murder

Crime & Christie: Louisa Lindloff’s Ultimate Fate

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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. 

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Crime & Christie: George Remus’s Ethical Elasticity

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Okay, so here’s the thing, before I go into the last feature of interest of Louisa Lindloff’s murder trial, we need to take a closer look at her lawyer, George Remus. 

About seven after Louisa Lindloff’s trial: George relocated to Ohio and remade himself into a Prohibition-era rum-runner — after realizing how much more money he could make being a bootlegger versus defending them in court. Using his skills as a former pharmacist whilst applying his law degree, Remus found/utilized a loophole in the Volstead Act to make millions from both legitimate and illicit whiskey sales. 

Predictably, the King of Bootleggers’ business plan rapidly pinged the police’s radar.

On May 17, 1922: George was found guilty of violating the aforementioned Act and sentenced to two years in Atlanta’s federal prison.

Now, according to George Remus, this is what went down next: While serving his sentence, Franklin L. Dodge Jr., an undercover prohibition agent, managed to prise from George the information that he’d given his second wife, Imogene Holmes, power of attorney over his dream home, vast fortune, and bootlegging operation. (George’s first wife divorced him after discovering he was carrying on with Imogene on the side.) However, rather than reporting this juice tidbit to his superiors, Franklin supposedly resigned his post and promptly seduced Imogene.

At this point, the pair proceeded to liquidate George’s personal and professional assets. Secreting away the resulting money from both the government and George. 

Understandably fearful of retribution, Imogene and Franklin began plotting. First, Franklin attempted to persuade his former colleagues to deport George back to Germany, where he originally hailed from. When that scheme crashed and burned, the two turned to violence and hired a hitman. However, said assassin, apparently afraid of being double-crossed, kept the $15,000 fee and briefed Remus about the plan instead. 

Fully aware of George’s mounting fury and at wit’s end, Imogene and Franklin went into hiding. Unfortunately, this strategy conflicted with the divorce proceedings Imogene initially filed for on August 25, 1925 (two days before George was released from Federal Prison). Due to several lengthy delays, the dissolution date was finally set for October 6, 1927. 

A few hours before she was due in court, Imogene and her teenage daughter (not fathered by George) left their Cincinnati Hotel and hailed a cab. On her way to her lawyer’s office, Imogene spotted George and his chauffeur following them. 

When traffic unexpectedly slowed to a crawl around Eden Park and/or George’s chauffeur forced the cab into the parking lane (it’s unclear from what I read which way it happened), Imogene panicked. Leaving her daughter in the relative safety of the cab, Imogene hopped out and fled into the public park. Unwilling to let his quarry flee, George flew from his ride whilst shouting four-letter epithets at Imogene’s retreating form.

In short order, George caught up with his estranged wife and, before anyone could intervene, George shot Imogene in the abdomen. A wound she would die from the same day, despite being rushed to hospital by good Samaritans and surgeons doing their level best to save her.

Obviously, George went on trial for Imogene’s murder. 

Using ‘temporary insanity’, a defense George helped pioneer, he and his lawyer managed to secure a not-guilty by reason of insanity verdict. Though Ohio authorities committed him to a state-sanctioned asylum afterwards, George would only stay within its walls for a few months before being released. And, due to the ASA’s arguments during his trial, the courts would not allow the state to retry George for Imogene’s murder — leaving him free as a proverbial bird. (George would later go into real estate, marry his secretary, and die in 1952.)

Now, what does George’s sins have to do with the price of maple syrup in Canada? 

Well, in my estimation, it shows a degree of ethical elasticity. An understatement in light of Imogene’s murder, I know, but up until that point, it seems George was content following the same crooked path as Aristide Leonides.

Aristide Leonides being the pivotal character in Agatha Christie’s Crooked House. Who, amongst other things, habitually twisted the law to suit his needs. Thus allowing him to skate just this side of trouble as he never technically broke the law. A tactic George successfully employed whilst setting up and administering his rum-running racket.

That being said, an unscrupulous streak that eventually grows wide enough to condone murder needs to start somewhere — generally, with minor misdeeds. Which you can find in George’s history. While still in Chicago, in April of 1913, George was officially charged of trying to bribe a witness during a divorce case, and in 1917, he was accused of conspiring to extort $15,000 from a prominent banker for breach of promise.

Though neither episode, as far as I can tell, resulted in any disciplinary action — the Illinois Supreme Court did disbar George on October 6, 1922 after his bootlegging conviction.

This moral malleability, I believe, reared its ugly head during Louisa Lindloff’s trial in October/November of 1912. For you see, until the morning of October 26, Assistant States Attorneys Lowe & Smith considered Ms. Sadie Ray their star witness. As Louisa’s housekeeper from approximately November of 1911 until Louisa’s arrest in June of 1912 — Sadie was on hand during Alma and Arthur’s last days. 

Though she didn’t testify before the Grand Jury, since the ASAs wanted some of their evidence to stay secret until trial, ASA Smith & Lowe did interview Sadie extensively behind closed doors. Where she told them, during her time at 2044 Ogden Avenue, that Louisa had not only predicted the date she would die — but advised Sadie to take out a life insurance policy naming Louisa as the beneficiary. After this conversation, which occurred only weeks before Arthur’s death, Sadie became seriously ill after eating a meal prepared by Louisa. Moreover, Sadie told the ASAs about the glasses of water Louisa gave Arthur, who in turn routinely complained about them being “sandy” and burning his throat. (FYI: Arsenic does not dissolve well in cold water, hence why the “sandiness” was so important.)

On October 26, 1912: However, when Sadie climbed into the witness chair, her testimony for the prosecution was lackluster at best.

Though she confirmed becoming sick after a meal at Louisa’s house and the insurance policy request, Sadie now recalled that Louisa only put the finishing touches on the dishes and that she’d actually prepared the bulk of the food. Sadie dulled her testimony about Arthur’s “sandy water” by tacking on that he was always “kicking off” about one thing or another during his final illness. When asked if she’d seen Louisa adding strange substances to Arthur’s food or refused to administer the medicine prescribed by his doctor, information the ASA’s seemed to expect affirmations of — Sadie replied, “I don’t remember.” 

Let down by her information and suspecting undue influence, someone (apparently) put Sadie under surveillance. 

October 29, 1912: This scrutiny that quickly bore fruit. When not only did one of Captain Baer’s men observe George Remus driving Sadie to court in his car, but (on another occasion) witnessed Sadie attempting to induce another state’s witness into accompanying her inside George Remus’s office building. When she refused, Sadie dashed into the building, returning minutes later with Remus in tow. Whereupon the legal professional began pressuring the witness to agree to testify that Louisa “had always been good to her family.” 

When Capt. Baer confronted Sadie in a courthouse hallway with this intelligence and threatened to arrest her — she was defiant. “I’m a poor girl…Why shouldn’t I take an automobile ride when I have the chance?…I haven’t tried to influence anybody. And nobody has tried to influence me.” As for George, he claimed Sadie was a family friend, and the ride to the courthouse was just a simple “courtesy.” 

The next day, George attempted to have Capt. Baer cited for contempt of court for trying to “intimidate” a witness. Although this gambit didn’t work, it did result in all the other state witnesses being put under police protection (as Sadie had been seen approaching others). 

