But this story is too elaborate for an otherwise unsophisticated offender to have made up just to get the money. In my opinion, the story of how the baby was being cared for, and by whom, represents the plan of what was supposed to happen. The baby’s accidental death in the fall to the window ledge or foundation footings canceled all that, but you can’t very well admit that and expect to get the money. So you stick with your original story, even down to stripping the sleeping suit off the corpse before you get rid of it. This all suggests to me more than one offender.
As does the crime scene itself. Mark and I and our researcher Katherine Johnston Ramsland spent several hours in the Hopewell house. It is now a state-run school for teenaged boys, but the building is still very much as the Lindberghs left it, down to the original wood paneling in the library and the mantel and Delft tiles imported from Holland above the fireplace in the baby’s nursery.
Examining the house and the surrounding countryside, and analyzing the logistics, it is virtually inconceivable to us that one man alone could have pulled off this kidnapping. The easiest and most efficient way to place the ladder would have been directly in front of the nursery window, yet that would have put it directly in front of the library window on the first floor, where there was a good chance Colonel Lindbergh would have been sitting. So the ladder had to be positioned to the side. This corresponds with the impressions left in the ground, but makes access into the window and back out again extremely awkward. It would be nearly impossible for the intruder to maneuver from the ladder to the narrow window, pry it open, climb through, snatch the child, carry him in a bag back out the window and to the ladder without falling, never mind without dropping the bag. The only efficient way to get the child from the nursery window to the ladder is through a handoff.
Was this a handoff of one intruder to another or of a household staff member to an intruder? Could be either, but the dual-intruder theory makes more sense because there is no good reason to suspect any of the servants in the house that night of direct complicity in the crime. But someone had the time to wipe down the room for prints, and this would have been someone sufficiently familiar with the room not to waste time. I just do not believe it was possible for one person to do all that: to drive close enough to the house at night, carry the ladder, the bag, and chisel up to the wall, climb up, climb in, and take the child all by himself. More than one individual took part in the crime that night.
Add to this logistical issue the matter of intelligence. The criminals had up-to-the-minute knowledge. The baby was not supposed to be in Hopewell that night. Only a few people knew that. Was Bruno Hauptmann so unaware of the Lindberghs’ habits that he just lucked into going to kidnap the baby on the one Tuesday of his life that he slept at Hopewell? Those are pretty long odds.
Or did Hauptmann drive to Englewood, pull up at Next Day Hill, discover that the child was not there, then get back in his car with his ladder and drive for more than an hour almost halfway across the state to Hopewell to carry out his mission? Once he got to Next Day Hill, how would he have found out? Did he sneak into this huge estate, not find the baby, then leave? Did he knock on the door and casually ask where he could find the Lindbergh baby? Was he able to accomplish this without anyone seeing him? It just doesn’t make any sense, and it doesn’t match with the timing of the kidnapping as it took place in Hopewell.
Whoever took the baby that night had to have inside information. This doesn’t mean one of the servants was consciously in on the crime, only that someone—likely Violet Sharpe—let the information slip to someone else to whom the kidnappers had a direct line. Though he was meticulously investigated, nothing turned up to suggest any direct link between Hauptmann and anyone who would have had this information.
WHODUNIT?
So did Bruno Richard Hauptmann do it?
I think he did something. If not, he is the victim of the most incredible, almost indescribable bad luck in the annals of law enforcement: that he was a semiliterate German immigrant when all indications pointed to a semiliterate German immigrant as the writer of the ransom notes; that his handwriting and usage were close enough to the notes for a series of experts to declare it a match; that he resembled the eyewitness descriptions; that he had maps of the area near Hopewell because he said he used to hunt there; that he had come to the United States illegally after a series of crimes that included armed robbery and breaking and entering using a ladder; that he was a skilled carpenter with drawings of ladders in his notebooks when the key to the crime was an individually designed and constructed ladder; that there was another sketch of the money box in one of the ransom notes that looked like something a carpenter would draw; that he had purchased lumber and once worked for the establishment where some of the wood for the ladder had been purchased; that he had about a third of the ransom cash hidden in his garage and he lied about it; that he had come into money and was able to start living a better lifestyle at exactly the same time as the ransom was passed; that he lived close to the cemetery where the original meeting with Cemetery John took place, and the cemetery where the ransom was handed over; that through a lapse of memory he forgot that he hadn’t actually written Jafsie’s address and phone number inside his son’s closet. This string of bad luck would have extended so far as to include having bought a keg of nails from the same batch as those that were used in the kidnap ladder!
We could go on, but I think you get the idea.
Hauptmann had a compulsive, controlling personality. Like many men of his generation, he controlled his household, he controlled the money, he made the decisions. His wife went along docilely and willingly. He kept many secrets from her, and no one has suggested she knew anything of the kidnapping or the presence of the ransom money in the garage. She didn’t even know his first name was Bruno until the police told her. She believed in him, and it is understandable that he didn’t want to disappoint that belief, even at the cost of his life.
