Chapter One Princetonh

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Case

Of

The Barefoot

Boys

 

by

Robert F. Clifton

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Case Of The Barefoot Boys

Copyright 2016 by Robert F. Clifton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may

be reproduced or transmitted in any form or

by any means without written permission

from the author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The reader is advised that this is a work of

fiction. Any similarity to names, persons,

places or events is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the summer of 1950 Alistair Basham is invited to

teach a course on Criminology associated with the Sociology Department at Princeton University. While there he becomes interested in a homicide that took place in Atlantic City,

New Jersey. As the killings increase he notices that each victim is a young, male, adolescent, ages between sixteen and eighteen. He also observes that each victim is found with bare feet.

After being interviewed by press, Basham is contacted

by the Atlantic City Police and asked for his expertise in constructing a criminal personality profile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table Of Contents

 

Chapter One....Princeton

Chapter Two....Charles Beckmen

Chapter Three..Atlantic City

Chapter Four....Micheal Wilford

Chapter Five.....Harry Lodell

Chapter Six.......Multiregional

Chapter Seven..Norman Ridgeway

Chapter Eight...School Days

Chapter Nine....The Numismatic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

Princeton

 

On a hot afternoon on Friday, June 9, 1950 Professor,

Alistair Basham sat uncomfortably in the rear of a Yellow Cab that was taking him from the airport in New York City, to

Princeton University in New Jersey. Because of the heat and the fact that Basham was attired in a tan, tweed jacket he was constantly wiping the perspiration from his face with a handkerchief.

“Hot, ain't it?” asked the cab driver.

“Oh, rather,” Basham answered.

“This your first time at Princeton?”

“Yes, first time at the university and first time in the former colonies.”

“Colonies? What colonies?”

“It doesn't matter. Are we almost there?”

“About another mile or so. What did you say the name of the building was?”

“The Prospect House.”

“Oh yeah, I know where it is. I've been here a couple of times.”

“That's nice to know.”

“As a matter of fact there it is up ahead.”

“Fine, now, if you'd be so good as to retrieve my luggage and inform me of your fare I should like to pay you.”

“Well, from Laquardia to here is, let see. Thirty five dollars will do it.”

Basham removed his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and removed fifty dollars in United States currency. He had exchanged British Pound notes for American Bills in London. Handing the driver the money Basham said, “Keep the difference.”

“Hey, thank you very much. Hope you enjoy your stay here in the States.”

“So do I”, Alistair replied.

As he reached for his luggage that had been placed on the sidewalk. He heard someone call his name. “Alistair, leave them there. I have a man on the way fetch them.”

“Ah, Maxwell. Very well, however should I become a victim of theft I will hold you responsible”, Basham replied as he walked into the shaded, covered entrance to the red, brick building.

“As the two men shook hands Maxwell Shieble said, “So, you're finally here. How was your flight?”

“A bit bumpy over the Irish Sea. The food they served was bland and there wasn't a drop of sherry anywhere. Other than that, functional,” Basham replied.

“Well if you're hungry I'll see what I can get from the kitchen.”

“No matter old boy. I just want to sit someplace where it is cool.”

“Certainly, we'll sit in the bar. That way I can brief you about your stay here.”

As the two men sat at a table a waiter arrived to take their order from the bar. “I'd like a dry sherry,” said Basham.

“I'm sorry sir. We do not stock sherry. We do have wines. Allow me to give you our bar menu, replied the waiter.

“A terrible flight, the heat of summer and now no sherry. Seems that I'm off to a fabulous start, said Basham as he examined the list of available spirits. “I'll have a Crown Royal. No ice”, he said.

“I'll have the same”, said Shieble.

“So, now that you are here, as your department head I would like to read your lesson plan”, said Maxwell.

“Lesson plan? Am I still lecturing on, Criminality and The Mental State?”

“Of course.”

“Did you read my book with the same title?”

“Yes I did.”

“Than that's my lesson plan. I intend to teach from it, verbatim”.

“Really?"

“Oh, absolutely old boy.”

“Well, I must say that is somewhat different.”

“That's what many people say about me.”

After the waiter placed their drinks on the table he turned and left. Basham took a sip. “Ah, jolly good. Now, I know you have more to tell me so tell me what's on your mind.”

“Very well. First of all, I want you to know that your living accommodations will be in an apartment complex that houses faculty members only. I'll take you there later. Next, I suggest that you rest. Tomorrow night there will be a meeting of sorts with old and new members of the faculty along with alumni. I want you to mix, particularly with the alumni. Many of them make donations to the university.”

“I'll try my best, although we both know that I have nothing in common with any of them.”

“Not necessarily. There's a Professor Joyce Hampton here. I understand that she is originally from Nottingham. She'll be teaching an anthropology class here this summer.”

“Ah, a countryman. It will be enjoyable to converse with someone speaking the King's English.”

“One other thing Alistair. You have a tendency to drop teaching and getting yourself involved in investigating some type of crime. I've been told that when that happens you lose interest in the classroom.”

“Not true old boy. I never stop teaching. I will admit that there have been times when I change the profile of say a juvenile purse snatcher to a serial killer, but it spices up the curriculum, don't you see?”

“No, I don't see. I want you to stick to the subject I've asked you to teach and don't. I repeat don't get caught up in some criminal matter while you are here at the university.”

“I promise to be a good lad, father.”

“Now, unless you want another whiskey I'll drive you over to your. apartment and see that you get settled.

“Lead the way McDuff.”

When they reached Shieble's automobile Maxwell said, “I'll put your luggage in the trunk.”

“Don't you mean the boot?”

“Not on this side of the pond.”

“Touche. If you see me with my eyes closed it's because of the fear I have as you American blokes insist on driving on the wrong side of the road.”

“Just get in the car.”As Maxwell drove along the clean streets Basham gazed upon the tall, American sycamore trees growing at the edge of the roads. Everywhere he looked he saw bright, green manicured lawns. One or two were being watered with a moving sprinkler head. Maxwell broke the silence by saying, “You do know that Doctor Einstein is here at the university don't you?”

“Yes of course.”

“I'm sure that you will want to meet him.”

“Why? His field is mathematics and physics. Mine is sociology and criminology. I don't know if either one of us has anything to offer the other.”

“Still, if the opportunity arises you will at least meet him?”

“Yes, if the opportunity arises.”

“Good, well here we are. I'll give you a hand with your luggage and we'll go inside. Your apartment is on the second floor. Number 207. I think you'll like it.”

“If it has air conditioning, I'll bloody well love it.”

“You will notice Alistair that you are the only one wearing a tweed jacket on a summers day.”

“Quite, but not for long. Lead the way.

Arriving on the second floor, Maxwell stood in the doorway of apartment 207 unlocked the door, opened it and allowed Basham to enter first.

When he entered Basham stepped on a blue wall to wall carpeted floor. There were two dark gray matching upholstered chairs and a couch. A large, wide window allowed ample light to filter into the room. Curtains and drapes were open.

“Well? What do you think of the place?”, asked Shieble.

“I see no desk or for that matter a telephone,” Basham replied.

“Both are in the bedroom. Someone thought it handy if one was to wake in the night with a thought or idea and needed to put it on paper immediately. As for the telephone, it allows a bit of privacy for conversation.”

“Clever,” said Alistair as he entered the bathroom. He opened the frosted glass shower doors, checked the tub then walked to the basin and turned on first the hot then the cold faucets. Satisfied he walked into the bedroom again.

“Come I'll show you the kitchen,” said Maxwell.

“No need. A kitchen is a kitchen”, Basham replied waking back to the living room. He stopped and stood at the window.

Shieble then stood next to him. “To your left you can see a red brick building. That's Walker Hall. Your classroom will be there.

Exactly where hasn't been determined as yet. That building in the distance is the cafeteria. It's pay as you go. They only accept

American currency.”

“A bit of a journey, hey what?”

“Depends on how you look at it. It could be considered a healthy walk. However, you can always rent or buy a bicycle.”

“Either way it means moving about in the heat old chap. Very well, the accommodations are satisfactory and I now know where I will work and where I will eat. Is there anything else I should know?,” asked Basham.

“Yes tomorrow evening, Saturday, there will be a short meeting for the faculty on campus for the summer. After-wards a cocktail party of sorts with members of the alumni. Dress comfortably, but I do suggest wearing a tie. Things begin at eight.”

“Then eight it shall be. Now, if you're quite finished lecturing me I should like to get out of these damp clothes and into a tepid shower. After-wards I will unpack,” said Basham.

“Certainly and if you need anything just call me. I'll leave my card on the desk.”

“Wonderful, now cheerio Maxwell”.

At eight thirty the next evening Basham stood talking to a woman who when learning the Alistair was British kept him in conversation merely for the fact that she enjoyed listening to his accent. “So, please tell me Doctor Basham. Just how are things in England?,” she asked.

“Well, we still maintain a stiff upper lip and rationing is still in play other than that it's like the song relates, “They’ll always be and England”. Now if you'll excuse me I simply must talk to someone”, said Basham as he walked away.

