Herbert Thomas described his abductor as a white man in his late twenties, around five feet tall, dressed in khaki, with dark red hair. Atkinson pegged his voyeur’s height some nine inches taller, estimating his weight at 130 pounds, but agreed to the red hair, khaki trousers, and a military-issue G.I. jacket. Sheriff Lonnie Smith of Kilgore’s Gregg County, in his all-points bulletin on the suspect, amended the fugitive’s arsenal to include two pistols.24 Coincidentally or otherwise, while Lufkin residents armed themselves with guns, knives and axes for home defense, the FBI announced its search for a German prisoner of war, reported missing from a POW camp in Oklahoma. Bureau spokesmen labeled him a “routine suspect,” and no further news of his flight was forthcoming. As for the red-haired hitchhiker, he proved as elusive as the murderer he claimed to be, vanishing as if into thin air.25
Back in Texarkana, businesses went begging for customers after nightfall, while porch lights burned all night throughout the city. Incessant prowler reports kept municipal officers hopping. Residents of East Ninth Street called the Gazette on May 7, to report sirens wailing in their neighborhood and to ask if the Phantom had struck again. A reporter rushed to the scene and returned with word that the “sirens” were sound effects originating from a nearby carnival.26 That same day, the Arkansas Gazette announced a news blackout on the case, spanning Arkansas and Texas, but it quickly proved it to be imaginary.27
On May 9, for example, the Texarkana Gazette alerted subscribers to the arrival of “[a] powerful, highly mobile transmitting station,” accompanied by “a fleet of three-way radio equipped prowl cars to aid in the manhunt for the murderer or murderers of Virgil Starks and four other persons in the Texarkana area since March 24.”28 And speaking of radio, newsman Bob Carpenter had arrived from New York the same day, preparing a coast-to-coast hookup for the Mutual Broadcasting System that would relay news of the manhunt from local radio station KCMC to 315 other outlets nationwide. Also in town for the show was Kenneth L. Dixon, billed in the Texarkana Gazette as a “nationally known International News Service correspondent.”29
So much for news blackouts.
Panic continued on May 9. Residents of North Texarkana feared that the Phantom was behind a shutdown in their telephone service that Thursday, and a .22-caliber bullet smashed the window of a home near Macedonia High School, west of town. Ranger Tully Seay blamed the latter incident on careless hunters in the neighborhood, while telephone repair crews found a cable burned out at the corner of Walnut and Eleventh Streets, leaving some six hundred homes without service through May 10.30 Less easily explained were the markings found on other homes west of Texarkana: a large chalked “X,” and several crudely printed warnings, “This place is next.”31
May 10 brought news from Georgia of a Ku Klux Klan revival, with the hooded order’s first public cross-burning rally since Japanese warplanes attacked Pearl Harbor in December 1941. That story ran on the Texarkana Gazette’s front page, but the day’s headline trumpeted another story: the first public link between Texarkana’s Phantom Killer and the Hollis-Larey case from February 22. Staff writer Lucille Holland had traced Mary Jeanne Larey to a relative’s home in Frederick, Oklahoma—the seat of Tillman County, 298 miles west of Texarkana—and found her still traumatized by the attack three months earlier. After describing her ordeal in some detail, skimping only on specifics of the “brutal assault” by a man who “did not rape her, but ... abused her terribly,” Larey repeated her contention that the gunman had been black.32
Holland’s report did nothing to enhance the image of police hunting the Phantom. She described a group of unnamed officers badgering Larey, insisting that she must know her attacker, rejecting her claim that the would-be rapist had been African American. Only after the Martin-Booker slayings in April had another investigator—Texas Ranger Joe Thompson—flown to Oklahoma for another session with Larey, thereby convincing her that police had finally drawn the connection between her attack and the subsequent murders. Even then, however, no public announcement of the link had been forthcoming.33
Later on that Friday, May 10, a frightened Texarkana housewife found a footprint in her flowerbed, calling police to come and measure it. On Bowie Street that night, reports of drive-by gunfire produced no evidence or reliable witnesses.34 Two panicked calls came in from Olive Street: one “prowler” on a porch turned out to be a man dodging the rain while waiting for a bus; nearby, thrashing sounds in an upstairs room led police to a cat stuck in a trash can. Another supposed prowler, on Magnolia Street, proved to be shrubbery stirred by the wind. On Sixteenth Street, the suspect rapping on a door turned out to be a postman bearing a special-delivery letter.35
Sheriff Presley, increasingly frustrated, asked locals for help. “Someone in Bowie or Miller Counties knows that somebody was ‘out of pocket’ these nights,” he declared. “We want every man and woman in these two counties to recall the dates of these murders and also recall whether or not any persons close to them were out these nights. This is no time to take any chance on information which might lead us to the slayer. The maniac must be stopped.”36
While police floundered, the press sounded alarms. From Little Rock, the Arkansas Gazette proclaimed, “Authorities here are certain others are to die, and they’ve narrowed the madman’s desire down to an attempt tonight [May 11] or possibly on May 23 or 24.”37 How were those dates selected? The newspaper explained:
With banker to bootblack suspicioned here, and authorities virtually agreed it is local, psychiatrists figure the killer this way:
First, he strikes, killing two and completing his crime.
