Murderers, Scoundrels and Ragamuffins

by Richard Sullivan

  ◆◆◆

  Slippery Alderman JP Sullivan was nothing if not cool and collected under pressure. The exposé in all the morning newspapers seemed not to faze him one bit; he carried on as always.

  Under consideration in the Common Council was an amendment sponsored by Alderman Adam to require the County Clerk to be in the company of witnesses upon opening bids for the purchase of property for the building of city schools. Presently the practice of the Clerk opening and reviewing bids in private allowed the possibility that certain low bids might get “misplaced” in favor of others that were higher.

  “No one is actually casting reflection on the City Clerk or anybody else, of course,” Adam stated disingenuously, “but the practice should be changed in the interest of fairness to bidders and to the city. We have heard all kinds of talk about the purchase of school sites. The School Committee, especially the one now in existence, has been accused of wanting to buy expensive land when it could easily get as good sites for very much less. The Committee has also tried to buy land where the city did not need it.”

  Sullivan stewed in his juices listening to the speech knowing full well the entire Council recognized that Adam’s thinly veiled rhetoric was referring to Fingy’s affection for aggressive land-jobbing. Upon learning from his friends on the School Committee which sites were being considered for future school buildings, Fingy “persuaded” the current owners to sell to him, then resold the lots for up to three times what he’d paid with the aid of his friends in the Common Council. Or more precisely, one particular friend; Alderman Sullivan was Fingy’s chief mole in that scheme. Sullivan had eight kids to feed after all.

  “I think we need more publicity, and especially more competition in the purchase of school sites,” Adam continued. “To require the opening of the bids before the board or a committee, so that they could be read off in the presence of the newspaper men and those in attendance, would be in the interest of fair competition. The only ones who might object to it are those who want to carry on their public business secretly.”

  He paused a second to dart an accusing look directly at Alderman Sullivan, then continued. “To change the custom would not reflect on the honesty of any official; it would be merely an improvement in the manner of doing these things.”

  As Adam spoke, Sullivan scrutinized how best to dodge the newspapers’ accusations that he was soliciting bribes. He had stated on the front page of that morning’s Courier in no uncertain terms that he had absolutely not accepted the favor of $3000 from Conners in a hotly contested school land-jobbing deal.

  Sullivan’s arch-enemy Alderman Adam was determined to end the lucrative practice via this new amendment. There were lots of reasons why JP hated Adam, not the least of which was that Adam was Scottish by birth. Adam’s being the most likely origin of the bribe accusation to the newspapers was another.

  The Buffalo Express chimed in:

  The Express showed that back in 1888 Conners foisted on the taxpayers a piece of land 66 1/2 feet front on Louisiana Street and 76 feet deep for $8,350. Uncle Philip Becker, a Republican, was Mayor then, and he vetoed the sale saying “the price fixed as the maximum is in my opinion far above the value of the property.” The lot was in the rear of Conners’ saloon on Ohio Street. Its assessed value was $3,120, of which $1,350 was the land valuation.

  “In a second veto Mayor Becker said a larger more desirable lot on the same street, 75 by 300 feet and running to Kentucky Street might have been bought for $6,000. Becker also pointed out that the Conners lot, which was in the rear of his saloon, was not a proper location for a school. But the taxpayers were jobbed just the same, and Conners got their money.

  “He tried a second land-job with a lot 132 feet front at Seventh and Hudson streets in 1890. The Hon. Charles F. Bishop, a Democrat, was Mayor then. Conners’ exorbitant price was $14,550 or $110 a foot. Mayor Bishop promptly vetoed the job. He pointed out in his veto that the same 132 feet of land at Seventh and Hudson streets had been advertised in the Buffalo News of April 30, 1890 as for sale at $60 per foot front. Thus mayor Bishop blocked Conners’ land-job to grab at least $6,000 that he was not entitled to. Conners then tried to foist the lot on taxpayers over Mayor Bishop’s head, but the matter was carried into the courts and the Common Council buried the job in committee.