He walked slowly to where a woman he judged to be in her mid-forties stood talking to two other women. When he stood beside her he said to the women, “Please excuse me but at this time I must speak to Doctor Hampton in private.”

As he led her away and towards a corner of the room Joyce Hampton said, “You must be the Brit they said was on campus.

Thank you for rescuing me. You must tell me how you recognized me.”

Basham looked at the woman. She was approximately five feet seven inches tall, well proportioned, slender with light brown hair styled in what was called a page boy cut. “It wasn't too difficult. First, you have a type of tan that you have gained through years of working outside in the elements. Second, the thin lines you have in the corner of your eyes is a result of squinting into sunlight on the many digs you have investigated as an anthropologist. And third, the drink you were holding in your hand lacked ice. Americans prefer ice in their drinks, Englishmen do not.”

“Well, there's no need to ask my next question as to who you are. Your answer can only mean that you are Doctor Alistair Basham, the criminologist.”

“At your service dear lady.”

“And, how are you making out? Is this your first time to the United States?”

“To answer your questions, fine and yes. I say, are you really interested in mingling with these people?,” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Jolly good. I suggest we depart from this affair and go somewhere quiet so we can talk.”

“Your place or mine?”

“I'm afraid that since I haven't had time to stock either beverage or refreshments it must be yours.”

“How would you like a cup of tea made by a countryman?”

“Oh, rather.”

Later Alistair placed a cup and saucer on the coffee table and leaned back in the chair. Joyce Hampton sat across the room on the couch. He looked at her and said, “Ah the tea was spot on. Reminds me of the many pots made by my housekeeper.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“So, tell me all about yourself,” said Basham.

“Professionally I'm an Paleoanthropologist, but one that subscribes to the Multiregional Concept of the evolution and transformation of the human specie.”

“Forgive me, but already I'm lost.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Basically, there are those of us who believe that man was not created only in Africa or for that matter did not migrate out of Africa and settle Europe and Asia. Our theory is that early man was created at several places in the world at approximately the same time.”

“Really, I've been under the impression that many finds of

early man have been found in Africa indicating that it is the location of the beginning of the human specie.”

“When one steps back and views the entire picture one finds that Africa was chosen for the place to begin research. Darwin, in his writings stated that man originated and was transformed from monkeys and apes. Where are the most monkeys and apes? Africa.”

“ I see.”

“Another example would be the findings of Neanderthal Man. Neanderthal findings places him in Europe two hundred and fifty thousand years ago. He lived and survived during the ice age. There are those that believe that Neanderthal was driven into extinction by homo-sapiens.”

“Weren't they?”, asked Alistair.

“Some of us believe that the disappearance of Neanderthal was the result of inter-breeding with homo-sapiens.”

“Is there proof supporting this theory?”

“Not yet, but no doubt someday modern science will prove that this did occur and many of us are walking around with the Neanderthal gene.”

“I must admit that it could happen.”

“Of course. Let me give you a few other possibilities. Coal was discovered at the South Pole. Coal is formed from tropical swamps which were in existence between one and three million years ago. Now, it's covered with an ice layer. If there's coal, what else might be there? The remains of early animals or possibly the fossils of early man? What is hidden in the mountains of the world, the depth of the oceans, jungles? Do you see my point?”

“Yes. I assume that this is what you will be teaching this summer,” said Basham.

“Yes, now enough about me and that. What about you?,” she asked.

“I'll be teaching the same old curriculum, mostly about crime and what makes a criminal tick. To tell you the truth, I'd much rather be working a case with some law enforcement agency then be in a stuffy classroom. I've been warned not to get involved in any criminal investigation while here at university.”

“Well, for that matter there's very little crime here on campus. I seem to recall a bicycle being stolen sometime back.

Wait a minute. A few weeks ago I read about a murder down by the seashore. I believe it happened in Atlantic City. A young man was found dead in an alley. Funny, the thing I remember most was that the victim was barefoot.”

“Not unusual, seashore, beach, sand, water and bare feet all go together.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“Well, the hour grows late. Thank you very much for the enjoyable conversation and of course the tea. I'll leave you now

thanks for listening to an old man ramble on.”

“Nonsense. I did most of the talking. Now, if there is anything you need don't be afraid to ask.”

“There is one thing. I need to do a bit of shopping, groceries mostly. Also a bottle of sherry. Can you tell me where the nearest market place is located?”, asked Basham.

“I'll tell you what Alistair. I have a motor car. Why don't you let me drive you into town, show you where the food market is and if you'd like help you shop.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you. I'll leave the time up to you.”

“Let's say ten or eleven in the morning.”

“Excellent.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Charles Beckmen

 

Shortly after nine AM on a warm, Monday morning, Alistair Basham left the place that had been assigned to him as a classroom in Walker Hall. He then walked down to the lower level where a library was located. He opened the door, entered and walked to where a bespectacled, woman with her hair tied back sat using a rubber stamp and ink pad. She looked up at him and said, “May I help you?”

“Yes. Good morning. I'm looking for a newspaper, but one that would possibly contain an article about an incident that happened in Atlantic City. I believe the city is located in New Jersey.”

“Do you have an approximate date?”

“No, I'm afraid not. I would guess it would have happened in the past three weeks or so.”

“Are you a member of the faculty?”

“Yes I am. Doctor Alistair Basham of the Sociology Department. Doctor Shiebel is my superior.”

“I see. It is possible that we might have what you are looking for on micro-fiche. Have you ever used a micro-fiche?”

“About two or three hundred times,” Basham answered sarcastically.

“Fine. Come with me.”

Basham took a seat and inserted a card containing New York City newspapers. He searched page after page but found no mention of any homicide occurring in Atlantic City. Next he viewed news papers from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. While reading the Philadelphia Inquirer he found the page title, “South Jersey News.” then he found what he was looking for when he spotted, Youth Found Dead In Alleyway. He began to read the article. Local Police today reported that the body of a young man was found in an alleyway in the one hundred block of South, Virginia Ave. The victim is identified as Charles Beckmen believed to be seventeen years of age.

Death has been determined to be the result of blunt force trauma to the head.

The victim was found attired in a white Tee shirt, blue jeans and was barefoot. Anyone having any information is requested to notify the Atlantic City Police

Department.

Basham noticed the date of the article, May 31, 1950.

He made handwritten notes on the small note pad he carried in his jacket pocket. After turning off the micro-fiche he neatly stacked the micro-film cards together, got up, walked back to where the librarian sat and said. “Thank you very much”, as he handed the cards to her.

In the mood for a cup of coffee or tea Basham made the long walk to the cafeteria. After entering and moving through the empty line he selected a scone, empty mug, poured himself a cup of coffee and proceeded to pay the cashier. As he was walking to a table he heard, “Alistair”. Hearing his name he turned his head and saw Joyce Hampton seated at a table alone. He walked to where she sat. “Good morning, Doctor Hampton”, he said.

“Call me Joyce. How are you this morning Alistair?”

“Tip top, I'd say. I found that news article you were telling me about.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I must say that after reading it I find it most intriguing”.

“How so?”

“At the moment I can't actually put my finger on it. Perhaps it has something to do with the age of the victim. Whatever. What can you tell me about this place called Atlantic City?”

“It is a seaside resort city, similar to Brighton, England.

I was there recently. I walked the boardwalk, sat on the beach, went into the ocean up to my ankles. The water was much too cold for bathing, but it was last month, May. I'm told the water is ideal by July. It's approximately seventy miles from here.”

“Really. I should like to go there. I assume there is public transportation available.

“Let me suggest that since I have a motor car and it is a short drive to get there that I take you, “Down to the shore,”

As they say. We could leave early, spend the day and you can do what ever it is you do, or care to do.”

“That would be smashing. Are you sure that I'm not imposing?”

“Of course not. Is today your first day of teaching?”

“Yes, at two this afternoon. Actually, it is more orientation then teaching, the first day.”

“Well I'm sure things will go well. You'll find American students are more lay back then English students. I believe the term Liaise-fare, or “Let Us Do What We Want To Do, would describe them.”

“I see that's nice to know.”

“Excuse me Alistair, is a cup of coffee and a scone all you're going to eat for breakfast?”

“Yes, why?”

“None of my business, but you should have more.”

“I make it up during lunch, tea time and supper.”

“If you say so. Now, I'm afraid I must leave you. I have a class at eleven. If you need anything give me a ring. Cheerio.”

At two o'clock that afternoon. Professor Basham gazed upon twenty students seated in the classroom looking at him and waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat and asked, “Is there anyone here knowledgeable in just how a thermostat works?”

One young man raised his hand.

“I see and your name sir?”

“Adam Mosley.”

“Mr. Mosley would you please find the thermostat for this room, tell me the temperature which I'm sure all of us gathered here consider it to be too bloody hot and then set it for seventy six degrees.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, now while Mr. Mosley allows us to become comfortable let's begin. I am Doctor Alistair Basham. Professionally, I am a tenured member of the faculty at Harrow College which is located just outside of London, England. Currently, as you can see, I'm standing before you as a guest professor teaching a course which is rightfully titled, “Introduction to Criminology, or if you like, “Criminology, One O One.”