October 31, 1912: In a move that startled everyone present, George Remus recalled Sadie to the stand. During this second session of questioning — Sadie gave testimony that blatantly contradicted several remarks she’d made on the state’s behalf while calling Louisa a caring mother and corroborating Louisa’s assertion that both Alma & Arthur took patent medicine for a skin complaint that ran in the family.

Granted, it’s within the realm of possibility that Sadie’s memory grew a tad fuzzy in the three months before Louisa’s trial, and what Capt. Baer’s men witnessed was completely innocent — however, I don’t buy it. I think George either paid Sadie in cash or favor to tank her testimony for the prosecution and/or played on Sadie’s loyalty to Louisa to do the same. 

Moreover, I don’t think this was the only testimonial U-turn George managed to buy.

November 2, 1912: When Mrs. Alvina Rabe (John Otto and William Lindloff’s mother) testified before a packed Chicago courtroom — she told the jury how kind Louisa was to John Otto, a good wife to William, and her belief that both her sons had died from natural causes. A stark contrast to her words during the Coroner’s Inquest in Milwaukee, when she called Louisa a murderer.

While no one, as far as I can tell, was ever charged with perjury, contempt, or witness tampering after Louisa’s trial. I find it difficult to believe that not one but two star witnesses for the prosecution serendipitously switched sides at the eleventh hour. Especially since we know from ensuing events that George wasn’t above bending/breaking the law when it suited his purposes. Whether by using a portion of the $59,000 (in today’s money) that Louisa’s supporters raised on her behalf or his silver tongue — I don’t know. 

However, as Agatha Christie (might’ve) said: “One coincidence is just a coincidence, two coincidences are a clue, three coincidences are proof.” Though I don’t see a third (that doesn’t mean it isn’t there), I believe George Remus attempted to stack the deck in Louisa’s favor upon realizing how deep the waters against her were.

Not that it mattered.

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Crime & Christie: Building on Their Bones

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Possible tools of Louisa’s trade.

Now that Louisa Lindloff’s lawyer, George Remus, dealt with the arsenic hued elephant in the (court)room, it was time to address a far more problematic aspect of the case — Louisa’s pinpoint prophesies of death. Obviously, correctly predicting the exact expiration date for (at least) seven separate people is a tough mountain for any defense to climb. Yet, this peak wasn’t insurmountable, thanks to the mercurial nature of Chicago juries and the well-established Murderess Acquittal Formula.

However, the climb did prove far more treacherous than first anticipated after Judge Thomas G. Windes allowed Assistant State’s Attorneys Smith & Lowe to introduce the deaths of Julius Graunke, John Otto Lindloff, William Lindloff, Frieda Graunke, and Alma Graunke as well as, the corresponding life insurance payouts into evidence. These deaths, when taken in conjunction with Arthur’s (the only family member Louisa was actually on trial for murdering) and the ledger found secreted away beneath a floorboard in Louisa’s wardrobe (which demonstrated the correlation between Louisa’s dipping bank balance and the alleged murders) made the pattern crystal clear. 

Though this judicial decision was problematic, it didn’t seem to alter the razzle-dazzle strategy Louisa and her legal team set in motion in the run-up to her trial in November 1912.

Now, you need to understand that by the time Louisa’s alleged crimes came to light, Spiritualism was simultaneously flourishing and floundering in the United States. Spurred on by grieving families who lost fathers, husbands, brothers, and other relatives in brutal battles during the Civil War (forty-seven years before), this idea that the spirit remained intact after death and could be contacted brought genuine solace to those in mourning. (Spiritualism saw a similar uptick in popularity after WWI as well. Hence its inclusion in so many golden age mystery stories, including a Miss Marple short story, Motive v. Opportunity.)

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for those with an eye for the main chance to start taking advantage. Now, to be fair, some spiritualists sincerely wanted to help the bereaved and those searching for answers. However, a far greater number chose to twist Spiritualism for their own gain.

Like Chicago’s own Bangs Sisters.

Operating out of their parlor, May and Lizzie conducted seances during which the spirits sometimes “created” either writings or portraits for their still-living loved ones — for a hefty fee. 

The first article about how the Bangs Sisters drove a prominent Chicago photographer, Henry Jestram, insane with messages from the dead. Many in Chicago blamed the pair for Jestram’s commitment and subsequent death inside an insane asylum. The second photo is (obviously) of Mary “May” Bangs and her ex-husband – who married her because his dead mother “told” him to do so.

However, by the time Louisa’s trial came around in 1912, a massive number of mediums, fortunetellers, and their ilk had been publicly unmasked as frauds. (Including the Bangs Sisters, who had their deceit exposed once in 1901, again in 1909, and finally sometime before 1913.)

Yet, despite the growing body of evidence compiled by scientists, magicians, and authorities demonstrating the literal tricks of the trade — people still wanted to believe. 

Just some of the coverage Spiritualism received back in the day. From L to R: A) When one did not own a crystal ball, a glass of water would work equally well for seeing into the future. B) Spirit boards were often employed by mediums. C) An “authentic” spirit drawing. D) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle being photo bombed by fairies, now debunked. E) An advertisement/bio of a clairvoyant. E) A “ghost” appearing during a seance.

Whether Louisa counted herself as a true believer or amongst the double dealers hardly matters. 

What does signify is the fact that within short order upon arriving at Cook County’s Murderess Row, Louisa leaned heavily into her advertised occupation of spiritualist medium. To this end, Louisa installed her favorite crystal ball within her jail cell. When reporters asked about the clear sphere, Louisa proudly boasted she’d paid $500 for the instrument, which contained a single tear shed by Cleopatra over Marc Anthony’s resting place within its heart. When used with her own second sight, this extraordinarily powerful reagent would swell and stretch beneath her gaze until images from the future filled her vision and/or she contacted someone across the River Styx. 

Unsurprisingly, Louisa used the crystalline orb to contact the son she was accused of murdering: “She says that she has communicated thus with Arthur, and that he tells her she will be exonerated, but that she is unable to get in touch with her late husband Wm. Lindloff. However, she is assured that Arthur will look him up.” This prediction, made just eleven days after Arthur’s death, was one of the first in a lengthy string of prophesies Louisa would deliver to anyone and everyone in earshot. 

And many were listening.

Amongst Louisa’s most vocal supporters were her fellow mediums, necromancers, and the like. During Louisa’s many and varied court appearances, these spiritualists routinely relayed their visions and spirit guide messages to reporters — all of which confirmed Louisa’s gifts, innocence, and imminent acquittal. Moreover, they and sympathetic members of the public contributed to Louisa’s defense fund, raising well over $1,800.

The close ups of her mouth and nose were trying to show the paper’s readers how Louisa’s features identified her as a murderer.

Although the state’s tests and investigation of Louisa’s crystal ball revealed it to be nothing more than a fifty-cent orb of glass, this information did not (seemingly) affect Louisa’s clients’ faith. Although ASA Smith & Lowe compelled a few to corroborate that Louisa had predicted the exact dates of several familial deaths (which Louisa later denied doing). They also testified to numerous predictions Louisa made that came about, which she couldn’t possibly have influenced the outcome of. (Louisa also made similar death day prophecies to Dr. Warner for Alma and Arthur’s death and predicted Arthur’s death at Alma’s funeral to her favorite Undertaker.)

