Prison life actually seemed to agree with her. With each new day, her spirits grew increasingly buoyant. Apart from her attorney and longtime friend James S. Murphy of Lowell, no outside visitors were allowed to see her. But she was not completely cut off from communication with the world. Old acquaintances wrote to her in jail. Many were former patients, offering moral support. (Jane, after all, had been a nurse for more than a decade, and—in addition to the nearly three dozen victims she had murdered for pleasure—there were scores of people she had ministered to with professional care.)
She was particularly cheered by the letters from her wealthy Cambridge clients, who—as the Globe wrote—“avowed their faith in her innocence and promised that they would help her secure the ablest counsel in Massachusetts.” Jane diligently answered every piece of correspondence, sometimes writing until sundown.
She also spent hours poring over the papers. To be sure, there was much in the news that must have dismayed her, including virtually daily additions to the burgeoning list of murder allegations. Suspicions had now been raised about Mrs. Mary McNear, the elderly Watertown woman Jane had nursed to death in late December 1899. And more revelations about her pyromaniac tendencies were coming to light. In addition to the string of fires that had broken out on the Davis property during her summer visits, there was a report of a blaze that had mysteriously erupted the previous spring at 68 Brattle Street, Cambridge. As the Boston Post pointedly noted, “Miss Toppan was at the time employed in the house as a nurse, and on the evening when the fire occurred she was the sole occupant of the house.”
There seemed little doubt—as the same paper observed—that Jane Toppan had been leading “a strange life, a double life, as it were”:
Up to last August, Miss Toppan was thought by everyone with whom she came in contact to be a perfect example of a true, honest, conscientious Christian woman.
Today, because of the accusations hurled at her, a mass of evidence accumulates which shows her to be at least, if the stories be true, a woman entirely destitute of morals. Her episode with Deacon Brigham and her blackmailing threats were a great shock to her adherents. New reports from Cambridge add to the list. Charges are made that Miss Toppan was suspected by her patients who missed valuable articles and sums of money. Charges are also made of untruthfulness and deceit.
This is the reason people are now so willing to believe that the State has not erred in her arrest.
In spite of finding herself exposed to the world as a blackmailer, liar, and thief, however, Jane was apparently quite encouraged by the news—particularly by the ongoing failure of the police to find any conclusive way to link her to the death of Minnie Gibbs. The headline of the November 5 edition of the Boston Post neatly summed up the situation: “STATE HUNTS LONG BUT FINDS LITTLE.” According to the story, the police were “doing their utmost to add to the array of evidence against Miss Toppan. So far, however, nothing has been obtained save a record of other mysterious deaths under her nursing, but it is doubtful this could be used as evidence in the Gibbs case. Evidence of the untruthfulness of Miss Toppan in small things, and of her great desire for money, has also been uncovered. But nothing really tending to clinch the case against her for the alleged murder of Mrs. Gibbs has come to light.”
Indeed, the State’s case seemed to grow shakier by the day. On Wednesday, November 6, W. C. Davis—the Falmouth undertaker who had prepared Minnie Gibbs’s body for burial—told an interviewer that his embalming fluid “had been injected partially through the nostrils and down into the throat of the deceased.” “Arsenic and alcohol make up the general basis of such fluids,” Davis explained. “Naturally the arsenic would assert itself within a few hours and show upon all the organs of the body with which it came in contact. It would be an easy matter for the fluid to percolate in the mouth and leave evidence of arsenic.” This revelation was a serious blow to District Attorney Holmes, who had been confidently declaring that—since traces of arsenic were found in her mouth and throat—Mrs. Gibbs must have been poisoned.
On the same day, Mrs. Beulah Jacobs—the Davis relation who had been staying at the Jachin House when Minnie Gibbs died—admitted to a reporter for the Boston Traveler that she “did not see Mrs. Gibbs take any liquid” after returning from their carriage ride to Falmouth. “Soon after entering the house,” Mrs. Jacobs explained, “Minnie complained of a peculiar numb feeling in one side. I assisted her to a couch, where she sank down and soon became unconscious, even before Jennie Toppan entered the room.”
