The Mammoth Book of Unsolved Crimes

by Wilkes, Roger

  When Shapiro tapped three times on the trap door, the door opened and there was little Otto Sanhuber. Otto, now nearing his fortieth year, was the color of library paste but seemed to be in good health. When Shapiro, standing there in the closet and looking up, introduced himself and gave him Mrs Oesterreich’s message, Otto smiled and thanked him. Then, growing thoughtful, Otto said, “I feel as if I know you, Mr Shapiro. Mrs Oesterreich has spoken of you many times. It’s too bad that she has been so upset over something that I did.”

  “That you did!”

  “Yes, I shot Mr Oesterreich. It was an accident.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Shapiro sat down on the floor of the closet, got out a pencil and pad, and began to make notes. It seemed that on the night of the murder, the Oesterreichs had come home, quarreling as usual. Otto, who had been cavorting around the house after raiding the refrigerator, had, instead of going back to the attic, decided to get into the fight. He knew where Mrs Oesterreich kept a little .25-calibre revolver, so he got it, then went downstairs and confronted Oesterreich. “Unhand this lovely woman!” said Otto, stealing a line of dialogue right out of one of his own stories. Oesterreich just glowered at little Otto and made a lunge for him. Otto, in a panic, pulled the trigger several times and the first thing he knew there was Fred Oesterreich lying on the floor dead.

  Now Otto drew upon his talents as an author and concocted something to fool the police. He snatched Oesterreich’s diamond-studded watch and gave it to Walburga. Then, he rushed to the second floor with Mrs Oesterreich, told her to lock herself in the closet and shove the key through the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor, and disappeared into his hideaway in the attic.

  It occurred to Shapiro that Otto had been pretty stupid. He should never have given that watch to Mrs Oesterreich and he should have locked Mrs Oesterreich in the closet himself, and left the key in the keyhole on the outside of the door. Then Chief of Detectives Cline would not have spotted the flaws in the whole business. But Otto, in a panic because he had just killed a man, hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  Otto, not having talked to a living soul save Walburga Oesterreich (and, briefly, Fred) for four years, couldn’t dam up the flow of words. He lay on the floor of the attic and, looking down at the lawyer sitting in the closet, began to go over every phase of his long and unique relationship with Walburga Oesterreich.

  Shapiro, deciding that Mrs Oesterreich needed a good criminal lawyer, enlisted the services of Frank Dominquez, one of LA’s cagiest mouthpieces. “Go out to that house on Beachwood Drive,” Dominquez said to Shapiro, “and get that man to hell out of that attic. In fact, tell him to get out of the country.”

  Sanhuber went north to Vancouver, British Columbia. Dominquez went to the District Attorney, and, since Otto was out of the country and the lethal weapon was in the LaBrea tar pits, demanded the release of Mrs Oesterreich, and got it. Shortly thereafter Mrs Oesterreich got her husband’s inheritance and settled down to a comfortable life in the house on Beachwood Drive.

  Seven years passed. Chief of Detectives Cline, now retired, wandered around Los Angeles, muttering in his beard. And then, one day in 1930, all hell broke loose. Shapiro, Mrs Oesterreich’s civil lawyer, went to the District Attorney. He and Mrs Oesterreich had gotten into some fierce fights about money and the lawyer, fearing injury or possible death at the hands of the woman, wished to make public an affidavit about the death of Fred Oesterreich. And so Shapiro spilled the whole story.

  Mrs Oesterreich and Sanhuber were both in Los Angeles, but not seeing each other any more. The lady had found several new lovers, who were being paid well for their services. Otto, on the other hand, had married in Canada but, unable to find steady employment there, had returned to Los Angeles. He was working as a night porter in an apartment house so that he could sleep during the day when the sun was out.

  When Mrs Oesterreich and Sanhuber were pinched, she refused to talk, but Otto went before a grand jury and repeated everything that he had told to Shapiro that day seven years previously. Mrs Oesterreich and Otto were both indicted for the murder of her husband.