(BTW: The loss of access to said sphere for police testing did not stem the tide of Louisa’s predictions. Instead, she would perform long, complicated divination rituals before an altar constructed from a framed photograph of Arthur and gifts he’d given her to achieve the same results.) 

To the jaded eye, this spiritualist angle appears to be nothing but a bunch of balderdash meant to feed the press and distract the public from the correlation between death and benefits. If it also happened to plant the idea Louisa was far too silly to commit such ruthless acts, so much the better. 

Another headline of Louisa’s alleged crimes.

Next, George Remus attempted to fashion Louisa into a sympathetic figure caught in a web of circumstances far beyond her control. 

To this end, and to the complete surprise of everyone, Louisa included a hitherto unmentioned death while testifying in her own defense. Fourteen years before Julius’s death in 1905, Louisa and Julius’s infant son, Erick Graunke, died unexpectedly in 1891. In the article I read, there wasn’t a clear reason why Louisa brought Erick and his death up….Other than trying to garner sympathy from the jury? And/or hoping to get remains tested for arsenic, knowing none would be found, thereby breaking the pattern? I know it sounds unkind to intimate Louisa used her baby’s death for her own ends, but up until this point, he’d not come up once. So why now? It just seems…..well…..slightly shady that she would bring up his death at this point in time when no one in either Wisconsin or Illinois had once questioned it. 

(And this wasn’t the only time Louisa might’ve used an infant for her own ends. According to Captain Baer and Milwaukee prosecutors, there was a fair chance Louisa experimented with arsenic or other substances on a five-month-old infant she helped care for, leading to their death in 1907.)

Next, during her nearly two hours on the stand, Louisa elaborated on several tidbits she had shared with the press earlier in her incarceration. First, she painted her first husband, Julius Graunke, as a serial adulterer. Who passed a STD to her, and she unsuspectingly gave her children and second husband. Moreover, after mustering the courage to leave him, Julius tricked her into a reconciliation three months later. (BTW: While her neighbors in Milwaukee neither confirmed nor denied Louisa’s account in the articles I read, MANY testified to the fact they suspected she was carrying on with another man before, during, and after Julius’s last illness.)

Following her harsh account of Julius, Louisa portrayed John Otto Lindloff as a drunk whom neither she nor his brother/her future husband wanted marrying Frieda (Louisa’s eldest daughter).

At this point, Louisa donned the mantle of a long-suffering mother whose other daughter (Alma) routinely stayed out all night drinking and dancing. Utterly undeterred by Louisa’s warnings about her frail health or “whippings” she received, Alma continued to do as she pleased until her fast lifestyle caught up with her. (Whether these “whippings” were physical or verbal is unclear). Finally, Louisa painted herself and Arthur as victims. He, being a “good boy”, was forced to endure an STD he’d done nothing to earn. While she helplessly watched everyone she loved fall like dominoes due to the unexpected consequences of the arsenic laced medicines they all were compelled to take due to Julius’s infidelity.

Now, with the arsenic accounted for, circumstances sufficiently muddied, and a sympathetic tale on record, George Remus turned his sights on the last problem sticking in the proverbial craw of his defense — a one Miss Sadie Ray.

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Crime & Christie: Cucumbers & Wallpaper

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Prescribed by doctors for a whole host of ailments including syphilis, malaria, leukemia, and general skin conditions — Fowler’s Solution was very popular. The fact its main ingredient was arsenic caused a whole host of problems for its users, as well as authorities in cases like Louisa’s. Though it had fallen from favor by 1905, it was still in use until the 1930s when it finally started phasing out of the US market.

As we’ve seen, obtaining a conviction in historic Chicago was anything but certain. In 1912 alone, Assistant State’s Attorneys were forced to watch Florence Bernstein, Elizabeth Buchanan, Harriet Burnham, Rene B. Morrow, Lena Musso, and Jane Quinn walk out of Cook County courtrooms free as preverbal birds after (allegedly) shooting their husbands (and one love-rival) to death. Even the trial of Louise Vermilya, who police believed poisoned upwards of nine people, ended in a hung jury.

Four of the five women set free (at least) in 1912.

.….An outcome that undoubtedly buoyed Louisa Lindloff’s spirits, as Vermilya’s alleged crimes mirrored her own right down to the poison she favored, victim pool, and motive. (The two even shared a cell on Murderess Row for a spell.) Which begs the question, how? How did Vermilya flummox prosecutors and bamboozle six out of twelve jury members? And, more importantly, could Louisa improve upon Vermilya’s result and actually get away with murdering her son? 

First and foremost, any claim of self-defense would most likely collapse under the weight of the days, weeks, and months of suffering endured by Louisa’s victims. By targeting her children Frieda (18y), Alma (19y), and Alfred (15y), Louisa pretty much rendered any and all claims to Chicago’s ‘Unwritten Law’ null as well as negating the idea of self-defense and a crime of passion. Unable to access any of the cornerstones of the Murderess Acquittal Formula while eyeing the swelling mountain of circumstantial evidence piling up against her, Louisa found herself in a tight spot.

Until she hired famed criminal defense attorney George Remus. 

Louisa Lindloff & her lawyer George Remus

Specializing in murder cases, Remus was undoubtedly aware of the blueprint others of his ilk used to defend accused poisoners. Tailoring this strategy to fit Louisa’s case, while cherry-picking from the remaining elements of the Murderess Acquittal Formula and adding his own flair, Remus’s first step was to undermine the state’s assertion that Arthur was purposely poisoned by Louisa. 

The primary ingredient of Rough on Rats was arsenic.

Step One: Point out to one and all that owning arsenic, other poisons, and their derivatives isn’t a crime. Nor does their presence on a pantry shelf prove Louisa used them to harm those nearest and dearest to her. True, owning upwards of 80-plus bottles, boxes, and/or bags of said substances is a tad enthusiastic — but it’s not criminal.

Furthermore, such a collection could (nearly) be explained by the abundance of rats, bedbugs, and other disease-carrying pests who absolutely love urban centers, like 1912 Chicago. With the city’s overcrowded neighborhoods, uneven trash removal, and many restaurants, it ensured everyone from housewives to shopkeepers struggled to keep vermin at bay. A proposition made more difficult by rodents’ infuriating habit of developing poison shyness. (Hence why Louisa owned so many varieties.?! Maybe?) Plus, accidental exposure to Rough on Rats (and therefore arsenic) was almost inevitable due to the recommended application methods.

Photo thanks to: Eric Prouzet

Step Two: Call attention to the fact that arsenic is a naturally occurring element in the earth’s crust — which means — any arsenic found in the body could be due to natural exposure. Since Arthur’s employment didn’t entail any direct contact with soil (contaminated or otherwise), Louisa contended this incidental exposure came about through her son’s love of cucumbers, which he apparently “ate like a hog.” (Louisa’s description, not mine.)

