by Joe Kimball
Finally, before it could go to trial, Marjorie and her children settled out of court. On June 29, 1983, they agreed to share the money, which was significantly reduced when lawyers skimmed about $2 million off the top.
Under the agreement, Marjorie was to receive about $1.5 million from a trust left by her grandfather. The remainder, several millions more, would go to her children. Marjorie, though, will receive the interest from one-third of the children's share, as long as she lives. The children also shared a second trust, worth about $2 million. Attorney's fees and debts were deducted from the trusts.
In the mid-1980s, family members believed Marjorie was getting about $40,000 per year from the trusts.
When told of the financial arrangement in 1987, Roger Caldwell – then living on welfare in Pennsylvania – said: “No matter how much money she has, it will never be enough.”
After Marjorie's acquittal in Hastings, Roger Caldwell immediately appealed his conviction, claiming that new evidence from her trial - primarily the false thumbprint - would prove his innocence. The Minnesota Supreme Court agreed. On Aug. 7, 1982, the justices ordered a new trial. Roger had already been in custody for five years.
In their decision, the justices cited the thumbprint, which, you'll remember, was found on an envelope in the Caldwells' Colorado hotel. The envelope, which had been postmarked in Duluth on the day of the murder, contained a gold coin taken from Miss Congdon's bedroom. The thumbprint was a major factor in Roger's conviction, because it showed Roger had been in Duluth that day. At Marjorie's trial, though, the experts changed course and testified that it wasn't Roger's thumbprint, after all.
Prosecutor John DeSanto was shocked at the Supreme Court's ruling. “There's no question that we have the right man in jail,” he said.
Roger was released from prison pending the new trial and returned home to Latrobe, Pa. On the day of his release he was asked about his plans. “Maybe I'll become a tour guide at the Congdon Mansion,” he said. One of his relatives later noted that “Roger has a dark sense of humor.”
At first, officials in Duluth vowed that they'd go after Roger again in court, convinced that they could get another conviction. But as the trial date approached, that resolve began to fade. In the end, neither side really wanted another trial. Roger didn't want to risk another conviction and the prosecutors hoped to avoid the cost of another trial, especially when there was no guarantee that they'd win without the thumbprint evidence. And they knew that the memories of some witnesses were fading five years after the fact.
So they struck a deal. On July 5, 1983, in a closed Duluth courtroom, Roger pleaded guilty to two counts of second-degree murder, a lesser charge than his original first-degree murder convictions. In return, he was allowed to go free, having served just over five years in prison. He gave a rambling and vague description of the murder, saying he was drunk at the time and didn't remember some of the crucial details.
At first glance, it doesn't seem like much of a deal from the prosecution's side. Roger confessed to two brutal murders, then was allowed to get out of jail — free. It was a classic example of plea bargaining, with all its advantages and disadvantages.
Technically, the murders were now solved, without the risk and expense of another trial. Still, many wondered at the wisdom of the deal and where justice could be found in this corner of the justice system.
Back in Latrobe, Caldwell's family still refused to believe he'd been involved in the murders. “He had to plead guilty to get out of jail,” one said. “He would have been crazy not to.”
Just a week after his release, Roger seemed mystified with the system: “If I did it, I should still be in jail. If I didn't do it, why did they spend all those years going after me?”
Roger decided to stay in Latrobe after making the deal, even though the entire town had found out about his troubles with the law. (Until Caldwell's release from prison, there had been no mention of the murders or Roger's trial in the Latrobe media. But then a Twin Cities reporter - not me - tipped off the Latrobe newspaper about Roger and it became front-page news.)
Roger was unable to find a job in Latrobe and went on welfare. At times, he filled in as a bartender at a local pub, which, he admitted, was not the best career choice for a recovering alcoholic.
Marjorie, meanwhile, continued to make news.
