On the early morning of September 7, 1982 a grizzly discovery was made. A Gainesville, FL condominium bared the marks of foul play. Inside the body of a man was found. Bound in a sheepskin rug, with a name-plate inscribed with “Howard Appledorf” plainly visible to investigators. His stomach had been exposed and a ground out cigarette butt was imbedded into his flesh. Under a burlap sack that had been placed on Howard’s head were two neckties – one bound around his head as a blindfold, and another tied around his neck. The murders left a note located near several sandwich remnants that read “Howard, I wish you could join us”. Sprawled on the walls in red ink were the words “murder”, “redrum”, and “HOWARD, we love you sincerely. The slez sisters”. An additional note was found on a small notepad which read

“I realize murder is a felony crime, but I want whoever finds this body to know that I am criminally insayne [sic], and have no control over what I do. I know I won’t [illegible] be caught for this crime because I have [illegible] of getting away, but I am very sorry that this is how HOWARD APPLEDORF had to go. I didn’t mean it. Help me, X.”

Authorities were left baffled by this bizarre scene.

Howard Appledorf

Professor Howard Appledorf, nicknamed “the junkfood professor” was a nutritionist most renowned for publicly defending the nutritional value of fast food. Authorities speculated that there may have been a connection to the movie The Shining, which had been recently televised, but otherwise came up short on initial leads. Later investigators came to learn that Appledorf had been involved in a legal struggle with several individuals.

These individuals – Gary Bown, Paul Everson, and Shane Kennedy, had reportedly met Appledorf while he attended a San Francisco soft drink convention in June of 1982. Appledorf allegedly picked up Bown and took him to his hotel room. There, Appledorf invited him to drink champagne and paid Bown for a weekend of sexual services. Once Appledorf returned to Florida, he invited Bown along with Everson and Kennedy to come to his condo. While in Florida, one of the three stole a personal check from Appledorf and attempted to cash it at a local bank, where a teller promptly called the police.

Bown claimed that Appledorf had set him up. The $900 check was for the sexual services the three boys had provided for him, and that he also wanted to expose Howard Appledorf for molesting Kennedy – who was only 15 at the time. Appledorf agreed to drop the forgery charges on the grounds that the three left Florida. Appledorf had flown to New York while the three were in jail, in order to attend another conference. Colleagues claimed that he seemed shaken and worried about the visitors he had at his condo.

Meanwhile, with Appledorf still in New York, the trio had been released from jail and broke into his condo. Bown, Kennedy, and Everson decided to camp out while Appledorf was away – looting the condo for valuables and eating his food. Appledorf returned to his condo and upon entering his home, was beaten in the head with a frying pan. Shane Kennedy, the youngest of the trio, alleged that he became “sick to his stomach” and fled the scene, while the other two continued beating, mutilating, and strangling Appledorf.

The three were promptly identified as suspects, due to their previous encounters with Appledorf. Bown and Everson were found guilty and sentenced to life in prison, while Kennedy was sentenced to 4 years since he did not actually participate in the murder.

On July 23, 1943 occurred one of the most bizarre and spectacular murders in British criminal history. Archibald Brown was a bitter, bullying, tyrannical, violent man who spent years ruling his family with a rod of iron. Even after a serious motorcycle accident left him permanently confined to a wheelchair his temperament remained as unpleasant and autocratic as ever. It seemed as though his long-suffering wife Doris and their eldest son, the equally long-suffering Eric, would never be free of his domineering cruelty. At least, not while he remained alive. Doris seemed prepared to endure her misery stoically. Eric wasn’t. If the only thing that would liberate both him and his mother from Archibald and Archibald from his own suffering was death, then death would be provided. Seeing what he was about to do as compassionate all round, Eric would ensure it was quick and merciful.

Eric had long held a desire to remove both his father’s tyranny (and his father with it). Fittingly, it was by curious means that his the means and opportunity became available. By 1943 the Second World War was in full swing and Eric Brown had been conscripted into the infantry, the 8^th Battalion of the Suffolk Regiment. The Army were aware of his father’s disability so gave him regular leave and posted him to Spilsby Barracks near his home in Rayleigh. The short distance meant that Eric could visit home easily and often. It was also at Spilsby Barracks that Private Brown learnt how to use the Number 75 Hawkins Grenade-Mine, a multi-purpose weapon used as an anti-tank mine, anti-vehicle grenade and demolition charge. The Hawkins was a small mine only around 7 inches wide and nine inches long, but it contained 1.5 pounds of Ammonal explosive, easily enough to blow the tracks off a tank or half-track. For added punch Hawkins mines could be linked together in a ‘daisy chain’ and either strung across a road or thrown at an enemy tank or other vehicle. It was a little weapon packing a big punch and Eric soon found another use for it.

Eric knew his hated father was permanently confined to a bath chair, just like a modern-day wheelchair. All he needed to do was steal a Hawkins mine, alter the pressure plate so that it would explode under the weight of a human being instead of a tank and slip the mine under the seat of his father’s bath chair. So, having stolen one and brought it home on a previous leave, all that Eric now needed was enough anger and frustration to actually use it. Archibald Brown, being the boorish, overbearing tyrant that he was, soon supplied that as well.

In July, 1943 Eric was home again on leave. He spent the best part of two weeks watching his father tyrannize his mother and constantly taunt and provoke Eric himself. Archibald Brown had three full-time nurses and one of their jobs was to take him out and wheel him round the local area for some sun and fresh air. After enduring years of provocation and having finally had enough, Eric decided it was finally time for him to take out his father. Permanently.

The bath chair was kept in the family air raid shelter. The nurse on duty that day found it odd that the door was locked when she collected the chair for Archibald’s daily outing. After a few minutes, Eric unlocked the door and wheeled out his father’s chair. He seemed nervous and irritable and in no great desire to stand too close to his father or the chair itself. Nurse Mitchell helped Archibald into his chair and they trundled off around the local area. Eric watched, dumbfounded and increasingly tense, and nothing happened. Nothing. No fizzing fuse, flash of flame or puff of smoke indicated that the mine was even there, let alone that it was going to explode.

At least, that is, until Archibald shifted around in his seat to pick out his cigarettes…

BOOM.

Nurse Mitchell had a truly miraculous escape. She sustained only minor injuries as 1.5 pounds of high explosive blasted both the chair and Archibald Brown into pieces and scattered them in all directions. Pieces of the chair were found hanging in nearby trees scattered all over the park they were trundling through when the mine detonated. Pieces of Archibald Brown were found over an even greater area. His right foot, still in his shoe, was found in the front garden of a house just over a quarter-mile from the epicentre of the blast. Archibald Brown’s domestic tyranny had lasted decades. His death took milliseconds. Once the smoke and flame had cleared the police were summoned.

At first they couldn’t automatically rule it a murder. In 1943 German aircraft were regularly dropping thousands of anti-personnel mines called ‘butterfly bombs’ all across the country. ‘Butterfly bombs’ were named because they bore a resemblance to butterflies and so that had to be ruled out first. Once it had been discounted the case became a straightforward murder hunt and it wasn’t long before Eric was a prime suspect. Detectives did a background check unearthing some very disturbing details. First, the type of device identified as a Hawkins Mine. Then it transpired that Private Eric Brown had taken a lecture on the Hawkins Mine at Soilsby Barracks on April 23. A check of the barracks inventory unearthed that there should have been 175 Hawkins Mines in the armoury. A search revealed there were actually 174. One was missing and detectives now had a pretty solid idea as to who took it and what they used it for, especially when Eric’s long-standing loathing of his father and their long-standing feud came to light. Eric Brown had means, motive and opportunity. Only three weeks after the explosion Eric Brown was under arrest and facing a charge of capital murder.

Detectives soon secured his confession. Eric admitted killing his father, told them how he’d done it and why and was promptly brought to the Magistrate’s Court to be committed for trial. His trial for capital murder began in November and lasted only a few days. Eric’s defense was pleading not guilty by reason of insanity and the jury met him halfway. They herd the evidence, were sent out to deliberate by Judge Atkinson and returned a verdict after only 45 minutes. They found him guilty, but insane. Eric was now safe from the hangman’s noose, but would be detained indefinitely ‘at Her Majesty’s pleasure’ in an psychiatric hospital until doctors deemed his safe to release. Eric Brown was detained in 1943. He wasn’t released until 1975, 32 years after the murder. Since his release his anonymity has been complete. No details are available of his health, welfare or location, we don’t even know if he’s still alive.

Driving the dark streets on my way to work, a country road not unlike the road Diane had been on just hours earlier, the radio was playing. Passing the lake, my ’69 Malibu roaring towards the distant lights of Eugene, I listened in growing incredulity to the news. It was unfathomable that this story was unfolding in the very town in which I lived. Those things just didn’t happen here. In fact, not much happened here at all.

Eugene/Springfield, Oregon, in the early ‘80s, was the place you moved to in order to get away from senseless crime and random shootings. Eugene proper was a small town, housing the University of Oregon. It was progressive, counterculture, and growing: Some said it was growing a little too quickly, and many swore if any more Californians moved up north, they’d pack it in for parts more remote. In contrast, Springfield, just over the Willamette River, was our country cousin. They had more country-western bars, less tolerance for skin pigmentation, and mile after mile of farm land, forests, lakes, and outdoor living.

Our biggest claim to fame until that spring of 1983 was the Oregon Ducks. Later, long after the media circus marking the Diane Downs trial died off, we’d again make it on the map with the Thurston School shooting, but that was still years away, miles away emotionally, really, and up until that time we were just a rest stop along the I-5 corridor, hardly worth notice at all.

Crime was something that just didn’t happen in the area. Not major crimes like this, and definitely not major crimes committed by strangers. In fact, there were no strangers in town, not really. If you had to ask a passerby on the street for directions, you were just as likely to make a new friend, share pictures of your kids, or even a cup of coffee, as you were to get simple directions.

So, driving down highway 99 over 30 years ago, the morning not yet dawned, I was shocked to hear the story playing out across the airwaves. That poor woman, I thought.

Diane Downs

That “poor woman” was Diane Downs. That morning, though, she was the mother who watched her 3 children get shot, the woman who bravely fought off her assailant and drove miles for help, while enduring the pain of her own bullet wound. Months later her name would be known in almost every household across America as the most despicable of people; a mother who killed her own child, but that morning she was still that poor woman.

By the time I arrived at work that morning in 1983, it was all anyone was talking about. Did you hear?

We’re not safe! Those poor children! How could this happen here? It could have been me! Why haven’t they caught this guy?

This guy. This bushy-haired stranger standing in the middle of the road, waving down random cars and shooting the children sleeping inside. Surely he must stand out like a sore thumb. He couldn’t possibly be one of us!

That morning, as the horror of what happened to those children rippled across the city, the collective sympathy of Western Oregon was behind the grieving mother. Everyone believed her story, and why wouldn’t they? Well, almost everyone, that is.

One of my co-workers was married to one of Eugene’s finest. That morning, as we all expressed our fear, she spoke three words that would haunt me for years to come, “She did it.” She went on to explain that her husband, and the rest of the police department, knew that Diane was lying as soon as she first told her story. The “bushy-haired stranger” was the same description they were always given when someone wanted to place the blame of a crime on a nonexistent suspect. Though they would look, they all knew in the end this stranger would more likely than not be mom herself.

This was not something we were willing to believe. Mothers don’t kill their children! No mother could fight their protective instinct and cold-bloodedly aim a gun at her own kids and pull the trigger. As the following months came and went with no arrest in sight, no suspect to be had, more and more people came to believe Diane was lying. She just didn’t act like a person who had experienced such horrors. She laughed and joked around. She went to work, full of energy and smiles. She partied at night after work. Any one of us, we thought, would have been crippled by grief.

And then it happened. Diane was arrested.

The crime had taken place in Springfield, closer to Thurston, but the trial was in Eugene. Streets were closed by news vans, minds were closed by differing opinions. No one knew what happened that night in May, but we all had our theories.

By the time Diane Downs went on trial, the city was clamoring to be in the court house. It was the event of the year, a real life soap opera that promised intrigue, violence, and sex. Those who didn’t get a seat in the courthouse lived for news updates and loitered around the courthouse steps, waiting to hear the news as it happened.

And it happened.  Boy, did it happen!

Ever so slowly the truth emerged, with the final word – the only word worth listening to, really — delivered by Diane’s own daughter.

“Who shot you?” she was asked. “Mom” was her answer.

The details shocked us.

Diane Downs was a very volatile, insecure woman. She claimed to have been sexually assaulted by her father, mistreated by both parents, abused by all the men in her life. We’ll probably never know exactly what caused Diane to grow so soulless, but she did.

Her marriage was filled with abuse from both parties, abuse the children witnessed. Her youngest child was not her husband’s child. She had wanted another baby and he said no. Her solution? She went out and found a suitable donor, seduced him, and got pregnant. It was that easy for her. This was not a marriage destined to last, and finally, the last semblance of a family was destroyed with accusations, yelling, and a bullet fired into the bathroom floor.

Through this time in her life, Downs was working as a postal carrier in Arizona, where she met the man she considered the love of her life. Robert Knickerbocker was already married, but that didn’t matter to Diane. She decided she wanted him, and that’s exactly what she set out to get. Knickerbocker told Diane that he loved his wife, didn’t want to leave her, and didn’t want children, but none if this stopped Diane from stalking him, harassing him, and trying to convince him to move to Oregon with her. Finally, perhaps frustrated by Robert’s lack of cooperation, Diane packed her 3 children into the car, along with her belongings, including her handgun, and moved her small family to Oregon.

Once in Oregon, however, it wasn’t long before Diane was trying to convince Knickerbocker to join her, but free from her presence, Robert was able to come clean with his wife and work on his marriage.

Diane was becoming a distant nightmare, one he had finally awoken from. He refused Diane’s pleas to join her.

The prosecution believes this is the reason Diane shot her kids. She hoped to unburden herself from the children and lure Knickerbocker in. Without the children, perhaps he would change his mind and move to Oregon after all.

The afternoon of then shooting, Diane had taken her children to visit a friend’s new horse. On the way home they took side roads and new paths. Diane claimed the children loved exploring in such a way.

Soon night had fallen, however, and the children had become sleepy, succumbing to the hum of the car tires on the road, the darkness from roads lacking streetlamps, and the radio playing as they headed home. Were they really exploring, as Diane claims, or was Diane driving until the children fell asleep so she wouldn’t have to look them in the eyes when she shot them? We’ll probably never know.

At some point, most likely when all 3 kids were asleep, Diane pulled over on a stretch of Old Mohawk

Road, a desolate, rural street. There were no street lights, so the dome light had to be on for Christie, Diane’s surviving daughter, to witness what took place. The keys were in the ignition, despite Diane’s claims that she had turned off the car and had the keys in her hands. We know this because as Diane set about trying to rid herself of her troublesome children, Hungry Like a Wolf was playing on the radio.

Christie Downs Injuries

Diane got out of her car, and while leaving the driver’s side door open, went around to the back. She popped her trunk and reached inside for her gun. She came back to the driver’s side of the car, leaned in, and shot Cheryl first. Cheryl had been sleeping on the floor on the front passenger side, but after being shot somehow managed to open the door in an attempt at escape. Diane then turned her attention to the back seat, where she shot her son, Danny, in the back, instantly paralyzing him for life.

She then looked over to Christie, her oldest child, and while looking her in the eye, shot her twice in the chest. Christie suffered a massive stroke from blood loss, but at least she survived. Cheryl wasn’t so fortunate. After shooting her again, Diane put her back into the car, then set about to stage a car-jacking. She shot herself in the safest place she could, her left forearm, wrapped her arm in a towel, and headed into town.

Diane talks of her frantic drive to the hospital, of hearing her kids cry and whimper as she drove, of feeling relief just knowing they were still alive. In reality, Diane drove at a crawl, hoping the children would be dead, or at least too far gone, by the time she got to the hospital. A car following her that night said she was going so slow, the speed wasn’t registering on the speedometer.

She lost all her children that night; one to death, and the other two to adoption. The prosecutor adopted the surviving Downs children, giving them the lives they deserved. Diane, meanwhile, set about replacing her lost children, as she always did, by becoming pregnant as soon as she realized her story wasn’t being believed.

