumstance that may have changed if Louisa’s appeal for a new trial came to fruition. And thanks to Judge Windes’ decision to allow the introduction of Julius, John Otto, Frieda, William, and Alma’s deaths into evidence — there was an excellent chance the Illinois Supreme Court would’ve approved this appeal.

Granted, the other deaths and their connected life insurance policies/payouts created a compelling pattern. However, Louisa was never formally accused of, arrested for, or tried for any death other than Arthur’s. Meaning they shouldn’t have been presented as evidence to the jury. An argument Chief Justice Carter of the Illinois Supreme Court seemed to nominally agree with, as on March 15, 1913, he issued a ‘writ of supersedeas.’ Allowing Louisa to move back to Cook County Jail’s Murderess Row while waiting for the Supreme Court to hear her appeal.

However, we will never know how the Justices would’ve ultimately ruled.

From L to R : A) The entrance to the Woman’s Prison at Joliet B) Women’s Prison Cell Block C) Two inmates making rugs D) Woman’s Dining Hall E) Female prisoners did all the laundry for themselves & the men’s prison here E) Prison Cemetery, though Louisa wasn’t buried here Lulu may have — though its unclear if the female & male inmates were buried together

On March 15, 1914, Louisa Lindloff died of intestinal cancer while waiting for her date with the Supreme Court. One of her last published quotes was, “I have nothing to say — I am happy to die.” (Sadly, Lulu Blackwell preceded Louisa beyond the pearly gates by eight months, dying of septicemia inside Joliet State Prison on July 13, 1913. The only note of her death I found was a single line in an annual report published by the Illinois prison system.)

Supreme Court appeal and protestations notwithstanding — what do I think? “There was Mrs. Green, you know, she buried five children — and every one of them insured. Well, naturally, one began to get suspicious.” Though this Miss Marple quote from The Bloodstained Pavement was written about sixteen years after Louisa Lindloff’s 1912 conviction and undoubtedly about a different poisoner, I think it neatly sums up the spirit behind Louisa’s crimes.

IMHO, it feels far too coincidental that: A) Julius Graunke & Charles Lipchow died in August, a year and three days apart from one another. B) William Lindloff & Alma Graunke also died in August, a year and a day apart from one another C) Frieda & Arthur Graunke died four years and two days apart from each other in June. John Otto Lindloff, who died in October, is the only outlier to this pattern. However, if Louisa worried he and Frieda would move beyond the easy reach of her box of Rough on Rats after they married — this might explain why she didn’t wait.

Together with the thousands of dollars, Louisa earned each time she buried someone? Plus, the lies she told the police upon discovering the insurance policies on Arthur’s life? It’s compelling, even without Sadie Ray’s uneven account of Louisa trying to slot her death into the timeline. Over and above that, Louisa’s excuse that cucumbers led to Arthur’s death is just flat ridiculous.

In other words, yes, I think she did it.

On the topic of Louisa’s Victims: After the trial concluded, Chicago Police Captain Baer went on record with his belief that on top of murdering Arthur, the rest of her immediate family, Charles Lipchow, and Eugenie Clavett — he’d uncovered evidence that Louisa had murdered fifteen more people, including a five-month-old infant. (Not to mention the countless animals witnesses swore Louisa killed while experimenting with different poisons.)

Assuming his intelligence was correct, that would bring the grand total of murders ascribed to Louisa to 23.

Crime & Christie: Arsenic the Element That Brings Everyone Together

December 20, 2024October 10, 2024Finder of Lost ThingsLeave a comment

Now, you’d think arsenic poisoning wouldn’t really square with Chicago’s Murderess Acquittal Formula. Not only because the administration of poison is (predominantly) a covert and (on the whole) premeditated act but on account of the sheer absurdity of translating the foundation of this Formula from “they both reached for the gun” — to — “they both reached for the box of Rough on Rats.”

And yet, a handful of women still turned to this ancient element.

