Miscarriage of Justice

by Kip Gayden

  As the gray of the predawn started to seep through the curtains of his room, Walter stretched and rubbed his face. His eyelids felt like someone had used sandpaper on them; the skin of his face felt stretched and taut. He looked at Anna, her shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of deep sleep. He thought she’d be all right, at least long enough for him to stretch his legs.

  He slipped quietly from the room and walked down the hallway. He went into the children’s bathroom and ran a little water into his palms, splashing his face. He raised his arms above his head and grimaced. He would likely have a resounding headache later, from lack of sleep.

  Walter went down the stairs. He paced to the front door and glanced outside, then stared. There were people outside, standing on the sidewalk, looking at his house. They were staring, hoping maybe to get a glimpse of the famous criminal, Anna Dotson.

  Walter sank down in a chair and held his face in his hands. His family had become a curiosity, something for people to gawk at. How would they ever explain this to the children?

  NASHVILLE TENNESSEAN

  and The Nashville American

  * * *

  Vol. 6–No. 310. March 16, 1913

  * * *

  WOMAN SUFFRAGE – SENSATIONAL KILLING

  “He ruined my home and wrecked my life,” declared Mrs. Anna Dotson, the wife of Dr. Walter Dotson, a prominent physician of Gallatin, after she had fired four fatal shots into the body of Charlie Cobb, a barber, at Jackson’s barbershop, 819 Broadway, Saturday afternoon, about 3:30 o’clock. Cobb died within a few minutes after reaching the city hospital, where he was rushed in an automobile, while Mrs. Dotson calmly waited until Lieutenant Sidebottom, chief of detectives, and Automobile Detective McGarver arrived on the scene and placed her under arrest.

  While the shop was crowded with the usual Saturday afternoon customers, the woman, without a word, walked up to the man whom she claims caused her ruin, while he was shaving a patron, drew a pistol from her muff and fired four times. Cobb sank slowly to the floor and lay crumpled in a heap, while Mrs. Dotson, clutching the revolver, watched him with fascinated eyes.

  The crowd who had witnessed the tragedy broke terror-stricken from the shop. Men ran in every direction. Mrs. Dotson, without a tremor, walked over to C. A. Hodges, who has charge of the chair next to Cobb’s, and asked him what she should do. “I have done just what I came here to do,” she said. “He ruined my home and my life. My husband, Dr. Dotson of Gallatin, knows you, will you kindly notify him?” Mrs. Dotson, on the advice of Hodges, sat down to wait until the police station was notified and looked on while the man she had shot was taken to an automobile and hurried away.

  Mrs. Dotson was taken to the police station in the patrol wagon where she was registered on the blotter as Mrs. Anna Dotson charged with murder and carrying a pistol. She was then taken to the women’s department and locked up. When seen shortly after the shooting took place, she was pacing the floor nervously, tears streaming down her cheeks. She again said that she accomplished just what she came to Nashville for. “I did not do it for revenge. I shot him to protect my brother and husband. I was afraid that they would kill him, and I did not want anyone to suffer for my sins.”

  Mrs. Dotson is a pretty blonde of 32 years. Beautifully dressed in a dark brown street dress, she presented a strange contrast to the dark interior of her cell. After a few minutes of broken conversation, she regained her composure and told the tale of events that led to the tragic death of the barber.

  “I met Mr. Cobb about a year and a half ago under very peculiar circumstances. One Sunday afternoon while my husband was away, I was sitting on the front porch of our home in Gallatin reading the Sunday morning paper. My sister, who was then Miss Flora Dennis, was sitting in the yard in a swing with a young man, while my two children were playing near the porch. The gate opened and I saw a young man, quite handsome, walking up to the porch.

  “He raised his hat and asked me if I would let him have the paper for a few minutes. I gave him the paper and he went away. Shortly afterward he returned it and stood and talked to me. He said that he lived across the street at the hotel and had often seen me and even declared that he had met me, but I know that he had not.