  Pure Evil

  ◆◆◆

  Detective Emmanuel Schuh had been stonewalled in his questioning by the suspicious new occupant of the Frehr house at 339 Jefferson Street. The tenant may have been old as dirt, but he was still sharp as a tack and unflappable to boot.

  Returning to the station house, Schuh told Regan that Bonier claimed that the aged couple had sold the house to him and had then gone away to take up residence in some institution for the aged. Mike Regan shared Schuh’s skepticism. The two immediately set to work using both telephone and telegraph in an effort to locate the couple. All afternoon they contacted a host of institutions for old folks in New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio, but could get no information. Regan again contacted Supt. Bull with the most recent information, but Bull still refused to launch an official investigation. Regan marveled at this. “You’d think after all the recent murders so unsuccessfully resolved, especially Marian Murphy and Edwin Burdick, that Bull would have learned some lesson in those. Yet here he is, again slow on the uptake, repeating the same mistakes once more.”

  The next day Mrs. Girtens’ uncle, Mr. Bundschu, arrived at the station and urged Regan to make renewed efforts. He stated his fear that the Frehrs were dead. Regan advised him to institute John Doe proceedings against the man who was living in the house and volunteered any assistance in his power. Bundschu agreed, saying he would meet up with Regan at the Police Court first thing the following morning to do exactly that.

  The matter of the Frehrs’ disappearance weighing heavily on his mind now, Capt. Mike Regan visited the house himself with Jim Sullivan to have a talk with the occupier, Mr. Bonier, whom they found relaxing calmly in the parlor.

  “I want to know where Franz Frehr and his wife are,” Regan said to him as he stood before the seated old man in the poorly lit room.

  “Don’t know,” said Bonier. “they went to some old folks institution, but they didn’t say to which one because they did not want to have their relatives know where they had gone. They said their relatives had long been after their money.”

  “It would take a lot of trouble from my mind,” Regan warned, “and would possibly save you a considerable lot of trouble also, if you would just tell me their whereabouts.”

  “I wish I knew where they were,” he coolly replied, “but I’ve not seen them since the 20th day of November when I saw them driving away from the house in a carriage.”

  “Have you proof that the Frehrs sold this property to you?” asked Sullivan.

  “Of course.”

  “Let us see it.”

  Without getting up from his comfortable chair Bonier reached over to retrieve two deeds from an adjacent drawer. He handed them to Regan. Regan unfolded and examined them.

  “I’ll need to take these to verify them with the County Clerk. They will be returned to you as soon as possible.”

  Bonier was hesitant to allow this, but thought it wiser not to object.

  The two cops left the house stymied and deeply suspicious.

  “He certainly is a tough customer, especially for such an old coot,” said Regan.

  “It’s remarkable. I’ve never encountered anyone like him,” replied Sullivan.

  Regan and Sullivan immediately set out to speak with the Notary Public who drew the deeds that Bonier had surrendered. His name was Wincenty Burzynski.

  They tracked Burzynski down at his office. The officers were intrigued when Burzynski insisted that Franz Frehr had visited his bureau only just recently and had deeded the property to one Charles Bonier.

  “Mr. Frehr came to my office two days ago,” said Burzynski, “and asked me if I drew deeds. He stated that he had just sold some pr
operty. I drew the deeds. He told me that he would hand over the deeds to Bonier to have them recorded.”

  The next morning Franz and Johanna Frehr’s son-in-law Philip Bundshu appeared before Justice Murphy in the company of Capt. Regan. Justice Murphy found cause and issued a subpoena for old Charles Bonier to appear the following morning. Bundschu expressed his gratitude.

  Regan next updated the situation to Supt. Bull, who again showed no concern or interest. Regan requested the case be taken up by Headquarters Detectives and be provided priority so as to make up for lost time, but Bull scoffed at this.

  “There’s more serious matters we need to devote our attention to. You of all people should know that!” Bull bellowed.

  “But Chief, none of this makes sense, and we have here a sick and elderly couple who have disappeared without a trace!”