While it’s true carrots, parsnips, and other such root vegetables can contain trace amounts of arsenic in their skins and, if not thoroughly washed, specks of arsenic-ladened earth can cling to their outsides — the same cannot be said of cucumbers. Between growing on vines rather than directly in the dirt and their thin skins — these vegetables contain very little arsenic in the parts we eat. Facts which could’ve rendered Louisa’s ‘cucumber defense’ shaky if: A. Scientists had discovered either detail by the start of Louisa’s trial on October 25, 1912. — And — B. If Assistant State’s Attorneys Claude T. Smith & Francis M. Lowes presented these scientific tidbits to the jury. 

Step Three: Identify all the other ways the victim(s) could’ve come into contact with the deadly element. 

Holding firm to Dr. Warner & Dr. Miller’s explanation that the wallpaper in Arthur’s sickroom was one source of exposure (despite their admission that this excuse was a ruse), Louisa added another legitimate wellspring – Medicine.

Above and beyond Fowler’s Solution, druggist sold arsenic wafers which were stuffed full of very real and very deadly arsenic to clear up one’s complexion.

According to Louisa: Arthur, his sisters, and her husbands all suffered from a skin complaint for which they treated with arsenic based patent and prescription medicines. Which Dr. Warner did confirmed prescribing. 

From the Office of Full Disclosure: Prior to Louisa’s testimony at trial, the newspapers reported the family’s “hereditary skin complaint” in generic terms. It was only after Louisa took the stand that she euphemistically blamed her first husband, Julius Graunke, for passing on a venereal disease to her, which she, in turn, passed on to her children and her second husband. Perhaps she was alluding to herpes? Which was at one point treated with arsenic. However, thanks to reticence of the times when dealing with STDs, it’s unclear if the family actually suffered from said STD, an innocuous skin problem, or if Louisa invoked the idea to explain away the arsenic found in the bodies whilst simultaneously garnering sympathy from the jury.

Interestingly, unlike Louise Vermilya’s first trial, which was abandoned after a similar medicine based revelation, Louisa Lindloff’s continued. 

Another common way for substantial quantities of arsenic to enter the body: Embalming Fluid.

The Pictures from L to R: A) Dr. Thomas Holmes’s pic from Find A Grave.com. B) One of the instances where embalming fluid was used as a poison accidentally or on purpose in and of itself. C) The photo of the embalming barn was taken near Fredericksburg, Va. sometime during the American Civil War. D) 1906 article about Illinois undertakers trying to outlaw arsenic & strychnine as the active ingredient in embalming fluid.

During the American Civil War, Dr. Thomas Holmes developed an arsenic-based chemical mixture, technique, and specialized apparatus to preserve Union soldiers’ bodies so they could remain (relatively) preserved during their journey back North for burial. When Holmes’ method proved successful, it was widely adopted. In cases like Louisa’s, the unintended consequence of this advancement in mortuary science is obvious. Since not even the most talented of chemists could differentiate between arsenic administered by nefarious means and arsenic used in embalming fluid, it often rendered results of the Marsh Test absolutely worthless in criminal poisoning cases where remains were tested after being embalmed and/or buried.

This detrimental side effect that reared its ugly head (again) on August 9, 1912. When Coroner H. L. Nathin was forced to abandon his inquest into Julius Graunke and John Otto Lindloff’s deaths due to the discovery that both sets of remains were treated with an arsenic based embalming fluid. (Charles Lipchow’s body was found bereft of the heavy metal. However, that does not mean Louisa didn’t poison him.) Thus ending the looming threat of extradition and prosecution, Milwaukee prosecutor’s promised should the notoriously fickle juries of Chicago acquit Louisa of murdering Arthur.

Speaking of prosecutors — they had their own strategy when dealing with multiple murderers like Louisa. Working under the assumption they could always try a poisoner for another murder, prosecutors would select their strongest case to take to court. Amongst Louisa’s many victims, ASA Smith & Lowes landed on Arthur as their best shot. Not only because his death was the most recent but on account of the quick thinking of two people. 

Apparently, before Arthur’s body ever left Chicago’s University Hospital, Coroner Hoffman seized his pancreas and spleen following the institution’s post-mortem. After confirming for himself neither organ appeared diseased, thus ruling out the COD listed on Arthur’s death certificate, Hoffman delivered both organs to Professor Walter S. Haines of Rush Medical College for chemical testing. 

A portrait of Professor Walter S. Haines painted about 1916.

Upon Prof. Haines’ confirmation that both organs were chalked full of arsenic, Coroner Hoffman ordered the exhumation of William Lindloff and Alma Graunke on June 19, 1912. Although Illinois outlawed arsenic-based embalming fluid back in 1907, Hoffman also requested samples of the fluids used on William and Alma’s bodies be tested as well. Unsurprisingly, on June 27, Prof. Haines’ reported both sets of remains were brimming with arsenic and none was found in the fluid. Thus prompting Hoffman to disinter Freida Graunke’s body, which, in turn, yielded the same results.

Once More From the Office of Full Disclosure: At some point, Coroner Hoffman had Arthur’s lungs, stomach, liver, and other organs tested as well. Though, thanks to the sensation around Louisa’s arrest, it’s a tad fuzzy when precisely this happened. What we do know is, one way or another, Oak Ridge’s Undertaker heard about the kerfuffle around Arthur’s death, and rather than embalming the boy’s body straightaway — he held off. So when Coroner Hoffman arrived at the mortuary to collect the remaining viscera, he found it uncontaminated. 

The Fourth & Final Step: Remind the jury arsenic is a cumulative poison, as well as, an acute one. 

To this end, while testifying in her own defense, Louisa shocked the entire courtroom on November 2, 1912, by admitting Arthur and the rest of her family undoubtedly died with arsenic in their systems. Whereupon she blamed the accumulation of arsenic found in Arthur’s system on the boy’s overindulgence of cucumbers, the wallpaper in his sickroom, and doctors for prescribing arsenic based medicines. 

As defenses go, it sort of held water….if you squinted at it really hard. However, the six grains of arsenic found in Arthur’s remains wasn’t the only damning element requiring an explanation.

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024

Crime & Christie: The Unravelling Web of a Black Widow

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Ducks snoozing in a row…..(Which will become tangentially relevant in a minute.)

Soon after Alma’s death, disaster struck Louise Lindloff’s occult practice. Seems police caught wind of Louisa’s work as a clairvoyant/medium/seer and shut her down. Though she skated through the encounter without her wrists being sullied by shackles, police made it abundantly clear Louisa could no longer contact those on the otherside of the veil for coin. Unable to groom clients for possible bequests or supplement her income with readings and unwilling to curb her spending or find honest employment — Louisa turned a gimlet-eye towards her remaining child for one last big score. 

While her crystal ball grew cold, Louisa toured the local insurance agencies stockpiling policies on Arthur Alfred Graunke’s life: Three totaling $515 were secured. Another, purchased on September 13, 1911, was for $1,000 and the final one for $2,000 was obtained on March 26, 1912. 

With all her ducks now in a row, Louisa started the clock.

Arthur Graunke

From the Office of Full Disclosure: Most newspaper reports agree Arthur fell ill on a Wednesday — though whether it was June 5 or June 12 is a tad murky. Whichever Wednesday it was, seventy-something days after securing the last bit of insurance on Arthur’s life, Louisa served her son a meal of cucumbers, canned salmon, and ice cream. (Hopefully, not all mixed together. However, as a kid who lived through the nineteen-seventies jello mold craze? Such a hideous combo cannot be ruled out.) In any case, shortly after ingesting said meal, Arthur fell desperately ill with stomach cramps, vomiting, backaches, and other debilitating symptoms. 