So it was that on the day Diane sat in court, listening to her daughter recount the horrors of that night in May, she was pregnant again. Very pregnant. That child, a daughter, was put up for adoption as well, after being delivered while Diane was handcuffed to a hospital bed. Years later that child would come to realize who her birth mother was and actually reached out to her, hoping for some kind of connection. Diane, though, was too deeply ingrained in her psychopathy to do anything more than alienate the last child she would ever have.

A little over a year from the date of the shooting, Diane Downs was found guilty of murder and attempted murder, and was sentenced to life plus 50 years. She earned an additional 5 years after escaping prison. She simply scaled a fence and ran off. The fear was that she would try to get to her children and kidnap them, but 10 days later, when found, she was mere blocks from the prison, shacked up with a couple of men. It’s believed that Diane was once again trying to conceive. Thankfully, she didn’t get pregnant during her escape, sparing another child the stigma of having Diane Downs as his mother. With any luck, that escape will be the closest thing to freedom Diane will ever see again.

If there’s one thing that should never be forgiven, it’s betraying a child. Diane had been gifted with beautiful, loving children; children who would have given her the adulation she so desired, because that’s what children do. When a child looks at her mother, she sees god. She sees the most beautiful person in the world. She sees the person who will forever keep her safe, who would forever love her no matter what.

When Christie looked into her mother’s eyes that night in May, she saw a killer. Did Christie know why this was happening? Did she think it was her fault? Did she understand that her mother was sick, willing to destroy the most precious things in her life for a man who never really wanted anything to do with her? How could a little 8-year-old child hope to understand what we adults can’t comprehend?

Some things can never be forgiven.

Cannibalism has had a long, sordid history.  In our western culture it is practically unheard of, except in cases of severe famine – like the tragic experience of the Donner Party. Other cultures – such as the Korowai, participate in cannibalism as part of their religious sacraments. It is not often that we hear of someone eating another human being, and even rarer that we hear of a person volunteering to be eaten. Before you continue reading, consider yourself warned. The story of Armin Meiwes, referred to by some as “The Real-Life Hannibal Lecter”, is not for the squeamish.

To unassuming neighbors and acquaintances, Meiwes was a perfectly normal German-native. By day he worked as a computer technician and enjoyed restoring old cars. Neighbors described Meiwes as a great friend. He often mowed their lawns, helped them with car repairs, one neighbor even regularly allowed him to babysit her children. What neighbors didn’t know is that the Armin Meiwes they thought they knew was harboring some very disturbed fantasies.

It is thought that these fantasies began for Meiwes when he was just a boy. He revealed to investigators that he had often obsessed over Hansel and Gretel, written by the Brothers Grimm. He said that he enjoyed the part where the witch fattened Hansel up in order to cook and eat him. It was then Meiwes claims that he began fantasizing about cannibalizing his friends “so that they would remain part of him forever”.

It wasn’t until spring of 2001 that Meiwes decided to take his dark, repressed, fantasies, and turn them into a reality. After frequenting several cannibal websites, Meiwes decided to post an ad requesting a man between 18-25 to be slaughtered and eaten. Meiwes claimed that over two-hundred people responded to his ad, but only one – Bernd Juergen Brandes agreed to meet with him.

Meiwes had been corresponding with Brandes for over a month, and it was finally time for the two to meet in person. On March 9, 2001, Meiwes met Brandes at the train station and took him back to his home.  After giving Brandes the tour and showing him (what he called) “the slaughter room”, the two engaged in sexual intercourse.

Once the two had finished, it was time to get down to business. They kissed affectionately before agreeing that Brandes’ penis would be the first part to go. Brandes’ insisted that Meiwes bite it off, but after it proved to be too tough to chew through; Meiwes opted to chop it off.  Meiwes gave Brandes a bottle of schappes, a handful of sleeping pills, along with some vicks cold medicine in order to dull the pain; then proceeded to chop off Brandes’ penis and placed it on the dinner table.

“I had a fantasy, and, in the end, I fulfilled it”

Meiwes and Brandes both attempted to eat Brandes’ raw, severed penis. After having some difficulty chewing through the tough flesh, Meiwes decided to cook the penis with some of Brandes’ fat, wine, garlic, salt, and pepper, but ended up burning the organ. Meiwes chopped up the burnt penis and fed it to his dog, then took Brandes upstairs to bleed out in the bathtub.

Meiwes went downstairs to read a Star Trek novel. It would be several hours before he returned to the bathtub were Brandes was still holding on to life. He stabbed his friend and lover in the neck several times, and then hung him up on meat hooks – in what is known as “The Gein Configuration”.

He proceeded to bleed out Brandes’ body, much like one would bleed out a deer. He removed Brandes’ head and gutted the body cavity, before butchering it expertly into steak-like slices. Meiwes – who had been videotaping all of the events, took the meat and stored it in his freezer.

For almost a year after their ordeal, Meiwes devoured Brandes’ flesh – feasting on somewhere close to 40 pounds of it. Although Brandes had been reported missing, somehow Meiwes flew under the police’s radar. It wasn’t until Meiwes posted a second ad asking for volunteers and detailing the events of him and Brandes’ meeting, that he became an interest to authorities.

Confessing to his crimes, authorities seized the video and photos of what had occurred between Brandes and Meiwes. Meiwes led officers to bones that had been scattered in the yard. Additionally, authorities uncovered a torture room Meiwes had constructed for his next willing victim, which included a cage and a barbecue pit. When asked about his crime, Meiwes stated “I had a fantasy, and, in the end, I fulfilled it”.

Meiwes was originally charged with manslaughter and sentenced to eight years in prison. Some believed that his charge was too lenient, and a retrial was ordered. Though Meiwes claimed that he was simply following out Brandes’ wishes, prosecutors disputed that Brandes had consumed too much alcohol to make coherent decisions, as well as the possibility of mental illness. On January of 2006 the retrial began. Armin Meiwes was charged with murder, and sentenced by a German court to life in prison.

Early one warm, December morning, around 6:30 to be more exact, the fog was stirring in the small town of Somerton, Adelaide, South Australia. It was the kind of summer morning Australians loved, usually. It was still early and the fog was milling around the jetty, embankment, and the boats docked in the harbor, thinking about lifting for the day. There were few mysteries in Somerton; who was sleeping with who, was so-and-so pinching from the penny jar, did little Jimmy cheat on his math test last week; the usual small-town speculations. Not that morning, though. Not the morning of December 1, 1948, when the fog lifted to reveal a body slumped against a retaining wall on the beach.

There was no identification on the body; no wallet or wedding ring. Authorities did find a few noteworthy items on the man’s corpse, but these items begged more questions than they answered. Found in one pocket was a bus ticket from a town called St. Leonard’s in Glenelg, another small town just north of Somerton. Three thousand feet from where the body was found was a bus station, so there was little doubt the man had stepped off the bus the day before. His pockets also held a pack of cigarettes, some chewing gum, an American-made comb (military men were given such combs), and some matches. Tucked neatly behind one ear was a single, unlit cigarette. Another, half-smoked cigarette was pinned between his cheek and the collar of his coat, as if his death had interrupted a relaxing smoke on the beach, or perhaps a last cigarette. There was nothing, however, to indicate who the man was or where he had come from, and to add to the mystery, it wasn’t until sometime later that law enforcement found a secret pocket in the man’s pants. In that pocket was a small scrap of paper, and on that paper were typed the words “Tamam Shud”. The page, it turned out, was the last page of a book called The Rubaiyat, and “Tamam Shud” loosely translated as “The End”.

Who was this man? How did he get there? Why did he die? Why didn’t he have any identification? Did he die of natural causes and get robbed while his body cooled next to the ocean? The townspeople were confused, frightened, and concerned. Was there a murderer running loose through town? People were uncertain what to think. Then some answers started to come in, and everything got worse.

Pathology reports told a confusing story. The man was felt to be in his mid-40s, and in excellent health. There was no outward clue as to the cause of his death. While he was physically fit, he did not have the hands of a laborer, and in fact, the shape of his feet indicated he might actually have been a dancer. His clothing was of high quality, yet all the tags had been removed. It was as if the man wanted nothing to lead back to his true identity. Dental castings did not match any on record in Australia at the time. In fact, this lack of details led police to initially feel the man had committed suicide and had purposely hidden his true identity. Forensic findings, however, told a much different story. On autopsy, heavy congestion was found in the man’s digestive tract, spleen, and brain. The pathologist concluded that the man died of some type of poisoning, but no such substances were found in his blood or stomach contents. It was speculated that the poison was a barbiturate or a “soluble hypnotic”, but there was no trace of foreign substances found in the remnants of his last meal. More than 60 years later, photographs of the dead man’s ears and casts of his teeth would prove to be more useful than any other bit of evidence gathered, but I get ahead of myself.

Later re-investigations would show that the body, while most likely poisoned, was not found near vomit, nor was it found on any disturbed sand that would suggest a struggle or convulsions. The man’s shoes were pristine, devoid of dirt and sand one would expect from a man who had spent the day wandering around town, or kicking at the sand in the throes of a painful poisoning. It was thought possible that the man had died elsewhere, and his body dumped on the beach. Interestingly, however, the night before the body was found, many people had seen him lying (not sitting up, as later found) in the same spot against the retaining wall where he was found. Others were sure he had changed position, but never actually saw him move. One couple thought the man must be dead, since he seemed to ignore the mosquitoes surrounding him, and discussed whether or not to approach him, but later decided he was simply asleep, or drunk, and decided not to investigate further. It was enough that he was noticed the evening before, seen by many people and most likely not moved to that location after his death, as no one saw any indication of an obvious body dump.

Lacking any true cause of death or any clues as to the dead man’s identity, and lacking any hits on dental or fingerprint evidence, the man’s body was embalmed and a plaster cast made of his head and chest in the hopes of later identification. Scotland Yard was called in to help solve the mystery of this man’s identity, and pictures were circulated, but no one stepped forward with information to help solve the crime. Not at first, anyway.

Before long, as the search for an identity drove authorities further and further away from Somerton, many “identifications” were made. At one point the man was thought to be that of E.C. Johnson, until the actual Mr. Johnson walked into the police department and insisted he was still alive. At another time, a 63-year-old wood cutter was thought to be the true identity of the body, but authorities felt he was too old, and the mystery man’s hands had shown no evidence of wood cutting in the months preceding his death. The wood cutter was official dropped as a possibility when one of the witnesses who had initially identified him as such recanted her statement. The Somerton Man was falsely identified as several different people, including 28 positive identifications by people in Victoria, but eventually all were ruled out.

A year later, while still lacking a positive identification of any sort, a new clue emerged. An employee at the Adelaide railway station found a piece of luggage that had been checked into a locker the night before the mystery man had died. This suitcase, like the clothing the man had been wearing, had its label ripped off and held no identification, other than a name. It did, however, hold many pieces of interesting paraphernalia:

• A thread card of orange waxed thread that was considered unusual and not from Australia. The thread was the same as that used to repair the lining of the mystery man’s pocket, so from this item alone it was concluded the suitcase belonged to the dead man.
• A red checkered robe.
• A pair or red slippers.
• Four pairs of underwear.
• Pajamas.
• Toiletries.
• A brown pair of pants with sand in the cuffs.
• An electrician’s screwdriver.
• A table knife sharpened into a shank.
• A pair of scissors with sharpened tips.
• A stenciling brush.

All the tags had been removed from the clothing in the luggage, but written on a tie were the words “T. Keane”. The same name appeared on a laundry bag and a vest, misspelled as “Kean”. Considering that all identification was removed from the suitcase and its contents, as well as from the man’s body itself, and combined with the fact that all identifying tags had also been removed, it was believed that the labels with the name “Keane” were purposefully left in place to throw off authorities. It was felt that law enforcement would be misled into looking for a missing person by that name. Later, however, it was pointed out that the labels bearing the name “Keane” were in places that would have damaged the clothing had they been removed. An extensive search failed to find a missing person with the name of T. Keane, and dry-cleaning marks on the clothes did not match any dry-cleaners in Australia.

The coat, however, suggested that the man was not from Down Under at all, but from America. There was stitching on the jacket that could only have come from the United States, since the US was the only country with sewing machines capable of making that particular type of feather stitching.

Years later, a woman working as a receptionist at a hotel across from the rail station claimed that a strange man had checked into a room in her hotel and had checked out the night before the body was found. She claimed that upon cleaning the room after he had checked out, a medical bag and syringe were found left behind. Of course, neither was still available for inspection.

A timeline was compiled and suggested the man had arrived in Glenelg, purchased a rail ticket to Henley Beach, then set out to use the public bath facilities at the rail station in order to shower and shave. These facilities were closed, causing him to have to walk 30 minutes to the next public bath in Somerton. It’s believed this 30-minute walk caused him to miss his departing train to Henley Beach.

An inquest was originally held days after the body was found, but quickly adjourned, only to reconvene a year and a half later. At that time, a pathologist and specialist in pharmacology concluded that the poisons used to kill the mysterious stranger were Digitalis and Ouabain (interestingly, a chemical derived from an African plant, used as a poison arrow component). Prof. Cedric Hicks felt, given the eyewitness testimony stating the man had been seen to move, that the dose of this poison ingested had to have been massive, and given the nature of the drugs, not detectable on autopsy. The use of such an esoteric drug that it would not be found on routine pathologic tests, the lack of identification, and the missing clothing tags all seemed to suggest that this was no ordinary murder, that perhaps this death rivaled that of an Agatha Christie novel.

The inquest, while determining that the Somerton Man died of poisoning, failed to reach a conclusion on whether it was murder or suicide, and his identity was still a mystery. All that was left was the scrap of paper in the hidden pocket, the paper reading “Tamam Shud”. And that’s where things really got weird.

The piece of paper was determined to be from a book called The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, a not too common book. Attempts were made to find a copy of the book with the missing last page. And one was found.

A man stepped forward to say he had found a rare, first-edition of the book lying on the back seat of his car. His car had been parked in Glenelg at the time, the town in which the Somerton Man was believed to have arrived, and the book was found mere days before his dead body appeared on the beach. As stated, the book was extremely rare, an 1859 translation printed in New Zealand; hardly the type of book you would find in a used book store, much less on the back seat of an unlocked car. The book found in Glenelg was missing the last page, and forensics was able to match the torn piece of paper found in the hidden pocket to the found book. In the mind of the authorities, this helped to confirm the cause of death as suicide. The book itself was about living life to its fullest, and it’s believed that by leaving the book on the back seat of a stranger’s car and tearing out the last page, which translated to “the end” or “finished”, the man was sending a message, leaving a suicide note, so to speak.

The book held more secrets, however. Penciled on to the back page were the words WRAGOABABD, MLIAOI (stricken out), WTBIMPANETP, MLIABOAIAQC, and ITTMTSAMSTGAB. Code breakers were immediately called in, but it was felt that there wasn’t enough code to break, and that it was possible the words were meaningless ramblings of a disturbed mind. Since the discovery, many people have tried to break the code, all without success. In 2014, a computer analysis of the words indicated that they may be the first letter of a series of text, but no matching text could be found in the computer databases. It would take the Internet to possibly solve the code, as explained on this post on Reddit.

If you’ve ever been to London, chances are that you might have visited Hyde Park and, if you have, then you’ll probably have seen one of London’s most famous landmarks, Marble Arch. But it’s not the King of Norway’s gift to Queen Victoria (a gift, incidentally, that she hated) that we’re interested in. We’re interested in the small marker set into the ground near it that marks one of the most infamous and bloody spots in London, the site of Tyburn and its triangular gallows built to hang 24 inmates at once, known to crime historians and eager spectators as the ‘triple tree.’

Tyburn was the last stop on Earth for perhaps as many as 60,000 felons whose crimes were committed in and around the city. The condemned would be held at the legendary Newgate Prison where the Central Criminal Court, London’s famous ‘Old Bailey’ stands today. On execution day they’d be put on a cart with a chaplain and their own coffin and make the journey West to Tyburn, possibly stopping at a tavern on the way (the origin of the phrase ‘One for the road’). One they’d been given their last drink ever, they’d be back ‘On the wagon’ never to touch another drop. Just as thousands came to die there, thousands came to watch. Until 1783, anyway, when the last of Newgate Prison’s inmates to ‘Go west’ and ‘dance the Paddington frisk’ left on his final journey. After that until 1868’s Capital Punishment Amendment Act, executions were conducted at Newgate on the ‘New Drop’ above the Debtor’s Gate.