“You will find ladies and gentlemen, that although I will be

using my book, “Criminology And The Mental State”, as a teaching aid no one is required to either purchase it or for that matter to read it. I do and let me emphasize, I do expect all of you to take copious notes. There will be an exam. Also, a paper written by you and only you is required. Ah, Excellent Mr. Mosley I feel the cool air already. Now, let's begin.

Criminology is the scientific study of the nature, extent,

management, causes, control, consequences and prevention of criminal behavior, both on the individual and social levels. Criminology is an interdisciplinary field in both behavioral and

social sciences, especially drawing upon the research of sociologists, psychologists, psychiatrists, social anthropologists

as well as scholars of law.”

“Excuse me Doctor Basham. Is it true that you worked with Scotland Yard on several murder cases?”, asked a young woman with her hand up in the air.”

“No. What is true is the fact that I did work with the Metropolitan Police of London and the police in neighboring, Kent County, Basham answered.

“It's being said that you solved several murders in England”, said the young woman.

“Again, an exaggeration by someone. I merely formed a personality profile from which the police were able to select a suspect from other individuals. May I say at this time that this has only happened by invitation. I never place law enforcement agencies in a position where I force myself upon them.”

“Still, some say that you are more a detective rather than a criminologist”, said a young man from the rear of the classroom.

“And I say that it's rubbish. By providing a personality profile I do what any psychologist or psychiatrist can do. Nothing more. True, in order to do so it is necessary for me to

Look at physical evidence as well as the statements, habits and movements of suspects. The investigation conducted in all cases is done by detectives, not by me.”

“Is it true that you walk with a limp because you were shot investigating a robbery?”, asked a female student seated to Basham's left.

“No. I received a bit of German steel in the hip at a place called the Somme in 1916.”

“Speaking of the Germans it has been said that you worked with British Intelligence during the last war. Can you tell us about that?”asked someone in the rear of the classroom.

“No, because that never happened. Actually I taught a class of criminology to the Royal Military Police. Now then, what is happening here is that some of you are getting away from the reason we are present. This class is not about Alistair Basham. But rather about criminology. Now, if you will allow me to get back on track as they say. Your assignment is to be able to differentiate between a serial killer and other killers. That's all. I look forward to our meeting tomorrow.”

The next day Basham listened to the members of the class

as each student either read from a composition or gave their recitation of the assignment. When the last student was finished Alistair stood silently for a few moments then said, “Interesting. Very Interesting. However, none of you have presented me with what I am actually looking for. Please remember this course is, Criminology. At the same time in separating serial killers and other murderers one should be looking at Criminology And The Mental State. Allow me to emphasize the mental state. In dealing with first, the serial killer, let us first examine the mental state of this type of criminal. I suggest that you take notes. Basically, a serial killer is defined as one that kills three or more people in a period over a month. Personally, I disagree with this definition, but for the benefit of the doubt let's go with the statement of other criminologist and/or physiologist’s and psychiatrist’s. To continue. For it to be a serial killer the murders must be separate events, which are most often driven by physiological thrill or pleasure. The serial killer has no remorse, no guilt and is many times labeled as a psychopath. At the same time they hide behind a mask of sanity to hide their true tendencies and appear normal, even at times as the pillar of society. Where the experts tell us that the serial murderer kills more than two persons in just over a month, my theory is that this is not always the case. There are many cases on file indicating that the suspect when finally caught had intervals of time when he was inactive, sometimes a much as a year. Why? Several things could be responsible. Incarceration, sickness, fear of being caught and what I like to believe, periods of sanity.

The other type of killers are usually in a state of anger, greed, fear, and sometimes curiosity. When I mention curiosity there are those who kill believing that they can commit the act and get away with it. They believe that they will not be apprehended due to the fact that they consider themselves to be more intelligent then law enforcement and society as a whole. Unfortunately sometimes they are. There are many, many unsolved murders all over the world. I dare to say that there are at least a few who's intellect allows them to escape from justice.

What I am presenting to you is this. The mental state of the criminal should first be examined if and when there is an apprehension. Why? Because, the court, the court being the judge, the prosecutor, the defense attorney and if there is one, the jury will all be presented with the purpose of understanding the mental state of the criminal at the time of the criminal act.

An example would be that, let's say in a trial of a killer the prosecutor, representing the state, or if you will, the people, will attempt to show that the perpetrator acted with malice. That the killer knew what he was doing when he or she committed the crime. He will also offer the fact that the crime was well planned such as the method used to kill the victim etc.

On the other hand the defense will attempt to prove that his client was not in a normal frame of mind when the crime occurred. Often the defense uses mental illness as evidence rendering the client as not responsible due to a the inability to know right from wrong. And, while this is being played in the courtroom the judge must consider the evidence. What may be introduced into the trail and what may not be presented.

Usually, experts are called, psychiatrist’s give their testimony as experts then finally the jury is presented with all of the evidence including the necessary duty of determining the mental state of the criminal before rendering a verdict. I'll stop now and answer any questions.”

“I have a question Professor. How would you characterize

the mental state of Jack The Ripper?”, asked a male student.

“And you are?”, asked Basham.

“Harry DeNato”.

“Well Mr. DeNato, I must say that you chose an excellent example of a criminal in a mental state. First, he fits the profile of a serial killer in that there were several killings in a short span of time. What is often overlooked is that there were other prostitutes killed in the same manner before those in White chapel. There was also a lengthy period of time between the killings outside of White chapel and then in that part of London. Why? I like to think of the incarceration of the killer between acts. Incarceration can be considered admission to a mental hospital. So, to answer your question Jack The Ripper was a psychopath. He had a desire to kill and kill again. I would say that in reality he hated women and in particular, female prostitutes.”

“Since you are English and those crimes happened in London, do you personally have an idea who Jack The Ripper was?”, asked DeNato.

“Of course. Everyone who has read about the case has developed their own opinion of who the killer was.”

“Who do you suspect?”, asked someone in the rear of the classroom.

“Years ago I narrowed it down to two men. The first is Aaron Kosminski, also known as, “Leather Apron”. I must admit that I view him as a suspect because Inspector Frederick Abberline , the lead investigator in the case thought he was the killer. I probably look at Kosminski because of my admiration of Abberdine. He was a great detective. My other suspect, and one that I must confess to being the one I feel is responsible for the murders is, Sewergyn Antoniowicz Klosowski, also known as George Chapman. Let me point out two things. Both men resembled each other, they were both Poles and were both Jews.

Kosminski or Leather Apron, was a boot maker and leather worker, a craft that necessitated the use of a sharp knife. Klosowski or Chapman was a barber. What most people are unaware of is that Klosowski was first apprenticed to a surgeon in a town near Warsaw. Later, he took a course in practicable surgery, again in Poland. In England he worked as a nurse. The victims were mutilated. In one case the kidney was removed. This led to the speculation that the suspect was either a doctor or familiar with medical procedure. Chapman fits that profile. He was also in and out of insane asylums where he eventually died.”

“Do you think that someday the case will be solved and Jack The Ripper finally identified?”, asked someone.

“Yes, I do, but not necessarily in my life time. Science is moving so rapidly that eventually someone will re-examine the evidence, which is still available by the way and find the answer everyone has been looking for, the identity of good, old Jack.”

“Would you say that the Ripper case is England's most,

infamous crime?” asked a young woman.

“Yes, but no more than the infamous killer John Wilkes Booth here in America. Actually, when it comes to serial killers in the United States I am reminded of the man known as H. H. Holmes. It is said, but not affirmed that he murdered more than twenty seven people. Reason? He sold body parts and human skeletons to medical supply stores and medical schools. Also he insured his victims before killing them, then collected on the policies. It seems he had a fascination with death, and dissecting bodies. I would classify Holmes as a psychopath but also one who murdered for profit, or greed, if you will.

Now, I see by the time that this class is over. I suggest you research and read about H.H. Holmes. Hope to see all of you tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Atlantic City

 

At nine thirty on the morning of Saturday, June 24, 1950 after having breakfast in the university cafeteria, Alistair Basham sat in the front, passenger seat of a dark, green, Ford sedan. Joyce Hampton was driving and after leaving the campus made her way from Princeton to Route 206, a road that led to Atlantic City. As she drove she noticed that Basham appeared to be somewhat apprehensive. “Is there something wrong?”, she asked.

“Not really. I just can't get use to automobiles moving on the right hand side of the road rather than the left,” he replied.

“It takes a bit of getting use to it. At first, I thought I'd never be able to drive here in America. Now, I wonder how it will be when I get back home in Nottingham.”

“And, just when will that be?”, asked Alistair.

“I really can't say. I actually want to go to the mountains around Siberia. There, I hope to find what I and everyone else is looking for, the missing link in the transformation of man. However, the university has offered me a position on a dig that's planned for California. That research deals with the

Paleo-Indians of North America.”

“I say, wouldn't you be happier being where you really wanted to be and doing what you really want to do?”

“Yes of course. At the same time the position with the university assures me of at least, two years salary. Siberia means finding a sponsor for the research and dig.”

