Echoes of My Soul

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  Hesitantly, Abbe had invited him and the detectives into her parents’ house, where she talked in detail about the day the photograph had been taken.

  Abbe told Glass that she’d never owned a copy of the photographs taken that day at the after-prom picnic. Her friend, Jennifer, had only made one print of each and had placed them in a photo album.

  Although he knew what the answer was going to be, Mel still asked her if she’d ever met Janice Wylie, Emily Hoffert or Katherine Olsen. Or could she think of anyone who might have lived in their apartment building on East Eighty-eighth Street? The young woman shook her head. She’d heard of the murders, of course, but didn’t know the victims or anyone who’d lived on the fashionable Upper East Side.

  As he got ready to leave, Mel thanked Abbe Romano and asked if she’d be willing to testify about what they’d just discussed. But the young woman’s eyes had grown wide with fear and she shook her head vehemently. No, she was married now, to an attorney, and they lived in a small town. She didn’t want anyone associating her with such an infamous murder case. Someone might think she was somehow involved with the killer, she worried, since he’d been carrying a photograph with her in it.

  No assurances from Mel that any court appearance would be short—and the DAO would make sure the record was clear about her noninvolvement with the crimes or the killer—could convince the young woman to change her mind. He’d have to talk to her friend, Jennifer Holley, if he wanted someone to testify about the photograph. She’d given him an address for Holley and was only too relieved when they left.

  Mel and his team were able to find Holley soon after. She’d repeated the story they’d heard from her blond friend, including that there was only one copy of the photograph. She was surprised to see it in the possession of the police. Her father had died in 1960 and her mother decided to sell the family home when Jennifer joined the Peace Corps in July 1961. Before she left, the young woman had gone through her things and had thrown a lot of it away, including the photograph taken at Lake Nummy. And, no, she’d never met the victims of the “Career Girls Murders” or anyone else who lived at that Manhattan apartment.

  Although he’d suspected that the one piece of physical evidence linking George Whitmore Jr. to the crime scene—the one item that corroborated his confession and statement—wasn’t trustworthy, the reality of what that meant was staggering. First, Detective Edward Bulger would have never even questioned Whitmore about the Wylie-Hoffert case without it. Second, it also meant that Whitmore told Bulger the truth the first time he was asked about where he got the photograph, and that he’d then been badgered into making a false confession. Without hesitation he’d told the Brooklyn cops that he picked up the photo in the dump in Wildwood, New Jersey. Third, Whitmore’s faux confession was the fusion of his own psychological weakness and the relentless leading nature of the questioning process. If the George Whitmore Jr. statement in the Wylie-Hoffert case was untrustworthy, what was the value of the incriminating statements he made in the Brooklyn cases?

  Yet, Whitmore had been indicted based on his confessions, the Q&A statement and the photograph. He was facing a double-murder charge in New York, and his trial for the Estrada case was coming up in November.

  Mel’s reflections were interrupted by a knock on the door. He looked up to see Detective Lappin standing there with a man and a woman, who he assumed were the Delaneys. He invited them to take a seat around the small conference table set up perpendicular to his desk in your basic armless Port Authority uncomfortable chairs. He quickly introduced himself and gave a brief history of his experience at the DAO and prior relationship with Detective Lappin, whom he described to the couple as “one sharp, perceptive and highly skilled” detective. “And he says you might have important information about the Wylie-Hoffert case.”

  Jimmy Delaney grinned and shot a glance at the detective. “I thought you might want to talk to me,” he said, and then looked at Glass. “I can dig it, but I ain’t giving this away. I might need it someday.” He paused and then, as if unable to keep completely quiet about the information, added, “I will say that the cops already talked to the cat who did those girls.”

  “When?” Glass asked.

  “Right after it all went down. When the cops were pulling everybody and their mothers in for questioning.”

  Glass looked at Delaney, who held his gaze rather than looking away, a sign that he might be telling the truth. “So you really believe your guy did it?”