So I have to conclude that Bruno Richard Hauptmann was involved in the Lindbergh kidnapping, though he did not work alone and was not necessarily the leader. His background showed him to be a risk-taker, both in terms of criminal record and in his means of getting to America. Moreover, that record suggested that when he did become involved with crime, it would be with others rather than alone.
I suspect that he was approached by one or more others in the German immigrant community because of his background and his skills as a carpenter. The unrecovered money would have gone to them, some of which may have been laundered in the J. J. Faulkner bank deposit. Since kidnapping was rampant, this would have been perceived as a get-rich-quick scheme. And who better to try than the most famous man in the world? Hauptmann may or may not have actually been at the crime scene. He might have driven the car and taken the handoff. At this late date, absent physical evidence or the possibility of interviewing him, there is no way to know.
If Hauptmann was Cemetery John, then he was probably not in the baby’s room, because in the first meeting with Condon, John referred to the ransom note with “singnature” as being left in the crib—perhaps the original plan—when, in fact, it was left on the windowsill.
Could a shady group of German immigrants have had sufficient knowledge of the inside of the house to pull off the crime? Yes. For one thing, plans had been published. This is no substitute for firsthand experience in so “delicate” a crime as kidnapping. But even this we can account for.
Mark Falzini came across an astounding document in the case archives that he called to our attention. It is from FBI New York Field Office File 62-3057, a 1932 summary of the case. Under a section headed “ALOYSIUS WHATELY, commonly referred to as OLLY WHATELY,” it reads in part:
Whately entered the employ of Colonel and Mrs. Charles A. Lindbergh October 15, 1930, and with his wife acted as caretaker of the Lindbergh estate at Hopewell, N.J. and resided there continuously after the house was completed. Frequently in the absence of the Lindberghs, he acted as guide to tourists and o
ther curious visitors showing them through the house and about the adjoining grounds. [Italics added]
There you have it! Anyone could have conducted a reconnaissance run beforehand. This would have been impossible at Next Day Hill, the baby’s normal place of residence, which was actually much closer and more convenient to the Bronx, practically just across the Hudson. But Hopewell was the more vulnerable location, so that was where the crime had to take place. And that required specific information.
Whately died in May 1933 at fifty years of age after several months of illness, so this aspect was never followed up.
Was the kidnap ringleader the mysterious Isidor Fisch? Quite possibly, though little is known about him other than that he was a hustler who had bilked friends and other investors out of thousands of dollars in dubious schemes, including a pie-baking company. He was said by his family to be broke, and he departed the States owing a lot of money, yet Hauptmann said he left all this cash with him. One thing that is known is that Fisch applied for his visa on May 12, 1932—the day the baby’s corpse was found.
Fisch did not match the physical description of Cemetery John, which meant John either had to be Hauptmann or still another man was involved.
I’ve come out many times publicly in support of the death penalty. I’ve stated that I’d be more than willing personally to pull the switch on some of the monsters I’ve hunted in my career with the FBI. But Bruno Hauptmann just doesn’t fit into this category—the evidence just wasn’t, and isn’t, there to have confidently sent him to the electric chair. To impose the one sentence for which there is no retroactive correction requires a far higher standard of proof than was seen here. Blaming him for the entire crime was, to my mind, an expedient and simpleminded solution to a private horror that had become a national obsession.
I am troubled, for instance, that even after he was convicted and sentenced to death and appeals were denied, when Hauptmann was thrown a lifeline that would have spared him, he refused to grasp it. A number of people in authority came to his cell, including the governor of New Jersey, saying that the death sentence would be set aside if only he would confess—to something. All he had to do to save his life and spare his wife and son all that anguish was to say who else had been involved in the crime and what their roles had been.
And yet he refused, saying simply that he was innocent and therefore had no knowledge of who might have done it.
Not having had the opportunity to interview him myself, it is difficult to say for sure what his motive was. Based on my knowledge of other sociopathic offenders, I suspect this was probably stubbornness, arrogance, the “honor among thieves” of not ratting out a fellow comrade, and an unwillingness to disgrace his family and his name. Perhaps he was afraid for his family’s safety if he spilled. As we’ve seen, there is enough evidence of high-risk behavior in Hauptmann’s background to make this likely.
But not certain. I have to say that this refusal to trade his life for any verbal concession inevitably complicates the assessment. It is also a matter of record that Hauptmann asked repeatedly for a lie detector test and that one be administered to Dr. Condon. My colleagues and associates know I have never set much store in the polygraph and am always wary of the results, but it is unreasonable to think that Hauptmann had such a knowledgeable or jaundiced view. If he asked for such a test, unless this was a clever ploy he knew would never be followed up, he must have believed he could pass.
We can say that throughout her long life (she died on October 10, 1994, the sixty-ninth anniversary of her marriage, at age ninety-five), Anna Hauptmann believed fervently in her husband’s innocence and did everything in her power to convince others and have the case reopened.
Was a better and more satisfying solution to this infamous case possible? Yes, but not once certain key bridges were crossed.