“It's none of my business of course, but I shouldn't think it wise to be a Brit in Communist Russia during these times.”

“ Perhaps your right.”

 

“ Not to change the subject, but I wasn't aware that there was so much farming in New Jersey,” said Basham.

“Yes, most of it is done here in the Southern part of the state. Actually, New Jersey is called, “The Garden State.”

“Really? The parts I came through seemed overcrowded, lacked vegetation and reeked with foul smelling industrial waste”, Alistair replied.

“The two parts of the state are as different as night and day”, Joan replied.

“So I see. What are those rows of bushes or small trees?”, he asked.

“Blueberry bushes. This area is supposedly the blueberry capitol of the world.”

Later as Doctor Hampton drove across route 30 and the marshland separating the mainland and Absecon Island Alistair asked. “What is that bloody, awful smell?”

“Mostly sulfur caused by rotting vegetation in the mud. It happens when the tides are low.”

As they entered the city Joyce saw a large sign, “Virginia

Ave.” “Do you want to go directly to Virginia Ave. or some other street?”

“Since I have no knowledge of this place I'll let you decide. Nonetheless, at sometime I want to see the one hundred block of south, Virginia Street”, said Basham.

“Virginia Avenue”.

“I stand corrected.”

“Well, since we are here we'll start at Virginia Avenue.”

“Jolly good.”

When they reached Atlantic Avenue they stopped for a red traffic light. “I seem to recall the ocean is straight ahead. Notice the traffic Alistair. It's the weekend in the summer. I'll keep going ahead looking for a car park. Look at the numbers on the buildings. That way, we'll know the one hundred block.”

“Yes, providing we're going south.”

When Joyce began driving again she crossed Atlantic Avenue and noticing the trolley tracks in the street and followed them.

“This is the one hundred block. The building I just saw had the numbers, one zero seven,” said Alistair.

“I can't stop. There are motor-cars in front as well as behind me. I'll keep driving until we can find a place to park. Then, we'll walk back,” Joyce explained.

All the parking places on both sides of the street were taken and as she neared the end of Virginia Avenue she saw the large white sign with red letters which read, “PARKING”. She drove in, then stopped beside the little shed where the attendant stood. After following the attendants directions she parked the Ford sedan next to a black Buick. As they walked out of the lot and on to the sidewalk Alistair turned and looked in the direction they had come from. “I say, it's a bloody long walk back to the one hundred block,” he said.

“Right on, but I suggest that if we are going to do it, we do it now. It is only going to get warmer as the day goes by,” Joyce replied.

After crossing Pacific Avenue the couple continued walking. Finally they stopped in front of a Guest House at 115 South Virginia Ave. “I say, every building on both sides of the street are separated by alleyways,” said Basham.

Joyce Hampton turned and faced a store across the street.

Loud, operatic, music was being played over loud speakers. “Wait here. I'll go over there and see if anyone can tell me where the murder took place”, she said.

Basham agreed and watched her cross the street and enter what appeared to be a dry cleaner and cobbler shop. Approximately five minutes later Joyce walked towards hm with a grin on her face. “It's across the street. It happened in an alley that's between 122 and 124”.

“Jolly good. Lead the way”, said Alistair.

After finding the location of the reported homicide, Basham stood slightly inside the alley. He looked first at the concrete

walkway, then the walls of the buildings on each side of the alleyway. Stepping out of the alley he gazed upon the sidewalk.

“I say, this is interesting,” he said.

“Did you find something?,” asked Joyce.

“Possibly, possibly,” said Alistair as he removed a small penknife from his pocket, knelt down and began scraping a black, substance from the sidewalk. “Blimey, I don't have anything to put this in”, he said disappointed.

“Would an envelope do? I have an old letter in my purse. Could you use that?, asked Joyce.

“Yes, excellent”, he answered taking the small white envelope and placing the black scrapings inside of it.

“Now what?”, asked Joyce Hampton.

“Now we enjoy the rest of the day doing whatever you want to do”, Basham answered.

“Fine, then I suggest that we stroll the boardwalk, take in the sights and if necessary, shop.”

“Come now, we both know that you intend to shop. I subscribe to the theory that the female specie has an inborn gene that frequently is triggered resulting in the need to shop.”

“May I remind you Alistair, that I am the anthropologist, not you”, she replied with a laugh.

As they walked up the wooden incline a cool breeze coming in off of the ocean greeted them. Basham could hear the voices of hundreds of people on the beach as well as the boardwalk. When he reached the top of the incline the aroma of roasting peanuts

made his stomach growl. He glanced at his wristwatch and noticed the time. It was near noon. Then on the wooden walkway he spotted a flock of pigeons all being fed by pedestrians who bought peanuts and pop corn from the Planters Peanuts store. Walking around the flock of birds the couple walked then stopped and watched a man in the large, plate window making

saltwater taffy. Basham noticed the sign stating, “We ship Anywhere”.

“I say, do you mind? Sugar is still rationed at home. I'd like to send a box of candy to my former housekeeper, Marjorie Helms”, said Basham.

“Of course, let's go in,”

Later, after walking outside Basham asked, “What is the attraction of this pier across the way. It appears to built right into the ocean.”

“That's the Steel Pier. And to use the word attraction is spot on. One can spend the entire day there. It is said that they have musical theater, motion pictures, a water circus, picnic area and even a diving bell that takes you to the ocean bottom.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and on top of that they have a visiting orchestra that plays for dancing in the ballroom.”

“Outstanding.'

“Tell me, do you dance Alistair?”

“Not since some German bloke put some shrapnel in my hip.”

“Still, if I wanted to dance would you dance with me?”

“Only after you sign an affidavit absolving me of all ligation should you be injured.”

“Come now, you can't be that bad on the dance floor.”

“Well, in order to prove to you just how bad I am, I suggest that we return sometime this summer and spend the day on the pier. Are you up to it?”

“Of course. As a matter of fact I look forward to it. Next month might be the best time. According to the advertisement on display Frank Sinatra will be appearing.”

“I'll leave the decision making up to you. Now, I'm in the mood for lunch. Are you in the mood for this so called boardwalk fare or would you like to sit at a table and be waited on like a lady?”

“I can tell that it's you that wants to visit a dining room. What do you suggest?”

“By watching the skyline as we drove in I noticed the many, tall hotels. I suggest that we walk until we find one that suits our interest.”

“Fine, let's go.”

After walking several blocks they came upon the Hotel Dennis. There they saw the outdoor Garden Terrace with tables and umbrellas to protect the patrons from the hot sun. “ I say, this appears to be tip top. Does it meet with your approval?”, asked Basham.

“Oh yes, if this is what you want,”Joyce replied.

After being met by the head waiter the couple was escorted to a table situated in the shade created by the tall, west wing of the hotel.

Sipping on a glass of ice tea Joyce placed the tall glass on the table and said, “I'm surprised that you didn't ask for sherry.”

“Why would I? Evidently Americans never heard of it.”

“There's always beer.”

“Try and get a beer that's not ice cold. Once again Americans have a fascination with ice. Whiskey on ice. Beer ice cold. Ice tea. Ice coffee. Besides, I don't fancy walking out there in the sun with alcohol in my system as I sweat all the way back to the car park.”

Changing the subject, Joyce asked, “ Well, now that you found Virginia Avenue have you learned anything?”

“Other than the supposed location of where the murder happened, nothing outstanding.”

“What about the sample you took off of the sidewalk?”

“At this point, merely speculation.”

“How so?”

“At this moment I'd say what I took off of the concrete is rubber residue left from the rubber heels of someone's shoes. It's very possible that the victim after being struck in the head was then dragged into the alley. Yet, supposedly, the victim when found was barefoot. The question bothering me is, why? Why was Charles Beckmen barefoot and if he was wearing shoes, where are they?”

“Have you considered the fact that it's summer? Young people enjoy the beach and the ocean. Isn't it quite possible that

Beckmen might have been on the beach?”

“Yes, but did you notice the distance from the boardwalk to the one hundred block of Virginia Ave? That's along way to walk, especially with bare feet.”

“I see. Will you contact the police and tell them what you found and your opinion?”

“No, right now it's merely conjecture on my part. I only converse with the police when I'm invited to do so. Now, enough about me. How are your classes going?”

“Surprisingly well. Although as usual I am meeting with some resistance with those students who are firm believers of the

Out Of Africa hypothesis.”

“I'm quite sure that you have the information and evidence to support your opinion,” said Basham.

“Yes, of course. I will say however, that I'm not only arguing the findings of other paleoanthropologist's, but I am also presenting my theory as a female paleoanthropologist.”

“And, that's a problem?', asked Alistair.

“Of course. Practically every discovery made by female anthropologist, archeologists and physicians is challenged by the male dominance that occurs in those fields of study.”

“I say, I can see that as a problem.”

“Nonetheless, we sisters of the sciences carry on. We do it with not only stubbornness, but also with facts. In my particular case in supporting the Multiregional hypothesis there are two

outstanding pieces of fossil evidence that actually prove that Darwin's theory of transformation of man is wrong,” said Joan.

“How so?”