  Otto, tried first, had as his counsel Earl Seeley Wakeman, a man who had never lost a murder trial. Otto repudiated his confession so that the State was left with Shapiro’s secondhand account of the murder. The jury didn’t say yes and it didn’t say no. It found Otto Sanhuber guilty of manslaughter.

  And maybe that didn’t stir up a fascinating legal dust storm. The statute of limitations on manslaughter ran out after three years, and here was a man who was guilty of a manslaughter committed eight years previously. Simple arithmetic was all that was needed to establish the fact that little Otto Sanhuber was five years on the laughing side of the limitations ledger. And so the little man was set free, to trail off, at the age of forty-four, into the silences, never to be heard from again.

  Now Mrs Oesterreich went to bat, having as her counsel, Jerry Geisler, the cagiest lawyer in California. Walburga, now sixty-three years old, got on the stand in her own defense and laid all the blame on little Otto. She had not come forward at the time of her husband’s death and told the truth because she hadn’t wanted to be embarrassed by public disclosure of her private life. Embarrassed indeed!

  The jury couldn’t quite make up its mind about Walburga; it disagreed. The murder indictment against the woman hung fire for six years and then, in 1936, the District Attorney, feeling he could never make the charge against the lady stick, moved to have the indictment nolle prossed.

  Mrs Oesterreich began to plunge in the stock market, with disastrous results. In the early forties, with only a few thousand dollars to her name, she took up residence over a garage in the Wilshire district of the city. Four years later, when a reporter for one of the Los Angeles papers sought to interview her, he found that she had, like Otto, trailed off into the silences, leaving no trace.

  The Blind Goddess of Justice sure was taken for one hell of a sleigh ride. After all, a man was scragged. It does seem that somebody should at least have been slapped by a good, stiff fine.

  THE MYSTERY OF THE POISONED PARTRIDGES

  (Hubert Chevis, 1931)

  C. J. S. Thompson

  Who murdered young Lieutenant Hubert Chevis, and why? The case is as impenetrable now as it was in 1931. It is also one of the most sinister, since the murderer not only rejoiced at the agonizing death of Chevis but took equal delight in cruelly taunting his grieving family with exclamations of “Hooray!” The identity of the person behind the nom de meurtre J. Hartigan remains as bafflingly obscure as the motive for the murder. Charles J(ohn) S(amuel) Thompson was the author of two books of poisoning cases in the 1930s.

  How did a brace of partridges which had been cooked and served for dinner become impregnated with strychnine was a problem that was presented to a coroner’s jury during the inquiry into a remarkable poisoning case at Blackdown Camp near Aldershot?

  In June 1931, Lieutenant Chevis, a young artillery officer, was occupying a bungalow at the camp where he was engaged on his military duties.

  He was very popular in his regiment and was happily married; his wife having a flat in London, she often joined him with their two children at the bungalow at Blackdown.

  On Saturday, 21 June 1931, a brace of partridges was ordered from a poulterer at Aldershot and they were delivered at the bungalow in a van. They were placed by the cook in an open meat-safe kept outside the building, and there they remained until they were required for dinner in the evening.

  Late in the afternoon some friends called to see Lieutenant Chevis and his wife, and after having cocktails they remained chatting for some time.

  After they had left, Lieutenant and Mrs Chevis sat down to dine early, as they intended to go to the Military Tattoo which was taking place that night.

  The dinner was brought in by the batman, who placed the roasted partridges before Mrs Chevis who was seated at the table, and she proceeded to serve them. Lieutenant Chevis took one
mouthful and exclaimed: “It tastes horrible!” and he refused to eat any more. He asked his wife to taste the bird to see if she found anything wrong with it. She just touched it with her tongue and said it tasted “fusty” and could not get the taste out of her mouth for a long time afterwards.

  Lieutenant Chevis then ordered the batman to take the birds away and have them destroyed. Fifteen minutes later he was taken violently ill. He lost the use of his legs and terrible convulsions followed. A doctor was sent for and the lieutenant was at once removed to hospital, where he died in great agony early on the following Sunday morning.

