Shadows of Death (True Crime Box Set)

by Katherine Ramsland

  After Patty died, her remains were buried in a cemetery next to the prison. An enterprising fellow later rescued her skull. It came into the hands of a renowned phrenologist, O. S. Fowler, who used his supposedly scientific technique to examine its bumps and dents for a character analysis. He said that Patty had inherited her father’s criminality and her mother’s depraved sexuality. (I’m sure he gained plenty of accolades for this rather obvious insight.)

  The pamphlet described Patty Cannon as “morally depraved,” which is to say, a female psychopath. Her skull was passed around from one collector to another, hung in a barn and placed in storage. Teeth fell out and the lower jaw came loose. In 1961, what was left of the skull went to Dover’s public library. By this time, the cranium was beginning to split. The librarians stored it in a red silk hatbox in the head librarian’s office. For a while, they placed it on public display during the Halloween season.

  In June 2010, the skull was sent to the Smithsonian. Dr. Douglas Owsley, a renowned anthropologist, wanted to add it to a collection of artifacts that represented life in the Chesapeake. “We’re stepping back,” said Owsley, “tracking our ancestors, and seeing what their bones tell us about their lifestyles. We’re sweeping broadly across Maryland, Virginia and Delaware to study what life was like in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries.”

  To examine the skull, he applied bone density measurements, a CT scanner, a dental examination, and tests for lead, mercury and arsenic. He could tell that the skull was from an elderly female, but without any images of Patty Cannon, he could not confirm that the skull is hers. Patty’s married daughter did not have children, so no Mt-DNA comparison is possible. As of 2013, the Smithsonian still had possession of the skull, disappointing those who expected to see it in the library.

  As I mentioned, some reports have called Patty Cannon the nation’s first female serial killer. While this is doubtful, she might well be the first documented one. Still, there is no evidence, aside from unsupported anecdotes, that she was convicted of serial murder. At best, she is a suspected, or even a confessed, serial killer.

  Cordelia’s Revenge

  JOHN DUNNING LOVED HIS WIFE … or so people thought. As a war correspondent during the late 1800s, he traveled a lot and was often away for extended periods. His wife, Mary, was the daughter of a congressman, which brought prestige to their home in Dover. However, in 1891, they moved to San Francisco so Dunning could become the bureau chief of the western division of the Associated Press. While there, they had a child, a daughter.

  All seemed well for several years. Dunning liked his job and, when weather permitted, he enjoyed walking or biking from his home on California Street through Golden Gate State Park to get to his office. At the end of each day, he was eager to get home to his beloved wife and daughter.

  Until Fate stuck its nose into their affairs.

  As one story has it, one day during the summer of 1895 Dunning had to stop and get off his bike. Something was wrong. He bent over it to fix it. Nearby, a well-dressed, attractive older woman was sunning herself on a bench. She commented on his mishap. As he worked on the bike, they talked. She liked what she saw. Things got flirty. Dunning found himself entranced with this woman, who introduced herself as Cordelia.

  At first, she said her husband was in England, but then admitted she was married to Welcome Botkin, who lived in Stockton. They were currently separated. She had a grown son. Clearly, she was affluent. She also seemed ready for anything and her husband gave her a tidy monthly stipend for her expenses. She told Dunning the address of the hotel where she was staying.

  It wasn’t long before they saw each other again. They soon embarked on a heated liaison. But it wasn’t an ordinary kind of affair. Cordelia knew San Francisco well, including the seediest places. She influenced Dunning toward a dissolute life of drinking and betting on horse races. It’s no surprise that he lost his job, accused of embezzling. Soon, he was no longer hiding his affair. He didn’t care who saw him with this woman who was ten years older. He was smitten.

  Mary was deeply grieved over her husband’s downward spiral. When he couldn’t keep any other job to pay the bills, she took their daughter and returned to Dover, where she could be near her parents. She was heartbroken, but Dunning seemed lost to her.