As the Traveler pointed out, this information was “of inestimable benefit to the case of the defendant,” since it raised serious doubts about the state’s contention that Jane alone had the chance to kill the victim. Not only was someone else present when Minnie was stricken but—by Mrs. Jacobs’s own admission—Jane was in another part of the house when the young woman collapsed. “HENCE IT MUST BE ASKED,” the paper declared, printing the question in caps to emphasize its importance, “WHAT EXCLUSIVE OPPORTUNITY WAS AFFORDED JANE TOPPAN TO POISON THE WOMAN?”
In light of this new information—which, as the Traveler declared, “proves most favorable to the nurse”—it is hardly surprising that Jane’s lawyer and childhood friend, James S. Murphy, seemed to be brimming with optimism when he spoke to reporters on Thursday afternoon, November 7. Murphy had arrived in Barnstable that morning in preparation for the following day’s hearing.
“The State, as usual, has made a great deal over the case, and dragged in outside matters which have nothing to do with the Gibbs case,” Murphy declared. When a reporter asked what he meant by “outside matters,” Murphy explained that he was referring to the “record of supposedly mysterious deaths under Nurse Toppan’s care.” These deaths, Murphy declared, were “simply a train of coincidences.” It was true that “many of her patients had died one after another.” He insisted, however, that “every nurse and doctor of standing has had a similar experience.”
Speaking as a lifelong friend of the accused, Murphy avowed that he had “never known her to do anything which in any way reflected on her character. Her arrest was a great shock to all her friends. We will have no difficulty in proving her absolute innocence.”
So confident was Murphy that the charges wouldn’t stick that he didn’t hesitate to offer an opinion on his client’s mental condition. The debate over Jane’s sanity had continued to rage, with different experts offering contradictory diagnoses. Dr. E. F. Chadbourne, for example—the physician who had treated her at Lowell General Hospital following her suicide attempts—told reporters that, while he had “found her to be suffering from nervousness,” he “never detected the slightest evidence of insanity.” Dr. Lathrop, on the other hand, was “inclined to the affirmative view”—i.e., that Jane was, indeed, “mentally unbalanced.”
Murphy shared Chadbourne’s opinion, proclaiming that he was “convinced of her mental strength. I do not believe that Miss Toppan is insane. I am not an expert, but that is my opinion.”
For a defense lawyer to make such a statement was a sign of either professional incompetence or extraordinary faith in his client’s innocence. After telling the world that he firmly believed she was sane, it would be very hard for him to turn around and mount an insanity defense—a stratagem that many observers believed would be Jane’s only chance of escaping the gallows.
As for Jane herself, she appeared to share her attorney’s serene confidence in the outcome of the case. Confined to her cell, awaiting trial, she displayed—according to a story in the Boston Post—not the slightest anxiety about the future:
“You bear up well,” someone said to her today.
“Well, what must be, must be,” replied Miss Toppan, using one of her favorite expressions.
And that expression explains her whole composure and seeming indifference. For Miss Toppan is a fatalist. A Lowell friend once reproached her for telling a falsehood.
“Don’t blame me, blame my nature!” exclaimed Miss Toppan. “I can’t change
what was meant to be, can I?”
It is this belief which enables her to smile in her prison cell, unconcerned at the dreadful shadow hanging threateningly over her. “What is to be must be.”
Jane Toppan worries not for the future.
24
The preliminary hearing will be postponed to as late a date as possible, the government not being anxious to try the case until spring. The officers at work on the case say that it will likely take three or four months until they can complete their work. That the county will be put to great expense in carrying on the trial is admitted by the officers. It has been a long time since there has been a case of this magnitude in this county, and already many residents are expressing regrets that it did not happen elsewhere.