Of course, the attendance depended on the forthcoming attraction. The bigger the names, the bigger the crowd. The more nefarious the conspiracy or the more gruesome the crime, the bigger the crowds. On particularly busy days locals rented out their second-floor window rooms with the best views and enterprising individuals went so far as to erect temporary grandstands when expecting a particularly big attendance. Which worked well for the profiteers until a grandstand collapsed just prior to the beheading of Lord Lovat in 1747, killing and injuring many spectators.  Lovat is said to have been highly amused at people turning out to watch him die being unpleasantly killed themselves.

There were others present with even darker motives. Tyburn had been used for executions since the twelfth century. By its end in 1783 England was at the height of the ‘Bloody Code’ when over 20 rimes carried the death penalty ranging from stealing any item worth more than five shillings (around fifty cents in today’s money) to murder. Most capital crimes then were for offences such as burglary, robbery, highway robbery, theft and so on, although less serious crimes such as sedition and sodomy were also capital crimes. At the top end of the spectrum murder, treason, piracy and even religious heresy could be capital crimes and there were methods even worse than slowly strangling on a hangman’s rope. Hanging, drawing and quartering, for instance. I’ll spare you, Gentle Reader, from the precise details, but think of William Wallace’s grisly end in Hollywood spectacular ‘Braveheart’ and you’d be right. Incidentally, Wallace is said to be among many famous felons executed at Tyburn. Even while this great demonstration of State power over the lawless mob was in progress, while the condemned made their final speeches from the gallows, while the hawkers sold food and drink and religious ministers exhorted spectators to show repentance for their own sins, the pickpockets, highway robbers, footpads, cutpurses and burglars were at work., People coming to watch hangings found their pockets picked, themselves waylaid, hurt, robbed and sometimes killed or returned home to find they owned rather less than they had before they’d gone to watch the law’s dreadful spectacle in action. Little of which inspires much sympathy in me, if I’m entirely honest.

So, let’s go through a Tyburn timeline, a ‘Tymeline’ if you will. Starting near the end of the twelfth century, incidentally around the time Wiliam Wallace allegedly died there. It became known as ‘Tyburn Fair’ as much a social occasion, which at the time meant riotous behavior, drunkenness and general debauchery, as a general rule. It would be fair to say that crowds who gathered for lynchings in the Deep South were merely emulating their ancestors of the Tyburn Fair in many ways. By the time of Henry VII (who was so terrified of being poisoned that he personally ordered poisoners be publicly boiled alive in large cooking pots) Tyburn had evolved from using the nearby trees to having its own ‘Triple Tree’, a triangular structure from which up to 24 felons could be hanged at once. And there weren’t the precise, clean, near-instant hangings we might expect today. There involved prisoners lasting for up to 30 minutes after the carts on which they’d arrived had been rolled out from under them. Hence another phrase that entered the English language for a disastrous event, having had the floor pulled out from under you.

Moving on through the Tudor period, boiling joined ordinary hangings, public burnings and being hung, drawn and quartered on this wholesome list of family entertainments. As we’ve already covered, Henry VIII had a particular fear of poisoners and wanted them to have the most hideous death he could imagine which was boiling. After the appalling exhibition of a cook named Rose, where he was placed in the water and the water heated to boiling as slowly as possible, boiling was refined to make it more humane. From then on those destined to be boiled would be dunked into the pot only after it had been heated to boiling point. Which was nice.

After the deaths of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I, both of the Protestant faith, Elizabeth’s sister Mary Tudor inherited the crown. She was known as ‘Bloody Mary’ (yes, the drink is named after her) and for a very good reason. Mary Tudor was what we nowadays would call a religious fundamentalist. She was a staunch Catholic, so staunch that she was enthusiastically persecuting Protestants by burning them to a far greater than any British monarch before or since, hence the name. An estimated 20-30,000 people were executed for heresy during her reign and many were burned at Tyburn in as public a display of Mary’s personal religious fervor as could be arranged. The legendarily-horrendous Inquisition didn’t operate in England as it did in Spain, but then with Mary in charge it didn’t really need to.

One vaguely redeeming feature of Tyburn was its cosmopolitan condemned. Granted, most of the time spectators could expect to see the typical murderers, thieves, pirates and cut-throats, but every now and then you’d see a special attraction like Cornish rebel leader Michael Flamink, Scottish rebel William Wallace or leading gentry such as Lord Lovat take the stage, albeit briefly. Like the Roman Coliseum, something out of the ordinary always brought a larger crowd, especially as the special attractions were promoted in advance by proclamations and word-of-mouth to ensure the crowds came out in force. In the eyes of the authorities it wasn’t a bad thing that the public saw what happened to those who criminally, politically or religiously challenged the power of the State. What did concern the powers-that-be, though, was the uncivilized nature of the crowd’s conduct. This is fairly contradictory, granted. Tyburn was as much a social occasion as a demonstration of State power, after all. But while the executions themselves are hideous affairs when viewed through modern eyes, what concerned the authorities at the time was drunkenness, debauchery and actual crime that came as a result thereof. The State wanted to use gruesome public executions as a means to deter crime, not encourage it, and spectacle like Tyburn Fair were encouraging exactly the kind of rampant criminality they were supposed to scare the crowds away from.  Changes had to be made, and so they were.

In 1783 the last executions at Tyburn were carried out. The famed ‘Triple Tree’ was already long gone, turned into stands for beer barrels at a local pub, according to some historians of the period. The ‘New Drop’ which looked much more like a gallows we might recognize today, was moved to the Debtor’s Gate of Newgate Prison where it remained until public executions were finally abolished in 1868, after which all hangings in England were done within prisons. Boiling, burning and hanging, drawing and quartering had also long since been stopped. The crowds still attended and there was still a solidly rowdy element devoted to drinking and general misconduct so, in 1868 public hangings were finally abolished. No longer would the scenes of degeneracy so beloved of painter William Hogarth be inflicted upon the more sensitive souls, much to the disappointment of those who derived their entertainment and made their living therefrom.

After 1868 British executions were increasingly sterile and more scientific affairs. Colorful executioners such as Jack Ketch and Pascha Rose (himself hanged for cattle rustling) were discarded in favor of professional hangmen who sought to do their work as discreetly and humanely as possible. Instead of the same length of rope for every prisoner, the ;variable drop’ system ensured that inmates could expect to die quickly and cleanly. No more would they be subjected to a half-hour at the end of the rope before a jeering, drunken mob intent of enjoying watching them die. The likes of Albert Pierrepoint, devoted to speedy and humanely doing his job, enforced a standard of speed and demanded perfection in what English hangmen called ‘the Craft.’

Which, for the sake of humanity in general, and the condemned in particular, was probably just as well.

Brian Wells, a 46 year old pizza delivery man, casually walked into an Erie, PA bank in the afternoon of August 28^th, 2003. Carrying a homemade shotgun fashioned into a cane, Wells ordered the bank tellers to open the vaults and hand over $250,000 [why not all of it?]. Unable to open the vaults, Wells ended up leaving with less than $9,000 in cash.

Officers apprehend Wells several blocks from the bank standing in front of his Geo Metro, as if a 46yr old man wearing a t-shirt with the word “guess” spray painted on it and carrying a cane gun would be difficult to identify. Also around Wells’ neck was some sort of collar. Wells alerted authorities that the device on his neck was a bomb and that “It’s gonna go off!”.

Wells claimed that he was on a routine pizza delivery when he was accosted by a group of men, the bomb was shackled to his neck, and he was ordered to rob the bank. Police took cover behind their cars with guns drawn as they waited for the bomb squad to arrive. Wells was left to sit handcuffed on the pavement for 25mins, pleading with officers to help him and to alert his employer of what was happening.

Beeping noises began emitting from the device. Wells started to scoot back, but it was already too late. The blast sent him flying several feet and left a large gash in his chest. Wells struggled for a few last breaths before dying there in front of the police and television crews filming the standoff. Three minutes later the bomb squad arrived.

Notes and letters retrieved from Wells’ vehicle seemed to confirm that he was an unwilling participant in the robbery and that he would be allowed to live, provided he could complete a list of tasks within a designated time limit. Following what little clues investigators from the Erie police force, in conjunction with the FBI and the DEA, set off on a wild goose chase that would take them across the country.

Beginning at the last place Wells was seen before the robbery, detectives went to the pizza shop Wells was employed at. At around 1:30pm that day a caller had placed an order for two pizzas, although Wells was due to get off soon he agreed to take the order, and left the shop close to 2pm. The delivery address was for a desolate television transmission tower, accessible only by a dirt road. Foot prints and tire marks found on the scene indicated that Wells had indeed been to the location, but there was little evidence indicating a struggle or any other events that may have transpired there.

A man by the name of Bill Rothstein owned property adjacent to the transmission tower site, he allowed journalist to use his property in order to access the area police had sanctioned off for the investigation. Rothstein seemingly had no connection to the case until a month later. Rothstein called 911 and made the admission that there was a body being stored in his freezer. He claimed to have had nothing to do with the murder and said he had even contemplated suicide over it.

Notes were found in Rothstein’s possession, penned by Rothstein himself, identifying the body belonging to Jim Roden. One particular statement that struck investigators as odd was that Rothstein added the disclaimer that “This has nothing to do with the Wells case”.  Rothstein began explaining to investigators how the body had come to be stored in his freezer and what his connection was to the Wells case.

Rothstein claimed that sometime in August Marjorie Diehl-Armstrong, a former girlfriend of Rothstein’s called him frantically. She had shot her then live-in boyfriend James Roden and needed help disposing of the body and the murder weapon. Rothstein agreed to her demands. He disposed of the weapon, but could not go through with butchering up the body. Fearing that Diehl-Armstrong would kill him, Rothstein decided to come forward to the police. Diehl-Armstrong was convicted of murder and sentenced to 20 years in prison. Rothstein died of lymphoma several months before his conviction.

It would seem that the murder of James Roden was an open and shut case, and aside from Rothstein’s strange disclaimer in his letter, had absolutely no connection to the Wells case. It wasn’t until Diehl-Armstrong admitted that Roden’s murder was because of the Wells case, that investigators had any connection between the two.

Making a deal with investigators to be moved to a lower-security institution in exchange for her testimony, Diehl-Armstrong came clean in her involvement with Wells and what part she played in the collar-bomb plot. She said that she was not involved in the scheme, but did supply some of the materials for constructing the bomb. She claimed that Rothstein was the one that proposed the idea, and that Wells was in on the whole thing. Not the innocent victim that he was believed to be. Working with several informants, investigators believed that Diehl-Armstrong had more involvement in the conspiracy than she was letting on. Not only had she told others details about the robbery, but that she had killed Roden because he was going to alert the police about what the clan was cooking up.

During this time another man, Kenneth Barnes, an associate of Diehl-Armstrong’s was turned over to police by his own brother-in-law, as Barnes was awaiting trial for another unrelated charge. Threatened with a harsher sentence, Barnes agreed to tell investigators everything he knew. He confirmed that the entire scam was the work of Diehl-Armstrong. The plan was to rob the bank so she would have enough money to pay Barnes to murder her father in order to receive her inheritance.

Finally, all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Floyd Stockton, a roommate of Diehl-Armstrong’s at the time of the robbery, was reported to investigators by Wells’ sister in connection to her brother’s death. Stockton was given immunity in the case in exchange for his testimony. Rothstein, Diehl-Armstrong, Barnes, Stockton, and Wells all conspired to rob the bank and split the money. Knowing about the group’s plan and threatening to go to police, Roden was murdered.  Believing that the collar bomb was a fake, Wells willingly attached the device to his neck. The scavenger hunt letters were simply a red herring to throw off investigators.

Wells went to the bank and followed the orders given to him by the rest of his team, not knowing that he had become a pawn in their game. It wouldn’t be long before the group began to turn on one another. First with Rothstein alerting police to the murder; then Diehl-Armstrong’s testimony pinning Rothstein, Wells, and herself to the crime; Finally Barnes and Stockton’s testimonies implicating Diehl-Armstrong as the mastermind behind the whole idea.

Diehl-Armstrong was sentenced to life in prison, plus 30 years. Officials claimed “She was motivated by greed and completely characterized by evil,”. Co-conspirator Barnes received 20 years for his co-operation with investigators. Much to the dismay of Wells’ sister, Stockton received immunity and now lives outside of Seattle, WA.

The hest-laid plans of mice, men and murderers often go awry. Here, we return to 1930’s New York, to the dark days of Prohibition, insurance fraud, bungling murderers and an apparently immortal victim whose fame, ironically, has seen him live on long after his killers met their end.

Michael Malloy was an Irishman from County Donegal. He’d emigrated from the Emerald Isle to the US, settling in New York City like so many sons of Erin. In better times he’d been a firefighter, but by the early 1930’s the better times were a distant memory and he was homeless drunk. The nearest Mike got to a home was whichever bar he fell asleep on. Mike spent a few years going from place to place, running up prodigious bar tabs as he went and moving on to the next bar and credit account as soon as his last booze emporium banned him for not paying his bill.

Thus it was that Mike stumbled into a dingy, back-streets speakeasy called Marino’s in 1933, looking for his next drink and doing odd jobs around the place in return for booze, food and a room. Unfortunately for Mike, he’d just stumbled into the headquarters of the infamous ‘Murder Trust’ who became infamous for multiple murders, insurance fraud and their increasingly desperate attempts to add Mike to their list of victims.

The ‘Murder Trust’ had a fairly simple concept. They’d find a victim, the kind of person that nobody was likely to miss much and whose death was unlikely to arouse either surprise or suspicion. Then they insured their victim, paid the premiums, killed them in ways that looked accidental if you didn’t look too closely and divided up the profits. Simple.

Speakeasy owner Tony Marino was the gang’s leader. Joseph ‘Red’ Murphy was a former chemist and now a bartender at Marino’s. Francis Pasqua, conveniently for the gang, was an undertaker. Harry Green drove a taxicab and Daniel Kreisberg was a fruit vendor. Between them the ‘Murder Trust’ possessed most of the skills needed to make serial murder look like a series of typical illnesses and accidents which is useful when you want to profit from large numbers of killings without being caught. Courtesy of ‘Iron Mike’ the ‘Murder Trust’ finally were caught. Choosing Mike Malloy was their first mistke. Their increasingly desperate and more convoluted efforts to get rid of him was their second mistake and a fatal one for most of the gang’s members.

On paper, Mike Malloy looked like the perfect victim. He was a semi-homeless alcoholic with a gigantic drink problem and virtually alone in the world. It didn’t look like making his death look perfectly normal and pocketing the proceeds would be difficult. The gang were wrong on both counts.

Mike Malloy

First they tried giving him endless supplies of free alcohol. Prohibition being prohibition and bathtub hooch being the standard fare in speakeasies, it looked a simple matter to simply let Malloy drink himself to death. Once the fraudulent insurance policy, listing Malloy as being 15 years younger than he really was and in perfect health, had been arranged the murder plot could begin. Unfortunately for Marino and his pals Malloy proved infinitely more durable than anybody would have expected.

After a few weeks Malloy was still turning up daily, running up a gigantic tab and drinking Marino’s dry. What he didn’t seem to be doing was dying or even looking any more sick than usual. With his stocks being rapidly decimated by his intended victim and no sign his co-operating by dying of liver cirrhosis and/or alcohol poisoning, Plan B became an option. Anti-freeze. Malloy might not have been dying from excessive booze, but he was befuddled enough not to know exactly what he was drinking. Anti-freeze being another form of alcohol, it wasn’t too hard to persuade him that it was simply some new booze. Day after day the gang scanned local newspapers looking for a report of Malloy’s recent death. Day after day at opening time, Malloy showed up none the worse for being slowly pickled and asking for more. He got more than he was expecting.

With the failure of bathtub booze the gang turned to neat turpentine. Lot os neat turpentine, as much neat turpentine as Malloy could stomach which (you’ve guessed it) turned out to be far more than medical science would normally consider lethal. ‘Iron Mike’ responded to turps just as he did to bathtub hooch. He got blasted all and every day, and every day he’d show up at opening time genially asking for more of what he’d had the day before.

Next up was anti-freeze. Anti-freeze works just fine in car engines, refrigerators and various other household appliances. It’s potentially lethal to humans and animals even in small amounts and the amounts Malloy was swilling down daily should have been more than enough to do the job. They weren’t. Every day Mike showed up at opening time. Every day he staggered out at closing time pickled in anti-freeze. And every day he showed up at opening time again back and ready for more.