She married Wallace Hägen, a retired electrician and old family friend, in a 1981 North Dakota ceremony. Apparently, though, she forgot to divorce Roger first. Although she would claim that she obtained a quickie divorce in Mexico, no evidence of that divorce has ever emerged. North Dakota officials filed bigamy charges against her in March, 1983, but the crime didn't warrant extradition, so as long as she doesn't return to that state, it's unlikely she'll ever face trial.
When I learned about Marjorie's new marriage, I called Latrobe to see where and when Roger had been divorced. The word from Latrobe was that Roger had no knowledge of a divorce and was surprised and hurt that Marjorie had remarried. He probably shouldn't have been surprised. Marjorie had visited him in prison just once after her acquittal and had made no effort to contact him when he got out. Still, he maintained a loyalty to her, perhaps thinking that she'd take care of him, somehow, for all his efforts.
Trouble followed Marjorie after her wedding, too. She and Wally Hagen bought a house in Mound, a western Twin Cities suburb, in 1982, but when they couldn't come up with the money to pay off a contract for deed, they arranged to sell the house to another couple. But the house burned down mysteriously before the new owners could move in. Early in 1983 she was charged with arson and insurance fraud for burning down the house.
Meshbesher defended her again, but he couldn't work his magic this time. The jury found her guilty and Hennepin County District Judge Robert Schiefelbein sentenced her to 2 years in prison and a $10,000 fine.
The day before she was sentenced, Marjorie was arrested in St. Louis Park for shoplifting a $7.99 bottle of vitamins from an upscale grocery store.
In January 1985, all her appeals ran out and she began serving her arson sentence at the Shakopee Women's Prison. She was released on parole in October 1986 and spent the winter in Arizona with Wally Hagen. Like many Minnesota snowbirds, she spent the next several years living in Arizona during the winter and returning to Minnesota in the summer.
By his own account, Roger spent six miserable years in Latrobe following his release from prison. He was broke and became increasingly bitter as he failed to adjust to life on the outside.
At first, he seemed confident that he could overcome the stigma of the murder convictions. I visited him in 1983, just days after his plea bargain, and found him hopeful and energetic. He wanted to find work and put the prison days behind him. He hadn't heard from Marjorie in years, but suspected - and secretly hoped - that her lawyers might work out some sort of lucrative divorce deal, so he'd collect some of the Congdon money, after all.
It never happened. Caldwell went on welfare, getting $186 per month. He shared a small apartment near the old railway depot with a woman friend, for companionship and to save money. They survived with food stamps and clothes from the Salvation Army. Roger grew vegetables in the cramped back yard and regularly visited his mother and father in a nearby high-rise. He rarely saw his brothers, two of whom still lived in Latrobe, except at family gatherings.
Roger tended bar occasionally, but he realized it was a poor choice for an alcoholic and he also worried that the welfare people would find out and dock his welfare check. After a while, the effort of looking for a better job was too much, and he gave up.
In 1987 I visited Roger again. It was 10 years after the murders and he'd been out of prison for nearly five years. This time, Roger was morose and disheartened. He still had no job, no money and no prospects. He was driving a 14-year-old station wagon owned by his parents.
For the first time, though, he began to talk about the murders. Until then, he'd always refused to answer even simple questions, fearing that he'd be
charged with perjury if he deviated in the least from the sworn confession he'd given in Duluth in return for his freedom.
But now, years later, he opened up a bit. There was a sense of doom in his works and in his manner. It was hard to tell if he didn't care any more or if he was talking to cleanse himself, to rid himself of some demons. Probably, it was some of each.
He said he hadn't committed the murders. He said he'd confessed only to get out of prison. “I was the patsy,” he said. “An extremely wealthy person was murdered. Someone had to pay. My wife was the most hated person in the family and the only way to get to her was through me.”
He said he'd been home - in the Colorado hotel room - on the night of the murders. He sounded sincere, but he couldn't explain the evidence that had convicted him in Brainerd. He said he was framed, although he couldn't say by whom. Then he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
It became clear that he was losing his will to live. As we drove together through the western Pennsylvania hills, he made several foreboding remarks.
