Fatal

by Harold Schechter

  25

  One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

  —SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet

  PUBLICLY, AT LEAST, JANE’S LAWYER BRUSHED OFF THE revelations that had emerged from the inquest. “It makes me smile when I think of the stories that have been printed about the discoveries made in connection with this morphia purchase,” Murphy told reporters. “I assure you that the defense is not the least bit worried about them.”

  Jane, too, appeared unfazed when she was next seen in public. Despite rumors that her incarceration was taking a terrible toll on her mental state—“MIND IS YIELDING!” cried the headline of the Globe on November 13—she seemed perfectly calm and cheerful when she emerged from the jailhouse on Friday morning, November 15, to attend her twice-postponed preliminary hearing.

  Earlier that morning, shortly after eight, Murphy had arrived at her cell, bearing a large bunch of chrysanthemums and a basket of fruit for his client, who—according to reports—was “happy as a schoolgirl when he presented them to her.”

  After conferring for an hour, Jane and her counsel left the jail, accompanied by State Officer Letteney and Keeper Cash. Jane’s face, according to reporters who had turned out for the event, was “wreathed in smiles.” As the party made its way to the courthouse, Jane walked with such a brisk and sprightly step that she quickly outdistanced the others. Noticing how far behind they were, she came to a halt and jokingly remarked on their lagging pace.

  Assembled in front of the big stone courthouse was a crowd of newspapermen, several of them wielding cameras. “Oh, look,” Jane cried to Murphy. “They are trying to get a snapshot of me.” Though one paper, the Lowell Sun, suggested that Jane was frightened of the photographers (“MISS TOPPAN STARTLED BY CAMERA FIENDS” read the headline), most observers agreed that she seemed somewhat amused to find herself the focus of such extraordinary interest.

  Inside the courtroom, Jane took the same place she had occupied one week earlier. She was dressed in the identical outfit she had worn on that occasion—black dress, black hat, white tie, and incongruous collar. Hands folded on her lap, she sat calmly beside Murphy, observing the proceedings “with head erect and eyes bright” (in the words of one reporter).

  Judge Fred Swift, who was already seated at the bench when the prisoner entered, promptly began the proceedings. “I will now hear what is to be said by the counsel for the prisoner as to the continuance of the case,” he declared.

  Rising, Murphy stated that he had arranged with the government to have the hearing continued yet again—this time until December 11—and asked the judge to grant his request. State Detective Letteney, representing the government, made no objection.

  Judge Swift asked the prisoner to rise. Getting calmly to her feet, Jane looked him squarely in the face while he ordered that she be returned to jail and held there, without bail, until the agreed-upon date. With a rap of his gavel, Judge Swift then adjourned the court. The entire proceedings had lasted barely four minutes.

  As Jane was escorted back across the lawn to the jailhouse, she appeared to be her old jolly self, “laughing merrily” (according to the Globe) as she chatted with her lawyer. Murphy remained in her cell until it was time for him to catch the 10:25 train back to Lowell. As he headed for the depot, reporters saw Jane watching him through the barred window of her cell—“casting longing glances after the one in whom she has confided all, and upon whom she relies to secure her freedom.”

  • • •

  Accounts emanating from the jailhouse continued to stress Jane’s serene acceptance of her situation. Though Keeper Cash had been ordered to keep a close eye on her because of her earlier suicide attempts, she showed no signs of depression. On the contrary, her famous “rollicking good-nature” was very much in evidence. When someone asked how she was bearing up behind bars, she reportedly replied: “Well, I am having a good rest in here, anyway.”

  Letters from supporters continued to arrive. A gentleman named Charles M. Dauchy—whose son had been stricken with typhoid fever during the Spanish-American War—expressed his everlasting gratitude for the “splendid care” Jane had lavished on his child. A woman named Gertrude L. Lafon, a onetime classmate at the Cambridge Hospital Training School for Nurses, wrote to say how much she had always respected Jane.

  Jane continued to find ways to beguile the time. With material furnished by the motherly Mrs. Cash, she had begun work on a new dress for herself. Seated in the morning sunshine streaming through her cell window, she contentedly plied her needle for hours at a time. She had also formed a warm attachment to Mrs. Cash’s three-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, whose regular visits, according to the Barnstable Patriot, were “the brightest moments of Mrs. Toppan’s prison life.” Nearly every afternoon, the little girl would “toddle up to the cell door and, with her tiny fingers grasping the bars, stand for an hour at a time talking with the nurse.”