With anti-freeze not working either, the gang turned to horse liniment. Undiluted horse liniment had no more effect than bathtub booze or anti-freeze. Even spicing up the previously-undiluted anti-freeze by diluting it with rat poison had no effect. It didn’t seem to matter what they slipped into his glass all day. Mike Malloy proved to have the constitution of a Sherman tank even before Sherman tanks actually existed. Consulting one of Tony Marino’s other delightful acquaintance, a hitman named Anthony ‘Tough Tony’ Bastone, Bastone advised them to keep it simple and just murder Mike. Marino refused, believing that the insurance would be much harder to collect if Malloy was obviously murdered. Back to the drawing board for the ‘Murder Trust.’

Their next bright idea was raw oysters soaked in wood alcohol. Marino and Pasqua had heard of people dying from healthy oysters in drinkable alcohol and decided bad oysters in undrinkable alcohol would finally solve the increasingly frustrating case of ‘The Man Who Wouldn’t Die.’ Yet again they were wrong.

Mike turned up at the bar, drank nearly a dozen shots of horse liniment and rat pison then ate and entire plate of bad oysters soaked in wood alcohol. Then he downed another dozen or so shots, staggering out at closing time to what the gang believed (and probably prayed) would be his death bed. At opening time the next day, Marino opened up as usual. As usual, there was Mike, in search of free booze and another plate of juiced-up oysters.

Time for Plan C, it seemed. Exploring another avenue in making murder look natural, and somewhat scrapping the barrel for different ways to achieve a seemingly quite straightforward objective, they started feeding Mike free sandwiches. Sardine sandwiches. Sardine sandwiches made with rotten sardines and liberally garnished with an enticing mixture of horse liniment, rat poison, carpet tacks and even metal shaving. Couple a single one of these sandwiches with possibly a bottle of anti-freeze daily and most people would be dead within hours. Mike was back within hours, every day, at opening time, delighted with his seemingly inexhaustible supply of free food and booze.

Things were getting desperate. Not only was Mike drinking the bar dry daily, he was now eating Marino out of house and home while giving no sign at all of imminent and profitable death. Consulting with ‘Tough Tony’ again and again being advised to just murder his thoroughly unco-operative and increasingly expensive victim, Marino finally began to consider less subtle and hopefully more effective methods.

Seeing as Mike clearly had a cast-iron digestive system the gang turned to trying to freeze him to death. In the winter of 1933 they got him stewed even by Mike’s standards, stripped off his clothes and left lying in a snowdrift to freeze to death. And back he came the next day in search of free food and booze. ‘Tough Tony’s advice to simply kill him in any way available was now the only option. The gang’s resident cab driver agreed to kill Mike in an unfortunate case of hit-and-run. Being run over by a cab isn’t that rare an accident to happen and was unlikely to cause much comment or suspicion so the gang got Mike smashed on anti-freeze and fed him more of their toxic buffet before letting stagger a safe distance from Marino’s speakeasy where he was promptly mown down by a cab that didn’t stop. The gang heard nothing about Mike for the next three weeks. Nothing. He didn’t turn up at the bar, but his death wasn’t announced either. As the days ticked by without a report of Mike’s actually being dead, the gang began to think their worst nightmare was about to become a reality. It was.

Around a month after his unfortunate road accident, the gang were hanging out at Marino’s when there was a loud knocking at the door. It was Mike Malloy. Again. Still alive, albeit having been seriously hurt, and after a few weeks of sobriety in the party mood once more. The gang must have stared in disbelief as Mike walked in and started where he’d left off, guzzling copious amounts of anti-freeze while devouring toxic sandwiches.

Enough was enough. The gang finally abandoned any sense of finesse or pretence. They simply got Mike blasted one final time at a room rented by one their number, stuffed a gas hose in his mouth and gassed him to death. Finally ‘Iron Mike’ Malloy was dead and carbon monoxide had accomplished what just about everything else had failed to do. A local doctor, completely missing the gas poisoning, certified that Mike had died of lobar pneumonia and chronic alcoholism. Marino collected the insurance pay-out and promised to split their hard-earned and ill-gotten gains with the rest of the gang and no more would Mike Malloy haunt the ‘Murder Trust.’

But he did, one last time. As gangs often do they began squabbling over the spoils. ‘Tough Tony’ demanded a cut in return for his advice. Marino didn’t fancy sharing and ‘Tough Tony’ was promptly despatched to join Mike Malloy. Then other members began complaining and their complaints reached the ears of insurance investigators and then the New York Police Department. Checks revealed that this wasn’t the first time Tony Marino had conveniently insured people right before their deaths and, one by one, the members of the ‘Murder Trust’ were rounded up. Mike Malloy was exhumed for a proper autopsy and it was then that got his posthumous revenge.

Mike’s autopsy provided ample evidence of carbon monoxide and various other toxic substances in his body. The gang’s resident undertaker had made a fatal error when Mike died by having him simply buried instead of cremated. Soon enough. ‘Tough Tony and ‘Iron Mike’ would be joined by several of the gang’s members.

Marino, Murphy, Pasqua and Kreisberg were all tried, convicted and condemned. Marino, Pasqua and Kreisberg were re-untied with their erstwhile drinking buddy via Sing Sing Prison’s electric chair in June, 1934. Murphy joined the heavenly host a month later in July.

The doctor who falsely certified Malloy’s death was also implicated. It was found that he’d taken a bribe to certify Mike’s death as being from natural causes. Having had no part in the actual murder he drew a long prison term as an accessory after the fact, but was spared the death penalty as he took no part in the actual murder.

The ‘Murder Trust’ were gone. But ‘Iron Mike’ Malloy lives on as one of crime’s strangest and most resilient murder victims. Feel free to raise a glass to him, it’s what he’d probably have wanted. Just make sure the contents are slightly more drinkable and a lot less lethal.

It was just after 10pm on July 9, 1864 that Alfred Eakin was driving a train towards Fenchurch Street Station when he saw 69-year old city banker Thomas Briggs lying beside the tracks. Eakin stopped his train and checked to see if Briggs was still alive and moved him to the nearest safe place, the ‘Mitford Castle’ pub (nowadays named the ‘Top O’The Morning’). A doctor was summoned, but it was no use. Thomas Briggs sealed his place in criminal history by being the first person murdered aboard a train.

Once the doctor had examined Briggs and Briggs had secured his unwilling footnote in criminal history by actually dying, the police were quickly summoned. After talking to the doctor and examining the body it was obvious that a murder had been committed. Police had a body and soon they had a crime scene when a train pulled into Hackney Station (Briggs’s intended destination) and one compartment got everybody’s attention. The seats were covered with bloodstains, there were bloodstains on the window containing fragments of human brain and police found a blood-stained walking stick and a cheap hat. Driver Eakin had given Thomas Briggs a place in crime history and the hat would secure one for Franz Muller, albeit unwillingly on Muller’s part.

The walking stick belonged to Briggs, The hat didn’t. Also missing was Briggs’s gold watch and chain (a fragment of chain was still attached to his waistcoat) although five pounds (a large sum to most London folk at the time) had been left in Briggs’s pocket. Police now had a murder, a victim and a crime scene. Given that Briggs had been robbed they also suspected a motive. After offering a reward of 300 pounds, a massive reward for the time (around 5 years earnings for an ordinary working man) they soon had a witness, a suspect and the suspect’s photograph. The murder caused panic among rail passengers, immense pressure to catch the killer, a Transatlantic chase and one of Britain’s last public executions. It was also one of the first where a suspect was identified through their mug-shot.

The witness was a cab driver (horse-drawn, obviously) named Jonathon Matthews. Matthews wasn’t what you’d call a good citizen. He had serious debts, had done time for theft and was so indebted that most of the 300 pound reward was immediately claimed from him by his creditors/ That said, your average Mafioso wouldn’t be in line for a Junior G-Man badge and that doesn’t make their testimony any less credible. The fact that Matthews only came forward after the huge reward was offered didn’t reflect on his credibilitiy either, although it didn’t do much to show his sense of civic duty.

Franz Muller

Matthews gave lead investigator Inspector Tanner crucial information. He claimed that the hat found at the crime scene looked exactly like a hat belonging to a friend named Franz Muller. Matthews was sure because he owned a similar hat which Muller had liked and asked Matthews if he could buy a similar one. He also said that Muller had given him an almost-perfect gold watch chain as a present and it came in a gift box, a box which Matthews had given to his daughter. Matthews was also able to supply police with one of Muller’s personalised calling cards which bore his photograph. These cards were fashionable at the time. A photographic business card was a common sight in London in 1864. Finally, just to seal the deal, Matthews gave them Muller’s address.

The gift box proved equally useful. It bore the name of the jeweller whose shop it came from. Appropriately, his name as John De’ath, pronounced ‘Deeth.’ John Deeth was a jeweller and pawnbroker with a shop in Cheapside. Cheapside being crammed with pawnbrokers, most of whom didn’t mind what they bought, who they bought it from or where the goods themselves had come from, detectives instantly visited Mr De’ath and asked some very pointed questions. De’ath proved more than helpful He. told them a young German had pawned and then redeemed a gold pocket watch. He later identified the young German as Franz Muller. An arrest warrant was promptly issued for Muller and police sent to his lodgings to make an arrest. Muller had disappeared.

Once more, the mercenary Matthews supplied the missing evidence. He told detectives that he didn’t know where Muller was, but that Muller had told Mrs. Matthews he was going to make a fresh start in America. Inquiries revealed that Muller had gone to America aboard an old-style sailing ship, the ‘Victoria.’ Muller’s choice of ship helped seal his doom. Inspector Tanner, with two other officers and Matthews, boarded the much-faster steamship ‘City of Manchester.’ Despite having left England days after Muller Inspector Tanner arrived three whole weeks ahead of Muller. By the time Muller docked in New York expecting to begin his new life free from police attention, Tanner was waiting with two NYPD detectives at the dockside. Tanner was outside his jurisdiction so his New York colleagues made the actual arrest. Muller was held to await an extradition hearing and his personal possessions were confiscated. The search of his luggage turned up the missing gold watch and another hat.

The hat was especially interesting. It had originally belonged to Briggs and was a tall top hat not looking anything like the hat found in the train compartment. The tall hat had also been cut down by half, with the top of the hate sewn carefully back on to hide the missing portion. It just so happened that the stitching was very neat and the cutting very precise. It wasn’t lost on Inspector Tanner that Franz Muller had been earning a pretty slim wage as a tailor. It probably didn’t help Muller’s claims of innocence that the hat found in the compartment was proved to be the hat Matthews had bought for his German acquaintance. The hat in the compartment was Muller’s own.

Muller had left England in relative obscurity. He returned as one of the most notorious men in the country. A large, rowdy crowd awaited him at Liverpool Docks and an even larger, rowdier crowd greeted his arrival in London. He was taken to the Magistrates Court and remanded at the infamous Newgate Prison to await trial. He’d be leaving Newgate feet first.

The trial was virtually a formality. It lasted only 3 days and the jury took only 15 minutes to deliver a verdict of guilty as charged. Even with distinguished defense lawyer John Parry’s record for securing spectacular legal victories in hopeless-looking cases there was no real doubt as to the outcome. With the verdict quickly delivered the judge immediately donned the traditional ‘Black Cap,’ a square of black silk worn as a sign of mourning to a condemned prisoner and recited what Londoners called ‘the dread sentence’:

“Franz Muller, the sentence of this Court is that youl be taken from this place to a lawful prison and thence to a place of execution, where you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and that your body be cut down and buried within the prison in which you were last confined before execution. And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul…”

Muller’s appeal failed and even a formal request from King Wilhelm I of Prussia for the execution to be called off made no difference. The British public wanted an example made and neither judge or Home Secretary were willing to consider a reprieve. On November 14, 1864 Franz Muller was led from his Newgate cell along what today’s Londoners call ‘Birdcage Walk.’ At the time it was called ‘Deadman’s Walk’ as it led from the condemned cells to the gallows. Franz Muller was about to become the first murderer executed for murder on a railway. He was also one of the last convicts to be publicly executed in Britiain and over 50,000 people came to watch.

Muller’s case, already so unusual, managed to save its biggest twist for last. After being condemned to die Muller had continued to firmly deny his guilt. According to Muller it was all a terrible mistake, despite the weight of evidence against him. To prepare him for his execution Muller had been allowed a German-speaking Lutheran priest as his spiritual advisor, a Doctor Cappel. Cappel had spent hours every day with Muller, consoling him and trying to secure a confession without getting anywhere. Now, with 50,000 people watching and Muller himself standing on the gallows, his arms and legs strapped tightly to his body, the rope around his neck and the hood over his head, Cappel asked him one last time in German whether he was guilty. Seconds before the trapdoors dropped Muller replied, aslo in German:

“Ich habe es getan.” …‘I have done it.”

Muller’s legacy lives on. British trains soon began carrying the ‘communication cord’ that passengers can pull to stop a train in an emergency. Today the emergency cord is a standard fitting on trains the world over. Carriage design also changed. Instead of single compartments that could only be accessed by getting on or off a train, rows of seats with an aisle between them became standard on trains everywhere. They still are. Older carriages with the sealed single compartments all had to have peepholes installed in the partitions between compartments. And the peepholes earned what nickname?

‘Muller’s Lights.’

November 26, 1940, Bedford Prison, England, 8am.

Two experienced executioners, Thomas Pierrepoint and his nephew Albert, walk into the condemned cell and collect the comatose William Cooper, only five feet five inches tall and weighing only 136 pounds, from his cell and strap his arms behind his back. This done, they carry him the few steps from the condemned cell to the gallows across the prison landing. Then, in front of the prison Governor, the county Under-Sheriff, prison doctor, prison chaplain, Bedford Prison’s chief engineer and two other men they place a hood over his head, a rope round his neck and strap his legs firmly together. With a nod to his nephew to get off the trapdoors, Thomas Pierrepoint throws the lever and Cooper, having been held upright by two prison officers, drops eight feet and one inch to his death. The clock started chiming the hour before the execution started. It hasn’t stopped chiming when William Cooper is already dead at the end of the rope. Albert Pierrepoint has left a lit cigar in ana ashtray immediately before the execution. When he returns with his morning’s work done the cigar is still burning. With bitter irony, the statue of John Howard, founder of the Howard League for Penal Reform, stands silently disapproving in the town square…

Thomas Pierrepoint

That in itself was a typical British execution at the time. British hangings took only seconds, not minutes, There was no walking a ‘last mile,’ no time to struggle or fight. By the time a prisoner realised that the gallows was next door to the condemned cell they were already strapped, hooded and noosed. By the time they would normally have recovered from that shock they were dead. Cooper, of course, had fallen into an insensible stupor moments before his execution began so was half-dead even before the hangmen entered his cell.

Cooper himself was a murderer of no particular note in himself. A recently-fired farmhand, Copper had been convicted of seriously injuring his former employer, farmer John Harrison, while robbing him of the farm’s payroll not long after losing his job there. When Harrison died of his injuries two weeks after being attacked the charge was altered from robbery with violence (a non-capital crime) to murder (with a mandatory death sentence if convicted). The evidence against Cooper was strong. He’d been seen near the crime scene area when the crime was committed, Harrison had been robbed, Cooper had some of the stolen money in his possession and, while he claimed self-defence at his mandatory appeal, claiming Harrison had attacked him with a weapon, he didn’t claim self-defence at his original trial, leading many to suggest Harrison had been beaten out of anger or to avenge Cooper’s dismissal from the farm job.

It’s the two young men who were there to watch that interest us now. They were Steve Wade and Harry Allen, both novices who’d applied for the job of Assistant Executioner, passed the initial selection and training and, that morning, passed the traditional graduation exam of watching a hanging, although not taking any active role. The Prison Commissioners (the official body in charge of Britain’s executioners before abolition) took the very wise decision to have would-be hangmen witness an execution before engaging them to be actively involved in one. Their reasing was simple; if you couldn’t handle watching one then you couldn’t handle taking a more active role than standing out of the way in a corner of the room. On November 26, 1940 Harry Allen and Steve Wade graduated with honours.