  “Disappeared? You were told they’re unable to care for themselves no more, so they went to an old folks home! Nothin’ mysterious about that. Makes sense to me. Now go ’n’ don’t waste no more of my time with such malarkey!” jeered the Superintendent of Police.

  The next morning Bonier failed to show up at Police Court. When notified of that fact, Capt. Regan and Jim Sullivan immediately departed for the Jefferson Street house. There they met not Bonier, but his housekeeper Louisa Lindholm and the latter’s sister, a Mrs. Kuhns. Two of the housekeeper’s small children were present as well.

  “Where is Bonier?” the housekeeper was asked.

  “He left the house at 8 o’clock this morning.”

  “What did he say?” asked Capt. Regan.

  “I asked him where he was going and he said he was going to Police Court. I asked him, what are you going so early for? ‘I want to get a front seat,’ said he.”

  The housekeeper stated that when Bonier left he took a .38 caliber revolver with him. She thought it odd when she saw him place the revolver in his pocket.

  Regan and Sullivan immediately began a search of the house. It was a mess.

  “You say you’re employed as the housekeeper here?” asked Sullivan.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Never met no housekeeper who was allowed to move her whole family into her employer’s house before,” snarked Detective Sullivan, knowing right away what was really going on there, “and considering the sorry condition of this place I’d venture to guess you were in fact in a wholly different profession entirely.”

  Insulted, she remained silent. In fact she was not a housekeeper, but as Sullivan suspected, Bonier’s recent common law wife. She was a quarter century younger than Bonier. A lifelong wanderer, Bonier upon meeting her wished to at long last settle down, but desired to attain property before formally proposing to Lindholm. He went about it in the worst possible way. Previous to leaving that morning he had presented her with a sum of gold that he had uncovered from the Frehrs’ hiding place.

  The detectives found the floors thick with dust and dirt. There were papers spread about on all the tables and chairs. The sparse furniture was askew. There were no rugs on the floors anywhere. The parlor had at one time been a storefront. The large plate glass windows looking out onto Jefferson Street had been boarded up. The old house had been painted but once in the entire fifty-plus years’ of its standing by the looks of it.

  Regan and Sullivan looked for all the obvious signs of a ruckus, such as blood, damaged walls and woodwork and suspicious items both indoors and out. There were three bedrooms on the ground floor. It appeared the house had once been two separate cottages. Both were two stories except for the addition at the middle that joined the two which was but a single story. The back yard was a mess of discards including a large woodshed and piles of lumber.

  Finding no evidence of violence indoors or out, they headed back to the Precinct Station. Just about the time they walked in the door, Notary public Wincenty Burzynski spotted old Mr. Frehr through the glass door of his office, sitting in the waiting area. The newspapers had been questioning the disappearance of the Frehrs for a number of days at that point and Burzynski was delighted to see him, for he believed he had discovered the much-wanted man. He quickly telephoned Capt. Regan to tell him that the missing Mr. Frehr was sitting right there in his office. Regan was, needless to say, surprised.

  “Try and delay him there if you can, I’ll be right over,” instructed Regan.

  Burzynski hung up, then went out to the waiting area to greet the man.

  “Mr. Frehr! Hello!”

  “I am in trouble!” the old man blurted out.

  He confessed his name was not Frehr, but in fact was Bonier, that he had forged the deeds and that he was afraid he would get into trouble for it. He told Burzynski that only he could keep him out of a quagmire. He then made Burzynski a handsome offer. If Burzynski would go to Police Court and swear that he, Bonier, was not the man who had been to his office, that he had never laid eyes on him before, he would pay him $250. Bonier took out a pocketbook and extracted $250 from the thick accumulation of greenbacks within. Burzynski told him that he would not do it, even for $5000.

  Bonier broke down and cried right then and there. Burzynski advised Bonier that the only way for him to get out of his present difficulties was to have Mr. Frehr accompany him to the office and have Frehr himself straighten the matter out. Bonier replied that he did not know where Frehr was. Then, as if he had suddenly remembered something more important he had to attend to, Bonier scooted out.