Once again, Louisa sent for Dr. Augustus S. Warner.

Immediately after clamping eyes on Arthur, the third member of Louisa’s family to fall desperately ill in three years, Dr. Warner finally realized he was dealing with arsenic and a serial poisoner. After treating Arthur in the best way he knew how, and with all attempts to induce Louisa into sending her son to the hospital rebuffed, Dr. Warner made a tactical retreat from 2044 Ogden Avenue. 

Well aware that accusations of poisoning were grave and making an erroneous allegation could open a whole world of hurt for himself — Dr. Warner contacted a colleague to consult (unbeknownst to Louisa). After reading and discussing not only Arthur’s case but Alma and William’s, Dr. Joseph Miller came to the same conclusion as Dr. Warner: all three showed the telltale symptoms of arsenical poisoning. 

Returning to Louisa’s home on June 13, 1912, strategy in hand, the two doctors tag-teamed Louisa. Blaming the wallpaper affixed to the walls of Arthur’s sickroom (a classic scapegoat), the physicians told Louisa her son’s symptoms corresponded with a textbook case of arsenic poisoning. While they “believed” Louisa didn’t have a hand in Arthur’s current complaint, they pointed out that her consistent refusal to heed their recommendation to move Arthur to a proper medical facility could be construed by some as highly suspicious in light of their diagnosis. 

Reluctantly, Louisa finally acquiesced. However, replicating the scheme she used when William (her second husband) entered a similar institution, Louisa removed Dr. Warner as Arthur’s primary physician. When Arthur died, Dr. John M. Berger of University Hospital, chalked Arthur’s cause of death down as pancreatitis. Later, he admitted he’d only seen the fifteen-year-old about five minutes before said event and knew next to nothing about his colleague’s misgivings — hence the unobjectionable cause of death.

Straightaway, after learning of Arthur’s passing, Louisa sent her boarder, Henry Kuby, to Prudential Insurance Company for a blank death certificate to start the ball rolling on her last big payday.

Meanwhile, despite being barred from Arthur’s sickroom, Dr. Warner and Dr. Miller were anything but idle. Together, they compiled their paperwork and theories and took them to the Cook County Coroner and Juvenile Court Authorities. Who, in turn, didn’t waste a single second securing the proper permissions and warrants. The day after Arthur’s untimely death, whilst Louisa was planning his funeral, Captain Bernard Baer of the Fillmore Street Police Station and his officers rocked up at 2044 Ogden Avenue.

Warrants in hand, the policemen began searching the house from pillar to post while their Captain questioned Louisa. (Now, I don’t know the order in which Captain Baer fired off these queries at Louisa, so I’ll put them in an order that feels logical to me.)

When told the reason for the search was due to Arthur being poisoned, Louisa replied: “…If he was, I know nothing of it; my hands and body are clean.” Next, when asked if she had any poison in the house, Louisa categorically denied owning any. This lie was immediately laid bare by Officer Anthony McSwiggin, who not only located a box of Rough on Rats missing about 1/3 of its contents, but some strychnine, a mercury based poison, some form of barium, and other bottles labeled poison on a pantry shelf.

Though I’ve no clue if Louisa actually owned ROR, it was such a popular and prevalent product, it would not surprise me if this was one of her sources of arsenic.

Next, investigators discovered a newly purchased grey wig (bought before Arthur’s death) and a trunk catalog. When Capt. Baer asked after these objects; Louisa admitted she planned on traveling (definitely not pulling a runner) that coming summer. An intention that did not jive with her bankbook, which showed Louisa only had $30 to her name. Furthermore, Louisa’s meticulous personal accounting showed a direct correlation betwixt the deaths of her nearest & dearest and when her bank balance dipped dangerous low.

Following these falsehoods, damning admissions, and deductions, Capt. Baer confronted Louisa with the collection of insurance policies she’d assembled on Arthur’s life. Her justification for having so many? Not only was it a German custom to heavily insure one’s immediate family members, but who would they leave such a large sum of money to, if not his mother? 

Apparently, feeling this rationale wasn’t enough, Louisa explained that it seemed prudent to amass multiple policies on Arthur’s life due to the hazardous nature of his job at Commonwealth Edison Company. And faster than Jackie Robison could round the bases, Capt. Baer exposed the false underpinnings of this excuse as well. Turns out Arthur was, in fact, an office boy earning $20 a month from the electric company. What’s more, Capt. Baer discovered that Louisa deceived the insurance companies about Arthur’s age, listing it as 16 rather than 15, in order to obtain the last two high-dollar policies.

Despite all the circumstantial evidence accumulated and Capt. Baer arresting her on June 15, 1921; Louisa managed to retain her freedom until June 17, when she was formally charged with Arthur’s murder and remanded to a Cook County jail, her bid for bail denied. Though she was allowed to attend Arthur’s funeral the next day, Louisa was escorted by two city detectives and a police matron, then promptly shepherded back behind bars.

Finally, after seven years and at least eight murders, the long arm of the law caught up with Louisa. Now, the million-dollar question was: Would a Chicago jury convict her of murder?

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024

Crime & Christie: Art Imitating Life

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Troubled by Genevieve Forbes’ snide descriptions of Isabella — which, thanks to the syndication of newspaper articles, extended her coverage from coast to coast and inspired other (though not all) reporters to follow her lead — Isabella’s quintet of lawyers crafted a secondary strategy over and above their legal maneuvering. The plan, reminiscent of George Bernard Shaw’s 1913 play Pygmalion (only with far higher stakes than a simple bet), saw the defense team using the months between the stay of execution and the hearing before the Illinois Supreme Court to transform Isabella. 

Spearheaded by Helen Cirese (the first Italian American female lawyer admitted to the Illinois State Bar) and supported by Margaret Bonelli (the wife of another of Isabella’s lawyers), they sought to neutralize the press’s unsparing criticism of Isabella. Fully aware her appearance played a role in her conviction, Isabella eagerly agreed. Deferring to the duo’s expertise, Isabella allowed a hairdresser to dye and cut her hair into a modern, flattering style. They visited Murderess Row’s cosmetics cabinet, where Isabella was tutored on the artful application of make-up. Next, Helen bought a new dress, silk stockings, a fur coat, and a hat for Isabella to wear during court appearances. 

Well aware that these superficial changes were not enough, Helen, Margaret, and Isabella settled into more exacting lessons. First and foremost, they worked on improving Isabella’s nearly nonexistent English. This not only allowed Isabella to aid in her own defense but also meant she could finally interact with reporters. 

Headlines of a similar nature appeared in all kinds of papers along with photos of Isabela’s “improved” appearance.

Next, Helen tutored Isabella on general American manners and deportment, the lack of which Genevieve Forbes took such a massive issue with (amongst other things). Grunting as a form of communication, while perfectly acceptable when she was growing up, amongst immigrants of similar backgrounds, and family — led to some of the most derogatory descriptions in the press. Hence, Isabella needed to unlearn this practice. Next, Isabella worked at holding back the habit of rocking in place, as this nervous habit also led to disparaging comments. Finally, Helen taught Isabella what was considered “proper” courtroom etiquette — sitting up straight, crossing her ankles, attentively watching the courtroom, and other such (inane) but necessary behaviors. 