Harry Allen

Harry Allen

Allen and Wade are interesting because, between them Thomas Pierrepoint, Albert Pierrepoint, Harry Allen and Steve Wade were involved in 879 criminals. For 879 men and women one of those four faces was the last face they ever saw. Harry Allen went on to hang the last cop killer executed in Britain, Guenther Podola at Wandsworth Prison on November 9, 1959. He performed the last execution in Northern Ireland, Robert McGladdery at Crumlin Road Jail in Belfast on December 20, 1961. He performed the last hanging in Scotland, that of Henry Burnett at Aberdeen on August 15, 1963 (the same day, incidentally, as New York State performed its last electrocution, that of Eddie Lee mays at Sing Sing Prison). He also performed one of the two simultaneous ‘last hangings’ in the UK, that of Gwynne Owen Evans at Strangeways Prison on August 13, 1964, his only execution that year and the last before a five-year moratorium leading to the final abolition of hanging for murder in 1969. During his career he either hanged or assisted in hanging some well-known felons such as Derek Bentley, Styllou Christofi and Scottish serial killer Peter Manuel. He also assisted Albert Pierrepoint in executing over 200 Nazi war criminals. The Nazis included staff members at concentration camps and some of those who murdered 50 Allied airmen after the ‘Great Escape’ of March, 1944. On one occasion there were so many to hang that Pierrepoint and Allen performed 27 executions in a 24-hour period.

Steve Wade

Steve Wade

Steve Wade’s career was cut short by terminal cancer (he died in 1956, months after performing his last execution in 1955, that of Alec Wilkinson at Armley Jail, Leeds). He carried out 29 executions as chief executioner after assisting at 59. He worked most frequently with Albert Pierrepoint, although Harry Allen was another, less frequent partner in executions. Thomas Pierrepoint was, of course, the uncle of Albert Pierrepoint. Thomas carried out or assisted at a total of 294 executions, including the hangings of 16 American servicemen when the civilian prison at Shepton Mallet in England became the principal US Army prison in the European Theater of Operations during the Second World War. His brother Henry had also been a hangman, assisting at or performing a total of over 200 hangings before being dismissed after arriving drunk for an execution and starting a brawl with the then-chief hangman John Ellis.

Albert Pierrepoint

Albert Pierrepoint

And what of Albert Pierrepoint? Albert executed 433 men and 17 women during his career and became an unwilling celebrity after his work in Germany. He trained hangmen in nine different countries before resigning in 1956 in a dispute over money. He’d been engaged to hang Thomas Bancroft at Liverpoll Jail and, as was standard practice, not been paid after Bancroft received a last-minute reprieve. Not only was he not paid for the non-existent execution, he also had to find a hotel for the night at his own expense. When the Prison Commissioners refused to reimburse him, he quit. In 1972 he released his memoir ‘Executioner Pierrepoint’ in which he claimed to have become an abolitionist, stating:

‘It is said to be a deterrent. I cannot agree. There have been murders since the beginning of time, and we shall go on looking for deterrents until the end of time. If death were a deterrent, I might be expected to know. It is I who have faced them last, young men and girls, working men, grandmothers. I have been amazed to see the courage with which they take that walk into the unknown. It did not deter them then, and it had not deterred them when they committed what they were convicted for. All the men and women whom I have faced at that final moment convince me that in what I have done I have not prevented a single murder.’

Pierrepoint also criticized the idea of the death penalty as being anything other than State and public vengeance, stating also that:

‘I have come to the conclusion that executions solve nothing, and are only an antiquated relic of a primitive desire for revenge which takes the easy way and hands over the responsibility for revenge to other people.’

And openly regarded the death penalty as unfair and arbitrary, stating that:

‘The trouble with the death penalty has always been that nobody wanted it for everybody, but everybody differed about who should get off.’

All in all, that gray, grim November morning in 1940 was an historic moment in British penal history, and a rare glimpse into the careers of some of Britain’s most famous, and prolific, public executioners.

This is a particularly rare case, singular in fact. The case itself isn’t that unusual, unfortunately. An outwardly-respectable married man deciding to end an illicit affair, and then killing his mistress when she loses her cool about it, isn’t that rare. It should be, but it simply isn’t. What separates James Howard Snook from so many married murderers is that none of them were Olympic gold medalists. James Howard Snook was. He was a member of the US Pistol Shooting Team at the 1920 Antwerp Olympics and his team won a gold, so he’s the only Olympic champion ever to be executed for murder.

The only Olympic champion ever executed for murder

His other main accomplishment was his invention of what’s still called the ‘Snook hook.’ It’s a veterinary instrument used in spaying animals and even nowadays every small-animal vet will own at least one of them. Snook being head of the Veterinary Department at Ohio State University, he was a professional man with a decent job, a wife, a family and sporting fame. He was also a philanderer who became a murderer, a Death Row inmate and a corpse himself in short order. Ohio didn’t treat its condemned with kid gloves in the 1920’s, but we digress. We’ll get his grisly yet legal demise in a little while.

So, Snook had it all, you might say. Great job, good salary, high professional standing and known as an Olympic champion and a respectable husband and father. What more could he have wanted, you might ask? Well, a secret affair with a wild student at his university who was half his age and enjoyed copious amounts of drugs and kinky sex was what he wanted. He probably didn’t want to to fracture her skull with a hammer and then slit her throat after dumping her, still less did he want to have his head shaved before being marched from his cell, sat in Old Sparky and fried like bacon before an invited audience. But illicit love can be a very costly and damaging business. James Snook and Theora Hix, not to mention their families, would find out just how costly and damaging.

Their affair started in 1926. Theora was what we’d nowadays call a ‘wild child.’ She liked drugs, especially the cocaine and barbiturates procured from the university medical lab by Professor Snook. She was keen on booze, Spanish Fly and cannabis as well, not to mention having an appetite for kiny sex with more than slight S&M overtones. Nowadays, she’d be considered less than entirely respectable by some people. In 1920’s Ohio Theora Hix was considered entirely less than respectable by a great many people. But not Professor Snook. He rented a secret love nest under the name of ‘James Howard’ (his first and middle names) and also took her regularly to a pistol range on Fisher Street in Columbus, site of both the Ohio State University and, conveniently, of the old Ohio State Penitentiary. Which was handy when friends and family came to see him during his brief stay before electrocution.

The good Professor’s problem was Theora. According to him, she was jealous, possessive and sometimes downright cruel with an occasionally scary temper. Her jealous, cruel, scary temperament wasn’t improved on June 13, 1929 when, after throwing one too many tantrums over Snook’s consistent refusal to leave his wife, he told her their fling was over. This didn’t go down too well with Theora. According to Snook’s trial testimony, she threatened to kill him, his wife and their children if he didn’t retract his decision to dump here. Threatening the life oan expert pistol marksman and then threatening to wipe out his family didn’t go down too well with Snook, either, especially when (according to him) she garnished her threats with assault and battery as they sat in his car at the pistol range. Still, being a veterinarian, he knew exactly what to do with a dangerous animal (or woman scorned). He simply clubbed her repeatedly with a two-pound ballpeen hammer and then calmly cut her throat with his pocket knife before dumping her body out of his car and driving home to his wife.

Problem solved, so he thought.

Not quite…

Theora’s body (Snook having made no real effort to conceal it) was found at the pistol range the next day. Detectives immediately recognised it was a murder and set out to find anybody who might have reason to kill her. In a matter of hours they were questioning Professor Snook as their affair, like many extra-marital affairs, had been a secret seemingly only from Mrs Snook. They also wanted to search his house and car and take a good look at his clothes, seeing as there was no way he could have avoided leaving blood traces if, as they suspected, he’d murdered Theora Hix so brutally.

They were right. The hammer and pocket knife were found in his possession (not very smart for a Professor, not ditching the murder weapons) and forensic checks revealed bloodstains all over the inside of his car. The clothes he’d been wearing were also covered with blood. Tests showed that the hammer, knife, car and clothes all had blood from the same person. And the same person was the recently-murdered Theora Hix. Snook’s desire to eliminate somebody threatening his physical health and professional standing had just all but unlocked the door of Ohio State Penitentiary’s ‘death house.’ He was in trouble, and he knew it.

Theora Hix

His trial began in July, only weeks after the murder. With so much evidence so easily available to the prosecution, Snook knew his only real chance was to claim self-defence. To do that successfully meant he had to blame his victim for his having murdered her and he could only do this by utterly trashing her reputation. In doing so he’d also ber trashing his own, but it was certainly better to see his respectable façade go up in smoke rather than the State of Ohio do the same to him. Victim-blaming became the order of the day.

To observers (which included three large tables of journalists covering this eminently juicy tabloid fodder) it probably seemed thoroughly ungentlemanly of Snook to portray his victim as a wild, wicked, wanton, drug-using, kinky nymphomaniac. Especially when it transpired that a lot of the drugs she used were illicitly obtained from the university medical department by the defendant. His tales of how she led him astray with wild, kinky, S&M-style naughtiness cut even less ice because 1920’s Ohio didn’t take too well to self-confessed sexual deviants, especially not when they admitted enjoying such practices before beating their erstwhile partners to death before making out their own perversity was entirely the fault of the deceased.

The forensic evidence was overwhelming as to Snook having killed Theora Hix. It was simply a question of whether or not the jury believed his claims of self-defence. This became rather unlikely when medical evidence proved that Hix was already comatose from repeated hammer blows when Snook took out his pocket knife and, very precisely and clinically, proceeded to cut her throat from ear to ear. It’ hardly self-defence if your opponent is already unconscious, after all. It tookmthe jury all of 28 minutes to reach this conclusion for themselves and to deliver their verdict.

Guilty as charged of Firs-Degree Murder. With no recommendation for mercy.

Under Ohio law at the time, no recommendation for mercy made a death sentence mandatory and the trial judge lost no time in doing his grim duty. Snook was convicted and condemned on August 14, 1929, only two months after the murder of Theora Hix. Two months between arrest and conviction seems quick to you? Not nearly as quick as going from condemnation to execution. Snook was transferred to the old Ohio State Penitentiary the same day to await his appointment with Old Sparky.

Legal avenues for Death Row inmates exhausted themselves rather more quickly in 1929 than they do now. Nowadays, four years would be seen as a speedy trip between coutroom and death chamber. James Snook made the same trip in only four months. On February 29, 1930 he had his last meal and a final visit with his wife, a priest and an old friend. At 7:00am he was escorted to the ‘death house’ in the southwest corner of the prison yard. At 7:07 he was fully strapped in and the switch thrown. At 7:11am Professor James Howard Snook, Olympic champion, distinguished academic, respected professional, inventor, husband, father, philanderer and murderer was pronounced dead. He was buried at Greenlawn Cemetary early on March 1 in a small and very brief service. In an effort to deter morbid sightseers, he was buried under the name of ‘James Howard’ his surname being left off the marker. Ironically, ‘James Howard’ was the same alias he’d used when renting his secret love nest with Theora Hix.

It’s said that the unquiet, troubled soul of James Snook still haunts Greenlawn Cemetery, that he still still walks through the cemetery every night as though unable to find peace. People with a passion for the paranormal say that people who die violently often haunt the place of their death. Seeing the old Ohio State Penitentiary (now long since demolished) was only blocks away from the University campus, it wouldn’t be a surprise that Snook were trolling around Greenlawn in the dead of night. If his soul is troubled, though, it should be troubled by what he did to Theora Hix, not by his having been executed for it.

Four Idaho children have been reunited, in heaven that is, after a drowning accident claimed the life of one sibling and the other three were murdered at the hands of their father. Following an unfortunate drowning accident in a local irrigation ditch that claimed the life of 22-month-old Ian Michael Nice in May 2004, parents Leslie Olsen and Jim Junior Nice struggled to keep their marriage together. Olsen declined to reconcile their marriage and ultimately filed for divorce on March 17, 2005.

Jim Junior Nice

Statements from family members claimed that although Nice tried to reunite with his estranged wife, the stress of unresolved issues relating to the loss of their first child caused emotional conflicts that simply could not be overcome. Jim, distraught over the separation from his wife and the driving rift plaguing his family, fought for custody and visitation rights of his three remaining children; 6-year-old twins Justin and Spencer and 2-year-old Raquel.

On the morning of December 20, 2005, family members were concerned about Jim when he did not report to work nor was he responding to phone calls. Family members called the Twin Falls Police Department and requested that they perform a wellness check on Jim and the kids. Upon opening the door at 1831 4th Ave East, and asking Nice if everything was all right, police noticed the body of one of the children. After discovering the bodies of the other two children, police took Nice into custody for questioning. Police soon filed murder charges against Nice for the death of his three children. Autopsy reports later revealed that Nice had overdosed his children by putting sleeping pills in their pudding and hot chocolate. Two of the children also had rat poison in their systems.

Jim Junior Nice initially pled not guilty to all three charges of first-degree murder. However, Nice quickly changed his plea to guilty when it became apparent that the court would not change the insanity plea law. Idaho does not recognize the insanity plea and when a court appointed psychiatrist determines an individual is unable to understand the charges that have been filed, the court remands the individual to a state hospital until a different determination is made. Jim obviously did not want to spend his life in a mental facility and therefore, admitted to killing his children, claiming that he…

did not want the kids to suffer through the divorce.

According to court documents, the prosecutor initially filed a notice of intent to seek the death penalty. However, as part of the plea agreement, the prosecutor dismissed the death penalty aspect. Nice is currently serving three consecutive life sentences for first degree murder, without the possibility of parole, in the Idaho Correctional Institution in Orofino, Idaho.

Ian Michael Nice was buried in Sunset Memorial cemetery in Twin Falls, Idaho; however, Justin, Spencer and Raquel had been buried in Mackay, Idaho near other family members. For this reason, Leslie petitioned to have Ian’s body moved to a plot next to his siblings in Mackay. In the end, the court granted permission for Olsen to move Ian so that the siblings could be together once again.

Love is an exciting and daunting journey most people experience at some point during their lives. It could be argued that one of the most potent, and sometimes volatile forms of love is the one shared by a couple. The bonds between two people are often tested, filled with happiness and joy, alongside trials and tribulations.

But sometimes, love just isn’t enough. Feelings can change. We grow and regress as individuals all throughout our lives, affecting who we are as part of a couple. But what happens when someone that you love turns on you?

Statistically, only about half of marriages work out in the long run. Infidelity and indifference can become a second language due to the stress of our daily lives. Indifference and resentment grow, until you no longer recognize the person sleeping in bed beside you.

But for some, this betrayal is taken a step further. Some lovers, whether premeditated or in the heat of the moment, choose to end the lives of the people they once held dear, for reasons we can only guess at. Anyone around in the 90’s knows of the O.J. Simpson trial, and while we may never know the truth, it is widely accepted that he did indeed kill his wife, and get away with it. But some killers aren’t as “lucky,” and some victims get justice, even if it does come too late, and at the cost of their lives.

MELISSA MENDOZA AND DANIEL ROBERTS

Daniel Roberts, 37, of Sabbatus, Maine, was indicted by a grand jury in 2013 for shooting his on and off again girlfriend in the back of the head. A member of the motorcycle club, Hell’s Angels, Roberts met Melissa Mendoza after a motorcycle accident, where she served as a member on his legal counsel. The two started dating, and within a year Mendoza gave birth to their daughter, Savanna. A tumultuous relationship of custody battles and harsh words ensued over the following years, with Melissa reportedly taking her daughter to California in violation of court order. Roberts went to the authorities, and Melissa had to turn her daughter to Maine.

Gail Katz-Bierenbaum

In light of Mendoza breaking the law, Daniel Roberts was awarded custody on August 8, 2005, and Melissa was allowed supervised visitation. Immediately following the ruling, Mendoza filed a motion to appeal the decision, and exited the courtroom to find that her rental car had been vandalized. Due to the damage, she was late for her supervised visit, and Daniel Roberts immediately revoked her right to see her daughter, ending the visit short.

The following day, Dawn Destrini, a local woman and friend of Mendoza that was tasked with the supervision of the mother daughter visits, found her car vandalized as well. She declined to continue supervising the visits, and informed Mendoza, whom had been staying at her house, that she was no longer welcome. Mendoza moved to a local hotel, and the issue of visitation again came up.

The court decided that Mendoza could visit with her daughter in Robert’s home while he was not present, under the supervision of two women that Robert’s had recommended. During the visit occurring in his home he was served with a protection of abuse order filed by Mendoza. Mendoza and Savanna’s next few visits went smoothly.