  “When my husband returned I told him of the strange conduct of the man, but Dr. Dotson knew him and said that it was Cobb’s manner, and that he was known to be very familiar. Picking out those times when my husband was away on a visit to a patient or in Nashville, Cobb continued coming to the house. In a few months we had become very good friends.

  “I thought that my husband did not love me; he did not show any sympathy or seem to care, and that is the reason I let Mr. Cobb come to see me.

  “I never had an engagement with him outside of my home the whole time that I knew him. He always came there. A short while ago I found that it was all over. I had forfeited my home and my life was ruined, and while walking down the street with my husband I could not face the people who at one time were my friends. They knew, and I could not look them in the face. I thought about it all the time, and finally, unable to hold it in any longer, I confessed all to my husband and brother.

  “My husband did not show any sympathy, and my brother said that he would rather the whole family was dead than have this disgrace. Dr. Dotson is a good man or he would have killed me on the spot, but after hearing my confession, he began planning to go to Chicago and take the children with him. He told me he loved me enough to stay with me, but I could not live with my two children, for some time they would find out my disgrace, and would not have any respect for me.

  “I knew that something had to be done or someone else would suffer besides myself. I knew that my brother would kill Mr. Cobb, and so I had to do it myself. Friday afternoon I came to Nashville to have my little boy’s hair cut, and I went to the shop where Cobb was working. While he trimmed the child’s hair, I told him that I had told my husband everything, and he seemed angry, but declared that he was not afraid, and I became frightened then, for I thought that should he meet Dr. Dotson when he came to the city he might kill him.

  “Some time ago my husband had given me a revolver which someone had given him, and I decided to come to Nashville today. I kept the pistol in my muff, and as soon as the train reached Union Depot I went to the shop and shot him. I did not do it to revenge myself, only to protect those that I love.”

  Mrs. Dotson frequently halted during her story, her voice choking with emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but toward the end she was calm, and talked freely of her relations with the man she had killed.

  C. A. Hodges, barber, employed at the Jackson shop, declared that he was working on a customer when Mrs. Dotson entered the door. Cobb was shaving a man and glanced around. Staring at each other without making a sign of recognition, the man stood dumbfounded in his tracks, while Mrs. Dotson continued advancing. Not a word was spoken and when Mrs. Dotson was within three feet from the barber, she drew her hand from her muff and opened fire.

  Hodges declared that the man whom Cobb was shaving leaped from the chair and made for the door. His face was covered with lather, while a towel was tucked in his shirt collar. He left his collar and necktie in the shop and up to a late hour Saturday night had not returned for his possessions. Where he went is not known and other attendants in the shop could not give his name.

  After the wounded man had fallen, Hodges said that Mrs. Dotson walked over to his chair and asked him what she should do. He told her to wait a few minutes, and she sat down. She did not even seem excited but stated that her purpose was accomplished. Hodges stated that Cobb had only been at work in Nashville during the past week and that little was known about him.

  After the shooting Cobb was taken to the city hospital. He was unconscious and the new pulmotor was put into service to resuscitate him, but he succumbed within five minutes. The remains were turned over to the undertaking establishment of Gupton-Sweeney Co., to be prepared for burial, and his family was notified.

 
; Messages of the tragedy were sent to Gallatin, where both the victim and the prisoner were well known. Dr. Dotson was soon located, and when told of his wife’s trouble, immediately started for Nashville in his automobile. He arrived at police headquarters at 6:30 o’clock, and was ushered into the office of the chief of detectives. He was accompanied by Robert F. Dennis, Mrs. Dotson’s brother, and attorney J. T. Baskerville of Gallatin. Immediately after the arrival of her husband, Mrs. Dotson was brought out of the prison. Her face pale and hands trembling, she walked into the private office. Mr. Dennis stepped back, while his sister walked up to her husband and without a word slipped her arms about his neck. The husband clasped her tenderly in his arms. Both were crying. No words were spoken for some time.

