The Truth about Belle Gunness

by Lillian de la Torre

  “Not guilty!” he replies firmly.

  How can he be guilty of killing and murdering Belle Gunness, his derisive half-smile seems to say, when Belle Gunness is not dead? His lips still wear a confident look, belying his brooding eyes, as the business of selecting a jury begins.

  Ray watches the proceedings sharply, his uneasy dark eyes darting from each prospective juror to his lawyer and back again. Any one of these men may hold life or death in his hand. He listens while the lawyers put questions.

  “What is your name?” begins the prosecutor.

  “Henry Mill.”

  Henry Mill, sixty-five, retired farmer of Wellsboro, made a good impression with his calm face, grizzled hair and beard, and quiet hands.

  “Have you heard of this case?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you read about whether Mrs. Gunness was dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you read, did you, in some papers that Mrs. Gunness was dead, and in some that she was alive?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you know Belle Gunness?”

  “I never saw her.”

  “Have you heard of any cases in justice court where Mrs. Gunness and Lamphere were involved?”

  “I don’t think I had.”

  “Have you ever expressed an opinion?”

  “No, sir.”

  “From what you read, did you form any conclusion?”

  “I did not.”

  “Are you acquainted with Lamphere?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you acquainted with Lamphere’s folks?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You have read of this case?”

  “Yes, all I could.”

  “Have you come to any conclusion as to the guilt or innocence of Ray Lamphere?”

  “No, sir.”

  Ray’s restless eyes darted to Worden, and Worden nodded. Henry Mill was on the jury. It was a momentous decision for Ray.

  For four interminable days, Justice waited with sword suspended while prosecution and defense lawyers thus quizzed prospective jurors; While waiting for action, everybody who was anybody had his say in the newspapers.

  Old Mrs. Lamphere wept into her handkerchief when reporters interviewed her about her accused boy.

  “With my own fingers I made all the clothes that Ray wore until he was ten years of age. I sewed love into every stitch. He was my heart, my life, during his childhood. When my own difficulties came upon me, he was my refuge and my strength. Alone as I am in the world at my age, it makes my boy more dear to me. Every day that he has been in jail my heart has ached for him, but I could not go to his cell and wrap him in my arms.

  “Ray is innocent,” cried the pathetic little gray-haired lady in a breaking voice. “God knows and I know he is not guilty. He has written this to me, and he never told me a lie in his life; even as a boy!”

  Another of the women in Ray Lamphere’s life, Nigger Liz, was also heard from. She pronounced Ray innocent with so knowing an air that the reporters began to expect great revelations if she should go on the stand.

  “I know he’s innocent,” said the old voodoo woman grimly, “and it’s a shame he has been locked up so long! And another thing.” She fixed the press with a beady eye. “There’ll be no more pictures taken around here, if I have to sit up all night! I won’t throw anything—but let me see one flash bulb, and I’ll come out myself!”

  The press noted this pronouncement, and the menacing muscularity of the speaker, and backed off politely.

  C. C. Fish, Lamphere’s private eye, was very busy stirring up useful evidence and having a lot to say about it. He was rustling up testimony to prove that Mrs. Gunness had an accomplice in crime who was not Ray Lamphere. Such an accomplice, the defense reasoned, would have had ample motive to do away with Belle and then burn things up to cover his crime.

  Mr. Fish was on the track of a short, broad-shouldered miscreant, the very man, he told the press, that the scavenger saw in the buggy.

  “Most important,” he added impressively, “the description fits the man seen with Mrs. Gunness on the sidewalk by the First National Bank the day of the fire. We will produce a witness who heard Mrs. Gunness say to him, ‘You must do the job tonight, for I’ll have to make my getaway!’”

  There was such a witness, a respectable out-of-town cattle buyer named Lingard; but he never reached the stand. His evidence proved to be a dangerous boomerang: But neither Fish nor Worden knew that yet.

  Conspicuous by his silence was former Sheriff Al Smutzer. Smutzer was out of politics and sick of the Gunness case. He would go on the stand for the state’ later.