While no amount of “Americanization” would ever appease Genevieve Forbes and others of her ilk — it did shift the majority of their remarks from strictly dehumanizing to simple snark. Other reporters, less invested in painting Isabella as an “…old, ugly, Italian peasant woman…”, started penning pieces that were (by comparison) more neutral in tone. Moreover, Isabella’s rapidly improving English meant she could interact with reporters, and she did. Isabella spoke of her babies waiting for her at home, of her innocence, and awareness of how her features played a role in her conviction — all of which helped humanize Isabella to the readers of the various rags around the country.

By the time the Illinois Supreme Court returned with its final ruling in November 1924 (I think), Isabella’s transformation was essentially complete….and gave, as intended, the Assistant States Attorney fits. Gone from the defendant’s chair was the “ugly” Italian woman he steamrolled with the press’s help. Instead, he found a smiling “Americanized” Isabella — surrounded by a bevy of highly competent lawyers. 

Lawyers who not only successfully persuaded the Illinois Supreme Court to overturn Isabella’s conviction and order a new trial for both Isabella and Peter. They also successfully argued the Court to disallow Isabella’s son Charles’s confession, ruling the body presented as the missing Frank Nitti couldn’t actually be proven as being Frank’s and deemed a whole bunch more circumstantial evidence inadmissible. The death knell of Assistant State’s Attorney Smith’s case came on December 2, 1924 — when it was announced Charles Nitti refused to testify against his mother in a second trial. 

A few days later, Smith dropped all charges against Isabella and Peter.

Thanks to Maurine Dallas Watkins’ play and the subsequent musical adaptation, Isabella’s case is now (in)famous. However, after scratching the surface, there’s far more at play in Isabella and Peter’s charge/conviction/successful appeal on first-degree murder charges than just one woman’s appearance….However, thanks to Genevieve Forbes’ unrelenting coverage, Isabella’s features played a far more significant role in her conviction than they should’ve.

Postscript: Frank Nitti’s disappearance and probable murder remain unsolved to this day. One of the background reasons why suspicion initially clung to Isabella was Frank’s brother James and at least one of Isabella’s sons believed Isabella started an affair with Peter before Frank went missing. Furthermore, one of Isabella’s sons contributed money to the prosecution, giving ASA Smith additional incentive to pursue Isabella.

All things being equal, I’ve no clue if Isabella and/or Peter buried Frank Nitti in a shallow grave — but I lean towards not.

However, Isabella believed she knew the author of all: “It was my son, Mike, who was mad because his father wouldn’t give him money to get married on…..Mike would keep still and let me die, so now I’ll tell on him.” Apparently, father and son got into a fistfight over $400 (about $7,250 in today’s money) after Frank refused to lend the hefty sum to his second oldest a few days before his evanescence. Moreover, Mike silenced everyone connected, save his mother (and I’m assuming Peter), by threatening to kill anyone who testified to witnessing said event. 

Actions which don’t exactly scream innocence. 

Though…If Mike did commit patricide, it could explain why Charles peddled the story of dumping their father’s body in the Des Plaines River with Peter. Mike could’ve, endeavoring to cover all his bases, threatened/bullied/cajoled his younger brother into the confession. Granted, this is pure supposition on my part, but Charles coming forward to accuse his mother bothers me. Assuming he wasn’t a vindictive jerk and Isabella didn’t do it — why would Charles come forward with such a tale?

In any case, in an odd twist of fate, on September 10, 1925 — Isabella was forced to visit the State’s Attorney’s office again. Only this time, she reported Peter Crudelle missing. On September 7, after taking a load of vegetables to market, Peter failed to return home with either their truck or the day’s earnings. It’s unclear precisely what happened to him, however, I read a rumor that Peter returned to Italy and married another woman. 

As for Isabella, she married Guiseppe Campobasso on November 2, 1940. Shortly thereafter, the couple became naturalized US citizens and moved to Los Angeles, where they resided (hopefully, happily) until Isabella passed away on December 10, 1957, at the age of 78.

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024

Crime & Christie: The Court of Public Opinion

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Genevieve Forbes did some great writing, but when it came to Isabella? To put it nicely, which is more than she did for Isabella, Genevieve was a sourpuss (as my grandmother would say).

In early July 1923, Isabella Nitti-Crudelle and Peter Crudelle went on trial — pleading not guilty. Whereupon, Isabella drew some singularly harsh criticism from Genevieve Forbes, a prominent female reporter who covered the crime beat for the Chicago Tribune. 

Forbes took exception to basically everything about Isabella, calling her: “…dumb, crouching, animal-like Italian peasant” and “…dirty, disheveled woman…” amongst other derogatory terms. Other reporters picked up this language, calling Isabella: “Dumpy and squat and with no redeeming gift of grace, the dumb-like little peasant woman….creature of primitive physical instincts…mussy twisted hair and swarthy brow so seamed and crinkled with premature marks of age….leathery face and warped figure…” 

A couple of the unflattering photos & drawings of Isabella used by a NUMBER of papers – and – a blurb “explaining” why the jury ruled the way they did.

These dehumanizing descriptions go on and on and on.

By referring to Isabella in such terms, Forbes and the others of her ilk painted Isabella as subhuman and undeserving of compassion, sympathy, or mercy from their readers or the jury. Moreover, by focusing on Isabella’s southern Italian heritage, language, and mannerisms — Forbes tapped into the anti-immigrant sentiment of the day (as exemplified by the Immigration Act of 1924, crafted by a fan of eugenics and a man who thought the US needed a Mussolini type leader to pull the country out of the Great Depression). Which only increased Isabella’s status as unworthy of the leniency shown to the bevy of other accused murderesses who’d come before her. 

Unsurprisingly, Isabella and Peter (who’d practically become a footnote in the newspaper coverage of the crime) were convicted of Frank’s murder and sentenced to hang on October 12, 1923. A punishment that caused a sensation across the country, as Isabella was only the fourth woman ever to receive a death sentence in Illinois. 

While most believed Illinois’s Governor Len Small would commute Isabella’s death sentence to life in prison, which had been done for the two other women before Isabella — it wasn’t a sure thing. In 1845, Illinois’s Governor Thomas Ford failed to intervene on behalf of Elizabeth Reed, who’d hung after being convicted of poisoning her husband. Above and beyond Illinois’s single female execution seventy-eight years earlier, there’d been an uptick around the world of female death sentences being carried out: Dora Wright (1903 Oklahoma), Mary Rogers (1905 Vermont), Mary Farmer (1909 New York), Virginia Christian (1912 Virginia), Pattie Perdue (1922 Mississippi), and, across the pond in England, another cause célèbre murder case resulted in the hanging of Edith Thompson on January 9, 1923.