“I'm so disenchanted with the hand I've been dealt, but there's not a thing I can do about it.”
“You reach a point in your life when you just give up. The older you get, the more bleak it becomes. When you're young, you haven't been kicked in the head enough to give up. But when you reach a certain age, you realize there's nothing out there. You're glad you've got a television and a little yard to putter in.” (He was 53 at the time.)
“I'm sick. I'm probably dying. I'll be surprised if I'm here next year. I'll be downright amazed if I'm here next year.”
Eleven months later, on May 15, 1988, Roger Caldwell killed himself. He cut his wrists with a steak knife in the kitchen of his little apartment. Relatives said he'd been drinking heavily in the previous two weeks.
Earlier in the week he'd told relatives that he was terminally ill, but a check with his doctor proved that was untrue.
In his apartment, police found a note: “What you need to know is that I didn't kill those girls, or, to my knowledge ever harm a soul in my life.”
But that wasn't true. He'd beaten his girlfriend just days before the suicide, sending her to the hospital. Those close to the case believe Roger was psychologically unable to admit, perhaps even to himself, that he'd killed Miss Congdon and Velma Pietila, the nurse. He tried, to the end, to blot out that memory from his mind. Alcohol was one of the tools he used.
Five days after his death, there was a service for Roger in the chapel of the Latrobe funeral home. Only nine people showed up to pay their last respects. Eight were relatives, and they graciously allowed me to sit in on the service. It rained all that day in Latrobe, and continued into the night.
In the late 1980s, Marjorie and Wally Hagen moved into the tiny retirement community of Ajo, Arizona, pop. 3,500. It's about 80 miles south of Phoenix on Hwy. 85. Chester Congdon had helped develop the copper mine that dominated the small town for years. When the mine closed in the mid-1980s, many northerners bought some of the tiny houses that previously had been rented to mine workers. The houses were cheaper than most trailers, and provided an inexpensive way to make an annual winter trek to Arizona.
Marjorie and Wally bought one of those little four-room houses. Wally's health was poor - he was 82 now and had cancer, they said. Marjorie pushed him around town in a wheelchair, stopping regularly to chat with neighbors.
Ajo, though, had a problem. A spate of arson fires plagued the town in late 1990 and early 1991. The burned homes had been empty, either abandoned or owned by snowbirds who had already returned back north. Officials suspected a gang of youths were responsible for the fires, but couldn't catch anyone.
Then, on March 24, 1991, a neighbor who lived two doors down from the Hägens heard someone outside his window. He was a border patrol officer and wasn't concerned when he saw Marjorie outside on the lawn, walking Wulf, the Hägens' large dog. But something nagged at him and when he went outside to check, he found a kerosene-soaked rag on his window.
He called the sheriff's office and when a team of deputies arrived they staked out the area.
About 2 a.m. they heard someone approach. Then, they thought they heard a match strike. They rushed out, extinguished the burning rag and chased the perpetrator into the alley. It was Marjorie. They searched her for weapons, but not for matches. Marjorie would later claim that she must be innocent because they never found any matches on her. But she was charged with two counts of arson and was a suspect in 13 other suspicious fires.
Wally couldn't raise the $50,000 bond to free Marjorie from jail. “All I have is my Social Security,” he said. “All the rest is tied up in judgments. And Marge's kids won't help - they say she's gotten into trouble too many times before. I think that's terrible, don't you?”
Wally said his wife was set up. He pointed to Wulf and said: “There's the culprit. I think someone put meat juice on the rag and Wulf took it off the windowsill. She was just returning it.” It's the same argument she'd use at the trial, and beyond.
He said he didn't know why anyone would want to frame his wife.
“I'm standing by my wife,” he said. “To my mind, she's innocent. I suppose you think it's strange I don't seem more upset. I suppose I should be, but things have always worked out in my life. I think this will, too.” He didn't know it, but a year later, that would no longer be true.