The most notorious of the lot, who spent their fair share of time in Cook County’s Murderess Row, were the serial poisoners Tillie Klimek and Louise Vermilya. However, there is a third, lesser-known member of these ‘Sisters in Bane’ — Louise Lindloff. Who’s life and crimes and subsequent trial had it all — spiritualists, allegations of witness tampering, startling admissions, and a literal crystal ball. So, of course, that’s whose misdeeds we will explore next!

Now that we’ve mastered that portion of the name game let’s examine Louisa Lindloff’s life and multifarious crimes.

Originally, Louisa was born Louise Darkone in Colmar, Germany, on February 4, 1871. Seventeen years later, in March 1888, Louisa married Julius Graunke, who was about two years her senior. Approximately two years later, in April 1890, Louisa and Julius welcomed their first child, a girl they named Frieda, into the world.

Here’s The Deal: In researching the piece, I discovered that while Louise was her legal name, she also went by Lizzie and Louisa. Since Louisa is the name inscribed on her headstone, I will use it from here on out since it seems (if I’m inferring correctly) to be the name she preferred.

Following this joyous event, sometime between 1889 and 1891, Julius crossed the Atlantic Ocean, settled in Milwaukee (Wisconsin), and found work as a driver for the Fitzner & Thompson Commission House before sending for his wife and baby daughter. In short order, the couple expanded their family with a second daughter, Alma, born on December 18, 1891. Finally, Julius and Louisa completed their familial unit with son Arthur Alfred Otto, born on May 19, 1897.

Sadly, misfortune in the form of an undefined, debilitating illness struck Julius around late April or early May of 1905. During his three-month downward spiral, a neighbor, Mrs. Martha Greiner, heard Julius complain: “Louisa, there was something in my last medicine.” Louisa also confided in Martha: “Julius will only live a few days and when he is dead I’ll get $2,600. I’m going to open a saloon and buy a horse and buggy and have a good time.” This prediction came about, just as Louisa foretold, on August 12, 1905.

The death certificate put the cause of death down as sunstroke, and Louisa promptly collected on Julius’s hefty insurance policy.

Surprisingly, Louisa’s prophecy and tawdry comments failed to ring the necessary number of alarm bells within Martha to prompt a visit to the authorities, especially when combined with the sudden death of the Graunke family dog and the baffling death of a flock of chickens on an adjoining property around this period.

Perhaps Martha didn’t want to believe someone she knew was a killer? (Which, in fairness, would slow me down as well. Despite this blog and the sheer quantity of mysteries I’ve read.) Or, more likely, Martha bought (to some degree) into Louisa’s claim of being blessed with second sight since the age of eight. Which would “explain” how she was granted the foreknowledge of the date of her husband’s death. Either way, Martha and the other neighbors remained silent about what they’d seen and heard in the Graunke household.

Even when the thirty-four-year-old mother of three followed up on her promise of ‘having a good time’ and started kicking up her heels with her boarder Charles Lipchow. Who’d not only lived with the Graunke’s for a period before Julius’s death but whose recently deceased mother (or Auntie, I’ve read conflicting newspaper reports) bequeathed him a legacy somewhere between $5,000 and $15,000 (again, there are conflicting amounts). Who, in turn, lavished the bulk of his inheritance upon Louisa.

But, alas, all good things must come to an end.

On August 17, 1906, nearly a year to the day after Julius passed away, Louisa lost her good time Charlie. However, in a stroke of good fortune, before his death, Charles assigned Louisa as the beneficiary of his $550 life insurance policy provided by a cigar maker’s union (of which $116 went towards his funeral in Lincoln Memorial Cemetery).

Whereupon Louisa assuaged her grief by becoming a bride (again) and married William Lindloff on November 7, 1906.

An 1885 railroad map with Milwaukee & Chicago highlighted.

From the Office of Full Disclosure: It’s unclear, exactly when Louisa and her kids moved to 2044 Ogden Avenue in Chicago, Illinois. One account places the move just after Julius’s death in 1905. This would make sense if Louisa was trying to avoid the side-eye and whispers of her neighbors. And Charles’s hefty inheritance would’ve made the move from Milwaukee to Chicago, with three kids in tow, a great deal easier. What muddles the timing of Louisa’s out-of-state move is that Charles died in Wisconsin, not Chicago. So either Louisa moved after Charles’s death, Charles returned to Milwaukee with a belly full of poison and succumbed there or she poisoned him on a return visit?