“If you recall I told you of Darwin's theory that man transformed from monkeys and apes. Thus, the main attention in research in anthropology began in Africa, because that's were the monkey's and apes are. However, in 1850 in France, the fossil remains of a primate was found. Called, Dryopithecus fontani. The remains of this fossil ape has been determined to be, sub-human. Not in the African ape family.”

“Interesting,” said Basham.

“Do you really think so? Try this. In 1870 in Wyoming the fossil remains of a primate was found. What is interesting about this find is the fact that the presence of the extended thumb was recognized. This allowed for the grasping of tree branches. Along with the skeletal remains were fossils of tropical plants and trees.

This primate was called Nothactus tenebrosus. After testing it is said that the remains are over sixty million years old. Now, if there were primates in Europe, North America and as well as Africa indicating Multiregional placing of primates

who can say that it didn’t happen with the human species of man as well?”

“I must say you are very convincing”, said Basham.

“Thank you. It's a shame that you're not a paleoanthropologist.”

“I have enough problems of my own teaching my theory of criminology. I say, on the way back to the car park, look for a shop that has a map of this city. Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

Later, on the ride back to Princeton, Joyce looked over at Alistair and said, “You're awful quiet.”

“Sorry about that. I'm thinking about the killer of that young lad. At the moment I can't picture him. What is his ethnological background? How old is he? Then again, how tall is he? I can't know these things without someone providing me with the facts. For instance we know that the young man was killed by a blow to the head. Where on the head?”

“Is that so important?”, asked Joyce.

“Of course. Knowing where the blow or blows to the head

were could indicate many things. The position of the killer when he or she attacked. Was the killer in front or behind the victim.

Blows to the top of the head and the degree or angle of the weapon used could tell me approximately how tall the assailant is. The type of wound in the skull could also possibly tell me how much force was used. Did the victim receive one or more blows to the head. If more than one, which one killed him?”

“It seems to me Alistair that you are acting more like a detective rather than a criminologist,” said Joyce.

“You may be right. I'm sorry. There are times when I get not only involved in a case, but also fascinated with it. Something I'm trying to stop doing.”

“Well if you want to get involved with something try telling me where you want to have supper. We're almost back to the university,”Joyce advised.

“Any place except the school cafeteria.

“ How would you like to sit down to a plate of bangers and mash?”, asked Joyce.

“Don't toy with me woman.”

“Seriously, the place is called Winberies. They serve that dish and the atmosphere is like an English pub. Are you interested?”

“Oh, rather and you bloody well better be serious.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

Micheal Woolford

 

On the morning of evening of Wednesday, June 28, 1950

Alistair Basham got up from the upholstered chair in the living room and walked into the bedroom. Once there he answered the ringing telephone on the desk. “Hello?”, he said.

“Alistair, I don't know if you have heard, but there was another killing in Atlantic City,” said Joyce Hampton.

“When you say another, was it like the first?, he asked.”

“I believe it was exact in that the victim was a teenage boy.

He was found in an alley on the steps of the Penn Crest Hotel. He was barefoot, just like the other lad.”

“The Penn Crest Hotel you say. Do you happen to hear just where the hotel is located?”

“No. Perhaps the hotel is listed on that map you bought on the boardwalk.”

“Jolly good idea. I'll take a look see. By the way where did you get this information?'

“It was on the telly about thirty minutes ago.”

“I see, well if we're still on for the July trip to the shore I shall look into the matter.'

“About that Alistair we still have to make arrangements for where we intend to stay.”

“Well, it's my understanding that this July fourth holiday is a big to do here in the United States. Something about breaking away from Merry Olde England back in 1776. If King George had been sane at the time we'd still have the colonies. Oh well. Look into reservations at the Penn Crest. By now the notoriety of the place should be enough to keep patrons away.”

“What about sleeping arrangements”,? Asked Joyce

“Ask for twin beds. If none are available one of us sleeps under the covers the other sleeps on top of the covers”, Basham replied.

“For me to have to sleep on top of the covers I must have your word that you'll be a gentleman.”

“No problem. Also you should be aware that one can't put a marshmallow in a piggy bank”.

Later, on Friday, June 30, 1950 Alistair and Joyce unpacked in their room at the Penn Crest Hotel. As Basham was placing his folded pajamas into the chest of drawers Joyce said,

I saw you talking to the desk clerk. Would you mind telling me what the conversation was about?”

“Certainly, we spoke about the accommodations. I requested a room with twin beds. I had noticed when checking in that the desk clerk gave us a telling look. To protect your reputation I informed him that you were my daughter.”

“And, he believed you?”

“Do you or do you not see twin beds?”

“Yes.”

“That, plus the fact that I'm sixty eight years old must have verified what I told him. And, here we are.”

“Thank you. Now, what are you going to do?”, asked Joyce.

“While you're unpacking I shall be outside examining the alley way and side steps of this hotel. Hopefully, I might just find something.”

“Isn't it surprising that both murders happened only a block apart?,” asked Hampton.

“Nothing surprises me anymore. However, it could possibly have some bearing on the case.”

“How so?”

“I'm not quite sure as yet. Nonetheless, as flimsy as the current information presents itself, it is possible that the assailant was aware of the path that each victim took and was able to lay in wait. Now, if you'll excuse me I will be in the side alleyway.”

The Penn Crest Hotel was located in the beach block of Pennsylvania Avenue. At thirty five minutes past noon Basham walked out of the lobby and stepped onto the sidewalk. When he did the warm, summer sun combined with the aroma of salt water coming in from the ocean and carried on a slight breeze greeted him. He stopped and stood still, looking at various buildings and alleyways. All were practically identical to those he had seen on Virginia Avenue a couple of weeks before. Satisfied, he turn to his right, walked up to then entered the alleyway belonging to the Penn Crest. He moved slowly looking, searching hoping to find something, anything that might be relevant to the current homicide. Finding nothing he moved then to the steps of the side porch and entryway that led into the hotel. “Probably the service entrance. Good for arriving employees and delivery people”,he thought to himself. He turned when he heard a male voice.”

“Do you mind telling me just what the hell you're doing?”, asked a tall man who Alistair immediately assumed was a police officer.

“Actually, I don't mind at all. I and I assume that I, like you are perusing what I believe is a crime scene, officer, officer?”

“Baxter, Alan Baxter, Atlantic City Police Department.”

“Ah, jolly good. I am Alistair Basham currently in the position as Professor of Criminology, Princeton University”, Basham answered offering his hand in friendship.

As the two men shook hands Baxter asked, “How did you know I was a cop?”

“Tone of voice old chap. In certain situation police officers tend to be somewhat arrogant when speaking to a citizen.”

“If I seemed to be arrogant I apologize.”

“No need my good man. Now, I must admit that I'm interested in this and the other homicide. Both victims being adolescents and both killed in the same manner and found barefooted.”

“True. Have you come up with a solution?, asked Baxter.

“Oh no. If I did I'd probably keep it to myself. I'm not one to place my nose in a place it doesn't belong, you see.”

“Then, let me put it another way. Have you found anything of interest, as a criminologist not as someone sticking their nose into a police investigation?,” asked Baxter.

“Now that you ask, I did find something in relation to the homicide on Virginia Avenue”.

“And just what would that be?”

“Why don't we go up onto the porch, take a seat in the rocking chairs and while you wait comfortably I'll got to my room and get what you might find interesting. I'd invite you to the room, but my daughter might be in a state of undress and that would be embarrassing. I shall return shortly.”

Ten minutes later Basham returned and seeing two empty

chairs away from the other patrons seated on the porch said, “I suggest that we move to the far side, over there where we can talk without being overheard by those present. Say what?”

After the two men sat down, Basham handed Baxter the white envelope.

“What's this?”, asked the detective.

“That is the scrapings I took in front of the alleyway reported to be the crime scene in the Beckmen homicide. At this time I believe that it is the rubber that was removed from the heels of Beckmen's shoes as he or I could say, as his body was dragged back into the alley out of sight of anyone passing by.”

“It's an interesting theory. However, our Crime Scene people did not report seeing any such thing on the sidewalk. At the same time anyone before or after the murder could have left the marks”, suggested Baxter.

“True, but we both know that people overlook things. In particular the small, minute things. However, I've told you my theory. You now have what I collected. What you do with it

is up to you.”

“Thank you. I'll have it sent to the lab for analysis. If it comes back as rubber I'll place it in evidence.”

“Smashing. Now, let me say that it has been a pleasure meeting you sir. My daughter has planned an afternoon of us visiting the Steel Pier. I'm afraid I'm keeping her waiting.”

“Professor, thank you. It has been a pleasure. Let me give you my card. Should you need anything while in town don't hesitate to call on me. The Police department is located at

Tennessee and Atlantic Avenues,' said Baxter.

“And if I can be of service you can reach me at the university. Here is my number,” said Basham writing his units telephone number on his card.

When he returned to the room he found Joyce sitting on her bed. “Sorry to keep you waiting my dear, but the detective chap had me engaged in a somewhat lengthy conversation. I must say that after an awkward introduction we seemed to hit it off,” said Basham.

“In that case I should have liked to have met him”, Joyce replied.