  Mrs. Dotson sank into a chair, almost prostrate with emotion, while Dr. Dotson leaned over her, talking in low tones. Robert Dennis sat near his sister, but said little. Steps were quickly taken for the release of Mrs. Dotson. Mr. Baskerville communicated with Judge Neil, and her bond was set at $6,000. It was several hours before the bondsman arrived and about 10 o’clock Mrs. Dotson was released from custody. Accompanied by her husband, brother, and attorney, she left for Gallatin in Dr. Dotson’s automobile. The following men signed the bond: Dr. Walter Dotson, Judge W. L. Oldham, J. M. Dennis, Sr., B. H. Hix and Dr. Richard Barr. Mrs. Dotson will be given a preliminary hearing Monday morning at 9 o’clock in the city court before Judge Neil.

  Dr. Dotson, when seen Saturday night, declared that he was sitting in his front yard when the message of the tragedy was delivered to him. He said that he was preparing then to take his children to the railroad station to send them to his father at Westmoreland, Tenn. He said that as soon as he learned of his wife’s trouble he started at once for Nashville. He would not make any statement in regards to his family affairs, having been advised not to do so by his attorney. Mr. Baskerville would not give out anything for publication. He declared that the trial would speak for itself.

  Cobb had been working in Gallatin for the past two years. He came to Nashville about a week ago and obtained a position in Jackson’s shop. He boarded with Mrs. Crutcher, 131 Sixth Avenue, North. Cobb’s father, who resides at Big Rock, fourteen miles from Clarksville, is a blacksmith. Cobb’s wife and child are in Henderson, Ky., with her mother, but on account of the telephone wires being down she has not been told of her husband’s death.

  The dead barber was about 28 years of age. He was a handsome man. According to the undertaker, four bullets took effect in his body, one striking him in the head, just behind the left ear, another in the left side of his neck, a third entering his neck just below the ear, and a fourth striking him in the left side, lodging near his heart.

  At his boarding house, it was stated that Cobb had been in excellent spirits during his week’s stay, and Saturday morning joked with those who sat at the same table with him. C. C. Cobb, the dead man’s father, will arrive here this morning and will complete the funeral arrangements.

  A peculiar incident connected with the shooting of Cobb was that C. C. Jent, a cousin of Mrs. Dotson, was passing the scene when the killing occurred, and stopped only to learn that Mrs. Dotson had killed a man. According to Mr. Jent, whose home is in Hopkinsville, Ky., he was on a Broadway car en route to catch a train for Kentucky, when he noticed the crowd at the entrance to the barber shop. When he reached the depot, curiosity impelled him to walk back to the place. He was told that Mrs. Dotson had killed Cobb. Jent said he went to the telephone and called Dr. Dotson and told him of his wife’s trouble. The husband told him to go to the police station with her and stay until he arrived; that he was leaving at once for Nashville in his automobile. Mr. Jent, when told of Mrs. Dotson’s statement in regard to her home being wrecked, declared he had never heard of any trouble in the Dotson household. He stayed at police headquarters until Dr. Dotson and his party arrived.

  30

  Paul christian was up bright and early that Sunday morning; he bought the first copy of the Tennessean the boy on his block untied from his bundle. The kid didn’t even get a chance to look at it before the reporter was grabbing it from his hands. He started to protest until Christian flipped him a dime and told him to keep the change.

  “WOMAN SUFFRAGE—SENSATIONAL KILLING” the paired headline read. Christian had tried to talk his editor out of the suffrage bit; in his mind, a woman shooting her paramour in front of a shop full of witnesses during broad daylight was more than enough to sell as many Sunday papers as anybody cared to print. The editor wouldn’t listen to him, though. Later, Paul Christian would realize why it made sense. The two stories were related in more ways than anyone could see at the time.

  Christian held up the paper and read his front page story right there, on the street corner in front of his apartment. In a couple of hours, he guessed, most of Davidson County would be doing what he was doing. The story was just too juicy to pass up; the headline practically begged to be read.