  To his delight, Dunning now had a considerable amount of free time to spend with Cordelia, as her estranged husband unknowingly footed the bills. He moved in with her at the Victoria Hotel. But such things wear thin and, despite everything, in 1898 Dunning was offered the chance to travel to Cuba and Puerto Rico to cover the Spanish-American War. He jumped at it.

  Cordelia wasn’t happy. She’d been certain that her grip on him was tight. But she agreed to wait. Then Dunning said that he was done with San Francisco. He would not be back. Still married, he hoped to plead with his wife and her family for forgiveness. His affair was over.

  Now it was Cordelia’s turn to be spurned and humiliated. Burning with rage, she plotted to ensure that Dunning would have no wife to whom to return. If there was nothing for him in Delaware, she believed, he’d come back to her. From things Dunning had said, Cordelia knew that Mary loved candy. Cordelia also knew of people in ‘Frisco with whom Mary had been close before she left. And as a devious woman, she knew how to prepare her prey.

  She wrote anonymous letters to Mary, from “a friend,” warning her that no matter what her husband might tell her, he was still seeing “that woman.” Cordelia wanted to be sure that, once she made her final predatory move, Mary would be ready.

  On August 9, Mary received a package from someone she knew, “Mrs. C,” which suggested that it was from her good friend, Mrs. Corbaley. She was delighted to see the contents: chocolate bon-bons. She loved the candy made in San Francisco. Mrs. C had even suggested that she give some to her daughter. Mary put the box aside for later.

  After dinner with her family on this warm, humid evening, they went to sit on the porch. Mary retrieved the box and passed the candy around. Her sister, daughter, and niece, along with two female visitors from the neighborhood, each took a piece. Mary ate several pieces as well. In fact, she and her sister ate more than anyone else.

  It took several hours, but eventually the arsenic kicked in. Everyone who’d eaten a piece of the poisoned candy fell into agony. They began to vomit. A doctor thought it was food poisoning from dinner. Mary and her sister continued to grow worse. Soon, both women died. A specialist believed that they’d consumed poison.

  Congressman Pennington sent the candy for analysis. It proved to contain arsenic. He recalled the letters that Mary had received, which she’d given to him. He showed these to Dunning, who arrived soon after he was summoned. He recognized the handwriting at once. Cordelia Botkin had tried to poison his wife and daughter. He was horrified that his poor judgment had caused this tragedy.

  The Dover police contacted their counterparts in San Francisco. A detective took the remaining candy, carefully wrapped, across the country by train. Investigators traced the candy to a confectioner, George Haas, on Market Street. The female clerks there recalled the customer. They described Cordelia Botkin perfectly. This woman had even requested a special box devoid of the store’s name, for some reason.

  With the candy had been a lace handkerchief with the price tag still attached. This assisted police with its origin, a department store called the City of Paris. The clerk at this store said that the customer had resembled her dead mother, whose photo looked exactly like Cordelia Botkin. Thus, it was easy to remember her.

  In the general vicinity on Market Street was Owl Drug Store. A clerk there recalled selling arsenic to a woman. She’d insisted on the powdered form for bleaching a straw hat, even though he’d advised that other forms would work better. His description fit Cordelia.

  To frost this circumstantial cake, an expert matched the letters sent to Mary with Cordelia’s handwriting from love letters sent to Dunning. In addition, a partially torn seal from the candy store was found in the rooms that
Cordelia had recently vacated at the Victoria Hotel.

  Adding to these circumstances, a friend of Cordelia’s told detectives about a conversation she’d had with Cordelia on July 27. Cordelia had wondered about the effect of different poisons on the human system, and had also asked if it was necessary to sign one’s name when sending a registered package. The mail clerk at the post office from where the package was sent also remembered the customer.

  She wasn’t very good at making herself invisible! Just about everyone connected to the evidence remembered her clearly.