Then, he feels terribly sorry, sick about it, for a week.
The second week he works against the feeling, still repentant, goes to church and works whatever job he has well.
On the third week, his terribly hurt mind goes cunningly to work on the next crime. It will be almost perfect, the police believe.38
Presumably not like the Starks raid, wherein one victim survived—and not on any precise three-week schedule, if investigators were capable of reading a calendar. As listed in the article, the Phantom’s raids, including the Hollis-Larey attack but discounting Earl McSpadden’s murder, had occurred at intervals of eighteen, twenty, and nineteen days, respectively. That said, the Gazette still claimed that “[p]sychiatrists have expressed the view that the killer strikes only every 21 days, and Texarkanians generally have accepted that view.”39
And indeed, no matter when the Phantom struck, locals had more than death itself to fear. Flying in the face of official denials and newspaper reports to the contrary, the Arkansas Gazette declared: “With the exception of the woman who lived, Mrs. Virgil Starkes [sic], the others were mistreated before and after death.”40
Locals seeking reassurance would get none from Lone Wolf Gonzaullas. Touring Texarkana after dark with a reporter from the Arkansas Democrat, Gonzaullas archly pointed out the perils of Spring Lake Park. “Look at that foliage on the side of the road,” he directed. “Why, that killer could rake down this prowl car just as easy.” Moving on to residential streets, he said, “Do you notice that every house has its porch light on, but you haven’t seen a light inside. Some of those houses are vacant; neighbors are doubling up. I wouldn’t let one of my men stop in front of one of those houses unless he was in a plainly marked Texas police car. I’ll bet that every other house has a man with a shotgun behind one of its windows. I wouldn’t let a son of mine carry a morning newspaper route through this section today or a telegram after dark.”41
To the ride-along reporter, it almost seemed as if the Lone Wolf was a victim of the brooding stress, himself. He wrote:
It’s a funny thing about Captain Gonzaullas; when you’re riding along he keeps his big Stetson hat in your lap—the only place for it if three or you are riding in the front seat.
But when he sees something suspicious, or something looking like trouble ahead, he grabs the hat out of your lap and puts it on.
We saw that twice
last night, but not once did we see him even reach for his guns on the seat.
Apparently, he operates on the theory the guns will automatically jump into his hands and other Rangers here tell us that is probably true of their captain. They have in the past, and in time, too.42
Or was it just another bit of melodrama played out for the press?