  Even the exhumations of Mr. and Mrs. Davis did not—to all outward appearances—cause her any particular consternation. The bodies were removed from their graves on the chilly, rain-swept morning of Thursday, November 21. Officials had intended to conduct the autopsies in a carriage shed adjoining the church across from the Cataumet cemetery. The little structure offered such poor protection from the weather, however, that the corpses were carried to the more sheltered precincts of the Major Allen house nearby.

  Aside from several representatives of the press, those in attendance included Professor Wood, Undertaker Davis, and State Detectives Whitney and Letteney. The autopsy itself was carried out by Medical Examiner Faunce, with the assistance of Dr. C. E. Harris of Hyannis. Despite having lain in the ground for over three months, the bodies, according to witnesses, were “in a remarkable state of preservation.” The livers and stomachs were removed and given over to Professor Wood for transportation back to his lab at Harvard. Wood—who promised to “make all possible haste” with his analysis—estimated that his report would be ready in “less than two weeks,” in plenty of time for Jane’s rescheduled hearing.

  Since Alden Davis’s death had been officially attributed to cerebral hemorrhage, his skull was sawn open and his brain examined. Even at a glance, it was clear that the diagnosis on his death certificate was wrong. The brain showed no sign of ruptured blood vessels. “NOT DUE TO APOPLEXY,” proclaimed the headline of the next day’s Herald. “SOMETHING ELSE CAUSED ALDEN DAVIS’ DEATH.” That “something,” of course, was now believed to be Nurse Toppan’s lethal cocktail of poisoned mineral water. The discovery was a further boon to the state and a blow to the defense. Surely, the paper conjectured, news of this development would “cause Miss Toppan to lose the cheerfulness that has characterized her since she was last brought before the district court.”

  But the paper was wrong. According to Mrs. Cash—who was pumped by reporters each day for any scrap of information concerning the celebrity inmate—Jane’s spirits remained as upbeat as ever.

  If there was anything that worried her it was money. By all accounts, she was completely broke. Though she had earned a respectable income as a private nurse, she had nothing to show for her years of employment—no savings, no jewelry, no property. The financial support promised by her wealthy Cambridge friends had not materialized.

  In the view of certain sympathizers, her circumstances made it impossible for her to mount a proper defense. Even her childhood friend James Murphy was representing her for free. A few days after her latest appearance in court, reports began to surface that the government itself might come to the aid of Nurse Toppan by assigning a number of state detectives to work on her behalf.

  Since the government was, of course, intent on convicting her, this suggestion struck many people as highly peculiar. There was, however, a precedent for it. Eighteen years earlier, a sensational crime had occurred in the Boston area. A Watertown woman named Carleton had been brutally slain in the doorway of her own home, her skull crushed with a granite paving stone. Eventually, a man named Roger Amero was arrested for th
e crime. Unable to hire his own investigators, the penniless Amero appealed to then-governor Benjamin Butler, who agreed to put a pair of state detectives at the disposal of the defense. Pitted against members of their own force—who were doing their best to establish his guilt—the detectives managed to dig up enough evidence to win Amero’s release.

  With this episode in mind, one anonymous source close to the Toppan case argued that the same governmental assistance should be offered to Jane Toppan:

  Anyone who follows trials closely knows that it will take considerable time to reach the trial stage. The Grand Jury will not take up the case for months, and counsel will not be assigned until after the indictment. In the meantime, the State will be hard at work perfecting its case. The best detective talent will be employed to this end.

  If Miss Toppan is guilty of one-half the crimes which have been charged and implied against her, no punishment is too severe for her. In Massachusetts, however, a defendant is looked upon as innocent until proven guilty. Therefore, in the eyes of the law, Miss Toppan is an innocent woman. But she is deprived because of her incarceration, as well as because of her lack of means of seeking out evidence which might be of vital importance at her trial. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts can afford to be generous. At least it can afford to be fair. It has a large force of detectives whose business it is to investigate crimes and apprehend criminals. Two of the force are at work on perfecting the prosecution’s case. Would it not be a magnanimous act if some of the other officers should be placed at Miss Toppan’s disposal to look up evidence in her defense?

