Confessions of the Serial Killer H.H. Holmes (Illustrated)

by Mudgett (aka H. H. Holmes), Herman Webster

  The sight was disgusting, yet when I looked upon it, and realized that at least $20,000 would come to me after a little further trouble, I gazed on it as a very good investment which was about to mature.

  The monetary possibilities of this work set me thinking, and yet I knew I had in this instance to work rapidly. I loosed the cords, raised the body, and carried it to the bath tub, where I sought to freeze it hard enough for another day’s transportation.

  There, in the twinkling light of a solitary gas jet, lay all that was mortal of—I knew not whom.

  I claimed him as my own, and as I studied the now rigid form, strange questions arose and floated across my mind.

  Who was he? What had he been? Was he a father, a lover, or brother? Was his absence from home noted? Was he cared for? Or, was he, like myself, a wayward son? Such thoughts troubled me but little before, and yet, as he lay there on his frozen bed, I, seemingly fascinated by the awful solemnity of death, did not seem able to tear myself away.

  The gas flickered, a door slowly opened, and before I knew what had transpired, I was giving the opportunity of looking straight into the eyes of the mysterious stranger—the Secret Service man—over the glittering barrel of a death-dealing weapon.

  Not a word was spoken, but our eyes instinctively turned towards the object in the bath tub.

  “Consider yourself under arrest, sir,” said the nocturnal intruder.

  “I am at your service,” I replied, knowing that it would be useless to try conclusions with that man in such a small room.

  While he was getting some iron bracelets out of his pocket, I mentally determined to have him in the street, glad enough to get away from me and my rooms.

  I was ready for him when he walked out into the next room; he keeping his pistol leveled at me with one hand, and trying to get his hand cuffs out with the other.

  By the merry little twinkle in his eye I read his character as though it lay printed before me on an open page. It was part of my game, and I intended to play my hand as well as I knew how. He seemed to hold a good one, too, but as I had the greatest bower—money—I knew that it was worth the while to play it as best I could.

  Desperate, indeed, did my situation become when I saw that he had a companion awaiting us in the room, and a glance at the window explained how their entrance had been effected.

  As we got into the chamber the man with the pistol, who was much larger than his associate, looked at me and winked.

  “John, go to the station house, and wait until I send for you, but do not say anything until you get word.” My captor said to the other.

  No sooner had the man called “John” gotten out on the porch roof than the other turned to me with:

  “This is a nice sort of a business, and I have entrapped you neatly in it. It looks very much like the rope for you.”

  “My dear sir, you will let me explain, I hope. This man was my brother. He has just died of a malignant and very contagious disease. He had been sent to a medical college for dissection, and when I learned of it, I determined to save the body from the demonstrator’s knife. Come, look again, and see if you cannot discern a family resemblance?”

  As I was talking, the man drew back, and, at my invitation, turned an ashen color. His hands trembled, and as they dripped listlessly the pistol fell to the floor and exploded with a loud report.

  Critical as the moment was, it was time for me to act, and I made a successful effort to get the weapon, and as I did so, I ordered him to go to the window and save his life if it was of any value to him.

  He lost no time, and as his form disappeared over the ledge of the porch I fired a shot into the air.

  This of course brought the landlord and several guests to my door, which I opened in response to repeated knockings.

  I was very much excited, apparently, and called out, “There, see, there he goes.” The crowd of half-dressed men and women rushed to the window and gave me a chance to close the bathroom door. Heavens, but I did breathe more easily! The escape was a narrow one, but I succeeded in allaying suspicion by saying that the man had attempted burglary, and as I shot he jumped from the roof.

  The figure of a running man was discernible in the darkness when they were at the window, which had the effect of verifying my explanations.

  After they had gone the landlord offered me the use of another room, which I, of course, declined.

  Now my real work was to begin. The man was apparently satisfied that I had told the truth, yet he had a suspicious look, which I did not like.

  As early as possible in the morning, I packed my own trunk with the lead pipe, and to leave that of the fictitious Harvey, while I took my dead friend from his frigid resting place, and repacked him in the new trunk. Upon going to breakfast, I explained that I must go to a place which was somewhat distant on the early train; but would leave my friend’s trunk in the room, as he was expected at any time.

  Therefore I had the porter take the newly-packed trunk to the station, where he bought me a ticket and had the trunk checked to my pretended destination.

  I timed myself to get to the station just as the train was going out, and as the coast seemed clear, I boarded the smoker.

  I knew if the detective missed me, he would go at once to the hotel, and if he found my trunk there he would naturally wait around for an hour or so, thus giving me a pretty good start of him.

  When about thirty miles from Grand Rapids I got off to get a paper. The newsstand was next to the Western Union Telegraph office, and as I looked over the operator’s shoulder, he received the following message:

  “Look out for man and black trunk. Left here this A. M. Arrest and hold him.”

  I may have looked queerly, but I inquired in a natural way, how far it was to -------, my destination.

  “Forty-eight miles,” was the reply of the operator; and without raising his eyes, he called a boy to take the message to the station policeman.