“Well, that might have proved to be difficult. You see I referred to you as my daughter.”

“Again?”

“Quite, since it worked the first time I decided to do it again.”

“When we're in public would you prefer I call you Pa Pa, Father, or dear old dad?”

“Pa Pa will do nicely, but only here in the hotel or with any police officers present. Shall we go?”

Later, Basham sat on a bleacher seat shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. He watched as a young, female acrobat climbed to the top of a large, round, steel ball. The woman then placed her feet in some type of stirrup then stood and began swaying back and forth. As she did the people in the crowd oohed and awed, fearful that the entertainer might fall to her death. Basham joined others in applauding as the woman descended back to the solid, wooden planked pier, her act over. Next, came the Collegiate Divers, followed by the Diving Horse. “I say, the fact that the horse knows when to dive is amazing,” said Alistair as he and Joyce moved slowly with the exiting crowd.

“What next?', asked Basham.

“Well, let me see. There's a vaudeville show in about an hour followed by a motion picture,” said Joyce.

“What's the motion picture called?”

“The Outlaw.”

“That sounds familiar. Seems to me there's a bit of a problem with the censors here in America,” Basham replied.

“True, but do you want to see it or not?”

“Not really, most of those going to see it are looking for the spicy parts. I'm not curious about things like that.”

“Alright, that leaves Frank Sinatra.”

“Sounds good, providing he sings, Begin the Beguine.”

“Shall I rush ahead and look at the list of songs he intends to sing?”

“Smashing idea. Unfortunately you won't be able to get to him. He's always surrounded by screaming, teenage girls.”

“And older girls and women. Not to mention housewives,”

Joyce replied.

As they sat next to one another in the theater in dim light, suddenly the lights brightened and a man walked out onto the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen we are sorry to announce that Mr. Sinatra must cancel this show due to an unexpected medical problem. Thank you very much for understanding.”

“That's it. I've had enough. I say we go back to the hotel, rest a bit and then prepare and dress for dinner. What say you?”

“Fine, I must say all this walking from one end of the pier to another is tiring. If you want to go, we'll go.”

“Excellent, look, even the line of those waiting to go on the diving bell is too long. Enough I say.”

Back at the Penn Crest Basham stopped at the desk and asked the clerk, “Are there any messages for me, Doctor Basham.?”With the clerks back to her, Joyce said, “Pa Pa, I shall be in the room.”

“Thank you daughter, Alistair said with a smile.

“The clerk turned and said, “Yes sir. Here you are”, as he handed Basham a sealed, white envelope.

Back in the hotel room Alistair took a seat at the small, writing table. He then open the envelope, removed one sheet of paper and read, “ Doctor Basham. The results of the first test which was conducted under a microscope indicates that the substance you collected does indeed appear to be rubber. As a result the sample will be sent to a forensic laboratory for additional analysis. Thank you for your help in this matter,

 

Alan Baxter

Sergeant of Police

Atlantic City Police Department

Basham removed the detectives card from his shirt pocket, then lifted the receiver and asked the woman on the lobby switchboard for an outside line. When he got it he dialed the number on the card. A male voice came on the line. “Detective Bureau, officer Hensley”.

“Good day sir. I should like to speak with Sergeant Baxter please,” Basham replied.

“Hold on.”

After a few moments Alistair heard the sound of a telephone receiver being lifted from its cradle. “Sergeant Baxter”, came the voice.

“Sergeant, Alistair Basham. Thank you for your note. I appreciate it. I was wondering if you would be able to answer a few questions in relation to these recent homicides?”

“Possibly. It depends on what you want to know and why.”

“I assure you that it's nothing that would jeopardize your investigation. Nonetheless, I must say that my professional curiosity forces me to ask a few questions.”.

“Let me hear them”.

“I am interested in knowing if you have any idea what the murder weapon was that was used to kill the two lads?”

“No. not at this time.”

“I see. Then could you tell me the location of the wound or wounds on the victims head?”

“Let's see. I only have one report back from the medical examiner. That one is the autopsy done on Beckmen. Is there something in particular you are looking for?”

“Yes. There should be listed in medical terms the anatomy of the victims skull. If so, would you kindly read it to me?”

“Just a moment. “Yes, here it is. Death was caused by trauma to the brain as a result of blow to Parietal bone of the skull, “ said Baxter reading the report.

“I see. And, is there any mention of sutures?”, asked Basham.

“Sutures?”

“Yes, not the needle and thread type. Sutures are the thin fibrous joints in the skull where all the bones come together. Are they mentioned?”

“No.”

“Very well. Thank you Sergeant for your time”, said Basham.

“Wait a minute. If this information you want is important to the case I should have the right to know what it is,” said Baxter.

“Of course old chap. I'm merely trying to determine the physical appearance of the killer. For instance if he or she is short then the blow to Beckmen's skull should have been to between the Occipital and Parietal bones with suture separating them. From what you have told me I believe that the suspect is of between five feet eight inches to five feet ten inches tall. Keep in mind that this is merely conjecture on my part. If the killer were any taller say, six feet on more the blow to the skull might have been located at or near the top of the Parietal bone.”

“Anything else?”, asked Baxter.

“No. that's about it. Thank you.”

After he was finished speaking on the telephone Joyce turned to him and said. “Now that you have figured out the approximate height of the killer perhaps you might figure out what and where we are having dinner”

“Oh. I say. Now that you mention it while walking on the boardwalk we passed a restaurant that has large portions of beef roasting in the window.”

“Yes, Child's.”

“Whatever. Are you up for beef tonight?”

“Sounds good.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

Harry Lodell

 

Alistair Basham cleared his throat as he looked over the group of students sitting in front of him. “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Today, I will be offering you one of the many schools of thought related to what I call, the science of criminology. Actually, I should begin with explaining the Classical School. However, that means me standing on my feet and all of you sitting on your ass for an entire, boring, period. Therefore, I will begin today's lecture by explaining the Positive School. For those of you who wonder why I am straying off of the scheduled lesson plan the answer is academic. It's because I want to. Now, that you know what's coming I shall begin. Take notes.

Keep in mind that I consider the fact that there are even more than one theory related to the Positive School. For instance, there is sociological positivism. This suggests that social factors, such as poverty, membership in subcultures or low levels of education can lead people into crime. To this I say, rubbish! Why do I take this position you may ask? The answer is simple. There are thousands of people born and raised into poverty. Forced to go to work often doing manual labor in order to survive. In doing so they give up the opportunity for an education. Yet, they become model citizens in the same squalor neighborhoods they were born into and continued to live.

Allow me now to interject subcultures. This is the theory that crime is learned through association. Here it is believed the criminal acts are condoned under certain conditions. Can anyone give me a situation where a crime can be condoned or justified?”

“Yes sir.”

“Ah. Excellent. And you are?”

“Morton Ramsey.”

“Alright Mr. Ramsey, give me your thought on this matter.”

“ I believe a starving, or hungry man stealing a loaf of bread could be although considered a crime could be condoned or justified”.

“A superior observation Mr. Ramsey. It is also nice to know that at sometime in your young life you have read Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. Nonetheless, in continuing on about the connection of crime and subcultures, like the example of lack of education, for every criminal who is excused because of lack of education, a run down neighborhood, and poverty keep this in mind. No one keeps numbers of those who succeeded in life living under and in the same conditions.

The do goodies in this world and I am sure there are some of you in this class, otherwise you wouldn't be enrolled in taking sociology classes. The do goodies use all of those things mentioned in the sociological positivism theory as mere excuses for criminal behavior. Let me say this to those who are filled with thoughts of improving society and conditions. There are many. I repeat, there are many, lousy, lazy, evil son of bitches out there who no matter what their background get up each and every day looking for a victim. The crimes they commit could be, rape, robbery, larceny, assault, battery, arson and on and on. Then, the question rises. Are these criminal acts the result of environment, poverty, lack of education or the mental state of the criminal?

You future sociologists have your work cut out for you. One last thing. Since the time man began to walk the face of the earth he had to kill. He had to kill to eat. Later he had to kill other men in order to survive. Man is believed to be descended from the animal kingdom by the same process that caused animals to evolve. However, this means that man and animal are only different by only a degree, but Man has only developed to a higher degree. A wolf, lion, or a wolverine can be considered a predator. Unfortunately, there are some members of the human race who could also be labeled, predator. At the same time chimpanzees, who some believe we are genetically attached to come together as an army to attack other groups of chimpanzees. What they do then can be described as war, usually over territorial rights. Now, I ask you, does that sound familiar? I want each of you to put your thoughts of today's lecture on paper and submit your ideas to me tomorrow.”

At four o'clock PM Alistair sat at the desk in the bedroom as he worked on the lesson plan for his next lecture. He was interrupted by the ringing telephone on the desk. “Hello?”

he said when he answered the ring.

“Hello Pa Pa”, said Joyce with a giggle.

“Really, did you call just to make me feel my age?”

“Not really. I was wondering f you'd like to sit down to a meal of fish and chips for dinner this evening. Let me warn you. I couldn't find sole, but I did get flounder which I was assured by the monger that is closely related to sole.”