Compounding my confusion is the fact that Louisa’s second husband worked for the McCormick Harvester Company, which was founded and operated out of Chicago. However, in 1902, McCormick merged with several similar manufacturers to form the International Harvester Company, which operated out of both Illinois and Wisconsin (amongst other states). So did the two meet, court, and marry in Milwaukee, Chicago, or some combination thereof? I’ve not found a copy of their marriage certificate, so I’m unsure.

Then there’s William’s brother, John Otto Lindloff, who resided with the newlyweds. One report I read stated that John Otto’s new sister-in-law absolutely detested the sight of him. Not only because he was courting her eldest daughter Frieda, but on account of the fact he became suspicious of Louisa after drinks and food she’d prepared made him ill immediately afterward. Then, on October 12, 1907, at the age of 24, John Otto died after suffering, for a short period, from dizziness, vomiting, stomach cramps, and other violent symptoms. According to his death certificate he died of apoplexy in Milwaukee, where he was subsequently buried.

Hence why, I lean towards Louisa still living in Milwaukee, at least until 1907. It’s far simpler to slip a little something into someone’s food if you live in the same city, street, and home than Louisa traveling the hundred or so miles up the coast of Lake Michigan from Chicago to Milwaukee in order to perform the deadly deed.

That being said, the distance would provide Louisa with a nice buffer after collecting John Otto’s $2,000 life insurance policy.

Frieda Graunke

In any case, what I do know for certain is that Louisa, William, and the kids were in Chicago by June 11, 1908. As that’s the day Louisa’s eldest daughter, Frieda, unexpectedly passed away at the age of eighteen from typhoid fever and was later laid to rest in Oak Ridge (aka Glen Oak) Cemetery in Cook County, Illinois. It will surprise no one that the young laundress named her mother as the sole beneficiary of a Prudential life insurance policy in the amount of $1,350 before her death.

The reason why I find these timeline and geography questions so frustratingly fascinating is that I’ve no clue if Louisa possessed enough cunning to purposely tango to and fro over state lines in order to obscure her string of murders and subsequent insurance fraud or if it was just coincidence. Nor is it clear if Louisa used nicknames and shiny new surname to further distance herself from her earlier crimes. Either way, by happenstance or design, it worked. Despite four deaths in four years, all of which benefitted Louisa financially, no one questioned her run of bad luck.

Yet.

Crime & Christie: It’s Complicated

November 22, 2024October 10, 2024Finder of Lost ThingsLeave a comment

Admittedly, unlike the painting in Agatha Christie’s short story The Bloodstained Pavement, which tangentially helped solve a murder, the Trumbull portrait clearly caused one. Nor did the Chicago police need Miss Marple’s hard-won acumen to solve Paul F. Volland’s murder. Yet there’s one question I still haven’t found a definitive answer to: Did Vera Trepagnier’s looks play a substantial role in her conviction?

In a similar vein to “Can A Beauty Be Convicted?” — this headline pits the three most “beautiful” murderesses in Chicago against Mrs. Malm and Mrs. Nitti-Crudelle who were judged as sullen, ugly, and “animal like” by newspapers of the day.

According to the 1923 headline, “Can A Beauty Be Convicted?” which featured a photo of Vera amongst others below the headline, it did. Yet, as I (hopefully) showed in the previous posts, Vera’s conviction owed little to her looks and more to her own behavior, together with her lawyer’s failure to address the unique features of her crime in their efforts to shim her case down to fit the Murderess Acquittal Formula. More importantly, Vera herself never mentioned this line of reasoning (at least in the articles I read) in the interviews given after her conviction. Nor did the papers harp on about her features during her trial, focusing instead on her “gentle spiral” into poverty and the prominence of the late Paul F. Volland.

But what of the other handful of convicted murderesses during this period? Did their looks play a role?