  In truth, however, the government had no interest in assisting Miss Toppan. On the contrary. Even as this high-minded proposal was being bruited about in the press, District Attorney Holmes was planning a little surprise for Jane and her lawyer—a move that would catch them completely off-guard and place them at a distinct legal disadvantage.

  • • •

  The world learned the news before Jane did. In an extra that hit the streets late on Tuesday, December 3, the Globe announced a “decidedly sensational and unexpected move” on the part of the prosecution.

  Instead of waiting until April—when the Barnstable grand jury met for its regular session—District Attorney Holmes had taken the highly unusual step of summoning a special session. It was to be held in just a few days’ time, on Friday morning, December 6.

  This maneuver was clearly designed to “outflank” the defense (as the Globe put it). It was Holmes’s way of avoiding the preliminary hearing, at which he would be required to reveal his evidence against the accused in district court. Both Jane and her lawyer had been counting on the hearing for precisely that reason—i.e., to get a preview of the prosecution’s case. The hearing—already postponed twice—was scheduled for December 11. With the special grand jury convening on the 6th, however, there was no longer any need for the formality of a hearing at all.

  The surprising step taken by Holmes thus deprived the defense of an important tactical advantage. Instead of tipping its hand in open court, the state would be able to lay out its findings in secret.

  Jailer Cash had received word of this development early Tuesday morning, but had decided to withhold it from Jane, preferring that her lawyer break the bad news to her. Cash felt sure that this surprising turn would come as a serious blow to Jane, who seemed convinced that she would soon be out of jail. She had been planning to make a statement on her own behalf at the hearing, and was confident that the judge would release her on bail.

  Just a few days earlier, while enjoying the Thanksgiving meal prepared by Mrs. Cash, Jane had jokingly remarked that “it was the first holiday she had ever spent in jail,” but that she expected to be back home in Lowell in time to share Christmas dinner with her friends. Mrs. Cash’s granddaughter, Lucy, was standing outside the cell at the time. Fingers gripping the bars, the child beamed with excitement as the kindly, round-faced woman she called “Jennie” promised to send her a special gift for Christmas.

  Now, it seemed certain that “Jennie” and her new little friend were both in for a grave disappointment.

  26

  The slow clanging of a harsh-toned bell at 9 o’clock announced to Miss Toppan that the superior court of the county had assembled to hear her case. The bell was in the tower of the little courthouse opposite the dreary-looking jail, and the brisk, cold northeast wind which blew down the bay sent the sounds of its funeral-like tolling reverberating through the sand dunes.

  —Boston Herald, DECEMBER 6, 1901

  THE TWENTY-THREE MEMBERS OF THE GRAND JURY came from towns all over the Cape—Brewster and Bourne, Truro and Chatham, Orleans and Eastham, Harwich and Mashpee, Wellfleet and Provincetown. Some arrived in Barnstable County late Thursday afternoon, putting up overnight at a hotel in Hyannis. Others waited until the last minute. When the bell tolled in the tower of the Barnstable courthouse at nine o’clock the next morning, three of the jurymen—William Chadwick and Daniel Phillips, both of Falmouth, and Horace Percival of Sandwich—had yet to arrive, though they made their appearance shortly thereafter.

  Chief Justice Albert Mason (who had traveled from his home in Brookline) opened the court promptly at 9:00. The venerable white-haired clerk, Smith K. Hopkins, announced the start of the session, after which Rev. Albert H. Spence of the Barnstable Unitarian Church offered a prayer. The chief justice gave the jurors no instructions, beyond advising them to listen attentively “to such matters as the district attorney might lay before them.”

  The twenty-three jurymen then filed downstairs to the same little courtroom in which Jane’s previous appearances had taken place. The courtroom was cleared of all spectators, and the doors closed. The witnesses were sequestered in the judge’s chambers. At precisely 9:15, District Attorney Holmes began his presentation of the case.

  The witnesses were brought into the courtroom one at a time. Professor Wood entered first, carrying a large suitcase. He emerged thirty minutes later and was followed by Professor W. P Whitney of the Massachusetts General Hospital, who had assisted Medical Examiner Faunce with the autopsies of the Davis family. Professor Wood was then called back inside the courtroom for some follow-up questioning. By ten o’clock, both Wood and Whitney had completed their testimony. Ignoring the shouted questions of reporters gathered in the hallway, they proceeded directly to the train station to catch the 10:15 back to Boston.