  But he was too late. The train started, I swung on, and immediately got hold of the baggage porter. I showed him my ticket, and asked him to put my trunk off at the next station, which was but eight miles distant. This he did, and it was a dismal place, indeed. When I got off the train it was raining. It had been raining hard, evidently all night. The mud was hub deep on the lumber wagons, and the prospect of stopping there was not a pleasant one.

  I learned, upon making inquiries, that I could get to a little town fifteen miles distant, which connected with another railroad, and to do this I would have to drive. I determined to go, however, as the detective, no doubt, would haunt every station between Grand Rapids and my destination until he got some trace of me, when he would learn that I had gotten away from him.

  It was with difficulty that I secured a conveyance, which I did in the evening, as I did not want a driver, because I knew the trunk had become troublesome again on account of the odor of my dead companion.

  Having carefully attached the trunk to the rear of a back-number buckboard, a dismal trip was begun. As I said, I had considerable difficulty in getting the rig, and as it was I had to leave a deposit large enough to buy several of that particular kind.

  After seven hours of the worst riding it has been my misfortune to endure, I reached a small town from which a combination freight and passenger train was about to leave. It was one of those accommodating trains. I “saw” the conductor, who agreed to hold the train for half an hour.

  This delay was for the purpose of giving me a chance to freshen my subject up a little. Ice was not procurable, and as there was no drug store in the town, I went down to the grocery store, got the proprietor up and bought several bottles of ammonia, which, when combined with one or two other simple things, made a solution that rendered my quiet friend quite acceptable so far as one’s olfactories were concerned.

  This operation of attempted preserving was done in the privacy of the baggage car, and all went well until we got about three miles from town. Through the negligence of some section hands a
rail was left without the fish plate being bolted on, and the whole train was ditched.

  The engineer was killed, and the conductor was badly injured, as also were two or three passengers. I escaped through a window, and after helping some of the injured who needed surgical attendance, I went to the baggage car. It was a wreck. So was most of the baggage. My trunk and one or two others were intact, and while awaiting the arrival of the relief train and wrecking crew, my thoughts again got to wandering.

  There was a score of us. Some were injured, one dead, and all of us anxious. The morning was just breaking, the rain had ceased to fall; and, as I looked away down the railroad, I could just distinguish a cloud of steam and smoke, through the fog, which showed the approach of a train.

  Something seemed to tell me that I was about to be confronted with some disagreeable occurrence, and, in anticipation of the premonition becoming a fact, I quickly hauled my trunk to a little shed used by workmen, and impatiently awaited the wrecker. Therefore, I was not astonished when I saw that the first man to alight was my friend, the detective of Grand Rapids. He also saw me, but seemed to pay very little attention to me, as he knew I could not escape, for by this time it was broad daylight, and no trains coming or going.

  Finally he accosted me, and we entered into “an agreement” to have my trunk taken to the junction of the road, which was done to my entire satisfaction, and, I have every reason to think, to his also. Just what that little agreement cost me I am not at liberty to say, for that officer still lives.

  It was a dark and dreary day when I got into the wild wildernesses of Northern Michigan’s lumber tracts. I was soon established in a hut, and it shortly became known that I was a lumber operator of considerable means, and was regarded with much consideration by the hardy hewers of trees and strippers of bark. The men were all honest, it seems. So one day I went out in the evergreen forest and failed to return.

  A week or so later what was purported to be my dead body was found pinioned to the earth by a fallen tree. Money and papers were found in the clothes on the body which established my identity beyond the question of a doubt.

  Thus, by case No. 5, after a great deal of trouble and thrilling escapes from the law’s officers, I added the neat little sum of $20,000 to my bank account by September 1st, as I had anticipated.

  When I had finished with the trunk I presented it to a friend, but at the time did not tell to what use it had been put.

  Some years afterwards I met him at his home, and told him all about it. Then he and his wife declared that often they had found it open—no one having touched it—when both declared it had been closed and locked the day previous.

  One day in July, 1893, I met an old friend upon the street. I had not seen him for nearly two years, and I notice at once that he had not prospered since I last saw him. I asked him to accompany me to lunch, and upon inquiry, he told me that his only means of support at that time consisted of what he could earn as a solicitor for the Fidelity Insurance Company of Philadelphia, and he asked me if I could not carry some insurance in his company, to which I replied that I was carrying all I felt able to pay for.

  I gave him, however, the names of several parties whom he was to visit, some of whom he later insured. I invited him to come to the office and accompany me to lunch whenever he was in that part of the city, and later, at his solicitation, I abandoned the company in which I had been insured, and allowed him to place a policy for me with his company for two reasons: first, that he might be benefited by the premiums I paid; second, upon his showing me the advantages they offered. Considerably later, having exhausted all my resources so far as finding him customers was concerned, we were standing within the Chamber of Commerce Building, Chicago, when Pitezel, just returning from a successful Southern lumber trip, came in; and not having seen my friend for a quite awhile, they talked for some time together, and finally he asked Pitezel if he could not carry some insurance. Pitezel answered that he did not care to do so then.

