Date: Fri 27-Nov-1998

Publication: Bee

Author: CURT

Quick Words:

Laslo-12-mystery-fiction

Full Text:

FROM THE CASE FILES OF DETECTIVE LASLO BRISCOE: Twelfth Installment in Series

By Andrea Zimmermann

No. 842--

The Case of the Curious Killed

Although competition is keen, the usual motivation to trounce opponents at the

weekly Whist game has been subordinated to topics of conversation which fly

across the table faster than any hand can be dealt. Two subjects, only, occupy

the minds of those gathering at Newtown Country Club -- the diphtheria

epidemic which has reached 2,605 cases in Connecticut in these first 10 months

of the year (it is said one person a day dies in the state and without good

cause; the new diphtheria anti-toxin will cure any case if administered in

time); and, even more distracting, the slaying of the prominent young

journalist from New York.

I could lend particular insight into the latter, having heard some of the last

words spoken by Arthur V. Donahue, and having tarried at the scene only to

discover the two bullets fired without conscience at innocent men who

possessed no weapon greater than the English language with which to defend

themselves. The entire lot of Whist players agreed, after Raymond Hall took

the game with 131, no freshly exposed criminal would willingly relinquish his

position when presented with mere words of reason. If we displayed outrage, it

can only be imagined the furor such the incident caused with the town's inns.

Many think Newtown a fine place to visit, but none would anticipate being laid

out by a .32 calibre blast after having passed a convivial evening at the

local barber shop. Business had been brisk at the shop that Saturday night,

and Edward Pitzschler was finally able to close his door at midnight. His

brother-in-law, 26 years of age and a reporter for The New York American, had

traveled to town that day intending to pass the weekend here. The two men were

walking down the hill towards Queen Street when they saw a car without lights

on parked by the side of the road near the Goodsell's house.

At the trial, barber Pitzschler testified he thought the automobile belonged

to someone who had broken down. In his testimony he recalled, "I went up to

the car and said loudly, `Say, are you asleep inside there?' Then I lit a

match and looked inside the car. There were two rather bright milk cans in the

back part of the car. I was under the impression the lids on the cans did not

look new. I noticed a strong smell of gas and didn't want to strike another

match. On the floor were two machinist's hammers with handles about 18 or 20

inches long." Pitzchler then walked to Goodsell's driveway and, hearing steps,

called out, "Whoever owns this car had better light it up."

He made three short trips between the drive and the car to listen for the

possible owners and to report back to Donahue, who waited with the car.

Pitzschler was unable to solicit a response from the mysterious parties,

although they were close enough for him to hear their footsteps in the dry

grass, so he recommended to his companion that they leave the car alone. But

Donahue started to crank the car and drove it to the Smith Moller corner;

Pitzschler walked briskly behind the vehicle.

Two men came running up the road, one waving a rifle at the brothers-in-law.

The barber stepped up and called, "My name is Pitzschler. I am a citizen of

Newtown. I am open for identification." To which the assailant replied by

firing upon him with poor aim. "Men, I implore you to play fair. We are all

right." But Pitzschler's words went unheeded.

One of the fiends struck with the butt of the gun at Donahue, who ducked and

ran up the road toward the Smith residence. The man with the gun crouched down

and fired, hitting his target in the back. Donahue fell over backward as he

cried, "My God, I'm shot." The murderers fled in the car, but were soon

apprehended by state police.

It seems Donahue and Pitzschler interrupted the miscreants as they were

stealing gasoline from the state highway commission tank in the yard of

Goodsell, a truck driver for the highway service. Max E. Kranz, aged 30, of

Bridgeport, had served a year in state prison at Elmira, N.Y., in 1914 for

theft of an automobile. According to police, he was arrested two and a half

years ago for stealing an automobile in Newtown but the charge wasn't pressed

because Kranz was about to enter the military service. Joseph Roach, aged 23,

of Danbury, has been conducting a garage in Danbury, from which the Ford

touring car used in the crimes had been maintained. Goodsell figures the

thieves removed about 38 or 39 gallons of gasoline from the tank before the

shooting occurred.

Had the journalist been a little less curious and conscientious he would have

fared a great deal better that Saturday night. But as Donahue aspired to be

one of the best in his profession, he could deny neither quality, even as he

was bleeding to death: the confidential reporter offered a description of the

parties and an account of their shooting of him, and pursued his curiosity so

far as to ask Doc Kingman if the odd sound in his throat could be what is oft

referred to as the "death rattle."

Kranz admitted to stealing the gasoline, but pointed to Roach as the one who

fired the rifle and sent Donahue to an early rest. The body of town hall was

well filled as witnesses were called to testify. Roach and Kranz were

handcuffed together. Words may not have been able to save Donahue from the

bullet that ill-fated night, but they were weighty enough this day to form a

noose around Roach's neck.

No. 848 --

The Case of the

Unclothed Skeleton

There is little about death in the woods that surprises a trapper or hunter,

as he is accustomed to -- and even hopes for -- a visitation by Death as he

pursues that which moves with stealth beneath the forest canopy. But Ernest

Ingraham had his nerves jostled, indeed, last Sunday as he went the rounds of

his traps in the Hanover district. While traversing the Milliken property, he

came on to a skeleton of a human body. He immediately returned to his home in

the Glen and contacted me, Sheriff Beers, and medical examiner Walter Kiernan.

We met the trapper at the edge of the woods and he guided us to the gruesome

find about 500 feet from the Housatonic River.

The flesh of and clothes on the body had disintegrated, leaving a skeleton

wearing only shoes of expensive make and part of a Derby hat. The man had a

very fine set of teeth. Near the skeleton was found the butt end of a whip

with a piece of iron in it, as well as a Sacred Heart medallion attached to a

safety pin. Dr Kiernan remarked the man must have been very tall as his thigh

bone measured over 19 inches. He further explained that a man of six feet tall

would have a thigh bone of 18 inches in length.

From the scant evidence that remained, we were unable to discern if the body

had been brought into the woods and deposited, or if the well-to-do man had

died while roaming over that lonely section. The skeleton has been put in

charge of funeral director Honan to prepare for burial.