Hilda Exlund, a Swedish immigrant, certainly thought so: “If I had been young and pretty I suppose I’d have been turned loose just as the other women who have been tried for killing their husbands.” In fairness, Hilda’s lack of good looks did draw comment by the press. However, they weren’t harped on in any of the stories I read. Moreover, prior to her conviction, Hilda drew very little attention from Cook County’s press core. Meaning their news articles neither helped soften the potential jury pool leading up to the trial nor hurt Hilda’s chances for an acquittal. To my mind, what actually foiled Hilda’s acquittal prospects lay in the same realm as what sunk Vera Trepagnier’s bid for freedom seven months(ish) later.

The only pic I could locate of Mrs. Exlund

According to Hilda: On the evening of October 16, 1918, whilst standing in the kitchen chopping a cabbage up for dinner, her husband Frank attacked her. In the ensuing struggle over the butcher knife, Hilda stabbed Frank repeatedly and killed him.

A clear case of self-defense, right?

The hitch in the giddy-up here was, after speaking with friends and neighbors, police quickly uncovered a pattern of violence within the Exlund household perpetrated not by Frank against his wife — but by Hilda against her husband. According to their acquaintances and next-door neighbors, Hilda routinely abused her husband: Some spoke of Hilda’s habit of belittling, cursing, and beating Frank. Another relayed an episode where Hilda poured a pot of boiling hot water over Frank. Others spoke of an incident occurring a few weeks before his death, when Frank beat feet from his house while holding a bloodied handkerchief to his face, whereupon he told multiple people, “She tried to kill me.” Tallied together, these stories painted Hilda as the aggressor while reframing Frank’s possible motivation for striking first. More importantly — they negated Hilda’s claim to the “unwritten law.”

During the ensuing trial in January 1919, Assistant State’s Attorney Edward Prindiville drew the jury’s attention to Hilda’s form by highlighting the disparity between Hilda’s “powerful physique” and her husband’s slim frame. Thus validating Hilda’s belief her looks played a role in her murder conviction and subsequent sentence of 14 years inside Joliet Prison — though not quite in the way the headline above insinuates. All that being said, the fact Hilda’s jury was comprised exclusively of married men or the fact she was tried in Judge Windes’ court (who presided over two other successfully prosecuted cases we’ll explore later) could’ve influenced the outcome as well.

Weirdly, while studying Hilda’s crime — Chicago’s ‘Cell Block Tango’ kept echoing through my brain. Specifically, June’s portion of the song designated ‘Squish’, where she describes how her husband “ran into her knife ten times” during a fight that kicked off while she was “carving a chicken for dinner”. I do not know if Hilda inspired the third member of the “six merry murderesses” — but I do know who provided the inspiration for Katalin ‘Hunyak’ Helinszki. The Hungarian woman who sang the fourth refrain, ‘Uh-Uh’ during the aforementioned song and was hung later on in the musical.

Her name was Isabella Nitti Crudelle* — and her looks alternately condemned and saved her from a trip to the scaffold.

Isabella’s ordeal began on July 29, 1922, when her husband, Frank Nitti, disappeared from their farm. Unsurprisingly, Isabella, with the aid of one of her sons, as she knew very little English at this point, reported him missing the next day. During the subsequent investigation, Isabella’s sixteen year old son Charles confessed to helping, under duress, Peter Crudelle (the Nitti’s farmhand/boarder) dispose of his father’s body in the Des Plaines River. After witnessing Isabella pinning down Frank’s hands while Peter repeatedly struck him in the head with a hammer while Frank slept under a cart. Unfortunately for the police, they had zero luck locating Frank’s corpse downriver, and without a body, the indictment against the pair was dismissed.

Endeavoring to break the case, in late September 1922, the police arrested and charged Peter and Isabella for adultery. However, whatever confession they’d hoped to extract from the couple failed to materialize and they were released. The couple would marry soon(ish) after, thus thwarting a repeat of this particular stratagem.

Fast forward to May 9, 1923: When a body was discovered in a nearby catch basin. James Nitti positively identified it as that of his brother Frank — based on a ring found on (or near, I’m not quite sure) the body. And despite Charles’s story not quite aligning (i.e., the body being found in a catch basin instead of on the banks of the Des Plaines River), the prosecutors decided to charge Peter with first-degree murder and Isabella as an accessory before and after the fact. Initially, Isabella’s son Charles was charged as an accessory after the fact, but turned state’s evidence to get out of trouble.