  The San Francisco chief of police went before a grand jury in October. The jury affirmed the case and Cordelia was indicted for two counts of first-degree murder. It was a sensational case, triggering headlines across the nation, from the West Coast to the East. Reporters could hardly wait for the trial, which commenced that December.

  To everyone’s delight, Cordelia took the stand in her own defense. Apparently, she thought she could charm her way toward acquittal. She said that, yes, she had purchased arsenic, but not the type found in the candy. The crime lab had extracted crystals, but she’d purchased powdered arsenic. She offered alibis for the times when the clerks claimed she was at the department store and confectionary, but neither held up. The circumstances against her were strong. The prosecution was confident the jury would do the right thing.

  After deliberating for four hours, the jury returned a verdict: guilty. Reporters rushed to meet their deadlines. Cordelia was stunned. She received life in prison. Her husband sued for divorce. Things for her looked bleak.

  However, she soon figured out a way to improve her situation. A highly sensual woman, Cordelia manipulated prison guards with the promise of sex. Eventually, she was allowed on day trips. The judge happened to spot her out and about one day, shopping, and he launched an investigation.

  By this time, Cordelia’s verdict had been overturned on a technicality. She went through a second trial in 1904, and was found guilty and sentenced to life once more. This time, she was sent to San Quentin. No one there let her out to shop. She lasted only six years before she died in 1910.

  The Corridor Killer

  TRUCK DRIVERS MOVING ALONG A STRETCH OF I-40 early on November 29, 1987, on their way out of Maryland, spotted something odd along the side of the road. Near a construction site lay a stocky white woman. This stretch of road saw plenty of hookers. She might have been drunk and passed out. Or, she might have overdosed on drugs. But she was clearly in trouble.

  As the men approached, they could see that she was only partially clad in an aqua running suit with white lining. The pants were pulled down to her ankles and the jacket was pulled away from her body, but her arms were still in it. She was face-up, with wide, staring eyes that told the truckers she was beyond their help. She was dead. They contacted the police.

  The victim was Shirley Ellis, a 23-year-old prostitute. Deep gouges on her left breast indicated that someone had used a tool of some type on her, and the medical examiner, Jonathan Arden, found several semi-circular marks on her head that suggested she’d been bashed several times with a hammer. She’d also been bound at the wrists and strangled, but the strangulation had not killed her. A piece of duct tape was stuck in her hair.

  Despite a search of the body dumpsite, nothing provided clues to the identity of this woman’s killer. The only thing clearly known was that he’d wanted her to suffer. He was a sadist.

  It was seven months before another woman was found in a similar condition. On June 29, 1988, Catherine DiMauro, 31, was located near another construction site, completely nude, splayed out, with her arms akimbo. She’d been dumped in plain view, as if the killer were taunting the police. She also had gouges on her breast and had been similarly bludgeoned.

  As Dr. Arden went over the body with a magnifying glass, he saw something on her upper left leg: a tiny blue fiber. Lifting this off with care, he placed it into an evidence bag. He returned to the body to see if there were more. After a painstaking process, he managed to find 13 blue fibers and a couple of red fibers. Arden showed them to detectives. This could be important evidence.

  Investigators tracked the fibers down to a carpet store in New Jersey, which sold this shade of blue carpeting for vans and trucks. This information wasn’t immediately much help, but they stored the fibers in case they found a suspect or had future linked victims.

  The New Castle Police Department had no experience with serial murder, but they were quite close to Washington, DC, where the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit had established its reputation for success with serial crimes. In business for over a decade, the special agents in this unit assisted local jurisdictions with linking crime scenes and predicting what a killer might do next. They could also provide some details about the type of person who would carry a murder kit for the purposes of torturing his victims.

  Special Agent John Douglas was the BSU chief. He examined the case with Special Agent Steve Mardigan and later wrote articles about it. They offered a personality and behavioral profile, suggesting that the perpetrator would be a white male between 25 and 35, with some connection to the construction business. He lived in the area and tended to troll for victims among known prostitute hangouts. He wanted his victims to suffer. He would bind them to make them helpless and then strangle them and revive them. This would increased their terror and misery, along with his enjoyment. The hammer was used to finally bring the experience to an end.