This wasn't the Hägens' first run-in with Arizona authorities. They'd had a motor home repossessed, along with some of Marjorie's jewelry after a check for $55,000 bounced. They used the check to pay for major repairs to their large RV. And one of the Ajo fires had destroyed a warehouse where they kept another big RV. Marjorie later admitted setting that fire, saying she needed the insurance money to pay for Wally s medical care.
Marjorie stayed in jail for several months until Wally came up with the bail money. While Marjorie was “away,” neighbors noticed a remarkable improvement in Wally's health. They said he didn't need his wheelchair anymore and was flirting with waitresses. And he started eating at his favorite restaurant, the local Kentucky Fried Chicken. When Marjorie was around, she wouldn't let him eat there.
When she finally was released, her lawyer successfully delayed the arson trial for more than a year, saying Wally was ill and needed his wife's attention.
The trial began in October 1992. Marjorie's lawyer stuck to her “Wulf” defense and argued that they'd never found a match on her that night. And Wally was called as one of the defense witnesses. In theatrical fashion so typical of Marjorie, Wally was wheeled into the courtroom on a gumey while the judge, jury and spectators watched in amazement. He gave his testimony lying down, with Wulf, who was described as a “hearing ear dog,” at his side. Unfortunately for Marjorie's case, jurors watching out the window had seen Wally getting out of the car in front of the courthouse, unaided, and noticed Marjorie help him get up into the gumey.
Wally told the jury that Marjorie had trouble gripping items in her hands and was not able to light a match. Marjorie testified, too, that she was out walking the dog when she saw sparks near the neighbor's house. She said she became frightened and ran. She, too, said she was incapable of lighting a paper match, even though police had found a book of matches in her house.
The jurors were also told of Marjorie's Minnesota arson conviction. They were impressed with the weight of evidence against her and unimpressed with her flamboyant style. They convicted her of attempted arson on October 30. Because of her previous arson conviction she faced a mandatory prison sentence.
Under Arizona law, she was supposed to go directly to jail to await final sentencing and any appeals. But Marjorie turned on her charm. She told the judge that Wally couldn't survive on his own and if she was going to prison she had to find someone to watch over him. She pleaded for just 24 hours of freedom, to take care of Wally.
The judge gave her one more day.
When Marjorie and Wally returned to Ajo, the local authorities were ready. Worried that Marjorie might m
ake a break for Mexico, they kept an overnight watch on the house.
The next day, a sheriff's deputy smelled gas near the house. Tom Taylor, the lieutenant in the Pima County Sheriff's office overseeing the case, rushed over and knocked on the door of the little house at 721 Palo Verde Road. Marjorie came to a window and told Taylor that she'd accidentally left the gas oven on earlier, but that it was off now and that everything was okay.
She also said she planned to live up to her promise to turn herself in that afternoon, in just a few hours.
Taylor went back to his office, but a couple hours later he got a call from the Twin Cities. It was Tom Hägen, one of Wally's three children from his first marriage, saying Marjorie had just called him to say Wally was dead.
Taylor and a team of officers rushed back to the Palo Verde house and found Wally's body. At first Marjorie said she didn't know when Wally had died. Police searched the house, questioned her, then arrested her at 3:30 a.m. She was transferred to a jail in Tucson and charged with murder. Bail was set at $1 million.
Relatives reported that Marjorie had called one of her daughters from jail and said that Wally had died about noon, an hour before Taylor had questioned Marjorie about the gas smell.
“I hope they make this stick. I hope they put her away and throw away the key,” said Jennifer Johnson, Marjorie's normally mild-mannered sister. The two sisters had not seen each other in years and Jennifer still held Marjorie responsible for their mother's death. Jennifer said she was shocked, but not surprised, at this latest turn of events.
Police found two suicide notes in the house, indicating that Wally may have believed he was entering into a suicide pact with Marjorie. But officials said they didn't think Marjorie ever had any intention of killing herself. A garden hose was found in the house, freshly cut, and apparently had been used to funnel gas into the bedroom.