“Sounds jolly good. What time should I be there?”

“I still have to make a spotted dick for dessert. I learned to make it with my Mom at my side. I must say that her custard was always spot on. Let's say any time between six and seven.”

“Spotted dick? Where on earth did you find suet?”

“One just has to ask around until you find the bloke with the right information. Now, I must ring off. Cheerio”.

Five minutes later the telephone rang again. “Blimey!

Interruption after interruption”, Alistair said aloud. Picking up the receiver he said, “Hello.”

“Doctor Basham? This is Sergeant Baxter in Atlantic City. I hope that I'm not disturbing you.”

“You might as well join the others,” Basham replied.

“I'm sorry. If this is a bad time when may I call you later?”

“Pardon my attitude Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

“There's been another murder, just like the other two?”

“Exactly like the other two?”

“Yes sir. I haven't got the official cause of death yet, but everything points to a blow to the head. Before you ask, the victim was found barefoot.”

“Was the victim found in an alleyway?”, asked Basham.

“No, not this time. It appears the murder was committed in the vestibule of the apartment building where the young man lived.”

“So another young lad. A pity. Oh well, why have you called me?”

“I was wondering if you could come down to Atlantic City?

That way I can show you what I have so far in my investigation. At the same time I'd be glad to answer any questions you might have”, said Baxter.

“I'm afraid that at the moment my visit to you is out of the question. Currently I'm under contract to Princeton University to teach a summer course. Professionally, I'm obligated to give the university my full attention.”

“I understand and I must admit disappointed,” Baxter responded.

“I say, is it possible for you to come here?, asked Basham.

“Yes of course. I was hoping to be able to show you the crime scene, but I can drive up to meet with you.”

“I assume that you have reports and photographs. I should like to go over them with you if it is at all possible.”

“I'll bring everything I have.”

“Fine, if practicable I would suggest that you stay overnight at a hotel. I'd invite you to stay with me, but unfortunately my living accommodations here at the university is, how should I say it? The word small comes no where near in describing it”.

“No problem. I'll make reservations. I should be there either Friday night or Saturday morning. See you then”, said Baxter.

“A few things before you go. What is the name of the latest victim?”

“Harry Lodell, Caucasian ,age seventeen.”

“And the date and time he was killed?”

“Wednesday, July 19, 1950 about between ten and eleven at night.”

“Thank you. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“The fact that the lad was found inside a building, barefoot and missing shoes in my way of thinking does away with the speculation that the murdered individuals were walking home from the beach on bare feet. I look forward to our meeting on the twenty second.”

That evening Alistair wiped his lips with a cloth napkin, leaned back in the kitchen chair and said, “That my dear was a meal from home. The fish and chips were excellent and I must admit that your spotted dick puts Mrs. Helms pudding to shame. Of course I'd never tell her that.”

“Thank you Alistair. So, the detective chap is coming all the way up here to the university to meet with you”.

“Yes and as I understand it he'll be staying overnight somewhere.”

“Still, if he goes to your apartment he might asked about you're daughter.”

“True, but since my imaginary daughter is of the age where she needs her privacy it will be safe to say that my daughter, Joyce Hampton has her own quarters here on campus.”

“And, if he asked about the difference in the names, Basham and Hampton?”

“Unfortunately you were the person involved in a tragic marriage necessitating divorce.”

“You think of everything, don't you?”

“Not always. In this case I find it necessary to protect a very close friend.”

“Good night Alistair”, said Joyce as she kissed him on the cheek.

At eleven ten on the Saturday morning of July 22, 1950 Alistair Basham answered the knock on his apartment door. Opening it he said, “Ah, good morning Sergeant. I see you found my abode. Did you have any problem locating the apartment complex?”

“No, not at all. Your directions were excellent and the fact that the hotel is only a few blocks away saved me having to drive here.”

“Jolly good. Come. Have a seat in the living room. Could I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“No thank you,” said Baxter taking a seat on the couch.

“In that case let's get to work, shall we?”, asked Basham.

Alan Baxter opened his black, leather, briefcase and removed three files each contained in a manila folder. After placing them on the coffee table in front of him he picked up then opened one single folder. “I suggest that we start with the Beckmen murder. Here are the photographs taken of his body at the crime scene. After that are the photographs of the alleyway where he was found. One photograph shows the alleyway as one would see it from the walkway. The other shows a view from inside the alleyway facing the walkway.”

Basham carefully examined each photograph. Seeing nothing new he said, “ It's the same as I recall when I went there”.

“Next, I have the autopsy report”, said Baxter.

“I believe that we spoke about Beckmen's autopsy sometime

ago. Is there anything new that I should know about?”, asked Basham.

“Not at the moment”, Baxter replied.

“Then who or what is next?”

Reaching for and taking the next file in his hand Baxter said, “ The file on Micheal Woolford.”

“Ah yes, found at the Penn Crest Hotel alleyway and side porch. Please, proceed.”

“The killer's M.O. is exactly the same as in the murder of Beckmen. Death was caused by a blow to the head, resulting in a fatal injury to the brain. And, as you know, he was found barefoot and with no sign of his shoes. Here are the photographs of the crime scene.”

Basham studied the photo taken of Woolford's body half on and half off of the hotel side entrance porch. Handing it back to Baxter he said, “I don't need to see the others pictures. I was there. I know what I saw. Proceed.”

“Well, that then brings us to Harry Lodell.”

“This I am anxious to see and hear about. It's different then the other two cases”

“This is a photograph of the apartment complex on Delaware Avenue where the murder took place.”

“I say, could you tell me just how far away it is from Virginia Avenue to Delaware Avenue?”, asked Basham.

“I'd say if the killer was to travel from the beach block of

Virginia Avenue he or she would have to cross Pacific Avenue, walk to Atlantic Avenue turn right, walk to Maryland Avenue cross the street and walk or drive to Delaware Avenue. I'm saying four blocks the way the crow flies.”

“I beg your pardon, but I see no entrance to the vestibule

of the apartment house,” Basham replied.

“Oh, I'm sorry sir. Although the building is located on Atlantic Avenue the main entrance is on north Delaware Avenue,” Baxter explained.

“Then what is this?, asked Basham pointing to the photo.”

“That's the barber shop located under the complex. It faces Atlantic Avenue.”

“I see. Pass me Mr. Lodell's crime scene photographs please.”

Basham paid particular interest in the photo of Lodell's dead body face down, his head on the second step that led to the two upper floors of the building. Although the photograph was a black and white glossy, Alistair knew that the black image next to Lodell's head was that of a pool of blood. “Well, so far old chap the difference between the other two murder and this one is that it appears that Mr. Lodell's head was a bit more brittle than those of Beckmen and Woolford. Nonetheless, do you have any ideas about this case?”, asked Basham.

“Other than the fact that the killer is responsible for all three murders, no.”

“I see. Then is you will allow me, I'd start with the obvious. Beckmen and Woolford were killed out of doors. Each in an alleyway and as we know one city block from each other. Yet, Lodell was killed inside a building. I would say and this is merely speculation on my part, but I would say that killer first, knows the victims, second, he knows their movements and third, he knew where Lodell lived. In this last matter I'm almost certain that the killer laid in wait.

I suggest that he most likely hid under the stairwell. Better take another look at that area. Also, question the janitor or maintenance man as to whether or not he replaced light bulbs in the ceiling lamp in the vestibule.”

Baxter took notes, writing in a small notebook. “Anything else?”, he asked.

“Yes, if the killer knew the victim did the victims know him or her and each other? By their age I would say they are or were registered in a high school.”

“Well, there's three in the city, Atlantic City High School, Holy Spirit High School, Atlantic City Technical High School and I almost forgot, Friends School, which is a private school, but does go to the twelfth grade”.

“Then it doesn't appear to be a large task. Now, I see it is near lunch time. I suggest that we walk over to the university cafeteria and take part in the midday meal. My treat of course”, said Basham.

After paying the cashier Basham led Baxter to a table where Joyce sat. “Sergeant Baxter, allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Doctor Joyce Hampton. Daughter, Alan Baxter.

The three went through the familiarities of the introduction and after taking a seat at the table Baxter said, “It is finally nice to meet you. I knew you were with your father in Atlantic City, but he failed to tell me your name, what you do and for that matter just how attractive you are.”

“Thank you, but you must forgive Pa Pa. There are times I'm afraid when his mind wanders. Isn't that right, Pa Pa?”

“Yes, my love”, Basham answered.

“I suppose that since you have met with father it's in reference to the crimes in Atlantic City,” said Joyce.

“That's correct,” Baxter replied.

“I hope that Pa Pa was of some help”, Joyce responded.

“He was most helpful”, said Baxter.

“Speaking of those cases again. I forgot to mention one other thing Alan”, said Alistair.

“And what would that be”, asked the detective.

“This missing shoe thing. I firmly believe that the killer is searching for something and it's related to the shoes worn by the lads. Now, it is possible that the killer has either a shoe or foot fetish. I suggest you look into any persons known to you having such an odd personality.”