  Beulah Jacobs was next. She remained inside for more than two hours. She was followed by Officer Letteney and General Josephus Whitney, both of the state detective force. The latter had just completed his testimony when the chief justice ordered a break for lunch.

  Oramel Brigham opened the afternoon session. He was done at three o’clock, at which point Benjamin Waters—the Wareham druggist who had sold morphine to Jane—was expected to testify.

  He never got the chance.

  Before he was summoned inside, the courtroom door flew open. District Attorney Holmes came striding out and went hurrying upstairs to the chief justice’s private quarters. The two men remained closeted for nearly an hour.

  In the meantime, the jurors began to drift from the courtroom and make their way to the treasurer’s office to receive their per diem pay. Word quickly spread among the reporters. No further witnesses would be called; the grand jury had heard all the testimony it needed to.

  Someone was sent to the jail to notify Keeper Cash. At 5:00 P.M., the jurymen—who had been milling about the corridors for forty-five minutes—were called back inside the courtroom. No sooner had they seated themselves than Jane Toppan—accompanied by her lawyer and flanked by a pair of deputy sheriffs—was escorted into the room.

  Under the close scrutiny of the newspapermen (who were permitted to witness this portion of the proceedings), Jane strode briskly to her place and seated herself between the two deputies. The reporters studied her face for any signs of anxiety but saw none. Head high, she fixed her eyes on Chief Justice Mason and did not shift her gaze until the clerk, Smith K. Ho
pkins, turned to the jury foreman, Herman Cook, and said: “Mr. Foreman, have you anything to report to the Court?”

  “We have, sir,” said Cook. He then handed a batch of typewritten papers to Hopkins, who passed them to the judge without so much as glancing at them.

  At that moment, District Attorney Holmes rose to his feet.

  “May it please the Court,” he said. “The grand jury has reported the indictments against the defendant, and I ask that she now be arraigned.”

  With a slight bow of the head, Chief Justice Mason handed the papers back to the clerk.

  “Jane Toppan,” intoned Hopkins.

  Rising quickly, Jane placed her hands on the railing and stared intently at the wizened clerk.

  Squinting down at the first indictment, the old man began to read. In the fading twilight, he had difficulty making out the words. Eventually, a kerosene lamp was brought in. Even so, the reading was a painful affair, Hopkins stammering and stumbling through the tortuous legalese of the indictment:

  The jurors for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts on their oath present: That Jane Toppan, late resident of Cambridge, in the County of Middlesex and Commonwealth aforesaid, on the twelfth day of August in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and one, at Bourne, in the County of Barnstable aforesaid, in and upon one Mary D. Gibbs, did feloniously, wilfully and of her malice aforethought did make an assault, and to her, the said Mary D. Gibbs, did feloniously, wilfully and of her malice aforethought then and there give and administer, in some way and manner and by some means to the jurors aforesaid unknown, a certain large quantity, to wit: ten grains of a certain deadly poison called morphine, she, the said Jane Toppan, then and there well knowing the same to be a deadly poison, with the intent that the said Mary D. Gibbs should then and there take and swallow down the same into her body; and that the said Mary D. Gibbs the said morphine, so given and administered as aforesaid, did then and there take and swallow into her body, the said Mary D. Gibbs not then and there knowing the same to be a deadly poison; by means whereof the said Mary D. Gibbs became mortally sick and distempered in her body, and the said Mary D. Gibbs of the poison aforesaid, so by her taken and swallowed down as aforesaid, and of the sickness and distemper occasioned thereby, from the said twelfth day of August in the year aforesaid until the thirteenth day of August in the year aforesaid at Bourne aforesaid, in the County of Barnstable aforesaid, did languish, and languishing did live; on which thirteenth day of August in the year aforesaid at Bourne aforesaid, in the County of Barnstable aforesaid, the said Mary D. Gibbs of the poison aforesaid, and of the sickness and distemper occasioned thereby, died. And so the jurors aforesaid, on their oath aforesaid, do say that the said Jane Toppan in manner and form aforesaid, the said Mary D. Gibbs, feloniously, wilfully and of her malice aforethought did poison, kill and murder, against the peace of the said Commonwealth and contrary to the form of the statute in such case made and provided. . . .