* * *
On May 10, 1946, a bearded stranger appeared at the home of Mrs. W. E. Harmon, outside Atoka, Oklahoma, begging for food. When she refused him, the man threatened to kill Mrs. Harmon, declaring that he had already murdered three women at Texarkana. He attempted to rape her, then fled with the act incomplete, leaving Mrs. Harmon to notify Atoka County Sheriff L. O. McBride of the incident. A posse with bloodhounds failed to catch him, but Sheriff McBride announced on May 12 that a thirty-three-year-old suspect had been arrested in Paris, Texas. Although clean shaven, he “fitted closely” a description of the suspect, and Mrs. Harmon claimed to recognize a pair of gloves he carried as those worn by her attacker.43 From Miller County, Sheriff W. E. Davis announced that the drifter was “definitely a suspect,” noting his recent residence in Lewisville, Arkansas, just thirty miles east of Texarkana.44 Texas Ranger Joe Thompson and FBI Agent H. S. Hallett visited Atoka to question the man—never publicly identified—but it all came to nothing. The suspect provided iron-clad alibis for the Texarkana slayings, and his fingerprints failed to match those collected at the Starks home.45
On the day before that announcement, May 13, another supposed Phantom suspect was arrested in Magnolia, Arkansas, and returned to Texarkana for questioning. Magnolia City Marshal Steve Dennis made the bust, after receiving complaints of a stranger acting “very suspicious” downtown. Specifically, the man had questioned the manager of a local theater as to the whereabouts of a young female ticket teller, claiming she had given him too much change when he purchased a movie ticket. The man handed thirty-three cents to the theater boss, then repeated his performance at a bakery next-door. Marshal Dennis found him at the local bus depot, where the man had bought a ticket to Alexandria, Louisiana.46
Identified as Justin Richmond, the middle-aged prisoner claimed to hail from Jones, Michigan, an unincorporated community in Newberg Township. Richmond told officers that he was “visiting the Southwest,” but denied passing through Texarkana and disclaimed any knowledge of its recent murders. The former claim was proved false by a receipt from a Texarkana hotel, dated May 10, found in one of his pockets. Police also mentioned a diary found in his possession, containing “suspicious material,” but no details were forthcoming. Sheriff Davis called Richmond “a very likely suspect in Texarkana’s five mystery killings,” but again nothing came of it.47 Last mentioned in print on May 16, Richmond was no longer considered a “very hot suspect.”48
Less fortunate was a tipsy thirty-five-year-old man who approached a restaurant outside of Texarkana, owned by Emmett Giles, in the small hours of May 15. Roused by his wife when she heard a car pull up outside and stop with its engine idling, Giles grabbed a pistol and ran to the nearest window. Heeding police advice to “shoot first and ask questions afterward,” Giles fired twice at the prowler, then watched him lurch back to his car and drive off. Police took the call and traced the stranger—wounded only in a toe—to his home three miles from the café. He was detained for questioning, then cleared of any link to Texarkana’s murders.49
As suspects came and went, a reporter asked Captain Gonzaullas what might happen if the Phantom “could be caught in one of his remorseful moods and by suggestion would kill himself.” The Lone Wolf replied, “I don’t know. I would like to get him; my men would like to kill him. But if it would save another innocent girl’s or man’s life, I would like him to kill himself.”50
* * *
Killing would have to wait until the Phantom was identified, and each day seemed to bring another suspect forward. One such, still publicly unidentified beyond the nickname “Sammy,” was an African American described as “about thirty-five and likeable.” Nonetheless, the tires on Sammy’s car appeared to match impressions found in Spring Lake Park, across the road from where Paul Martin’s body was discovered. Sammy denied involvement in the crime, but failed three polygraph exams according to the officers who questioned him. Sheriff Presley and FBI Agent Dewey Presley next turned to Travis Elliott of Texarkana, described by the Gazette in 1971 as “a psychologist-educator who today is one of the nation’s leading management consultants.” Their plan: hypnotize Sammy and break through his seeming wall of deception.51
Before proceeding, Elliott dismissed the officers and spoke to Sammy privately, emerging with the diagnosis that he was “a stable family man” who “had no criminal tendencies.” The Presleys wanted to proceed, regardless, so Elliott hypnotized Sammy, putting him into a “state of catalepsy” and regressing him to April 13. From 5:00 P.M. onward, Elliott and the two Presleys followed Sammy through that Saturday afternoon and evening—grocery shopping, having a “lively good time” with a friend residing on Texarkana’s Buchanan Loop Road, visiting several honky-tonk bars, then dropping his friend back at home. From there, Sammy proceeded to an assignation with a married woman, pausing en route to urinate beside a road in Spring Lake Park. Parking outside the woman’s house, he saw the lights extinguished, but she never kept their date, leaving Sammy to drive home disappointed. Still unsatisfied, the lawmen asked point-blank if he had murdered Paul Martin and Betty Jo Booker. The answer: an unequivocal negative.52