  Mrs Chevis was also taken ill shortly after the meal and was seized with severe pains. She was medically treated and eventually recovered.

  The Coroner was notified and inquiries were at once set on foot by the police.

  A further element of mystery was introduced into the case when it was learnt that a telegram had been received by Sir William Chevis, the father of the deceased man, on the day of his son’s funeral. It had been handed in at Dublin and contained the words: “Hooray. Hooray. Hooray.” On inquiry it was found that the form was signed on the back with the name “Hartigan” and the address of a well-known Dublin hotel. It further transpired that no one of that name was known at the hotel, nor had any person called “Hartigan” been staying there.

  Another strange fact connected with the telegram was, it had been sent off before any announcement of the tragedy at Blackdown Camp had appeared in the Press. The matter was taken up by the police of the Irish Free State who, it was stated, had found that a man answering the description of the person who had handed in the telegram in Dublin had purchased strychnine from a local chemist.

  The inquest on the body of Lieutenant Chevis was opened on 23 June, but was adjourned until 21 July for the analyst’s report. On 11 August it was resumed before a crowded Court by the deputy coroner for West Surrey.

  In opening the proceedings he remarked that the evidence would clearly indicate the partridge as the means by which the poison had been conveyed. It was, however, a most unfortunate thing that both the partridges had been destroyed, especially the one served to Lieutenant Chevis, by his orders.

  On the day of his funeral a telegram had been received at the house of his father, Sir William Chevis, who lived at Bournemouth, which contained the words: “Hooray. Hooray. Hooray.” It was not signed, but on the original form being obtained for inspection there was found on the back a signature and address which read: “J. Hartigan. Hibernia.” Although inquiries had been made by the Dublin police and every possible effort made, no trace could be found of the sender of the telegram, nor could his identity be established.

  A photograph of the original telegram was published in the Daily Sketch, and on 2 August, a postcard was received addressed to “The Editor”, purporting to have been written in London on 1 August. It read:

  Dear Sir,

  Why do you publish the picture of the Hooray telegram.

  J. HARTIGAN

  This was followed by a further postcard addressed to Sir William Chevis and posted in Belfast on 4 August. It read:

  It is a mystery they will never solve.

  J. HARTIGAN Hooray.

  “To add to the mystery,” the coroner continued, “the contents of the telegram were known to me before the last hearing, but it was deemed inadvisable to reproduce it at the last adjourned hearing. Although we thought this was assured, the telegram was published without consulting me or my officer.

  “The great handicap in this case is that the bird was destroyed. Had that not been done the case was a simple one.”

  Captain Chevis, brother of the deceased officer, was then called, and said that the “Hooray” telegram arrived at five p.m. on 24 June, the day of his brother’s funeral.

  He did not know anyone in Dublin likely to send a telegram of the kind or anyone answering to the description which the telegraph clerk gave of the sender. His brother had never been in Ireland in his life.

  Mrs Chevis in her evidence said she had given all possible information in connection with the inquiry. There were no telegrams belonging to her husband which might throw any light on the case.

  Describing what took place at dinner on the evening of the tragedy, she said that her husband had two glasses of sherry after tasting the partridge, which he got for himself. Bulger, the batman, would have removed the dirty glasses and the cook would have washed them. She did not move them. The partridge she had on her plate tasted “fusty”, but there was no bitter, sharp or offensive taste. Both the partridges were cooked together in a tin and they were basted in the same fat.

  She only took one mouthful and it was vaguely unsavoury. She was absolutely sure that her husband told Bulger to burn the partridge. He was very anxious that the dog should not get it. She knew no one of the name of Hartigan and no one in the household knew anyone of that name. Lieutenant Chevis, as far as she knew, had no friends or relatives called Hartigan.