  Meanwhile, up in the courtroom, probed by Ray’s desperate eyes, talesman after talesman passed in review. More than one hundred were rejected. The state would not accept those—and they were many—who thought Belle was alive. The defense challenged those who had formed opinions of Ray’s guilt.

  At last, on Thursday, as the gray November day was closing, the four hundred yellow electric light bulbs in the courtroom all flashed on, and twelve men took their places in the jury box.

  Nine of them were plain farmers like Henry Mill. Both sides liked farmers. The defendant, a farm boy, might have their sympathy, Worden thought. Smith reflected that in his experience a farm jury was a hanging jury. There was a young farmer with big work-worn hands, an old farmer whose fine face was nobly bearded, a dapper farmer with a snappy belligerent glance. There was a carpenter in a gaping collar, a dry-goods clerk with fancy whiskers, a merchant with a blond pompadour.

  It was a solid, no-nonsense sort of jury. Only one juror was under forty; only one was over sixty. As they sat there in a double row of walrus and handlebar mustaches, beards and bartender’s licks, any one of them might have appealed to Mrs. Gunness as a matrimonial prospect. What they would do to Ray Lamphere was anybody’s guess.

  Harry N. Darling, eloquent editor of the Argus, guessed both ends against the middle in a brilliantly muddled item:

  Speaking in similes, the Lamphere trial has been likened to a May day celebration. In the spot light is the May pole, and, stretching from its top, are twelve long ribbons, each juror holding a ribbon. The entire case of the prosecution hangs on conclusive proof that the Gunness woman is dead. Otherwise, the May pole falls in a crash, and the state’s argument is broken and shattered. If, on the taking of evidence, the jurors are persuaded as to the death of the woman, the May pole stands, but to convict Ray Lamphere, the state must play the right music. The jurors will refuse to budge from their positions and the ceremony will be over, unless, on each of the ribbons, the state stamps in indelible letters the name of “Ray Lamphere.” Circumstantial evidence must be so woven about this prisoner, timing his every movement on the night of April 28, to the second, and gauging precisely the effect of his every emotion, as to dissipate the last shred of reasonable doubt. In that case, mystery unraveled, Belle Gunness dead and Ray Lamphere unseparably connected with her death, and the deaths of her children, the jurymen might well turn in ribbons, blackened by human murder. Unless this spider web of evidence circumstantial is spun around the prisoner, the ribbons will be handed back, as they were received, white and spotless.

  Again the courtroom was packed. In the hush, every eye was fixed upon the defense table. Ray sat today between two defenders, for at the last moment Worden had called in powerful help. Ellsworth Weir was reputed to be a crafty fox with a witness and an eloquent tear-jerker with a jury. He was a ladies’ man, tall and slim, with a Greek profile and a beaky nose precariously balancing a pair of pince-nez. Over his sharp-cut features his emotions were in constant play. At Ray’s other hand, solid as a rock, sat Wirt Worden.

  Worden sincerely believed that Ray Lamphere was marked down to be Belle’s last victim, destined by the conniving murderess for the hangman’s rope as a result of her machinations. He was grimly determined to save his client from any such murder by due process of law. He planned to put Belle herself on trial i
n his client’s place.

  Worden had even put the absconding ogress under subpoena. “We want her as a witness to clear Lamphere.” Sheriff Smutzer had not served that writ. He reported solemnly that he was “unable to find her in his bailiwick.” Some people thought that he could find her if anybody could; but she did not appear, except as a menacing presence that the whole courtroom shivered to feel.

  At the opposing table, Prosecutor R. N. Smith had no such cobwebs in his brain. As he rose to open the case, reporters from all over poised their pencils. Ralph Smith liked to affect a homespun style. In more free-and-easy surroundings, his marksmanship with a chaw of tobacco was famous. His well-cut clothes flapping negligently, he swung his loose-jointed way to the jury box and began to talk easily to the jurors. He spoke in a clear, carrying voice, even when he dropped onto a penetrating whisper that projected like an actor’s.