  Up to that time Pitezel’s insurance record was as follows: Upon all long trips, his instructions were to take out temporary insurance at the time he bought his transportation ticket or mileage, making the policies in favor of his family, and at my expense. He had occasionally carried yearly accident insurance, and upon one occasion some regular life insurance in the Washington Life Co. Soon after this meeting with Pitezel, my friend asked me to try and induce him to take some in his company. Pitezel was about to receive several hundred dollars, the greater part of which I knew would, in a very few days, be wasted, and considering the great help it would be to my friend during the coming winter, I decided to induce Pitezel to insure, telling my friend beforehand my reasons for doing so, and instructing him to place no more insurance than Pitezel would pay cash for at the time.

  Later, a policy was issued for $10,000, for which a cash premium as paid. This policy differed very materially from one I should have chosen if any fraud had been anticipated at the time. After this I do not think insurance was again mentioned between Pitezel and myself for six months.

  My first intimate acquaintance with Mrs. Pitezel and her children began in the fall of 1893, although I had often seen them prior to that, especially the children, whom I liked and looked upon as remarkably bright when they had come to me from time to time upon errands. At this time Pitezel had gone to Indiana on some lumber business there among the farmers, and to aid him in establishing a credit, had taken with him some worthless checks to carelessly exhibit among his money, thus having it appear that he was a man of considerable means and worthy of credit in his business.

  While under the influence of liquor he either lost or tried to use one of these checks or drafts, resulting in his being arrested.

  This necessitated my making three special trips to Terre Haute, where his arrest occurred, and during this time a part of his family being sick, it was also necessary for me to visit them often as well. In November, 1893, I met Miss Williams by appointment at a hotel, where I made some preliminary arrangements that resulted later, and after several more visits, in her accepting collateral security for all her real estate holdings in Texas, they being valueless to her for the reasons previously given.

  The last of these visits took place in Detroit in December, 1893 (nearly six months after the death of her sister), since which time I have not personally seen her. At the time of this visit a final settlement was reached. I told her, after having reached such a settlement, that I was very shortly to be married. This created so severe a scene that she not only threatened my life, but that of my prospective wife as well. These threats ceased only when I told her I should, upon my return to Chicago, give to the authorities the details of the tragedy that had occurred there in July.

  The next day she seemed as pleasant as usual, and planned her own future course, which consisted in opening a massage establishment in a London hotel, Hatch to help her in conducting the enterprise.

  About the middle of February I sent to her, from Fort Worth, $1,750, which, when deducted from my previous indebtedness due her, left me still considerably in her debt. This was secured by the Wilmette property, the title to which it was agreed she should hold until all was paid. I left Miss Williams in Detroit, apparently well pleased with her business arrangements, and at least passably satisfied that the many other matters between us had been settled.

  Early in January, 1894, I sent Pitezel to Fort Worth, instructing him to sell the real estate there which previously had been conveyed to Benton T. Lyman, whom Pitezel was to personate, it not being safe for him to act in his own name on account of his recent trouble in Terre Haute, Ind. He did not succeed in readily finding a purchaser, and later in the same month, having been married in the meantime, I joined him there to aid him in his work. I had given Pitezel careful instructions as to his conduct while away, but I found upon reaching Fort Worth that he had not been governed by them. My first duty was to remove him from the boarding place he had chosen to one in a more respectable quarter, but t
he mischief had already been accomplished, and he was known by that time throughout the town as a liberal, free and easy drinking man, who, it was understood, had considerable property.

  A party owning property adjoining that which we wished to sell had need of a portion of ours, but would not buy, depending upon renting it at a very small figure, as he had been doing heretofore. In order to force him to buy I directed Pitezel to withdraw his offer, and remain wholly away from him, quietly survey our lot, and proceed to excavate a portion of it, having it understood that he was about to erect a large building, covering all of the ground. Our neighbor was fully as crafty as ourselves, and not until we had caused elaborate drawings to be prepared by an architect, and some foundation laid encroaching upon the portion he needed, did he conclude to buy, and at a figure about twice what it was worth. With a portion of this money, the old encumbrance of $1,700, that had existed against the property, was paid. Then having had some tempting offers from prospective tenants, a larger loan was made and the building later nearly completed.

  While the building was in progress there came to us a forlorn looking object, begging for work, and out of charity we gave him some light labor to do. He grew stronger as soon as he procured food. Later he confided to me that he had recently been released from serving a ten-year term in a Southern prison.

  I had at first called him “Mascot,” which name clung to him thereafter, though I think his real name was Caldwell.

  Early in March Pitezel came to me one morning to say that the day before while drunk he had been induced by some of the disreputable associates he had formed at his former boarding place to marry a woman of doubtful character, an adventuress some said, and that as soon as he became sober had come to me. He threatened to shoot both the woman and himself. I had him watched carefully for a few days, until I had reasoned him out of this idea. A little later I sent him home to his family in Chicago. He had in the meantime lived with this woman, and they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Lyman.