The greatest single mistake, though it was made for understandable reasons, was allowing Colonel Lindbergh to dictate limitations on the police. In any kidnapping, the major risk for the offender is picking up the package. Had police been allowed to cover the money drop, the chances are great they would have picked up Cemetery John. It wouldn’t have saved the baby, but the case would have been cracked.
You cannot lose control of a case. If you do, it’s going to be difficult to get it back.
After the first meeting with Cemetery John, we would have wanted to debrief Condon and would have gleaned valuable information from him. For example, the passing reference to burning if the baby were dead could have been used during the second encounter, playing on his fears and sense of guilt to get to the others.
Likewise, Schwarzkopf could have been more proactive in his assumptions regarding an inside job. If we were working this case today, we would have assessed each household servant, then tried to show each one how we didn’t think he or she had purposely aided the kidnappers, but that someone had been tricked or duped and we had to have that information. I would have done everything in my power to get the Lindberghs themselves involved with this tactic so the staff would regard it seriously.
During the first encounter with Cemetery John, the offender went to some lengths to convince Dr. Condon that both Betty Gow and her boyfriend Red Johnson were innocent. Why even bother bringing up information about the servants and their friends if this wasn’t an avenue they wanted the investigators to avoid?
This was just one area that could have been better explored to get vital information when it would still have been useful. And there are so many other strategies that could have been tried but were not.
Instead, what we are left with is a classic American tragedy.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE ZODIAC
One thing that motivates many serial offenders is the desire to create and sustain their own mythology. The press is often a willing collaborator, giving them such names as the Freeway Phantom, the Hillside Strangler, the Green River Killer. When the media is not so cooperative, they often insist upon their own designations, such as the Son of Sam or the BTK (for bind, torture, and kill) Strangler.
The reasons they feel a need to do this are obvious to those of us in criminal investigative analysis. These are insignificant nobodies whose only “accomplishment” in life, the only time when they feel in control and fulfilled, is when they are causing suffering or fear in others.
Among the most successful in establishing and preserving his mythology was the UNSUB known as the Zodiac. The Zodiac crimes remain unsolved, the offender never identified or caught. And of all the cases about which I am frequently asked, this one comes up as much as any. Particularly on the West Coast, this is one that continues to haunt.
THE FIRST SHALL BE LAST
It was the day before Halloween—Sunday, October 30, 1966—in Riverside, California, about sixty miles southeast of Los Angeles. Joseph Bates and his eighteen-year-old daughter, Cheri Jo, began their day together, going to mass at St. Catherine’s Church, then having breakfast at Sandy’s Restaurant. After that, they split up, with Joseph heading for the beach and Cheri Jo planning to do some schoolwork. A cheerleader at Riverside City College and at Ramona High before that, Cheri Jo was the all-American, California dream girl: blond hair, blue eyes, attractive tan, five feet three, and 110 pounds. A freshman at RCC, she was an honor student who held down a job at a local bank and aspired to a career as a flight attendant. Since her mother’s departure a year earlier, and with her brother serving in the navy across the country in Florida, Cheri Jo lived alone with her father, who worked at Corona Naval Ordnance Laboratory as a machinist.
Around midafternoon, Cheri Jo decided to go to the college library. She called a friend to see if she wanted to go along, but her friend was busy so Cheri Jo went on her own. She was gone by the time Joseph returned home, but had left her father a note. When he went back out, he left a note for his daughter in return.
Joseph Bates wasn’t worried when he came back around midnight and saw that the note he had left his daughter hadn’t been touched. After
all, she was old enough to socialize that late and take care of herself. Thinking she was probably with a few of her girlfriends, he went to sleep.
But by the next morning she still hadn’t returned. He called a friend to see if Cheri Jo was at her house and, when she wasn’t, reported his daughter missing to the police.
Within the hour, Cheri Jo Bates was no longer a missing person. Her body was found by a college groundskeeper, lying facedown on the gravel path to the library parking lot. She had been stabbed in the chest and left shoulder and slashed in the face and neck, her jugular vein and larynx both severed. The assault was so violent that she was nearly decapitated.
Riverside police tried to reconstruct Cheri Jo’s final hours. A coworker at the Riverside National Bank had received a call from her around 5:30 P.M., asking if she’d seen the bibliography for a term paper Cheri Jo was writing. That was the last time anyone reported talking to her. A little after 6 P.M., one of her friends said she saw Cheri Jo driving toward the library in her light green Volkswagen. Someone else reported seeing a blond woman in a car like Cheri Jo’s and also noticed a bronze-colored Oldsmobile that followed closely behind.
This detail became important in the context of Cheri Jo’s assault. When investigators examined her VW, still parked at the library with newly checked-out books on the front seat, they found it had been tampered with, a wire to the distributor disconnected among other actions. Police, who conducted an impressive, exhaustive investigation, theorized that her assailant followed her to the library, disabled her car, then waited for his prey. He likely watched as she tried to start the car several times unsuccessfully, then offered her help or a ride. Whether he was a stranger or known to her, she trusted him enough that she went with him down the dark path, where he attacked.
The Cases That Haunt Us Page 23