“In fairness to Bill [Presley],” Elliott recalled, a quarter century later, “he and his people went back and checked and corroborated every ounce of detail he [Sammy] had given us.” The likeable suspect was blameless.53
So was another, jailed in Shreveport, Louisiana, following a boozy confession to fellow saloon patrons that he was the Phantom Killer. Chief Deputy Tillman Johnson took the call on that one and hurried down to grill the prisoner, seeing his hopes dashed when he recognized the man as one of Texarkana’s town drunks. Confronted by an officer who knew him well, the man explained, “I was in this bar, and my money ran out. There was this young fella there ... really interested in all this Phantom Killer stuff ... so, what the hell, I figured if I told him a good story, he’d keep buying the drinks.” In fact, his generous inquisitor was a reporter, who lubricated his informant in exchange for “important information” on the case and landed a bogus confession.54
Other tips led harried investigators to a local police officer, the owner of a downtown feed-store, a gas station attendant, and the aforementioned Internal Revenue agent. When the scion of a local wealthy clan went off to boarding school after the Starks attack, he fell under suspicion for the crimes.55 It all combined to wear man-hunters down, prompting one officer’s complaint on May 12, “We’ve been working in circles all week.”56
* * *
Despite the Starks home invasion, some Texarkansans still believed the Phantom might return to prowling lover’s lane. Why not, if he was trying to confuse authorities? Police scoured the hinterlands, probing their shadows with spotlights, armed to the teeth—and they were not alone. Teenagers, likewise armed, mixed vigilante business with erotic pleasure that spring, parking as of old in lonely places, but with guns close by in case the Phantom showed his hooded face. On May 11, 1946, Lone Wolf Gonzaullas issued a public warning against “teen age sleuthing,” cautioning any underage man-hunters, “It’s a good way to get killed.”57
A near-miss case in point was provided by a local high school athlete who set out to follow one of Texarkana’s city buses that same day, convinced that he had seen a “suspicious” man climb aboard. Moments later, an unmarked police car fell in line behind the youth’s vehicle, its occupants trying to flag him down. Frightened, the boy fled at high speed, leading police on a hectic three-mile chase before they finally shot out his tires. He was hauled off to jail, then released without charge after questioning.58
While local teens were warned, often in vain, to stay at home and
leave man-hunting to their elders, Captain Gonzaullas hatched a plan to use four young couples as bait for the Phantom Killer. He disclosed the scheme to Little Rock newsman John Scudder, on condition that the volunteers remain forever nameless and that Scudder kept the story under wraps until the case was solved. Eight years elapsed before Scudder felt free to tell the tale in May of 1954.59
As Gonzaullas explained it to Scudder, the bait couples “were imported to the Texarkana hunt area from Texas, all trusted young people of sound families and several of them sons and daughters of ranking Texas Rangers.” Scudder met one pair of decoys at a local roadhouse, pretending to drink beer and feigning intoxication when Gonzaullas arrived with the newsman in tow. After watching that performance briefly, Gonzaullas signalled the bartender and introduced himself, then ordered, “Tell that couple who I am. Tell them they’re pretty drunk and to go home. The ‘Phantom Slayer’ cycle is on.” The bartender complied and the couple departed, the young lady pausing to tell Gonzaullas, “All right, Mr. Ranger, we’ll go on home.”60
Instead, however, the pair made their way to a prearranged spot on a dark lover’s lane and parked in the midst of a downpour. Gonzaullas and Scudder followed in due time, cruising slowly past the site where three Texas Rangers lay concealed, swathed in rubber blankets to keep dry. All three were armed with high-powered rifles, one equipped with an infrared sniper’s scope developed during World War II for picking off targets at night. As Scudder told it, “A man walking to that parked car would never get there.”61
On the night that Scudder took his tour with Captain Gonzaullas, three other couples were assigned to play the same dangerous game under guard. Each waited at their designated posts for an hour or so, then returned to the nearest tavern and repeated the drinking charade, while rain-soaked rangers moved on to the next place where they planned to lie in ambush.62 It was a bold scheme in the circumstances, nearly as dangerous for the Lone Wolf’s career as for the volunteers, but it ultimately failed.
The Texarkana Moonlight Murders Page 10