*I’m using Isabelle versus Sabella (the nickname used in the newspapers of the time), as it’s the name used on her headstone and two notes I’ve seen where she signed her name.

Crime & Christie: Han Shot First

November 15, 2024October 10, 2024Finder of Lost ThingsLeave a comment

The Paul F. Volland Company published some Raggedy Ann stories, as well as, the New Adventures of “Alice” based on Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland.

Let’s be clear: I believe Paul F. Volland pulled a bait-and-switch on Vera Trepagnier. I think he used his position as President of the P. F. Volland Company, his business acumen, and knowledge of Vera’s strained circumstances to his advantage in order to obtain and keep the Trumbull portrait of George Washington. By dangling the promise of $5,000 before Vera, Volland gained possession of the painting. Next, by carefully wording the contract, he — not his company — secured ownership of the diminutive object if sales of the reproduction reached the 5k mark. If said sales didn’t pan out, which he was in the perfect position to ensure, Volland could point at the $500 advance and issue an ultimatum — either accept it as payment or repay the shortfall in a lump sum. Secure in the knowledge she couldn’t.

The fact he didn’t maintain contact with Vera, nor had his lawyers issue said ultimatum until Vera made it patently clear she would continue to pester him for forever and a day, is why I’m inclined to view his actions under a crooked light. Because without that $5,000 promise, I don’t think Volland could’ve pried that painting out of Vera’s hands. (And I don’t see him giving Vera $500 as a charitable act.)

Examples of the fancy postcards printed by the P.F. Volland Company.

The question is, why would a wealthy man bilk a widow? The only concrete reason I found that might, and I mean might, explain such behavior occurred a few years before Volland’s death: When he nearly declared bankruptcy. Ultimately, Volland didn’t. But perhaps after skating so close to financial ruin, it invoked an unscrupulous or miserly side to his nature? Or maybe he grew up unable to rub two nickels together, which left him unwilling to pay a penny more for anything when he didn’t have to. Or perhaps he was just crafty.

It’s unclear.

Interestingly, Vera’s charge of sharp business practices against Volland wasn’t the only one I found. A female musician contracted to write some sheet music for the P. F. Volland Company claimed that after Volland rejected her song, he later published it under someone else’s name without her permission or paying her for the work. What’s more, the day after Volland’s death, Chicago artists announced their intention to raise funds for Vera’s defense…..Again, this makes me wonder how fair Volland played with others when wheeling and dealing.

Unfortunately for Vera, partaking in dodgy business practices doesn’t automatically translate into owning a violent streak. (Nor does it mean he deserved to die.)

Other than stating she used a revolver, I’ve no clue the type of firearm Vera used, so here’s a gun advert from 1913. (And yes I know this is not an ad for a revolver.)

This begs the question: Why did Vera feel the need to bring a gun with her to discuss a dispute over a contract? According to the woman herself, “I took the revolver along to scare him. I had no intention of killing him, but that was done when he tried to take the weapon away from me.” An explanation I find believable. What I find harder to swallow is Vera’s claim the one and only day she packed the piece in her purse was the afternoon she accidentally shot Volland.

As I see it, either the stars aligned and allowed Vera to seize an unexpected opportunity to lie her way into Volland’s presence — OR — Vera stalked Volland long enough to know he’d be in his office that particular day. If Vera relied on the ‘universe’ to provide her with an opportunity to enact her desperate plan, then it stands to reason she’d bring the gun along with her daily. Otherwise, how would she have it on hand precisely when she needed it? The latter stalking explanation, which Vera admitted doing, is the only way I see the ‘I only brought the gun with me once’ course of events as plausible. The problem there is it smacks of premeditation.

Either way, neither version of events paints Vera in glory.

More importantly, by bringing the firearm with her, Vera cast herself into the role of instigator, severely undermining any claim of self-defense, crime of passion, or the ‘unwritten law.’ The prosecution weakened Vera’s claim further when they labeled her a blackmailer, presenting at least one nasty letter Vera wrote threatening to ruin Volland’s reputation by exposing his manipulative business practices — lest he make good on their deal.