  The drug addict leaned forward as he looked Glass in the eyes. His breath smelled like he hadn’t brushed in days and his sallow face had several days’ growth of beard. But he spoke clearly and earnestly when he said, “I know he did it. He came to my pad about noon that day and said he was in trouble because he just killed two chicks during a burglary. He had blood on his pants and he wanted a change of clothes, and he wanted to shoot up.”

  Delaney then leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Now that’s all we’re going to say, man,” he added, nodding at his wife.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Now that’s all we’re going to say, man.”

  When Delaney made his declaration, Mel had to think quickly about how to handle the confrontation. He knew the interchange between him and the Delaneys would go a long way in establishing a relationship that could be invaluable in uncovering the real killer.

  Mel was aware that Delaney—who had been around the block a few hundred times—was trying to see how far he could push and outmaneuver a young ADA. Mel figured that if he came on too aggressively and cowed Delaney into giving vital information, there would always be that uncertainty that he might grow resentful and “flip,” changing his story without warning. Yet, if Mel appeared appeasing and weak, Delaney would control the relationship and make demands that could ultimately evaporate his credibility as a potential witness. He would have to find just the right level to get to the truth and corroborate whatever the Delaneys might say.

  So let the chess game begin, Mel mused before addressing the couple. “You’re here because you told Detective Lappin that you and your wife know who murdered Janice Wylie and Emily Hoffert. It’s up to you, Jimmy. You can leave this room anytime you want. As far as your case goes, you say you want immunity before you talk. But you know I wouldn’t comment on any deal unless I know exactly what you’ve got to offer and how I can get it corroborated.”

  Mel paused to study Jimmy’s face. The smirk remained on his lips but his eyes were serious. “I want the truth, pure and simple,” Mel continued. “And if you’re going to give it to me, we’re going to have to trust each other, so let me tell you about the status of your case. I’ve learned from Detective Lappin that it appears to be a case of justifiable self-defense. Your case will be presented to the grand jury and, most likely, you’ll walk. But that’s as far as I’ll go right now. . . . One word of caution . . . I’ll know, believe me, if you’re telling the truth or not.”

  Glass let that sink in and then moved his queen. “I want you to understand,” he said sincerely, “I don’t take you for some street skel junkie with a long sheet. That’s not who you are, Jimmy. Some time ago you took an oath when you joined the Marine Corps to defend your country and its citizens against ‘all enemies foreign and domestic.’ It’s all about service. I served two years in the army, and I know something about service, too. Now tell me the truth and you can be part of freeing an innocent kid sitting in a jail in Brooklyn and helping bring to justice a stone-cold killer. That’s it. It’s not too late for you to define who you really are. If you trust me, you talk. If not, you walk. It’s your call.”

  Delaney’s eyes met Glass’s, but the smirk was gone. He and Margie sat silently in thought. Neither of them trusted the justice system—though, in truth, much of the blame lay with them. But Mel could tell that they were wondering if maybe he was for real. If not, they’d know soon enough. Grand juries generally did what the DA presenting the cases asked. If Glass was a liar, Jimmy might find himsel
f facing a murder trial, where anything could happen.

  Finally Jimmy Delaney broke the silence. “Mr. Glass, I’m a multiple offender, a two-time felony loser, but I acted in self-defense with Cruz, just as you would have under the same circumstances,” he said. “It’s true I’ve made a lot of bad decisions, and you’re right, we need to trust each other. So let’s get to it.” He looked at his wife. “I know the drill. Margie, they’re going to take you to another room so they can talk to us separately. I’m going to tell Mr. Glass everything, and you should, too, honey.”

  With that, all four people stood. The couple hugged each other and Margie was led away to an adjoining office. Jimmy watched her go and then sat down again. “His name is Robles. Richard Robles. He lives at 214 East Eighty-ninth Street with my wife’s aunt, Dolly Ruiz.”

