Date: Fri 22-Jan-1999

Publication: Bee

Author: CURT

Quick Words:

Laslo-Briscoe-crime-fiction

Full Text:

FROM THE CASE FILES OF DETECTIVE LASLO BRISCOE: Installment 18

By Andrea Zimmermann

I have never been partial to axioms, but there is one I cannot deny: The more

things change, the more they remain the same.

Since the 20s, we have unabashedly flooded the language with new terms and

phrases -- "dollars to doughnuts," for example, and removed anything that

might hint at slowing us down.

A fine illustration of the latter is the now-rare punctuation mark, the

period. Here is a first line from the very short news item about a recent

case; what is lost for the sake of expediency?

"One of the most dastardly and wicked assaults ever perpetrated in this town

occurred on Washington Avenue in Sandy Hook this past Saturday night when Miss

Ruth Tilson, daughter of Mr and Mrs Josiah Tilson, was struck down by an

assailant in the dark armed with a club, sustaining two severe lacerations of

the scalp with bruises and contusions of the back and abrasions of the right

leg and left arm."

Although language or appearances may change, the core of human nature remains

unalterable. We seek any means at hand for placing ourselves at a distance

from the ugly, the inexplicable and passionate demonstrations of our shared

nature. And we may employ language as a tool for this end.

When William Shafer managed to fend off three assailant at the railroad

tracks, residents talked of the light heavyweight "Battling Elwell" Shafer as

a hero; they were also proud to note he was a chef at the Newtown Inn. Just

months later, when it was discovered Shafer had untoward relationships with

some of the young boys in town, townspeople not only failed to mention his

boxing title, but noted he was a "FORMER ASSISTANT chef" at the inn. And only

upon the revelation of his unnatural actions, was anyone particular in noting

the man is a "negro." It became, as a matter of course, inextricably linked to

the topic of inappropriate action.

Why? For the same reason we cast a villain as Slavonian, or a hobo: It makes

us feel secure we are created not of the same flesh, the same heritage, the

same immoral impulses. But take away the racial identifier of the jackknife

wielding Mr Void, and what do we have to separate us from basic, volatile

emotions that led to the unthinkable in my most recent case.

No. 1033 -- The Case

Of The Impassioned Slasher

It's not every day residents on The Street are witness to a bloody deed

committed on a front lawn during daylight hours. But suddenly it was put

before them -- a sharp knife's work, a woman bleeding to death, and the

villain -- the victim's husband -- fleeing to preserve his own life.

Mrs Louise Void and her husband had both been employed by H. Sanford Beers at

his Main Street residence. Early in 1931, Void became jealous of his wife, and

without due cause. It seems he is of a jealous nature, not that anything but

the usual courtesies were offered his mate by their employer. Later, he freely

admitted his jealousy had no foundation; yet he could not reign it in. This

loose emotion prompted the two domestics to leave their employ in Newtown and

return to Norwalk. Although Void soon found work with E.M. Jennings as a car

washer, he continued to ill treat his wife.

She left him October 3, with no hint as to where she had made off to. It took

Void more than two weeks to track down his wife, who was back in her at her

former station as maid at the Beers residence. Void made numerous telephone

calls imploring his wife to return to his home, but they all went unheeded.

Last Saturday afternoon, Void rode from Norwalk to Bridgeport and boarded a

bus for Newtown. He arrived at the Beers house and went inside to talk with

his wife. Beers finally demanded Void quit the place, telling him his presence

was not desired.

Void went outside and called his wife to the door. Hardly had she stepped

outdoors than Void set upon her, striking her with what he later described as

a "fifty cent jackknife." On the first lunge, he slashed the right side of her

throat, opening the jugular vein. Subsequent thrusts cut her about the neck.

Mrs Void fell to the ground but the violent assault continued unabated. Void

jumped on the woman and threw himself forward, inflicting a long gash across

her abdomen. The screams of the victim drew out Mr Beers and other occupants

of The Street. Bloodied as he was, Void held onto his dastardly weapon and

fled behind Lovell's garage.

Mrs Void would have surely bled to death were it not for the quick attention

of Drs Kingman and Desmond. When asked to where her husband might have fled,

she uttered the name, "Grouch." It was fortunate I did not take my daily

constitution at the usual hour; mine is oft a bloody business, but I have no

tolerance for assaults of women or children. I fear my own response to a

violent scene may ultimately land me behind bars.

Beers engaged me to act as a local representative in the police search. (After

all, I could well identify the assailant from having visited the Beers.) Void

managed to evade us Saturday evening, but we got our man the next day in

Redding. And when he offered a complete confession, we learned of the many

miles he covered on Saturday.

Void made his escape, through the woods, to Redding near the Ridgewold Inn and

then by way of the highway to Easton near the Blue Bird Inn. From there he

walked along a side road to Westport and Norwalk. He went home for a cap to

replace the hat he had lost, and walked to Darien. In that town he approached

a friend to drive him to West Redding where he secreted himself in a wrecked

car stored in an outbuilding on the Crouch residence.

In response to police inquiry to an area resident by the name of Grouch, we

learned there was a colored man by the name of Crouch in the vicinity. I

accompanied Lt Carroll and Officer Tucker to West Redding. Crouch said he had

been away until just a short time before our appearance and denied any

knowledge of Void's whereabouts or the crime he had perpetrated. As Carroll

questioned the man, Tucker and I strolled about the place only to come upon

Void.

Exhausted by his flight, Void had gone to sleep in the automobile and woke to

the vision of officers about the property. Rather than flee again, he

attempted to hide in the bottom of the car. He exonerated Crouch from any

complicity, stating in his confession that he found no one at home when he

arrived at the Crouch residence. Void said he wrapped the bloodied jackknife

in a South Norwalk newspaper and rid himself of it as he fled through the

swamp.

Should Mrs Void recover from her very critical condition -- and that is

unlikely -- her husband will see the lesser charge of assault with intent to

murder.

No. 1042 -- The Case

Of The Homemaker Burglar

It is an affront to be robbed, but then to think some miscreant is sleeping in

your bed in a room darkened by your curtain and rods is almost unbearable. To

divest a man of his creature comforts should bring a doubly harsh sentence. At

least that is the opinion I share with Dr and Mrs Burdett who found themselves

in this very situation last weekend. The family, who lives in New York and

passes the summer in Newtown, came for the weekend to find a thief had taken

considerable of the home contents, including the aforementioned. To Burdett's

dismay, I informed him it would be almost impossible to apprehend the burglar

unless he were invited to the thief's home where his former comforts were in

use. I have a mind to chain my own mattress to the wall.