—Boston Globe, NOVEMBER 5, 1901
SHORTLY BEFORE 9:00 A.M. ON FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 8, Jane Toppan emerged from the jailhouse for the first time in a week. Accompanied by State Detective Letteney, her counsel, James S. Murphy, and jailer Judah Cash, she walked the short distance to the Barnstable courthouse, her gaze fixed on the ground, as though to avoid eye contact with the crowd that had turned out to gawk at her.
She was garbed in the same clothing she had worn on the day of her arrest: a dress of black cheviot, a black hat adorned with a red imitation flower, and a white lace bow tied loosely about her neck. The outfit was oddly accessorized with a high, white, standing nurse’s collar—a peculiarity that caused a certain amount of comment among the spectators and received inordinate attention in the tidbit-hungry press.
The little courtroom was packed with curiosity seekers as Jane took her seat beside her lawyer. News accounts of her behavior during the proceedings differed dramatically. “MISS TOPPAN NERVOUS” the Globe proclaimed the following day; while the headline of the Herald read: “MISS TOPPAN UNCONCERNED.” To one observer, she seemed “as calm as if she were simply one of the spectators, and did not seem particularly interested in what was going on.” According to another, however, she “plainly evidenced the great mental strain under which she was laboring. She clutched her gloves and turned nervously in her seat and seemed to be on the point of collapsing.”
The proceedings lasted less than five minutes. As expected, Judge Smith K. Hopkins—substituting for Judge Fred C. Swift of Yarmouth, who was otherwise engaged—granted another postponement, continuing the case until November 15. The only moment of interest in the otherwise perfunctory affair was provided by lawyer Murphy, who wanted more time to prepare his case. According to Murphy, he had been promised a continuance until December 4 by District Attorney Holmes. Hopkins replied that he was operating under strict instructions from Judge Swift, who had mandated “that the case should not be postponed longer than one week.” The two argued back and forth for a few minutes, but Hopkins refused to be budged.
After ordering that the prisoner be held without bail until November 15, the judge ended the hearing. Once again, eyewitness accounts of Jane’s reactions were wildly contradictory. “When she went from the courtroom,” the Herald reported, “she went with a light, springy step and outside the door said something to her counsel and smiled.” According to the Globe, however, “she could hardly keep her balance as she left the courthouse,” and had to “grasp the arm of her counsel, who steadied her until she got to the jail.”
All reports agreed, however, that by the time she was settled back in her cell, she had “quite recovered her composure.” Later that morning, a statement was issued in her name. In it, Jane conceded that while the many sudden deaths of her friends, family members, and casual acquaintances might seem suspicious, there was a perfectly logical explanation for them, having to do with geography, climate, and diet.
“The fact that I am innocent will be established when the hearing is held next week,” she proclaimed. “If there is any justice in Massachusetts, I shall be cleared. I cannot see how I can be convicted of a crime I never committed. I admit that the many deaths of which I am supposed to be the cause form strong circumstantial evidence, but they may have been due to many causes. All the deaths occurred in the summertime. The drinking water at Cataumet is bad. The land is low. The country is practically un-wooded, and conditions favor diseases that can be transmitted through drinking water. I myself was sick at Cataumet.
“Moreover, Mrs. Brigham, Mrs. Bannister and Miss Calkins died in the intense heat of the summer, and Mr. Brigham’s illness was also at this time of the year. All were of advanced age and ate freely of fruit that grew on the old place. Anyone who understands medicine or hygiene knows what this means.
“Each of the people who died I knew personally and was on friendly terms with. I would not kill a chicken.”
• • •
Even as Jane was blaming her victims’ deaths on everything from weather conditions to fruit, events were taking place a few miles away that would sorely test her much-noted composure.
At precisely 10:30 A.M., an inquest into the deaths of Minnie Gibbs and Genevieve Gordon got under way at Buzzards Bay, Judge Swift presiding. The proceedings were held under closely guarded conditions. No spectators or reporters were allowed to attend. Even the witnesses were kept waiting outside the courtroom until called in for questioning, one at a time.