  Dr J.H. Ryffel, analyst to the Home Office, was then called and described the results of his examination of the contents of the stomach of the deceased man and of other articles removed from the bungalow. The latter included sink-water from the drains of the bungalow, a basin containing dripping, a vegetable dish containing peas and potatoes, an empty tin, a packet of gravy mixture, some anchovy sauce, a bag of flour and a tin of carbolic. He also examined some material from Mrs Chevis after she had been taken ill. This and similar material from Lieutenant Chevis were mixed together and gave a yield of strychnine corresponding to a total in the amount received of .3 of a grain. The material from Lieutenant Chevis contained a large amount of strychnine. He also found a small amount of strychnine in the dripping and more in the gravy, which was very bitter. There was no strychnine in the water or other materials.

  “I concluded,” continued Dr Ryffel, “that the total quantity of strychnine associated with the partridges amounted to at least two grains. This is an extremely rough calculation and would depend on what other materials were employed. The total quantity would depend on the proportion of the bird eaten, which I understand was very small.”

  In his view if only a small proportion of the bird had been eaten the quantity in the bird was very considerable.

  The minimum fatal dose of strychnine was half a grain.

  Dr Ryffel added that he had received three partridges taken from the cold stores of the company who sold the partridges to Lieutenant Chevis, but none of them contained strychnine.

  The coroner asked the witness: “Supposing this bird had picked up strychnine when alive, could it have been absorbed sufficient to show the amount eaten by Lieutenant and Mrs Chevis?”

  “I do not think so,” replied Dr Ryffel. “The only thing would seem to me that if a partridge had taken a large amount of strychnine material in its crop, after it was in cold storage the amount might have diffused into the bird.” He understood, however, that the crop was cleaned at the shop before the birds were sent out and would not be included in the cooking. He did not think the bird could have absorbed the amount of strychnine into its own substance because it would be dead long before. On the other hand, if strychnine was injected into the substance of the bird it would stay there and stay during the cooking. But this is not strychnine taken by the bird in life. It is strychnine inserted into it afterwards.

  “Strychnine itself is very insoluble, but it would be slightly soluble in fat, and two birds basted in the same fat would certainly give a proportion of strychnine on the second bird after cooking.”

  In answer to further questions, Dr Ryffel said: “Strychnine has to be absorbed from the intestines and when it is taken, as in this case, with a large amount of fat, the absorption is much slower than if taken by itself. The fact that Mrs Chevis’s symptoms did not come on till later would point to her having less and to the fact that she did not pass her food on as rapidly as her husband. Strychnine could be fatal within two hours, but in the case of Lieutenant Chevis it was fourteen hours
, because he was kept alive by artificial respiration and he ultimately died of failure of respiration.”

  A police-inspector of Camberley said he searched the bungalow and found nothing in writing connected with the case. He had searched the Poison Registers of chemists in Frimley, Farnborough, Bagshot and Camberley, but found no evidence of any sales of strychnine.

  A brother-officer in the Royal Artillery stated that Lieutenant Chevis was very popular and as far as he knew he had no enemies. He saw Lieutenant and Mrs Chevis on the day of the fatal meal and they both appeared in perfect health and quite happy.

  Nicholas Bulger, batman to Lieutenant Chevis, said he did not serve any drinks at dinner that night. Mrs Chevis served the partridges and he handed the vegetables. He came from the south of Ireland, but he did not know anyone of the name of Hartigan. He removed the bird and took it into the kitchen and gave it to the cook. Mrs Chevis told him to destroy it; not to burn it. When he took it to the cook, he said: “This is to be destroyed,” but she put it on the fire.

  Mrs Yeoman, the cook, said that the safe in which the partridges had been kept was outside the bungalow and had no lock. She noticed nothing unusual about the birds. She had no friends in Ireland and did not know anyone of the name of Hartigan.

  The manager of the firm who sold the partridges said they came from Manchuria. They had sold Manchurian birds for years and never had any complaints. They were delivered to the bungalow in a covered van which was kept locked.

  The Coroner then summed up and said there was no doubt that Lieutenant Chevis died from asphyxia following the poison cased by eating the partridge. There was no evidence to show how the strychnine came to be in the birds. He had sifted all the evidence and could find nothing to lead him to any conclusion as to whether this was a case of accidental death, a foul murder, or whether it was a case of negligent dealing with things served up to eat as amounted to manslaughter.