  “Gentlemen of the jury,” began the prosecutor, “the prosecution in the case of the state of Indiana versus Ray Lamphere has no axes to grind, no spleen to vent on anyone. We are not persecuting anybody. If sometimes we get zealous, it is because of our anxiety to fulfill our duty. We, with the court and the jury, occupy the same position. We are all officers of the court and are gathered to form a board of inquiry. We are not here to make a show.”

  Having thus smoothly put the jury on his team, Smith continued:

  “Gentlemen, a dark cloud has fallen upon our county. It is our duty to uncover the mystery and to punish the guilty, if possible.

  “I shall be frank in my statements today. The evidence in this case is largely circumstantial. People, when they set out to commit a crime, such as the burning of a dwelling, do not set out to do it with a brass band. A little direct evidence may come up, but of that I am not prepared to talk. I do not want to claim anything I am not prepared to show the goods for.

  “We charge Ray Lamphere with setting fire to the house of Belle Gunness on April twenty-eighth while she was in it.”

  Ray Lamphere sat forward. As he heard the prosecutor begin to accuse him by name, he gripped the arms of the chair till his knuckles whitened. From sunken sockets his eyes riveted themselves on the face of his accuser. The blood ebbed from his cheeks and his trembling fingers pulled viciously at the mustache that concealed his colorless lips. The prosecutor continued:

  “And we expect to prove she was burned to death there with her three children—Myrtle Sorenson, Lucy Sorenson, and Philip Gunness. We expect to prove that when the ruins were cleared away, the charred bodies found in the ashes were those of Belle Gunness and her children.

  “Our position is that it does not matter whether Lamphere intended to set fire to Belle Gunness when he feet fire to her house. When we prove he did set the fire, remember the statute which says he is guilty of murder in the perpetration of arson where lives were lost, whether he intended to take a life or not. The state is not required to show that he went out there with the intention to kill Belle Gunness in the fire.”

  Here the prosecutor took time to summarize Belle Gunness’ career before he went on:

  “Evidence will show that Ray Lamphere, the man on trial, went to the Gunness house in June, 1907, and remained until February, 1908.

  “Now we come to the motive of Ray Lamphere for burning the Gunness house. We shall show by evidence that in January of this year a man by the name of Helgelien was induced by means of matrimonial advertisements and letters to come from South Dakota to the Gunness farm, bringing his worldly wealth with him.

  “We shall prove that on the night of January 14 Belle Gunness sent Ray Lamphere to Michigan City on a wild-goose chase on the pretext of changing horses. Lamphere was to stay in Michigan City. This was the night Helgelien disappeared. Instead of staying at Michigan City, Lamphere left Earle’s livery barn there, and by interurban car returned to La Porte.

  “Testimony will be presented to show that Lamphere said in reference to the Gunness place: ‘I’m going over there and see what the old woman is doing.’ We will prove that Lamphere bobbed up like Johnny on the spot and assisted Mrs. Gunness in the dastardly work of disposing of Helgelien’s body.”

  With wild eyes, Ray Lamphere half started from his chair, as if to shout a denial. As Worden put a finger on his arm, prosecutor Smith continued calmly:

  “Helgelien had three thousand dollars, and evidence will be introduced to show that Lamphere got part of the money. It was over this money that the two fell out, and a great animosity grew up between them.

  “On February third they quarreled, and Lamphere didn’t live there any more. Some time before this, Mrs. Elizabeth Smith, Nigger Liz, had had Lamphere arrested for not paying a board bill, and Mrs. Gunness paid his fine. Soon after the quarrel, Mrs. Gunness had him arrested on the charge of trespass, and when he was convicted in justice court for this offense it was Elizabeth Smith who paid his fine.

  “Altogether Mrs. Gunness had him arrested three times. She served notice on him to keep away from her place. We can prove in showing animosity that Lamphere said. ‘I can get the old woman down on her knees any time I want to. I know something about her that would send her to the penitentiary.’

  “The breach between Mrs. Gunness and Lamphere kept getting wider, and each party continued getting angrier, until April twenty-seventh.