On the evening of August 14, 2005, Mendoza and Roberts exchanged dozens of phone calls, ranging from angry to reconciliatory, some of which Mendoza was said to have recorded. During the last known call, Mendoza asked Robert’s if she could come back to their home, and Robert’s agreed as long as she “didn’t pull anything stupid.”* Sometime after 1 a.m. police received a phone call from Daniel Roberts’ stating that he had fatally shot Melissa Mendoza in self-defense. He claimed that she came to his home under the pretense of getting back together, but arrived with a gun and a secret agenda of revenge, and went as far as to threaten his and Savanna’s lives. Melissa Mendoza was fatally shot in the back of the head in Roberts’ darkened garage upon entering the home.

During the trial, Roberts’ told how he believed Mendoza had stolen a loaded weapon from his house at one of her earlier visits. His story changed, which ultimately proved to be his undoing, when he told the jury that he believed Mendoza was going to kill both himself and his daughter, or just kill him and kidnap their daughter. Local police maintained that Roberts’ said nothing about his kidnapping theory during the investigation, and it is believed to be a plot by his defense attorneys to try and lend credibility to the shooting. The state presented evidence and testimony of Mendoza as a loving mother incapable of harming anyone, and showed a past history of possible abuse by Roberts. In rebuttal, Roberts’ attorneys’ called previous women Mendoza had allegedly victimized, stating that Mendoza was violent toward himself and several women she believed her Daniel to be having affairs with. Roberts also claimed that Mendoza regularly used drugs and alcohol, and that he should have done more to help her.

During the trial, several Hell’s Angels members were in attendance, and some of the jury felt that the MC members were trying to intimidate them. Justice Joyce Wheeler declared that no “gang” colors or insignia could be worn, and that spectators were not allowed to make eye contact with jury members.

Daniel Roberts

The jury concluded that Roberts’ was guilty of murder, for which is was sentenced to a minimum of 25 years in prison. His lawyers have since appealed, although as of 2014, the decision was still upheld by the District Court in Maine.

While the jury concluded that Daniel Roberts was guilty of murder, we may never know the truth of whether or not he believed Mendoza was a threat to his daughters’ life, or if he shot her in the back of the head in a cold blooded and calculating move. The evidence certainly points to his guilt, but I’ll be on the lookout for the verdict in his further appeals, and try to keep an open mind.

Melissa Mendoza leaves behind various family members and friends, including three children, including Savanna, all of whom are now reported to live with their grandmother in California. My thoughts go out to her and her family.

GAIL KATZ-BIERENBAUM AND ROBERT BIERENBAUM

On July 7, 1985, Gail Katz-Bierenbaum disappeared without a trace. The investigation into her disappearance and alleged death uncovered a bevy of lies and omissions told by her husband, prominent New York surgeon Robert Bierenbaum.

Robert Bierenbaum, born in 1955, was sentenced to life in prison in 2000, 15 years after the disappearance of his first wife. While her disappearance was abrupt and suspicious, Robert evaded prosecution, moved to North Dakota, and remarried to a fellow doctor. He was commended by friends for being a kind and charitable man. He learned how to fly airplanes, and even performed several surgeries for children with cleft-palette that could not have otherwise afforded the procedure. His wife declared him to a loving husband, and the two had a daughter. She stood by him during the trial, and as of 2015 there is no record of their divorce.

However, a more sinister side to the good doctor played out in Alayna Katz’ mind. Alayna, the victim’s sister, believed that Gail met with foul play at the hands of her husband. She reported that her sister told her Robert once tried to drown their cat in the toilet bowl during an argument, and that he did grow violent with her when angered.

Police investigated Gail’s disappearance again years later, and one prominent detail stood out to the lead investigators. Robert Bierenbaum had logged flight hours over the Atlantic Ocean on the day Gail disappeared, but failed to notify police of this during their initial investigation.

With the inquiry in full swing, the word of the couple’s family, friends, and even their respective psychiatrists came into play. While everyone recalled their turbulent and volatile relationship, some went a step further and implied that they believed Robert was abusive toward Gail. Robert himself, and some of his friends told a story of how Gail was troubled and manipulative, often having affairs with drug users, and engaging in high-risk behaviors.

Upon further investigation, another of Robert’s lies was brought to light. He had used his influence in both the local and medical community, and confided during the initial investigation that Gail’s therapist disclosed that she believed Gail was suicidal.

Police interviews revealed that Gail’s therapist never told him that, and did not believe it was true. She asserted that Gail was looking for apartments, and had plans for her future, and did not think or act in a suicidal manner. She furthered police suspicion of Robert, saying that she often told Gail she believed that Robert’s violence toward her may one day turn to homicide.

Due to doctor patient confidentiality the therapists’ testimony could not be used at trial, but provided the perfect motive. Although Gail and Robert frequently separated and reconciled, she believed that Gail chose the day of her disappearance to tell her husband that she was leaving him for good, and for another man. She believed that Robert’s jealous and abusive tendencies sent him into a rage, and he killed Gail. A police report Gail had filed in 1983 that her husband tried to strangle her lead credibility to this theory, which is what the state presented to the jury.

Dr. Robert Bierenbaum and his wife Janet leave court during his trial for the murder of his first wife Gail.

Without a body, it was hard to prove that Bierenbaum murdered his wife, yet justice prevailed. Robert’s medical expertise lead investigator’s and state’s attorneys to believe that he used his medical experience to cut his wife up into small pieces, and subsequently tossed her body into a duffle bag, and threw it from his airplane into the ocean. An attempt at tampering with the flight log made Robert look even guiltier, and the testimony that the two had an argument immediately before her disappearance hurt his case.

On October 24, 2000, after two weeks at trial, Robert Bierenbaum was sentenced to twenty years to life in prison for the murder of Gail Katz-Bierenbaum. His lawyers have since appealed the decision, but Bierenbaum still remains in prison, and Gail’s body still has yet to be discovered.

While love remains to be one of the top motives for murder, it does beg the question in some cases, why? Why not get a divorce and go your separate ways? Are some of the people that murder their significant other’s normal people just like you and I, caught up in the heat of the moment? Or are they pre-disposed in some way to be violent and homicidal?

Thankfully, most of us will never know.

So, in honor of Valentine’s Day, go home, curl up in bed with your loved one, and reconnect. Don’t become the strangers that live separate lives and secretly resent one another, keep the lines of communication open, and don’t forget to compromise.

I won’t bore anyone with more lame dating advice, but the lesson here is to be weary if the person next to you has become a stranger.

**Author’s Note – While some parts of this story are meant to be morbidly and inappropriately humorous in light of the over-glorified hallmark holiday and themes of love, domestic violence is a serious issue that should not be taken lightly. If you, or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, help, and hope are available. There are agencies in place across the country to provide assistance in these situations for men, women, and children, and can be reach at thehotline.com or 1-800-799-7233.

Pranks and practical jokes are a long held rite of passage for high school and college students. While these acts are at times criminal in nature, the toilet paper draping from the trees and the window paint on the victims’ cars are often overlooked without criminal prosecution. Pranksters sometimes consider being charged with vandalism as a potential outcome for their acts, but there is another potential outcome that is widely overlooked – murder.

Death of a Clown

Igor Chaldov killed in a scare prank turned fatal

A Russian man dressed as a deranged killer clown for a prank video got an unexpected reaction from one of his victims. In the hidden camera footage of the prank, 20yr old Igor Chaldov can be seen in clown attire and wielding a knife. Concealing himself in the shadows along a roadway, the man proceeds to chase and frighten several people passing by. It appeared to be all fun and games until a fourth person approached the area Chaldov was hiding. Before Chaldov could explain his actions the man knocks him to the ground and shoots him point blank in the face.

Don’t Try This at Home

These two aspiring jackasses got a bit more than they bargained for with this prank gone wrong. Under the influence of drugs and alcohol, Mark Ramiro and Darnell Mitchell thought it would be an excellent idea to film a stunt where Ramiro would shoot Mitchell in the chest while wearing a bulletproof vest – what could possibly go wrong? In a completely unexpected plot twist, the bullet missed the vest Mitchell was wearing, resulting in his death. The pair had been friends for nearly 15 years and it was clear that Ramiro had no malice towards or intention to kill his friend. Unfortunately there is no plea of ignorance within a court of law.

Too Young to Dye

16yr old Ryan Wilson, along with a friend, confronted random strangers on the streets of Chicago’s Southside in this relatively harmless prank gone awry. Asking the strangers “Are you ready to dye?”, Wilson and his friend would then present the unwitting victim with a bottle of Clarol hair color. While is it unclear how many people were approached by Wilson and his fellow prankster, one particular confrontation didn’t turn out to be as funny as the duo had planned. Spotting a couple of men they hadn’t targeted, the pair walked up and began to recite their line. Unaware that the men were members of Chicago’s notorious Vice Lords gang, one of the men pulled out a gun and shot Wilson multiple times in the head. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the University of Chicago Medical Center.

How Not to Wake Up Your Friend

Kristin Milano – died of smoke inhalation after her brother’s friend threw a lit sparkler into their apartment.

Eric Morelli was disappointed his friend had fallen asleep and wasn’t available to hang out with him. Instead of just finding another friend or watching Netflix alone, Morelli came up with the brilliant idea to throw a lit sparkler into his friend’s 2^nd story apartment window. The sparkler caught the apartment of Morelli’s friend on fire and resulted in the death Kristin Milano – sister of the victim. Although he expressed his apologies to the family, Morelli is facing murder charges for his senseless actions.

Teen Prank Turns to Tragedy

A typical case of teenage shenanigans ended tragically for one group of Arkansas teens. Attempting to retaliate against another boy that played a prank on them, a group of teenagers went to the alleged prankster’s home. Spotting a car parked outside the home, the teens smeared the car with eggs, mayonnaise, and toilet paper. As they began to drive off the group was suddenly met with gunfire. The driver was hit in the arm, while 15yr old Adrian Broadway was struck in the head. 48yr old Willie Nobel was charged with first degree murder, committing a terrorist act, and 5 counts aggravated assault.

Taking the Wrap

Facebook lead to the arrest of two boys in Circleville, OH in connection with the death of an elderly woman. Police say that the boys bragged about how they wrapped plastic wrap around a stop sign, making it practically invisible to drivers. The not-so-clever prank resulted in an 85yr old woman bypassing the sign and colliding with another vehicle. Once news spread about the incident, calls about what the teenagers had been posting on the popular social media site began pouring into the sheriff’s office. Video surveillance from a nearby Walmart also showed Derek Greenlee and Seth Stonerock purchasing the plastic wrap. The pair was charged with involuntary manslaughter for their dangerous joke.

The words “dark web” brings to mind all sorts of nefarious imagery. A corner of the web were hackers, thieves, and child pornographers hangout in order to share stories and high-fives. While in some cases that may be entirely true, the dark web isn’t just a place for criminals. As a computer engineer it is easy for me to forget that not everyone really understands the technology they’re using every day or how easy it is to exploit it. Inspired by a recent facebook post I made, I quickly realized that not everyone knows about the Tor network, and many that have heard of it completely misinterpret why someone like you or I would want to use it. With this in mind, I’d like to take this opportunity to educate those that don’t really know about Tor on what it is, how to use it, expose what’s out there, and provide a comprehensive list of reasons why an anonymous network is completely necessary.

What is Tor?

Tor was originally developed for the U.S. Navy in order to protect government communication. Without getting too technical, Tor is an anonymous proxy server that conceals a computer’s IP address. Once connected to the Tor network, your computer is connected to a remote network along with a number of other computers, making it impossible for anyone to know your computer’s physical location or what websites you are viewing.

Isn’t Tor for Criminals?

In addition to basic proxy services, Tor is most notorious for it’s “hidden services”. Hidden services are sites hosted through anonymous servers and are only accessible through the Tor network. These sites are not crawled by google or other search engines, and can only be found through word-of-mouth or a Tor directory website. Unlike most sites that end with .com, .edu, .gov, etc., Tor sites end with .onion. Those that have heard of Tor primarily link it with these .onion sites. Unlike regular websites, the owners of these sites do not need to reveal credentials and the origins of such sites are incredibly difficult to track. Naturally criminals saw these sites as a means to sell all manner of products and services from child pornography to stolen credit cards, and everything in between.

In 2014 the FBI, along with the cooperation of officials from 17 other countries executed the largest dark web takedown called “Operation Onymous”. For six months officers were able to monitor and collected evidence against a number of criminal marketplaces, the biggest being The Silk Road 2.0. As a result, over 400 hidden Tor servers were seized and millions of bitcoins had been recovered. In December of 2014 it was reported that another cluster of Tor sites were taken down, however it is unclear whether or not this was due law enforcement efforts. As of today very few sites in onionland still exist. I took the liberty of putting together a small slideshow of some servers I managed to find that were still in operation. Not all of the sites I found were criminal in nature, but this is a small sample of the things that are still available through the dark web. In addition I also added a diagram, provided by the Tor project website, which explains how the service works.

Legitimate Uses for Tor

By now you may be asking the question “If I’m not doing anything illegal why would I want to protect my identity online?”. While it’s easy to see that Tor is a simple means for criminal elements to engage in illegal activities, there is a number of good reasons a person not intending to do anything illegal would want to use Tor. Journalists, public officials, law enforcement, and others may use Tor in order to speak freely about certain subjects without the worry of losing their jobs. Whistleblowers may utilize Tor in order to speak out against governments or other entities. Those who live in oppressive regimes like China may wish to use Tor in order to bypass censored or restricted services. A large number of websites collect data about you utilizing your IP address or installing cookies in order to track the websites you view. Some individuals may feel uncomfortable that facebook or kraft foods is obtaining this information. We often tell children not to give out personal details over the internet, yet today’s technology allows IP addresses to be tracked as close as the current street your family resides on. Networks like Tor can offer protection from online predators and pedophiles that could potentially obtain this information. Just like most people would not feel comfortable with strangers walking up and staring into the windows of their home, there are many that do not feel comfortable with ISPs, advertisers, or hackers looking through their browser windows online.

How Do I Connect to Tor?

The easiest method to use Tor is to download the Tor browser. The Tor browser is simply a modified version of firefox. Everything is per-configured, the only thing you need to do is to enable the “No Script” plugin. There is a small “S” button located to the left of the address bar, when not enabled it looks like this: “S!”, once it is turned on the “S” appears with a slash through it. I cannot stress the importance of disabling scripts enough. Hackers often inject undetectable malicious javascript code into websites, advertisers also do this in order to track your online activities. If this type of code is executed on your machine, then the whole point of privacy and using the Tor network is completely lost. I would also recommend disabling or placing tape over your webcam if you are using a machine with an integrated cam and disabling any microphone features. If you are using Windows, typically it is possible to disable both features within the control panel settings.

Now that you’re on Tor you can feel free to locate and browse some of the .onion sites available, or you can choose to go about normal web browsing with an added layer of anonymity. Unfortunately not all websites will allow you to browse from Tor, some have blocked Tor nodes from accessing their site due to hackers using the network as a means to execute attacks against web servers. Tor’s website also lists a number of other tips for protecting your anonymity, along with the things you should and should not do when using the Tor network.

While Tor is not completely foolproof, it is important for users to be able to control who is receiving their information and what is being done with that information once collected. It is also necessary for people to be able to communicate freely without the threat of prosecution from a fascist regime or losing their job by expressing unfavorable opinions. Tor could also be used as a powerful tool for law enforcement, enabling them to gain insight on the tactics criminals are taking and develop new methods to circumvent these activities. There are a number potential uses for a network like Tor, but like many other tools it is up to the user to decide whether they would like to use its capabilities for good or evil.

William Huddle Ledbetter. AKA ‘Lead Belly’, was one of the archetypal blues icons of the Deep South. He wasn’t from Mississippi or Chicago, unlike so many contemporaries, but he still had a prodigious appetite for music and the talent to match. His fondness for life’s many rich pleasures (mainly involving boozing, brawling and bumping monkeys) was the cause of the occasional unscheduled career break courtesy of the Texas, New York and Louisiana penal systems. He found the time (frequently while serving yet another stretch) to make himself one of America’s all-time musical legends, influencing modern acts like Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, the Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan among a host of others and he’s generally considered as authentic and real a bluesman as you’ll ever find.