  For the next hour, Mel mostly listened as Delaney told him about the day Robles showed up at their apartment. “It was a little before noon on August twenty-eighth,” Jimmy explained. “He said he was in trouble—that he’d just killed two girls during a burglary. He had blood on his shirt and his pants, and was wearing a jacket he said he got from their apartment and carrying a paper bag. He said he took a couple of cabs after leaving the girls’ apartment to get to our pad. He needed a change of clothing and I gave him pants and a shirt. There was some money from the burglary that he gave me to buy drugs.”

  Delaney claimed to have left the apartment to buy the drugs, while Robles stayed behind with Margie. “I was gone about forty-five minutes,” he added. “When I got back, he was still talking about it. He said one of the girls gave him a blow job.”

  After shooting up, Robles left the apartment, but he’d returned that night with newspapers that were already carrying the first stories about two young women who’d been stabbed to death on the Upper East Side. “He said those were the girls he killed,” Delaney noted.

  Robles had returned again the next day with more newspapers. “There were pictures of the girls in the paper, and I thought the blonde was real pretty. I asked him, ‘Why’d you have to kill them?’ And he said the blonde wasn’t as attractive as the newspaper was making her out to be.”

  Robles also told him that he got in through a window. And that when he’d told the second girl to take off her glasses, “She said something like, ‘No, I want to be able to identify you.’ He got a couple of soda bottles and hit them on the head to knock them out. Then he started stabbing them. I remember him saying that the smell almost made him throw up. One of the girls died right away, but the other one wouldn’t die and he had to stab her a few times in the heart. Then he went into the bathroom to wash up.”

  When Jimmy Delaney finished his story, Mel Glass got up and went into the next office, where Margie Delaney waited. She was a tiny woman with stringy, dark hair and was missing three of the fingers on her left hand. He knew from Jimmy that they had three children, ages seven to eleven.

  After offering the woman a cup of coffee, Glass said, “Jimmy says you can back up his story. Is that true?”

  Margie Delaney nodded and, cautiously at first, gave her account. The more she spoke, the more Mel was convinced that he was hearing at least some version of the truth.

  Despite his growing excitement, Mel kept his cool while the Delaney woman continued her narrative. As soon as he could, without revealing the thoughts that were racing through his mind, Mel told Margie that he needed to take a break. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, he joined Detective Lappin and Lieutenant Cavanaugh in the hall outside of his office. The lieutenant had been informed about the possible breakthrough in the case.

  “What do you think?” Cavanaugh asked.

  Mel took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. A rush to judgment had already resulted in the indictment of an innocent man; he didn’t want to make that mistake again now. But he had no doubt that what he’d just heard was closer to the truth than anything Whitmore had confessed to doing.

  “I think we’ve narrowed the killer down to three people,” he replied. “It’s either Jimmy, Margie or this guy Robles.”

  “What makes you say that?” Lappin asked.

  “A few reasons, but the main one is that her story matches the evidence,” Mel replied as he began to pace. “She corroborated her husband’s account, as well as known details from the crime scene. But they both had other details that were not in any police reports, including the DD5s.”

  “So what’s your next step?” Cavanaugh asked.

  Mel thought about it for a moment. “I think I better call Herman,” he said, and walked into a third office, where he dialed the home number of Homicide Bureau chief Al Herman.

  When Herman came to the telephone, Glass quickly explained the situation with Delaney. “If this looks like the real deal, can I offer him immunity for his current case?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Herman said, “Sure. If it was self-defense, then we’re really not giving him anything.”

  A few minutes later, Mel Glass was seated back at his desk, while the Delaneys and the police officers took seats at the table. He looked at Jimmy and then Margie, judging their moods. “I want to bring Robles into the office now and tell him that you just told me he’s the killer.”

  Margie looked alarmed, but Jimmy just calmly asked, “Why?”

  “Well, there are a number of reasons I’d like to have this confrontation,” Mel said. “One thing is that you’re going to have to testify in this case and identify him in court. I’d like to see now how he reacts to what you have to say. Plus, you’re going to have to face him in that courtroom, and this will be a good first test. Are you with me?”