Without any other testimony (from, for instance, another firearms expert to refute the prosecution’s, a psychiatrist willing to declare Vera mentally unsound at the time of the murder, or anyone who could attest to Vera’s erratic behavior) to mitigate the prosecution’s arguments, Vera’s lawyers only managed to convince one juror out of twelve to find Vera not-guilty. (And he changed his mind by the second ballot.)

Hence why, I feel Vera’s lawyers did her a disservice.

Interior photos of the women’s spaced at Kankakee State Hospital from sometime around 1900.

What happened after the guilty verdict? After Vera’s appeal for a new trial was denied in August 1919, she was transferred to Joliet State Prison to serve her sentence of one year to life. Sadly, at some point after September 1, 1920, Vera was transferred to Kankakee Insane Asylum. According to prison officials, the loss of the Trumbull’s portrait of George Washington (and probably the stress of the trial and incarceration) “unhinged” her mind — causing Vera to speak dreamily of nothing but her former prized possession to anyone willing to listen.

Vera would die within the asylum walls on August 19, 1921.

In her will, Vera left several tracts of land in Maryland, a vase, and the Trumbull miniature to her grandson. Sadly, Vera forgot the vase had already been donated to a museum in New Orleans, so it wasn’t hers to give. And Vera’s only son sold the tracts of land to cover an overdue mortgage.

As for the Trumbull miniature, an attorney by the name of Michael F. Looby was assigned by a probate court to sell it — which made quite a splash in the papers. Assured by art experts, museums, and collectors that ‘Exhibit A’ would fetch anywhere between $5,000 and $30,000, it went to auction. On September 23, 1922, Looby returned to Judge Horner’s courtroom and reported that due to the unpleasant notoriety attached to the painting, the highest bid received was $325.

Whereupon Judge Horner approved the sale — to persons unknown and it disappeared from public view.

Crime & Christie: Fool’s Gold

October 25, 2024October 10, 2024Finder of Lost ThingsLeave a comment

A lump of Fool’s Gold

I’ve no clue why Vera Trepagnier chose Philadelphia as her hunting ground for a money-making opportunity for the Trumbull miniature. Yet, this decision proved fortuitous, as Vera learned the name of a man who fit the parameters of her needs perfectly — Paul Frederick Volland.

Originally hailing from Germany, Paul Frederick Volland worked as an engraver and diamond merchant prior to setting up his own firm (with two silent partners) in 1908. Whilst the P. F. Volland Company, as it was known, published all kinds of print-based products ranging from poetry to cookbooks and music to calendars. One of the firm’s specialties lay in creating beautiful, high-quality greeting cards and postcards — which undoubtedly is why Vera and her portrait were pointed in Paul F. Volland’s direction.

By all accounts, when Paul F. Volland met Vera in Philly in February 1917, he was so taken with the Trumbull miniature he made Vera an offer on the spot: If Vera would loan him Trumbull’s mini portrait of George Washington, he would, in turn, create and sell postcard-sized reproductions worthy of framing. Confident his company could easily sell 150,000 copies a year at a dollar a piece, Volland assured Vera she’d see at least $5,000 in royalties yearly.

This suited Vera’s needs down to the ground. Not only could she make money off the last vestige of her former fortune, but she’d also retain ownership of the picture. To a woman who’d hovered just above the poverty line for the better part of the three decades, this sum surely sounded like a godsend — not only in accomplishing her goal of helping her grandson with his education but with her own expenses as well. So, with visions of dollar signs dancing in her head, Vera lent Volland the miniature, signed the requisite contract, and received a $500 advance.

If this deal sounds like a bit of fool’s gold…..well……you’d be right.

After acquiring both her signature and the piece of art, Paul F. Volland ghosted Vera. A circumstance Vera didn’t realize until the promised royalty checks failed to materialize.

Puzzled, Vera wrote Volland.