Over the course of the following four hours, the prosecution heard testimony from more than half-a-dozen people, including Oramel Brigham, Dr. W. H. Lathrop, Captain Paul Gibbs, Beulah Jacobs, Professor Edward Wood, and medical examiner R. H. Faunce. At 2:35 P.M., the inquest was adjourned indefinitely. When District Attorney Holmes emerged from the courtroom, he was brimming with confidence, though he refused to divulge any information to the press.
Within hours of the adjournment, however, rumors were circulating that dramatic new evidence had emerged at the inquest—evidence that would seal the government’s case against Jane. By the following morning—Saturday, November 9—the front pages were full of tantalizing hints of an imminent breakthrough. “SOMETHING IN TOPPAN CASE NOT YET MADE PUBLIC!” the Herald trumpeted. “A SENSATION PROMISED!” According to one unnamed official quoted by the paper, “The most important piece of testimony by which we hope to convict Miss Toppan has not yet been revealed to the world. When the proper time comes, it will be given out and will convince those who think we have a weak case against Miss Toppan.”
The world didn’t have to wait long. That very evening, the late edition of the Boston Globe ran a banner headline: “SECRET OUT! MORPHIA AND ATROPIA CAUSED MRS. GIBBS’ DEATH! SUSPICIONS OF WOMAN’S FATHER-IN-LAW HAVE BEEN VERIFIED!”
Captain Paul Gibbs had been vindicated. After more than a week of insisting that Jane’s victims had died of arsenic poisoning, the prosecution had finally acknowledged what the old sailor had been saying all along.
The change in the government’s position resulted partly from a turnabout by Professor Wood, who had revised his initial opinion. Wood now agreed that the arsenic in Minnie Gibbs’s body had indeed “come from the embalming fluid used by undertaker Davis and was in no wise responsible for her death.” Further chemical analysis had turned up lethal traces of morphine and atropine in the victim’s organs, leading him to conclude “that it was these drugs and not arsenic that killed Mrs. Gibbs.”
Equally important to the government’s case was the testimony of Mr. Benjamin Waters, proprietor of a pharmacy in the nearby town of Wareham. Waters told officials that, during the second week of July, Jane Toppan had telephoned his store from the Cataumet post office and “ordered a bottle of morphia tablets, the strongest kind.” He had wrapped up the bottle in brown paper and shipped it to her on the next train. According to Waters, there was “enough poison in the morphia to send into eternal rest a score of persons.”
Waters’s story was substantiated by the Cataumet postmaster, Frank K. Irwin, who kept a record of every call placed from his establishment (which served not only as the town’s post office and “telephone exchange” but also its general store). Irwin had not only noted Jane’s call in his ledger but had overheard he
r place the order for the morphine.
Another crucial link in the State’s chain of evidence was provided by a drugstore clerk named William Robinson, who recalled Jane’s frequent purchases of Hunyadi mineral water. That Jane freely dispensed this beverage to her patients was confirmed by several witnesses, including Beulah Jacobs, who testified that Minnie Gibbs had been given a glassful to drink shortly before she sank into a coma and died.
Putting all these facts together, the government was now thoroughly (and correctly) convinced that it had figured out Nurse Toppan’s murderous MO. Her victims, as the Boston Post reported, had all “died the same way—died after a poisoned glass of Hunyadi water was handed to them by Miss Toppan.”
Indeed District Attorney Holmes felt so confident in the findings that, late Saturday afternoon, he announced that “the inquest will not be resumed, the government being perfectly satisfied that it has secured sufficient evidence against Miss Toppan to connect her with the death of Miss Gibbs.”
Holmes had another announcement, too—even more unwelcome news for Jane and her lawyer.
He intended to order further exhumations. Sometime in the coming days, he declared, the corpses of the two elder members of the ill-fated Davis family, Alden and Mary, would be disinterred from their graves in the Cataumet cemetery and autopsied for traces of poison.
Fatal Page 18