  Less than five minutes later Capt. Regan and Detective Sullivan arrived at Burzynski’s office. The agitated notary told them what had just transpired. At that very moment a few blocks away Bonier boarded a train for Erie, Pennsylvania. He purchased his ticket on board the car rather than show his face at the depot ticket window in an effort to elude detection.

  “He just now ran out!” Burzynski told the policemen.

  “Damn! Which direction?” blurted Regan.

  “I don’t know, Captain. I neglected to follow him out onto the street.”

  Regan and Sullivan returned to precinct No. 8 to find Mrs. Girtens, almost hysterical, waiting for them there. She had just come from speaking to her grandparents’ next door neighbor, Mrs. Carrie Mansell, who told her that a week previous she had been looking out her window when Bonier appeared in the Frehr’s yard. He was a stranger to her. He saw her and asked if the woodshed in the yard, which was built alongside the fence separating their properties, was blocking her view. When she said it was, Bonier cheerily said he would gladly remove it. The next day, Mansell said, a man came to tear it down. He carried the lumber further into the yard, then rebuilt the shed in an oddly inconvenient place near the center of the yard. She thought that very queer.

  “The day after my grandparents were last seen, that man tore down their woodshed! They are hidden in there, somewhere. I just know it! Please, you must come with me and have a look for yourselves.”

  Regan called for Detective Schuh and together with Sullivan accompanied Mrs. Girtens to her grandparents’ house. They immediately entered the yard. Bonier’s housekeeper watched warily out the window. The men poked around as Mrs. Girtens questioned the inexplicable relocation of the woodshed. Inside the new woodshed a pile of lumber sat four feet tall neatly stacked. She said that previously the lumber was in a pile helter-skelter behind the house.

  “Why would someone devote all his energies to relocating a rickety woodshed and then removing a sizable lumber pile into it rather than attend to the needs of the house itself?” Mrs. Girtens asked. “My poor dears! They are inside there, obscured! Perhaps hidden under that very wood pile! I can just feel it!”

  The three cops commiserated before setting to work dismantling the hoard of planks. Ten minutes into it Jim found a copper hammer within the jumble. It appeared to have dried blood on it. Examining it, Mrs. Girtens identified it as belonging to her grandfather. She appeared ready to faint.

  “Schuh, best you go back to the station and gather some men and tools. We may have a long night ahead of us,” sa
id Regan. “Bring lamps as well.”

  A team of seven officers were soon assembled in the yard. They removed the lumber one piece at a time and piled it outside the shed. That done, they noticed the earth beneath the pile appeared to have been recently disturbed. As darkness fell, lamps were lit and the work continued with picks and shovels.

  Neighbors gathered to watch regardless of the cold and the late hour.

  “This here ain’t no place for children! Go back to your homes and your beds!” ordered Regan.

  “I am standin’ in my own yard and you’re not to tell me what to do!” replied Carrie Mansell. A chorus of “yeahs” rose up from the obstinate crowd. “Anyways,” she continued, “yous cops shoulda been here doin’ this work a full week ago now!”

  The eerie lamp light animated ghostly figures laboring intently. The activity paused every now and again to allow the wiping of sweat from furrowed brows in spite of the frigid temperature. The clang of the shovels, the cursings of the cops and the steady murmur of the crowd coaxed the remaining laggards and Johnny-come-latelys living nearby from their warm dreams. The crowd swelled rather than dwindled as the sorry night wore on.

  At midnight amidst the ever-increasing redolence of death one of the men’s shovels hit something hard at about the thirty inch depth. Digging carefully around the object they were finally able to free it and raise it upward toward the lamp’s light. The crowd gasped. In the illumination they recognized a human arm.

  All night they continued to toil, carefully clearing dirt from around the body so as to lift it out as intact as possible. They could see it was that of an old man fully dressed, lying face down. The skull had been crushed in. Mrs. Girtens recognized the man’s clothing. It was her grandfather, Franz Frehr.

  The men stopped digging after the body was lifted out. It was just as the sun began to rise. A renewed search was launched for Mrs. Frehr around the property.

  Distraught, Mrs. Girtens sat stunned on the lumber pile shaking from cold and grief.