According to later testimony, when Volland eventually responded to her missives, he informed Vera that the firm decided against printing and placing reproductions of her miniature on the market. Vera’s disappointment with Volland’s decision transformed into outrage a few months later when she spotted a copy of the supposedly abandoned print run in the window of a shop, framed and retailing for a whopping $2 — double the price he’d initially quoted her.

Unsurprisingly, Vera immediately took to her stationary, posting letter after letter to Paul F. Volland — without receiving a single reply. Unwilling to take his lie lying down and determined to get her property back, Vera made the momentous decision to leave Washington D. C. and accepted a tutoring position (or perhaps that of a maid, Vera’s words differ from the reporters on this point) with a wealthy family in Rock Island, Illinois, around November/December 1918.

Now living, give or take, only 168 miles from the P. F. Volland Company’s offices, Vera took the first opportunity she could to visit the man himself. (At this point, events become a tad muddled, as it’s unclear if Vera spoke to Volland in his office, if he was called down to the building’s lobby to talk with her there, or if they met on the street. Due to following events and some non-scientific deductions, I lean towards the middle option being the likeliest for this impromptu meeting.)

The P.F. Volland Company also published children’s books and the philosophy behind them.

Geography aside, when Volland met with Vera, he informed her that not only did the reproductions of the George Washington miniature not sell nearly as well as he’d originally envisioned, but if she wished to reacquire her property she’d need to write him a check for $174 (or about $3,026 in today’s money) to cover the shortfall between her advance and the postcard’s paltry sales. Moreover, if she wished to discuss the issue further, she would need to go through the P. F. Volland Company’s lawyers, as he would not speak with her directly again.

Incensed, Vera engaged lawyers of her own and immediately felt the full brunt of not asking a law professional to probe the contract before signing on the dotted line. Above and beyond the 1917 document being written entirely in favor of the P. F. Volland Company from top to bottom, the agreement also stipulated that upon reaching the $5,000 mark in royalties, Vera would cede ownership of the miniature to Paul F. Volland (not his company). Moreover, the deal left Vera with very little recourse in pursuing legal action against Volland, his company, or the ability to reacquire her precious Trumbull miniature.

Firmly convinced Paul F. Volland swindled her, Vera continued visiting not only Volland’s office building but the offices of various law firms around Chicago. The former cost nothing but time and pride, as Vera was repeatedly rebuffed by security/reception in the lobby on her successive visits. The latter endeavor, however, slowly bled Vera dry, making her more and more frantic for Volland’s promised payout as time wore on.

Upon reaching the last few pennies of her savings, Vera hatched a desperate plan.

The all woman’s hotel where Vera stayed (which I thought looked nice).

Sometime around late April to early May in 1919 — Vera Trepagnier traveled from Rock Island to Chicago. After checking into the Mary Dawes Hotel, an all-female establishment, Vera immediately set about enacting her single-step plan: Wait outside before the P. F. Volland Company’s office building until the man himself exited, then ambush him with an ultimatum: Either return the diminutive portrait of George Washington or pay $5,000.

So Vera waited. In rain and shine, she stayed vigilant until finally, on May 5, 1919, Vera seized the gold-plated opportunity her persistence presented her. Upon arriving for her self-appointed vigil, Vera spotted Volland’s car pulled against the curb. Knowing for certain he was on the premises, Vera, employing the alias Mrs. Martin, bamboozled her way through the lobby and reception until she stood before Paul F. Volland’s private office.

Upon emerging and catching sight of Vera, Volland uttered, “Oh, it’s you.”

Ignoring Paul F. Volland’s less-than-auspicious greeting, Vera Trepagnier launched into her demand for her money or property. Undoubtedly wishing to avoid providing fruit for the office gossips, as he knew Vera was more than capable of making a scene, Volland escorted her into his office whilst reiterating his position — she needed to speak with his lawyers about the Trumbull portrait, not him.

Despite Volland’s unwelcome visitor, the outer office activity continued to hum along…..Until a single report rang out from the otherside of Volland’s office doors and brought everyone running. Unceremoniously bursting into the room, two clerks found Volland dying on the floor from a bullet wound to his chest while Vera stood across the office, calmly staring out a window.