  He would probably take trophies and he would be carrying a murder kit: tools, duct tape, torture tools, a knife, a hammer, and possibly a gun to force compliance until he had them under his control. This killer would tend to abuse and kill his victims in a consistent manner, with similar marks of torture, because it satisfied something personal and private – probably sexual. He might shift his methods somewhat, but the torture was important to him. He would do this again. The next one would happen sooner; the interval between victims would decrease.

  Although detectives could figure out most of this information with common sense, the weight of a profile from the FBI (and this was before all the media hype) focused them on johns who fit this general description.

  Two more women, Margaret Finner and Michelle Gordon, disappeared in late August – way sooner than expected – and police feared that they might have been grabbed by the same man. When last seen, Finner was getting into a blue van with round headlights and no side windows. This information helped to narrow down the pool of potential vehicles to watch for. Her remains were discovered about a month later in some weeds. They were too decomposed to see if the signature was present. There was no duct tape.

  The police decided to try something bold and risky. They would set up a decoy operation along the I-40 corridor where prostitutes and johns made their “dates.” A 21-year-old rookie, Renee Lano, from the New Castle County Police Department agreed to go out on the road and pretend to be looking for johns. She was a trim, pretty blond. Secretly, she carried a gun and a hidden microphone. Other officers provided support from a distance.

  On September 14, 1988, Lano was working Route 40 when she observed a medium-blue van cruise past her. It was the kind of van they were looking for. She acted nonchalant and the van came by again. The driver was checking her out. She grew nervous. If this was the guy, he was a brutal killer. She couldn’t make a mistake.

  He circled around again.

  And again.

  When he wasn’t near, Lano called in the tag number. She learned that it was registered to Steve Brian Pennell, 31, who lived about a mile from the Interstate. If he grabbed her before she could use her gun, she was comforted that the dispatcher had the information needed to find her.

  The van passed her half a dozen times. She moved into a darker area, sensing that this might be what he was waiting for. She wasn’t surprised when he stopped and backed up toward her. But her heart was pounding. With a deep breath, she collected herself and prepared to seem like a girl looking for a quick buck from a horny guy.
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  The driver, a stocky dark-haired guy with a trimmed beard, beckoned her over. She opened the passenger side door and stood in the doorway. They engaged in some light conversation. Lano said she had a headache, but wondered if he wanted a blowjob. He asked how much and she said $30. She asked him to turn on the overhead light and when he did, she noticed blue carpeting on the floor and lining the doors. She had to think fast. She needed a sample.

  As they talked, she flirted to put him at ease and ran her fingernails suggestively over the carpeting inside the door. Surreptitiously, she plucked a few fibers. As she backed away, declining his invitation, she placed the fibers into a pocket. To her relief, Pennell drove off.

  The fibers went to the crime lab processing and comparison against those removed from DiMauro’s body. They were the right texture and color. Pennell was now a solid suspect.

  The day after, on September 20, 1988, the body of a young woman was discovered on rocks near the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. It was Michelle Gordon, just 22. Dr. Arden concluded that Gordon had been murdered, but because her body had been submerged in water, he could not determine with certainty the exact cause of death. He believed she’d had a heart attack. Yet injuries inflicted on Gordon's body were similar to those found on Ellis and DiMauro. Her buttocks had been severely whipped and there was even some post-mortem mutilation of the breasts. Her hair had recently been cut, but in a jagged way, not professionally.

  The police began to watch Pennell, who liked to cruise the I-40 corridor. They discovered that he lived with his wife in a trailer park. But they needed a reason to search his van and they had nothing … for the moment.

  On September 30, Pennell committed a traffic violation, so a patrol officer stopped him. This allowed police to search his van. They saw bloodstains on the carpet, as well as hair strands in a sink. They removed samples of the blue carpeting and swatches from a red cloth.