Even more worrisome, Isabella’s conviction failed to stem the flow of dehumanizing remarks. Many of the reports after Isabella’s date with the hangman was announced made it sound as if Isabella was grateful for her confinement on Murderess Row: “….she seems thankful for the better jail fare with occasional time for play, recreation, and with no worry now for poverty nor endurance of bitter cold.” Whether these comments were meant to assuage the public’s guilt over the state’s mandate of death or to make her execution sound akin to mercy is unclear. What we do know is Isabella was terrified. Alongside these reports of Isabella’s “gratefulness” were stories of her enduring panic attacks, obsessive cleaning & singing (undoubtedly done to try to keep her mind occupied), and at least two suicide attempts.

Thankfully, not everyone shared Genevieve Forbes’s point of view. 

After the death sentence was handed down, one juror’s wife threatened to leave him if Isabella hanged. Another group of women bent on obtaining Isabella’s freedom took Forbes to task for her attacks on Isabella’s appearance and character. Unsurprisingly, Forbes mocked their rebuke in print and labeled their efforts to free Isabella as: “…women’s primitive loyalty to a forlorn sister, down and out, and homely.”

Crucially, besides gaining the sympathy of women around the city and the support of those opposed to the death penalty under any circumstance — Forbes’s inhuman rhetoric and reports of the trial itself inspired five Italian American lawyers (Swanson, De Stefano, Bonilli, Mirabella, and Helen Cirese) to step in and take Isabella’s (and Peter’s) appeal on pro bono. 

First, the legal team took aim at the circumstantial evidence used to convict: Identification of the body — which rested on a single ring, the inconsistencies between Charles Nitti’s confession and the state’s evidence (where he said the body was dumped in a river, yet the body identified as Frank’s was found in a catch basin), and the fact there was another suspect with plenty of motive whose identity was deemed inadmissible during the trial.

However, the main thrust of the quintet of lawyers’ appeal rested on the absolutely abysmal defense mounted by Isabella and Peter’s former trial lawyer, Eugene A. Moran who, the Illinois Supreme Court would later say, “….It is quite clear from an examination of the record that the defendants’ interest would have been much better served with no counsel at all than with the one they had.” 

For example: Despite securing a translator who spoke Barese, the Italian dialect Isabella spoke, Moran exchanged very few words with her prior to stepping into the courtroom — so how could she aid in her own defense? Moreover, during Moran’s cross-examination of Isabella and Peter, he repeatedly asked them questions that could’ve led them to incriminate themselves on the stand. Apparently, it got so bad that at one point, the trial judge stepped in, warning Moran he was harming his client’s defense. (A caution which didn’t alter Moran’s behavior a whit.)

(BTW: Before we paint Moran in villainous colors, according to a couple of recent articles/blog posts, he’d started suffering from some sort of mental health problems around this time. Which could account for this subpar court performance. Though I’ve been unable to verify this information, I thought it worth mentioning.)

Taking all these legal points under consideration, on September 26, 1923, Justice Orrin N. Carr stayed Isabella and Peter’s execution until their appeal could be presented to the Illinois Supreme Court in February 1924.

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024

Crime & Christie: It’s Complicated

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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.

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024

Crime & Christie: Han Shot First

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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.

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Crime & Christie: It’s Not Personal, It’s Just Business

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On July 15, 1919, at 5:50 pm, after three ballots — the jury found Vera Trepagnier guilty of manslaughter and fixed a sentence of one year to life in prison. Paul F. Volland’s second ex-wife, Gladys Couch Volland, and his son, Gordon B. Volland, were both in court when the verdict was announced and applauded (metaphorically) the jury for holding Vera accountable for her actions. Unsurprisingly, State’s Attorney Hoyne lauded the victory of ASA Dwight and the jury’s decision. 

So what went wrong? Why did the jury find Vera guilty of manslaughter despite her lawyers following the formula that got 26 other women acquitted? 

Vera blamed the loss on another attorney, Frances E. Spooner — the only lawyer she’d found who agreed to fight the unbalanced contract she’d signed with Paul F. Volland in civil court. In an interview given shortly after her conviction, Vera claimed Spooner hamstrung her defense because she “…had all my papers about the case that led up to the killing, and she left town.” Which could be true? The one and only time I found Spooner’s name linked with Vera’s occurred the day after Vera’s bid for a new trial was denied, on August 16, 1919: When the papers reported Spooner was suing her former client for breach of contract, “…by killing Volland, she brought an end to the case and threw the plaintiff out of a job.” (I’ve no clue how this case ultimately panned out.) 

However, it’s equally possible Vera’s all-male defense team used Spooner as a convenient scapegoat to cover the collective backsides with their client after their loss. Spooner, one of the rare female attorneys in Chicago during this period, would make an easy target in any post-trial blame game.

Weighing in, over 100 years later, I see the scales of recrimination tipping ever so slightly in the direction of Vera’s cadre of lawyers and their decision to rely solely on Vera’s testimony. 

Why? First and foremost, Vera’s account doesn’t quite add up, in my estimation.

While it’s possible Vera’s version of events unfolded exactly as she said……Why would Volland start strangling her for simply refusing to leave his office? Granted, Vera had become a thorn in Volland’s paw. However, until that afternoon, he’d successfully kept her at arm’s length for years through a lack of communication, lawyers, and by using layers of security/secretaries/doormen as a shield. Moreover, if Vera failed to leave Volland’s office because he murdered her (worst case scenario) or she exited under her own power with hand-shaped bruises around her neck, disheveled from a struggle, and gasping — it would’ve been noticed by the office full of people working away in the middle of the day.

Speaking of people, while there weren’t any eyewitnesses other than Vera who saw what happened in Volland’s office, two individuals were close enough to hear some of what was happening inside. Both women spoke of hearing Vera’s voice growing louder and shriller as the interview went on while Volland’s remained low and even. Suggesting it was she, not him, who grew furious as the conversation continued.

Mrs. Gladys Crouch Volland

The defense, in an attempt to shore up Vera’s assertion Volland struck first, claimed Volland was a “wife beater” and “woman-hater” which led to the dissolution of his second marriage. The only problem? Said second wife, Gladys Crouch Volland, still resided in Chicago and was more than willing to testify that her ex-husband never abused her or their daughters, nor was cruelty the reason why she sued for divorce. While it’s possible Gladys was lying, the fact she wasn’t called to the stand or her divorce decree read aloud by the defense — who’d subpoenaed her — suggests they couldn’t scrounge up enough proof that Volland abused his ex-wife to convince the presiding Judge to allow it into evidence. Making it likely that Vera’s attorneys simply spliced the idea into their opening remarks in the hopes that the jury would consider the unsubstantiated claim during their deliberations.

Furthermore, I found an announcement for Volland’s 1904 divorce from Laura Gordon Volland, his first ex-wife. While one of the gossipy articles alluded to money at the root of the marriage’s dissolution, none mentioned cruelty. (And the fact Laura remarried mere days after the finalization of the divorce decree hints at a different set of problems within the union.)

In my humble opinion? Upon realizing Volland wasn’t going to willingly hand back her miniature or write a check for five grand, Vera pulled a revolver on him and that’s when Volland “lept at her” — not the other way around. 

This fine — yet important distinction — is why Billy Flynn, in the musical Chicago, worked so hard to make sure the newspapers reported that Roxie Hart and her lover both reached for the gun. If it came out that Roxie pulled the gun on her boyfriend first, in a fit of rage rather than in self-defense, it would’ve negated her claim to the “unwritten law.” 