Aided by his trusty 12-string guitar (named ‘Stella’ after one of his many female admirers), a talent for the accordion and a natural ability to work up a crowd, ‘Lead Belly’ set about creating his own musical and personal legend. His story’s part myth, part fact and part invention and to this day nobody’s quite sure which is which. Which probably suited him just fine.  His nickname, for instance, is still open to question as nobody’s quite sure why people came to call him ‘Lead Belly.’ Some say it was because he was somewhat portly (though probably not to his face). Some say it was because of his admittedly prodigious appetite for illegal moonshine (he certainly knew how to raise a glass, the results of which sometimes combined a hangover with more than enough prison time to sleep it off). Some say he managed to annoy somebody so much that he ended up narrowly surviving a shotgun blast to the belly (probably one of the few fights he ever lost). Whatever the reason, he was always ‘Lead Belly’ by name and definitely by nature.

One of the hallmarks of his career was the occasional unscheduled holiday as a guest of several different states. He did time for murder, attempted murder, more than one count of assault and generally wasn’t what you’d call long-tempered, timid or easily calmed when drunk, angry or especially both at once. Unfortunately, he frequently was drunk and angry at the same time. This slightly bad-tempered streak usually meant that somebody paid the price. In 1915, he was on the run after a Texas bar brawl (which had been a pretty ugly affair) when he had another difference of opinion during which his opponent lost through the simple means of being killed. As a black man in 1910’s Texas facing a murder rap he was lucky not to hang, but unlucky enough to draw 99 years in the Texas prison system. His unscheduled career break lasted until 1924 when, having spent his spare time (he had plenty) playing and singing for guards, the prison warden and State Governor Pat Neff, Neff was so impressed that right before his departure from office he granted a pardon and ‘Lead Belly’ was a free man once more.

Not for long, however. It seems that our bellytastic bluesman just couldn’t keep his hands off the bottle (or anybody who annoyed him after he’d emptied one). Career break number two came as a guest of his native Louisiana and a spell at the dreaded Louisiana State Penitentiary, known simply as ‘Angola.’ Like anybody just passing through he opted to collect a lasting souvenir of his stay, albeit in the form of a scar running almost entirely around his neck. This delightful gift came courtesy of a fellow inmate who presumably didn’t like him all that much and chose to express his feelings by trying to remove our hero’s head with a straight razor. The mighty ‘Belly’ somehow survived this somewhat aggressive self-expression. His luckless opponent almost died because, even after being sliced like a side of ham, ‘Lead Belly’ still proceeded to club him almost to death before being dragged off to solitary. Which, for some strange reason, didn’t help his chances of early parole all that much.

Eventually he managed to avoid killing or battering his fellow inmates long enough that his native Louisiana finally turned him loose. Avoiding trouble with other inmates probably became easier after his little altercation as other inmates quite wisely avoided him like the plague (winning a fight by surviving near-decapitation and then beating your opponent almost to death tends to have that effect on people). He was free to continue wandering the South, playing his tunes, drinking prodigious amounts of illegal moonshine and eventually opted to head North where perhaps he thought he’d have fewer occasional career breaks. Wrong again…

He turned up in New York where many Northern music-lovers feted him as a vital figure in the blues boom and also the fast-evolving folk scene. All seemed to be going well and everything in his garden seemed rosy. And then he was arrested and jailed for assault. Again. This time for stabbing someone (at least neither contender was almost beheaded this time round, which was nice). Off to sample the joys of the New York penal system this time, where the bars, walls, guards, rules and other cons were pretty much the same as his many previous alma maters, and only the accents were really very different.

This stretch was a little different from his previous career breaks. Maybe he was mellowing, maybe it was a shortage of lethal-strength moonshine, maybe he decided he preferred breathing free air to sweat, stale tobacco smoke and a thousand other inmates farts, we don’t know. What we do know is that he went right through his last sojourn behind bars without killing or seriously maiming anybody. He just went in, did his bit, came out and never went inside again.

Meet Lester Joseph Gillis, AKA George Nelson, AKA ‘Baby Face’ Nelson (a nickname he personally hated). People seldom called him ‘Baby Face’ owing to his hair-trigger temper and extraordinary capacity for senseless violence. Nelson inherited the dubious mantle of ‘Public Enemy Number One’ in 1934 after the death of his sometime colleague and predecessor John Dillinger. Although the two worked together, from Dillinger’s perspective it was only because, by that point in Dillinger’s career, he was so hot that nobody else would work with him.

Nelson also holds another dubious distinction, that of having killed more FBI agents than any criminal in American history. Three, to be exact. He killed Special Agent Carter Baum during the infamous gunfight at Little Bohemia, Wisconsin and also killed Special Agent Herman ‘Ed’ Hollis and Inspector Sam Cowley during his last stand at the ‘Battle of Barrington’ in November, 1934. Nelson himself would die of his seventeen gunshot wounds, still proud of his record and reputation.

Born in December, 1908 Gillis started young. Aged twelve he accidentally shot another boy in the head with a pistol he’d found, serving a year in a reformatory as a result. He was arrested again aged 13 for theft and joyriding which, given his obsession with both cars and guns, is no surprise. For that he drew an extra 18 months.

By 1928 Nelson was putting his obsession with cars to nefarious use. He was working in a Standard Oil station while stealing tires and car parts, becoming steadily better acquainted with members of Chicago’s underworld. He got a job driving bootleg booze throughout Chicago and the adjoining suburbs as part of the gang led by Roger ‘Terrible’ Tuohy, an Irishman often at war with Al Capone. Within two years Nelson and his accomplices had graduated to armed robbery, particularly home invasions of Chicago’s wealthy citizens including the wife of the Mayor ‘Big Bill’ Thompson who was a frontman for Capone. Their habit of using tape to bind their victims before robbing them led to their being nicknamed ‘The Tape Bandits.’

In April, 1930 Nelson committed his first bank robbery. A month after that it was another home invasion.. In October, 1930, another bank. In November, 1930 the gang were linked to the bloody robbery of a tavern in Waukegan that left three people dead and three wounded during which Nelson committed his first murder, that of stockbroker Edwin Thompson (no relation to ‘Big Bill’).

Nelson was caught during the winter of 1931 along with most of his gang and the Chicago Tribune gave him the nickname he hated and by which he’s still known. In February, 1932 he escaped, fleeing West to California where he fell in with pals John Paul Chase and ‘Fatso’ Negri who would form the nucleus of another gang. While in Reno, Nevada, he met Alvin ‘Old Creepy’ Karpis, who took a liking to Nelson and introduced him to his bank-robbing mentor Eddie Bentz. Bentz joined the gang and tutored them leading up to the robbery of a bank in Grand Haven, Michigan. Despite the job itself being a failure it convinced Nelson that he could make it as a bank robber and most of the gang got away.

Moving to known crime hotspot St. Paul, Minnesota, Nelson recruited fellow public enemies Homer van Meter, Tommy Carroll and Eddie Green. With them and two local criminals he took the First National Bank in Brainerd, Minnesota for $24,000 in October, 1933. Witnesses reported his manic glee at spraying bullets in all directions during the robbery, even though such wanton gunplay was entirely unnecessary. After the Brainerd robbery Nelson fled West again to San Antonio, Texas where he rendezvoused with his wife Helen and their son Ronald.

San Antonio proved useful. Here Nelson met underworld gunsmith Hyman Lehman, who specialised in providing guns and ammunition to criminals and had a neat side-line in modifying ordinary weapons for criminal use. Nelson bought a .38 pistol modified to fire full-auto. It was a gun that, at Little Bohemia, Wisconsin, he would use to kill his first FBI agent, Special Agent Carter Baum. Nelson had to flee San Antonio when police, acting on a tip-off, tried to arrest the gang. One detective was killed and another wounded.

It was in March of 1934 that Nelson hooked up with his most notorious crime partner, a certain John Herbert Dillinger, who had just broken out of the supposedly escape-proof prison at Crown Point in Indiana. Dillinger, facing likely electrocution for the murder of an East Chicago bank guard during a previous robbery, had enlisted the aid of the Nelson gang to smuggle him a gun via a prison trusty named Herbert Blunk. Dillinger’s lawyer Louis Piquett was the middleman and Nelson’s gang put up the bribe money in return for Dillinger working with them on subsequent robberies and paying them back out of his share of the take. As soon as Dillinger arrived, Nelson needlessly murdered a local businessman in a road rage incident and the gang had to flee again.

Two days after his latest murder the new gang robbed the Security National Bank in Sioux Falls, South Dakota of around $49,000. During the robbery Nelson machine-gunned and almost killed another police officer who arrived on the scene and didn’t get a chance to draw his own weapon. On March 13 the gang struck again, taking the First National Bank in Mason City, Iowa for $52,000, although gang member John ‘Red’ Hamilton and Dillinger were both wounded in the subsequent shoot-out. In early April Eddie Green was ambushed and killed by FBI agents who initially thought they’d killed Dillinger, by which time Dillinger, Nelson and the others were long gone.

After Mason City, Chase and Nelson fled back to Reno. Nelson had worked for two major local crime-lords during his previous stay there and they were fighting a Federal mail fraud case. A witness, Roy Fritsch, needed to be disposed of and the FBI later determined through informants that Nelson and Chase had done his old bosses a little favour during their stay. Fritsch disappeared and his body has never been found.

It was on April 20, 1934 that Nelson hooked up once more with Dillinger at Little Bohemia, Wisconsin. Acting on a tip from the proprietor, one Emil Wanatka, the guesthouse was surrounded by FBI agents hoping to take the entire gang all at once. It was a disastrous failure. Agents accidentally opened fire on three local workers leaving the bar, thinking they were gang members and the resulting shoot-out was a huge embarrassment for the FBI. All the gang members escaped, but not before Nelson killed Special Agent Carter Baum and left Special Agent Jay Newman and local Constable Carl Christenson seriously wounded. Nelson then stole Baum’s car and escaped back to Chicago after hiding out with a Chippewa Native American named ‘Catfish’ for several days and then stealing another car.

Baum’s murder made Nelson, previously of little interest to the FBI, a highly-wanted man. They’d only been interested in him for two weeks prior to the Baum murder, mainly because of his links to Dillinger. A day after Little Bohemia, John ‘Red’ Hamilton was wounded again, this time as gang members crashed a police roadblock. His wounds were mortal. Hamilton died and was secretly buried by the gang members who had reunited in Aurora, Illinois.

On June 7, Tommy Carroll died in Waterloo, Iowa after being recognised and challenged by police officers. Nelson took Carroll’s death particularly badly as Carroll had been a personal friend. It also did little to sate Nelson’s perpetual love of violence, especially when directed against law enforcement officers. Nelson and his wife went into hiding for several weeks, shifting from place to place the national manhunt swirled around their hiding places.

On June 30, 1934 Nelson and the rest of the gang robbed the Merchant’s National Bank in South Bend, Indiana. It would be the gang’s last robbery. Police officer Howard Wagner was murdered by Homer van Meter and Nelson shot and wounded local a local man in a parked car while firing at bystander Harry Berg. When the gang fled with $28,000, far less than they’d expected, they took hostages to deter police pursuit. The gang split up again, Nelson choosing to stick with old pal John Paul Chase. On July 15 the gang reunited in Chicago only to be interrupted by Illinois State Troopers Fred McAllister and Gilbert Cross, both of whom were seriously wounded by Nelson using the same modified automatic pistol he’d used to kill Special Agent Baum, wound Special Agent Newman and wound Constable Christenson at Little Bohemia. Both men survived.

On July 22, 1934 Dillinger was shot dead outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago. Homer van Meter died in St. Paul, Minnesota on August 23 in another shoot-out with police officers. On October 22 Charles ‘Pretty Boy’ Floyd was shot dead after a chase through East Liverpool, Ohio. Nelson was now the only survivor of what the press had called, much to Nelson’s annoyance, ‘The Second Dillinger Gang.’

Nelson, his wife and John Paul Chase spent the next couple of months drifting aimlessly through the Midwest, California and Nevada. Having inherited the mantle of ‘Public Enemy Number One’ Nelson now found many of his former underworld haunts and safehouses closed to him. There was simply too much heat for other criminals to seen helping him or working with him. On November 27, 1934 the end finally came. And not just for Nelson.

Nelson, his wife and Chase were seen driving a stolen car towards the Chicago by FBI agents Thomas McDade and William Ryan. Nelson kept lists of FBI license plate numbers and quickly recognised the agents for what they were, opening fire almost immediately. After a frantic chase through the streets, a bullet from Ryan’s gun disabled Nelson’s car and two other ‘G Men’ arrived on the scene, Special Agent Herman ‘Ed’ Hollis (killer of ‘Pretty Boy’ Floyd) and Inspector Samuel Cowley. They were just outside the town of Barrington, Illinois and Nelson’s last stand, the so-called ‘Battle of Barrington’, was about to begin.

Witnessed by nearly 30 people, the ‘Battle of Barrington’ ended with Nelson shot 17 times and Hollis and Cowley both mortally wounded. Inspector Cowley remains the most senior FBI officer ever to be murdered in the line of duty, while Nelson still holds the record for the most FBI agents killed by a single felon. Nelon, himself mortally wounded, was driven from the scene by his wife and Chase in the FBI agents’ car. He died of his wounds at 7:35pm in Wilmette, Illinois and his body was dumped outside St. Peter Catholic Cemetery in the nearby town of Skokie where it was discovered by FBI Agent Walter Walsh.

Leaster Joseph Gillis, AKA George Nelson and ‘Baby Face Nelson,’ lies buried at St. Joseph’s Cemetery in River Grove, Illinois. He’d doubtless be gratified that people still write articles and books about him even today, but I certainly wouldn’t have called him ‘Baby Face’ in his presence.

In 1828 the Scottish city of Edinburgh became home to a reign of terror that sealed its place in criminal history. Two men, William Burke and William Hare, murdered 16 people in approximately ten months, selling their corpses to distinguished surgeon and anatomist Dr. Robert Knox. But why? What use is a dead body and why were fresh corpses, devoid of any signs of violence or decomposition, so highly prized?

Simple. As the medical profession began its ascendancy, medical practitioners having been often regarded with suspicion if not outright dread by those unfortunate enough to suffer their then-primitive methods, they began progressively greater efforts to educate themselves in human anatomy and medical problems, including common diseases and causes of death. In order to educate themselves and each other, senior doctors needed a constant supply of fresh, undamaged bodies to dissect for the benefit of themselves and medical students. The major problem being that there were never enough corpses to go round.

The principal source of supply came via public executions as part of the death sentence included the condemned being given to anatomists for dissection rather than simply cremated or buried. Again, there were never enough to go round and with the decline in numbers of inmates executed, the supply of anatomists’ subjects was being steadily reduced. Doctors couldn’t afford to be particular about where they obtained bodies, preferably as fresh and undamaged as possible. Distinguished Edinburgh surgeon and veteran of the Napoleonic Wars Doctor Robert Knox was especially unfussy, hence his regular transactions with Burke and Hare.

The ‘resurrection men’ as bodysnatchers became known, were regarded particular fear and revulsion by the population, especially in more religious times when grave robbery was regarded as being especially offensive. The fear of the bodysnatchers was nothing, however, to that caused by serial killers Burke and Hare. They started out as ordinary ‘resurrection men,’ their first sale to Dr. Knox being, according to William Hare, was that of a tenant in his wife’s Edinburgh lodging house who had died of natural causes in November, 1827. Finding that corpses were a lucrative commodity, but having no others to legitimately provide, they soon set about creating sixteen of their own over the next ten months.

Dr. Robert Knox was a distinguished medical practitioner, the last kind of person you might expect to want to have dealings with the likes of Burke and Hare. But, corpses being in increasingly short supply and demand remaining constant, he had little choice. Knox would later deny any knowledge of their having murdered the people they supplied for his dissection classes, but it’s always been open to speculation whether a qualified physician could really have not noticed the frequency of Burke and Hare’s arrivals with fresh, undamaged dead bodies or the fact that they often were in good health and seemed to have died for no particular reason. Perhaps he really was that naïve or maybe he feared the consequences of inquiring too closely into his vendors sales practises, we’ll probably never know.