  Jimmy and Margie Delaney looked at each other and then nodded. “Yeah, we’re in,” Jimmy said.

  “Good,” Mel replied. “But you have to promise me that whatever he says, you won’t react. He will likely do one of two things. He’ll probably say you’re full of shit and create a drama . . . or he might confess and say you’re right. I think that’s unlikely but it’s worth a shot. Either way, it’s to our advantage.”

  As Glass continued talking to the Delaneys—ordering in some sandwiches and drinks as they waited—Lappin called detectives at the Twenty-third Precinct and asked them to pick up Robles at Dolly Ruiz’s apartment and bring him to the DAO. The irony was not lost on Mel that for all the massive, citywide search for the killer, this suspect lived only five blocks from where Janice Wylie and Emily Hoffert were murdered—though in a dramatically less affluent neighborhood.

  It was the late evening of October 19, 1964, when Richard Robles was brought to the Criminal Courts Building. Lappin met the other detectives and the suspect downstairs and then escorted them to Glass’s office.

  Upon seeing the Delaneys, Robles stopped abruptly. His jaw dropped and his face drained of color as he stared at the couple without speaking.

  Glass used the pause to look over the young man. He didn’t seem to fit the image of a killer: the twenty-year-old was clean-cut, with dark, wavy hair, dark eyes and a handsome face.

  Looks can certainly be deceiving, Glass thought before matter-of-factly telling Robles that the Delaneys had just named him as the killer in the Wylie-Hoffert case.

  Robles’s eyes suddenly burned with rage as he looked at his accusers. “You two pieces of shit!” he yelled. “You low-life, lying motherfuckers. Jimmy, word has it that you got yourself in a crack and now you want to jack me up to get your pathetic ass out of the sling. Well, fuck you both!”

  Robles suddenly turned as if to leave the office. Mel Glass jumped up from his chair and snarled, “Mr. Robles, stop right there!”

  The suspect paused and then turned back to face Glass, who said, “You say the Delaneys are lying. Well, fair enough. I guess you wouldn’t mind taking a lie detector test to prove it?”

  Robles’s jaw clenched. “I’ll take your test anytime, anywhere!”

  “Good,” Glass said with a smile. “I’ll arrange it for some time in the next week
or so.”

  Robles glared one last time at the Delaneys; then he turned and left the room, followed by the detectives who brought him.

  Mel looked at the couple. “You guys still in?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy Delaney said as Margie nodded. “He’s lying, Mr. Glass. He’s a fuckin’ liar.”

  “Well, it helped,” Mel replied. He looked at the man sitting at the table and a thought struck his mind. “By the way, Jimmy, you know that Delaney is an old Irish family name, which may not have any relevance directly to you. But my wife, Betty, she’s a nurse. She’s from Ireland. So I know a little about the Emerald Isle. You know the story of St. Patrick?”

  “Yeah, sure, doesn’t everybody?” Delaney said with a grin. “He brought Christianity.”

  “That’s right, and he did it without violence,” Mel agreed. “He adapted by taking some of the old Celtic customs and blending them in with the practices of the Catholic Church. That’s what we’re going to do now, adapt.”

  “How do you mean?” Delaney asked.

  “Well, I believe that Robles is going to call you as soon as you get home,” Mel said.

  “Why?” Delaney asked.

  “Because he’s going to want to know exactly what you told us,” Glass replied. “You tell him you want him to come to your apartment if he wants to talk—that you don’t want to talk over the phone. When he gets there, just tell him matter-of-factly that you had to name him because of your case with Cruz . . . that you had to come up with something dramatic, but that you didn’t tell us much. Then say that you need to know exactly what happened at the girls’ apartment—so that if we question you again, you won’t accidentally give us the right details.”

  Delaney nodded and patted his wife on her knee. “We can do that.”

  As the couple got up to leave, Mel asked another question. “Jimmy, do you believe in redemption? You know, in taking advantage of a chance to make things right?”