After her arrest, in an effort to invoke said statute for herself, Vera neatly summed up the “unwritten law” as this: “In my State men may lie, gamble, cheat in business, but they do not lay hands on a woman.” As I understand it, this tacit law allowed judges and juries to protect abused women who either snapped or needed to defend themselves at a point in time when domestic violence laws were nearly nonexistent. More importantly, it’s part of the foundation on which the murderess acquittal formula rested — hence why, in my opinion, it’s more than likely Vera swapped up the order of events to save her own skin.

Unfortunately for Vera, her uneven account wasn’t the only problem.

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Crime & Christie: Give Them The Old Razzle Dazzle….

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On May 6, 1919, the day after slaying Paul F. Volland, a Grand Jury charged Vera Trepagnier with his murder. What’s more, the twelve men refused to set bail, thereby sending sixty-year-old Vera off to the Cook County Jail to join the other women awaiting trial on its infamous Murderess Row. Nevertheless — despite the charge, the multiple witnesses placing her in the room when Volland died, handing Patrolman Patrick Durkin the murder weapon, and confessing to the crime — Vera wasn’t without a heaping helping of hope that she’d get away with murder. 

Sounds mind-boggling, right? Hope, in the face of an apparent prosecutorial slam dunk. 

Lists like this one, printed in 1914, were printed fairly frequently in papers across the country.

However, in the 12 years leading up to Paul F. Volland’s death, Cook County prosecutors only managed to convict 3 out of the 29 women put on trial for murder or manslaughter (according to the tallies routinely published in the papers). Which begs the question: How? Well, in studying Vera’s case, as well as yards and yards of newspaper columns covering the 29 women who preceded Vera into the courtroom (and a number who came after), a familiar refrain kept repeating itself.

And They Both Reached For The Gun

Variants of this line kept creeping up, pinging a distant and dormant earworm in the back of my brain. Unable to recall why it sounded so very, very familiar, I tapped the phrase into a search engine and immediately learned why it resonated.

Did you know the musical Chicago is loosely based on real murders and murderesses? Maurine Dallas Watkins, the play’s original author, based Chicago on two (in)famous criminal cases she covered during her eight-month stint with the Chicago Tribune in 1924. Beulah Annan, who shot her married lover in the back, served as the inspiration for Roxie Hart. Belva Gaertner, the muse for Velma Kelly, claimed to have no memory of shooting her married lover in her car after they’d spent several hours visiting bars, drinking, and listening to jazz. You will be unsurprised to learn both women were acquitted of the crimes. 

The musical, created after Watkins’ death in 1969, does a great job of exposing the formula defense lawyers (generally, though not exclusively) followed to obtain acquittals for their female clients. 

These were just some of the “glamorous” newspaper photos of the women who were eventually acquitted for murder/manslaughter in Cook County.

Step One: After committing the crime (of course), feed the media. Recall the newspaper headline that started me down this odd and twisting path: “Can A Beauty Be Convicted?” Admittedly, owning youth, good looks, and manners didn’t hurt their cause. However, what this story conveniently ignores (though the musical shows in aces) is the symbiotic relationship enjoyed with many, though not all, of these female killers and the press.

By answering questions shouted at them on the courthouse steps and granting interviews, these women helped improve the paper’s circulation numbers whilst priming potential members of their juries before ever stepping into the courtroom. 

Thereby explaining why Vera, who declined to testify before the Grand Jury in her own defense, gave a series of interviews to reporters hours after joining Murderess Row. By laying out her slow spiral into poverty after losing her fortune, home, and husband while making sure to mention her altruistic plans for the $5,000 and/or the painting, Vera noticeably softened the tone of the subsequent coverage. 

More importantly, by concentrating on her life story and the lopsided deal she unwittingly struck, Vera could obliquely portray Paul F. Volland as a rich man willing to use his power and position to swindle an older, desperate woman out of the last remaining vestige of her salad days without rousing other influential Chicagoans into defending the dead man’s memory — which would prove catastrophic for Vera’s defense. 

Speaking of Vera’s story, sifting through Vera’s interviews and testimony, the bare bones of her version of events goes like this: After Paul F. Volland closed his office doors, she reiterated her demand for either $5,000 or the Trumbull miniature. 

Volland’s response: “I’m tired of looking at you and of listening to you. I haven’t got anymore time to waste. Now, will you get out?” 

Unaccustomed to such rudeness but unwilling to leave without at least one of her requests being met, Vera stood her ground. Whereupon, according to Vera, “…{Paul F. Volland} leaped at me. I felt his fingers touching at my throat. He pushed me towards the door. I could stand it no longer. I opened my purse, grasped the pistol and pointed it at him. He leaped at me again and I fired. He dropped in a heap at my feet, gasping: ‘I am shot, I am shot.’ That is all I remember.” 

With the potential jury pool now prepped to think Volland attacked first and his death a mere accident, it’s time to cue the next essential element of an acquittal…

Some of the other players in Vera’s trial.

Step Two: Razzle-dazzle them, or in other words, create a spectacle evocative enough to bamboozle the 12 men of the jury into finding reasonable doubt, whether it’s there or not. This was usually accomplished through effusive weeping, fainting bouts, and statements of abject regret, remorse, and sorrow by the accused in court.

However, these over-the-top demonstrations of contrition didn’t really suit Vera’s case. Seems prior to sinking their teeth into Vera’s tales of woe, the papers reported on her absolutely serene demeanor at the crime scene. According to their words, Vera showed no signs of distress over what she’d done — no shaking hands or voice, no apologies, no tears. In point of fact (and I’m not sure how accurate this is), the papers made it sound as if Vera stepped over Volland as he lay dying on the floor in order to peer out his office windows while waiting for the police. 

With standard razzmatazz measures rendered useless, Vera’s lawyers turned to plan B — during her six straight hours on the stand (the only person her defense team called to testify), Vera dramatically reenacted her and Volland’s struggle over the gun. The exhibition highlighted the physical disparity between 44-year-old Paul F. Volland and 60-year-old Vera while attempting to refute the prosecution’s expert witness, who declared it impossible for Vera’s revolver to accidentally discharge in the way Vera claimed. “My {Vera’s} finger was on the trigger. His hand closed over mine, pressed my finger and exploded the weapon. He really shot himself.” 

The theatrics didn’t end there. 

Endeavoring to bolster Vera’s claim: That Volland attacked first and without provocation thus rendering Vera’s actions understandable. In his opening remarks, Leo Lebosky (one of Vera’s lawyers) attacked Volland’s reputation. Calling Volland a “woman-hater” and “woman-beater” — then claimed Volland’s second ex-wife sought a divorce on the grounds of cruelty. These remarks instantly provoked Assistant State’s Attorney Dwight to raise strenuous objections and Judge Brentano to remind Lebosky that claims along these lines would not be admitted into evidence. This led Lebosky to confidently counter, “…it would be.” (They weren’t, btw.)

In July 1919, with the formula now complete: Crime, sob story, razzle-dazzle, and blaming the victim for their own death (i.e., the killing was accidental), a Cook County jury withdrew from the courtroom to deliberate on Vera’s fate.

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Crime & Christie: Fool’s Gold

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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. 

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024