Burke and Hare had a fairly simple modus operandi. They knew that for Knox to pay his best prices their bodies had to be both fresh and undamaged, which ruled out the more obviously violent methods of murder such as stabbing, shooting, clubbing, manual strangulation and suchlike. They also wanted, naturally, to avoid raising too much suspicion as to the causes of death of their many victims. In the end, one of the more gruesome coincidences in criminal history would do exactly that, but more of that later.

Instead, they selected their victims mainly from the serried ranks of Edinburgh’s many down-and-outs and poor, unskilled workers. They deliberately chose the kind of people that they thought society wouldn’t miss enough to cause problems with the police. Their reasoning was simple: Few people care much for beggars and drop-outs so they’re seldom noticed and, should they happen to disappear, not much missed. They plied their victims with whisky until they were almost insensible before smothering them. One would restrain their victim, pinning them to a bed, while the other would suffocate them by simply holding their mouth and nose shut until they passed out and then died. Once they were dead, it was time to take them Dr. Knox who paid promptly and in untraceable cash.

Their first victim was known only as Joseph and was a miller until he had the misfortune to seek lodging at Mrs Hare’s boarding house. With Joseph safely killed and sold on, they began looking for more victims and in February, 1828 pensioner Abigail Simpson was victim number two. Having run out of sickly or elderly people to murder they waited until the Spring of 1828 when they added victims three and four, two women they lured in off the street, plied with whisky, suffocated and sold on the always-willing Dr. Knox.

Next up was another down-and-out known only as ‘Effie.’ She made a subsistence living by scavenging for scraps of leather and selling them to Burke who used them for shoemaking. At least until Burke and Hare sold her to Dr. Knox in the dead of night. Then, Burke ‘saved’ a lady from being arrested by a police officer, telling the officer that he knew her and could safely see her home before her drunken antics caused any further problems. ‘Home’ turned out, just hours later, to be the dissection table of Dr. Knox.

It was then that Burke, the dominant of the pair, took things even further. He plied an old lady with whisky laced with a strong painkiller from which she died. While she lay dying of the drug overdose, Burke proceeded to take her twelve-year-old grandson and snap his neck before delivering both corpses to Dr. Knox. Next up were another of Burke’s acquaintances, a Mrs. Hostler, and Ann Dougal, a relative of Helen McDougal, Burke’s mistress. Hare’s wife suggested converting Helen McDougal herself into what the gang called ‘merchandise’ on the grounds that she may prove untrustworthy, but this was refused.

Next on the Burke and Hare hit parade was Mary Haldane. She was a former lodge at the boarding house who, down on her luck, begged to be allowed to sleep in Hare’s stable. Her luck became a great deal worse when she found a more permanent home on Dr. Knox’s dissection table. After that came her daughter, Peggy Haldane, who turned up asking where her mother had disappeared to. She soon found out.

Their next victim was perhaps their most pitiful. He was a young man well-known on Edinburgh’s streets as ‘Daft Jamie’ on account of a learning disability (remember that the late 1820’s were a considerably less politically correct time than today). Burke and Hare befriended, him, murdered him and sold him to Dr. Knox. This proved to be a bad idea. Hare normally diposed of their victims’ clothing by dumping it in the Union Canal. This time he gave Jamie’s clothes to a relative, leaving material evidence that would later be used at their trial.

Their final victim was Mary Docherty. Burker lured her into the lodging house, but was unable to discreetly murder her because because fellow lodgers James and Ann Gray were also in residence. They became suspicious the next morning after noticing Docherty’s disappearance, especially when Burke would allow them near their own bed. While Burke was out of the room they looked under the bed and their suspicions were proved when they found her corpse hidden under it. Despite the offer of sizable hush money from Helen McDougal, they ran from the house and alerted the police. Burke and Hare were both immediately arrested.

At trial the evidence against was, at best, inconclusive. Burke certainly felt that he had a decent chance of acquittal and, seeing as Scottish law forbade retrying the acquitted at that time, getting off literally Scot free. Unfortunately for Burke, Hare wasn’t quite so optimistic. He feared the gallows and jumped at the chance to testify against Burke in return for avoiding the noose. He did so. Burke went on trial for murder on Christmas Eve, 1828 and lasted only 24 hours. Hare got the Christmas present of a lifetime, being given immunity in return for his testimony. Burke’s Christmas present consisted of the judge donning the dreaded ‘Black Cap’ and condemning him to death.

Hare was released from custody in February, 1829 to make his way in the world as best he could. He spent the next few weeks drifting from town to town and job to job, always moving on whenever he was recognised. His last reported sighting was in his native Ireland in March, 1829, after which he vanished into presumably welcome obscurity. Dr. Knox was never tried. He continued to practise medicine, albeit having to leave Edinburgh because of the scandal, and died in 1862 while running a medical practise in London.

And William Burke? He suffered a most ironic fate. He was hanged at 8:15am on January 28, 1829 before a celebrating crowd. And his fate after death? The day after he was hanged he was publicly dissected in the anatomy theatre of the medical school. His skelton is still on display in the Anatomy Museum of the Edinburgh Medical School. In the Surgeons’ Hall Museum you can find his death mask made after the hanging and a book said to have a cover made from Burke’s own skin.

All grimly appropriate, when you think about it.

“Up the close and down the stair, But and ben with Burke and Hare. Burke’s the butcher, Hare’s the thief, Knox the boy that buys the beef…” – A common Scottish children’s rhyme after the Burke and Hare case.

Katherine Knight

Katherine Knight, later dubbed “The Black Knight”, was well known as the town psychopath. Her violent temper and erratic behavior often sent her lovers fleeing for their lives. It wasn’t usual for her to have a cooling off period, and many times the men she tormented would return to her, only for her to unleash her special brand of crazy on them all over again. It would seem that all the men Knight became involved with would have a story, but one man wasn’t so lucky to make it out alive.

Katherine’s legacy of lunacy began back in high school. Her and her sister built a reputation as the rough and tumble type that you don’t want to mess with. Many of her schoolmates and teachers feared Katherine, but lucky for them she was not the best student and decided to leave school at the age of 16 in order to work at a local abattoir.

According to Katherine’s former co-workers she took her job at the abattoir very seriously. Unlike most people that worked there, she seemed to delight in her work. Gutting the pigs and slicing them with expert precision, walking to the front of the line in order to watch the animals get their throat cut and watch the blood drip from their necks, was all very exciting to Katherine. She was often praised by her superiors for her skill at the job.

Her obsession with knives and blood was peculiar, but it was Katherine’s extreme brand of violence that would earn her the nickname “Crazy Kathy” around town. Katherine’s first husband, David Kellet, almost met his end after returning home late from a dart match one evening. Hiding behind a door, Katherine struck Kellet in the back of the head with an iron, cracking his skull. When he returned home from the hospital he found that she had displayed her knife collection above their marital bed to serve as a warning of what would happen to him if he crossed her again.

Katherine and Kellet had their first child, Melissa. Katherine’s cruelty was not limited to Kellet, once even leaving the baby on the railroad tracks. Luckily a local man discovered the baby just minutes before the train was due to roll through, but oddly enough never thought to report anything to the police. Shortly after the incident Kellet decided he was fed up with Katherine’s outbursts and left.

Katherine was livid with Kellet’s decision. Overcome by anger, Katherine was seen swinging an axe in the street and threatening anyone that dared to come near her, smashing a baby stroller against fences and poles, then finally going to a local service station – presumably targeted because it was the station that fixed her estranged husband’s car days before leaving her, smashing out their windows and holding a young boy hostage at knifepoint. Police arrived at the scene to diffuse the situation and Katherine was sent to spend some time in a psychiatric ward.

After her stay in the psychiatric ward Kellet returned to Katherine, fathering another child. Their happiness would prove to be short-lived, and Kellet eventually fled again, citing Katherine’s abusive and unpredictable behavior as the cause. A short time later Katherine would meet the father of her third child, Dave Saunders.

Saunders was a gentle man that suffered unspeakable abuses at the hands of Knight. It was not uncommon for Katherine to swing pans at him or attempt to stab him with scissors. Saunders’ friends even began jokingly taking bets on when the next attack would occur, as he was often seen with cuts and bruises to his face. Several times Saunders had to seek medical attention on account of Knight’s attacks, including broken ribs and cuts so deep that they required stitches. After one argument Katherine slit the throat of Saunders’ eight-week-old puppy simply because she wanted to upset him. Expressing his interest in absolving the relationship with Katherine, predictably she flew off the handle. Vandalizing Saunders’ car and taking a handful of sleeping pills in an attempt to end her life, once again Katherine would find herself single and committed to the psychiatric ward.

Upon Knight’s release from her second stint in the psychiatric ward she would go on to have a brief affair that would lead to the birth of her fourth child. Like the men before him, John Chillingworth would find Katherine’s abuse intolerable and decided to leave her after she had destroyed his false teeth. Alone again, it would be some time before Katherine would meet the man that she would murder in such a horrific manner that the Australian newspapers refused to cover the story.

John Charles Thomas Price, known around town as “Pricey”, was a kind man and loving father. Jealousy over Price’s decision to maintain an amicable relationship with his former wife and his refusal to go through with the divorce were often the catalysts for Kathrine’s psychotic rages. After a particularly heated argument over Price’s decision to place his home in his children’s names, Knight decided to seek revenge. She grabbed a video camera and taped the contents of Price’s tool shed while he was at work the following day. Knowing that he had a few items within the shed belonging to his employer, she sent the tape to Price’s boss. This time Katherine’s vengeance may have cost Pricey a $100,000 a year job, but he would soon learn that he would lose something even greater.

Price did leave Knight over the incident, but several months passed by and Price invited Katherine to move in with him again. The arguments continued, primarily because of Price’s commitment to his children and his refusal to marry Katherine. Knight had even bragged to her brother five months prior to Price’s murder “I’m going to kill Pricey and I’m going to get away with it. I’ll get away with it because I’ll make out that I’m mad.” It would seem that Price’s fate was sealed.

Katherine Knight and John Price

The day prior to Price’s murder, it’s been said that Katherine’s behavior was odd. Her first stop was to her sister’s house in order to retrieve a video camera she had left there several months prior. Next she went to her daughter Natasha’s home and filmed herself playing with her grandchild. During the film Knight turns to the camera and says “I love all my children. I hope I see you all again”. Knight then took her daughter and grandchild out to dinner and asks Natasha if she could take her two younger siblings for the evening. Sensing something was off about Knight’s behavior, Natasha tells her mother “I hope you’re not planning on killing Pricey and yourself.” Knight laughed it off and said goodnight.

That evening Knight drove to Price’s house. Knowing that Price’s children were at their mother’s house and they would have the place to themselves, she walks up the stairs where Price is waiting in bed for her. They have sex and Price falls asleep. Grabbing a boning knife, Katherine begins stabbing Price in the chest. Price put up a struggle and managed to make it to the front porch as Katherine followed behind him, stabbing him a total of 37 times. A trail of blood from the melee could be seen throughout the house, including on the front porch.

After pulling Price’s body back inside, Katherine takes a shower and grabs his ATM card from his jeans pocket. She then drives for a half hour to the nearest bank where she withdraws $1000 from Price’s account. Returning back to Price’s home, Katherine gets to work.

Using her skills she acquired at the abattoir, she expertly begins skinning Pricey’s body, leaving only a small patch of skin with a scar where she had stabbed him in a prior incident. She then took the skin and placed it on meat hooks at the entrance to the home. It’s been said that Knight did such a good job at skinning the body that the mortician was able to sew it back together.

Knight wasn’t finished with Price yet. She then chopped off his head and put it into a pot, along with some vegetables to make a stew. Slices of his buttocks were cooked in the oven, which were then plated up with a gravy and vegetables. Knight left her macabre dinner out on the table along with taunting notes for each of his children. What was left of the body she posed in a chair, holding an empty beer bottle. Then Katherine took an assortment of prescription medication intending to kill herself as well and went to sleep.

The following morning when Pricey failed to show up for work, many became concerned. A neighbor, noticing Price’s car still in the driveway and his work boots left on the porch attempted to knock on the door. Noticing the blood, he immediately went home and phone the police. Nothing would prepare investigators for the carnage that awaited them inside.

Initially Knight claimed she had no recollection of the events that transpired within the home. When the ATM surveillance clearly showed Katherine withdrawing money between the time of murdering Price and skinning his body, she realized she had no other choice but to plead guilty. She is currently serving out a life sentence. Those that arrived on the scene that day still have difficulties erasing the memories of Price’s grisly murder. Price’s children still suffer from the trauma of their father’s horrific death and his brother committed suicide shortly after the trial.

It’s shocking enough that over 3 million violent crimes go unreported every year, but the real shock comes in the fact that there are a lot of crimes that people don’t know about despite their size or sheer intensity. Crime happens all the time; 24 hours a day, seven days a week, criminals are out committing all kinds of acts, from the simplest vandalism to serious murders and serial killings. Rape, torture, and sexual violence are the categories where most crimes go unreported, but there are plenty of cases, motives, and types of crimes that cause people to avoid reporting or think they can’t report crimes. Plus, there is so much crime in the world that the news media certainly can’t capture it all. Some of the biggest crimes aren’t the ones that you see on television, but the ones with the big costs: lives lost, people affected, and so forth.

Case #1: Love Gone Wrong

The first that a lot of people don’t know about is one Arthur Eggers. In 1946, Eggers wife was notorious for running around and having affairs while he wasn’t home. One night, he came home to see her lover leaving and her lying in bed, naked. He grabbed his gun to kill the lover, but the wife (Dorothy Eggers) stepped in. After a short fight, the gun “accidentally” fired, which killed her. Instead of calling the police, Eggers cut off her hands and head, dumping her body in the San Bernardino Mountains outside of L.A. The head was never found, and no one really knows what happened to it.

Case #2: Not So “Yummy” After All

Robert “Yummy” Sandifer lived in Chicago in the 1990s. The 11-year-old was an active gang member, and was out wandering in his neighborhood on the South Side on a summer morning in 1994. He approached a group of teenagers (some from a rival gang) and asked who they were affiliated with. Upon getting the answer, Sandifer opened fire on one of the teens, causing severe spinal cord damage. At the time, Yummy fled the scene but he was far from done. Later that evening, he opened fire on a crowd of children playing football. One 16-year-old boy was shot and wounded while another 14-year-old girl was shot in the head, later dying from the injuries sustained. A 77-hour manhunt ensued for the young offender but he was caught by other gang members and shot, execution style, before police could apprehend him.

Case #3: The Real Ocean’s 11?

In Boston in 1983, a group of 11 men got together to commit a well-planned, huge crime. Their goal? To rob the Brinks Security headquarters and take as much as they could in cash, securities, and checks. The men broke in, tied up the night watchmen, and escaped with over $3 million in checks, cash, and securities. They actually got away with the crime for a number of years, but eventually the truth caught up with them. One member of the group shot another after fighting over who would get the biggest cut. The victim was rushed to the hospital, where the FBI met him and he gave up all of his co-conspirators in the heist.

Case #4: More Armored Car Action

In 1997, Dunbar Armored was carrying millions of dollars in and out of its vaults on a daily basis. Employees at facilities like this are screened and checked out before hiring, but their background doesn’t predict the future. Such is the case of Allen Pace, who eventually gave into temptation. With the help of five of his friends from childhood, he orchestrated a heist that netted almost $19 million for the group. This was the largest amount of cash ever stolen, and the men got away with it for a number of years. As with most group crimes, though, someone eventually screwed up and then gave up everyone else involved in the robbery.

Case #5: No Justice for Mona Lisa

In 1911, the original Mona Lisa was hanging in the Louvre museum in France, where it had been for many years. DaVinci was Italian, though, which caused some people to be resentful of the fact that their homeland wasn’t in possession of such a masterpiece. Vincenzo Peruggia, an employee and Italian national, actually took the Mona Lisa out under his coat and returned it to Florence, Italy. For two years, it remained there and he remained in hiding. Eventually, though, Peruggia was discovered and the painting was returned. Rather than facing a heavy sentence for his serious crime, Peruggia only served 7 months in jail and remains a patriotic hero in his home country.

Serial killers, kidnappings, robbery, and other big crimes happen all the time. Whether they’re old or just under-reported, there are a lot of crimes like these that are more interesting than you think. A true crime fan can never get bored with the volume of stories that are out there to be told, or the captivating nature of most of them. While heinous and awful cases like Ted Bundy, Elizabeth Smart, and others might be known worldwide on a first-name basis, the stories you don’t hear are often worse.