  “On the twenty-seventh Lamphere was living at Wheatbrook’s or in that vicinity and was making Wheatbrook’s a sort of headquarters. On the afternoon of the twenty-seventh he came to town with Mr. Wheatbrook shortly after dinner for some trivial purpose, with the intention of going back with Wheatbrook. Wheatbrook missed him some way, and Lamphere spent the afternoon around town in the saloons until five or six o’clock. Then he went to Lizzie Smith’s and after supper went downtown again until nine o’clock. At nine o’clock he went back to Nigger Liz Smith’s and went out and got a pail of beer after that, at her suggestion.

  “Lamphere set the alarm clock at Elizabeth Smith’s house for three o’clock of the morning of April twenty-eighth, according to his own statement. He went out of the house about twenty minutes after three. The fire occurred about four o’clock. Instead of going by a direct route through the city park to the farm of his cousin to get a broad ax, we will show he took the Gunness road. By his own statement we will show he was on the spot at the time of the fire. When asked why he did not wake up the people when he saw the house burning, he replied: ‘I didn’t think that it was any of my business.’

  “We will prove he ran along the foot of the hills afterward, past the cemetery, to get on another road, and wound up at his cousin’s farm at five-thirty.

  “At seven o’clock that evening, when the Deputy Sheriff went to the Wheatbrook farm to arrest Lamphere, he said: ‘Ray, get on your coat and come along to town.’ Ray’s answer showed he had the fire in mind. He said: ‘Did those folks burn up in the fire?’ ‘What fire?’ asked the Sheriff. ‘Why, that house,’ answered Ray. Then the Sheriff insisted that he put on his coat and accompany him. Lamphere had the Gunness family well in mind then.

  “Another phase of this case is the burden resting upon the state to prove the corpus delicti, or that Mrs. Gunness is dead. I don’t want to convict a man for the murder of anybody who isn’t dead.”

  Ray’s eyes flickered. Was it fear, remorse, or amusement?

  In his carrying, sonorous voice, the prosecutor went steadily forward. He told in detail the story of Belle’s last day, how she made her will and put it and $700 in cash into safety in the bank; how she bought groceries and toys, and went home and served beefsteak for supper; how Joe Maxson shared the meal, and went to bed early, leaving the mother and children playing games. Then he went on:

  “In the morning, about four o’clock, Maxson was awakened by smoke. A gale was blowing from his part of the house toward the corner where Mrs. Gunness and the children were sleeping. Maxson beat on the door of the family apartments without success and escaped from the house.

  “The fire had evidently been started in the outside c
ellarway. Others came on the scene. They climbed to the room occupied by the children, but there was no one in the room.…

  “Our contention will be that Mrs. Gunness became suffocated and died; that the children were awakened by the smoke and ran over to their mother’s room, into the thickest of the fire, and were suffocated.

  “The house was completely burned. Not a bit of wood was left. The bodies were burned in the hot debris for twelve hours. Two hundred pails of water were necessary to cool the hot bricks so the bodies could be got at. All four were found together. That of Mrs. Gunness was found lying on the back, with the body of the boy clasped in her left arm.…

  “Up to the finding of the body of Helgelien there was no question raised about its being the body of Mrs. Gunness. We shall prove by the coroner’s inquest—”

  “I object!” said Wirt Worden.

  “Overruled,” said Judge Richter.

  If Smith had intended to go on: “that the body was the body of Mrs. Gunnesss,” he side-stepped:

  “We shall prove by the coroner’s inquest that the coroner found on the hand a ring or rings belonging to Mrs. Gunness. We shall prove by a reputable dentist that a year before the fire he did some crown and bridge work for Mrs. Gunness. We will produce those teeth, and also her upper teeth.

  “I think you’ll agree when the evidence is all in that the old woman is dead. She got what was coming to her, and she isn’t running hard today!

  “I want to impress upon your minds that the principal—the salient—points in the case are these:

  “Did Ray Lamphere burn this house?

  “Did he feloniously and willfully do this?

  “Did Belle Gunness and her three children meet death because of this act?

  “If we prove beyond a reasonable doubt an affirmative answer to these questions, and I believe we can, we shall expect a verdict accordingly.”