  As he read the words Anna Dotson had given him, sitting in the holding cell of the police station, he felt a twinge of guilt. Her confession to Cobb’s murder was spread all over the front page of the newspaper. Even if she had Houdini for a lawyer, Christian didn’t see any way she could escape the gallows. She had thought about her reasons for killing Charlie Cobb, carefully planned the shooting, and carried it out in front of dozens of eyes. This was about as premeditated a murder as there was, and he’d helped her tell the world all about it. “Mrs. Dotson,” he murmured as he read, “you’d better make your peace with God.” The only thing for her to do to avoid hanging, he thought, was plead guilty and beg for clemency.

  ANNA WAS CONFUSED about a great many things, she realized, but of one thing she was quite certain: she wasn’t crazy.

  On that first Sunday, the day after the shooting, she and Walter had gone to J. T. Baskerville’s office, just across the town square from Walter’s clinic. Baskerville had met them at the door, then locked it behind them. They went into his high-ceilinged office with its dark leather furniture and walls lined with bookshelves. Anna and Walter sat in armchairs facing the desk, and the attorney seated himself in his high-backed chair. He put his palms on the desktop and looked at them, and Anna thought he looked more like an undertaker than a legal advocate.

  “Walter, Anna . . . I can’t tell you how sorry I am to be meeting with you in this situation,” he said, confirming the funereal image even more in Anna’s mind. “After reading this morning’s Tennessean . . .”

  “J. T., Anna hasn’t been herself, not for quite some time,” Walter said. “I wonder if that gives us an angle to go at this thing.”

  The lawyer looked at Anna. “What do you think, Anna? Is Walter right? Have you been feeling quite well, lately?”

  Anna met his gaze evenly. “Mr. Baskerville, I’m very sorry about all that has happened. I’m sorry for the shame I’ve brought on myself and my husband. But what I did yesterday was in fulfillment of a vow. It is true that I’m responsible for the death of Charlie Cobb. But I did not murder him.”

  Baskerville’s face tilted. “Excuse me? How is it that you accept responsibility for causing his death but don’t think you’re guilty of murder?”

  Anna saw the way Mr. Baskerville and Walter were looking back and forth at each other. They don’t understand; they think I’m talking nonsense. “If the law makes no distinction between killing someone and murdering them, then I accept the consequences. I knew what I was doing. If that makes me guilty, then maybe I should just plead guilty and—”

  “Anna, you must put up some sort of defense,” Walter said. “You have to try, at least. For your children.”

  Once again, the thought of her children made Anna pause.

  “Why don’t we at least see what the grand jury does?” Baskerville said. “I think it’s likely they’ll vote to indict, but they might not. And even if they do, we have options.”

  “Like what?” Walter said. Anna was both saddened and warmed in her heart to see the pitiful way her
husband was pouncing on any scrap of hope he could find.

  “Well, temporary insanity is a recognized—”

  “I’m not insane.” How many times do I have to say it?

  “All right, then. There’s the seduction defense . . . although that’s usually brought by a husband who has committed violence, rather than the wife . . .”

  “It should have been me,” Walter said in a low voice. “Anna just beat me to it.”

  Baskerville took on a worried look. “Anna, the prosecutor will probably ask this question if we go to trial. I know what that reporter claims you told him, but I need to hear answers from you. First, where did you get the gun that you used?”

  “It was Walter’s gun.”

  The lawyer’s brow creased deeper. “I see . . . And did Walter give you the gun?”

  “No! Walter had nothing to do with this. I acted on my own.”

  “Yes, well, I understand, Anna, but please give me a direct answer. Did Walter give you the gun?”

  “No. The gun was on a table and I took it away, so Walter wouldn’t be able to find it.”

  Baskerville sat back in his chair, seeming a tiny bit relieved. “All right, then. So, Anna, it’s your contention that Walter didn’t send you to shoot Charlie Cobb?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How did you know where to find him, then?”

  Anna stared into a corner for a few seconds, then looked at Walter. He nodded.

  “Walter . . . told me.”