“Baxter took out his pen and notebook and wrote down,

Foot fetish, check into.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Multiregional

 

On a Tuesday morning Joyce Hamilton paced back and forth in front of the seated students who not only watched her movement, but also listened intently to every word she spoke.

“Continuing from yesterday's lecture, let me say this. At present there is a debate on the origins of modern humans. There are advocates, such as I, that believe that the MRE, or Multireginal Evolution argues against the strictly, OOA, or Out of Africa for modern humans. Currently some. Notice I say some, some Multiregional advocates have or are about to bow in the face of the Out of Africa supporters allowing for Homo Erectus leaving Africa, entering Europe over one and a half million years go and eventually, evolving into homo sapiens. Naturally, I disagree.”

A female student raised her hand.

“Yes?”, asked Joyce.

“Will it matter that if a student taking this class disagrees with your theory and as a result receive a low or failing grade?”

“No, should any of you decided to believe firmly in the Out Of Africa Syndrome no one will be punished. I will however expect a complete and thorough paper that reinforces your position and argument. Now to continue. We, believers in the Multiregional concept support that if. I repeat, if Homo Erectus

was in Europe, he was European Homo Erectus, in Asia, Asian Homo Erectus and naturally in Africa, African Homo Erectus. Moreover, it is important to understand that three hundred thousand years ago the only inhabitant of Europe was Neanderthal. At the same time no fossil remains have been found of Neanderthal in Africa. Let me correct that last statement. Remains of Neanderthal actually were found in Africa. North Africa. In 1932 the Skulk V cave was discovered near Mount Carmel. Israel. The site was thought to be about forty thousand years old. However, further examination placed the age of the site at between 120,000 and 80,000 years old. After precise dating techniques it was determined to be ninety thousand years old. Why is this important you may ask? Here's why. The fossils found in that cave consisted of bones from what is considered a family of homo sapiens. To sum up, the discovery showed that homo sapiens lived at the same time as Neanderthal in the region. Therefore, the Neanderthals could not have been the ancestors of modern humans at Mount Carmel. So what do we find? We find that there were two species of man living at the same time and in the same area. Some today say that Neanderthal walked out of Africa and into Europe. I subscribe to the theory that Neanderthal walked the other way, out of Europe and into North Africa. Why? Because his remains have been found in Spain, and Israel and once again not yet found in the southern parts of Africa. Thus, we have two species of humans created and living side by side, Multiregional.”

**************

Joyce Hampton sat in an easy chair in her apartment occasionally taking sips from a glass half full with gin and tonic water. Alistair sat on the couch with a smile on his face as he looked at the bottle of London Stout that Joyce had acquired for him. “I still don't know how you got this. Surely it's not in large demand in America,” he said.

“Of course not. I had the owner of Winberies get it for me. Now, are you going to open it and drink it or are you merely going to hold it and stare at it?”

“Oh, I say, I will drink it of course, but only by taking small sips. I want to relish the taste of it. Back home I always had London Stout in the cupboard.”

“How are your classes going? Do you think that you are getting through to your students?”, asked Joyce.

“Yes, however I might have struck a nerve with some when I mentioned that some sociologist's are or become, do

goodies, bent on saving mankind by making changes in society. Since you mention it. How are you making out?”, asked Basham.

“I can only say, fair. A young lady asked me today that if she disagreed with me would she receive a low or failing grade.”

“And, that upset you?”

“Only to the point that I knew then that not only she, but others in all probability disagree with the content of my lectures.”

“Forget it. When I was a student at Harrow a professor took me aside and said, Alistair should you decide to become a teacher always keep in mind that you can't save every student from themselves.”

“ Your professor didn't consider women academics when he told you that. Nor, did he ever think of a female paleoanthropologist lecturing on the Multiregional concept of the evolution of man. So, here I am faced with two prejudices.

The first, being female. The second, my choice on the contriversable theory of evolution,” Joyce explained.

“Well, if you were to ask me I'm damn glad that you are a female. Makes me remember when I was young, but then again that could result in me being referred to as a womanizer. When it comes to your theory on evolution I suggest that you keep in mind one thing.”

“What's that?”, she asked.

“So far, even though there is argument, no one has proved that your and others that share your opinion has actually been disproved. Off hand I'd say that you Multiregionalist's are still in the game. As they say.”

“Thank you Alistair.”

“You're quite welcome. Now, could I trouble you for a bottle opener?”

At approximately five thirty, PM, Tuesday, August 1, 1950 Alistair Basham answered his ringing telephone. “Hello”.

“Doctor Basham? Alan Baxter. I just want you to know that we think that all three victims attended Atlantic City High School. Keep in mind sir that it is the middle of the summer and actually the public schools are closed. That makes it difficult to find someone in authority who can gain access to records. We did find someone, another student who knew the boys and that's what we found”.

“What else?”, asked Basham.

“What do you mean, what else?”

“Were they in the same classes together? What subjects were they taking? What extra curricular activities did they do? That's what I mean when I say what else!”, said Alistair, perturbed at Baxter's question.

“I see. Sorry, we didn't think of that. I'll have somebody follow up on that tomorrow,” said Baxter.

“Jolly good. I'll be in touch. My daughter is contemplating another visit to your city. Should that transpire I would like to get together with you and go over a few details. Of course this means a weekend visit and I don't know your work

schedule.”

“Normally I am off duty on weekends, but of course I'll make myself available to you sir.”

“Excellent Sergeant.”

“Will you be staying at the Penn Crest again?”, asked Baxter.

“Possibly, possibly. I leave those matters up to Joyce. You know women, she may be looking for other accommodations. Nonetheless, I assure you it will be in the city.”

“You do have my home telephone number, right?”

“I believe it's on the back of your business card”, said Basham.

“It is.”

“Good, until then I bid you a good day Sergeant.”

“Goodbye.”

At six thirty PM, Friday, August 4, 1950 Alistair Basham signed the register of the Dennis Hotel in Atlantic City. N.J.

“Have you stayed with us before Mr. Basham?”, asked the desk clerk.

“No. My daughter and I visited and ate at the Terrace sometime ago. She found it to her liking and suggested that we stay here on our next visit to your city. So, here we are.”

“Well. I hope you enjoy your stay with us Mr. Basham,”

said the clerk.

“One more thing my good man. My daughter requests that a cabana on the beach be reserved for us. Any problem with that?”

“No sir. I'll make the arrangements and notify you when the reservation is complete”.

“Excellent.”

As Alistair unpacked Joyce stood in front of the large mirror in the bathroom combing her hair. “Tell me Alistair do you intend to call your detective friend straightaway or later?”, she asked.

“After we get settled. I must know however, your plans for us tomorrow.”

“Plans? Nothing unwindable. Actually I thought this weekend was for the purpose of us getting away from university

and to relax. I for one intend to sit in the sun. What did you have in mind?”, she asked.

“Exactly that. I must admit that I'm no sun worshiper. I thought I'd sit in the shade and read your book, “Evolution And The Transformation Of Man.”

“In doing so you will undoubtedly become the third person in history to read it”.

“I doubt that very much.”

“Very well, give me your honest opinion when and if you finish reading it.”

“I shall. Now, if you will excuse me I will call Sergeant Baxter”. Basham turned Baxter's card over, read the telephone number on the back of it and dialed the number. When there was an answer a female's voice came on the line. “Hello?”

“Hello. I should like to speak with Sergeant Baxter please,” said Alistair.

“I'm sorry Alan is not at home. Can I take a message?”

“Indeed. I'm Doctor Basham. Would you tell the Sergeant that I am at the Dennis Hotel, room 414.”

“Yes I will. Thank you.”

“Cheerio”.

“Goodby”.

Noticing that Joyce was in the bathroom again he walked to the large window in the room and gazed down at the boardwalk and then out at the ocean. The water was calm, small waves rolled in then curled and crashed finally running up onto the wet sand. He judged that there was approximately slightly more than one hundred people in the water. Another hundred either lay, sat or stood on the hot sand as an August, summer, sun beat down on them. He turned when Joyce came back into the bedroom attired in a two piece, baby blue bathing suit.

“What do you think?”, she asked as she turned around first to the left, then to the right.”

“I think I finally realize why some blokes go off the deep end and commit sexual assault,” Basham responded.

“I'll take that then as a compliment.”

“And, what if I didn't like it?”, he asked.

“Oh, I packed two other bathing suits.”

“Why on earth what for?”

“No woman wants to be seen in the same outfit particularly on the beach each and everyday.”

“I see. My way of thinking is different you see. As I recall I last bought a bathing suit in nineteen thirty nine. I still have it. Made of wool it is. A gray tank top and maroon trunks. The trunks came with a white belt. When wearing it in the water the wool absorbs approximately five gallons of water which then tends to sink one to the bottom. Rather annoying at times.”

“I bet you look smashing Alistair.”

“I've been told that I have knobby knees.”

“I've been told that my breasts are too small and my bum is too large”, said Joyce.

“Whoever told you that is either daft or a liar,” Basham replied.

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed. Now, as an old man developing impure thoughts at the moment allow me to change the subject. “To me it appears rather late in the day to go to the beach. At the same time the clerk has not called informing me just which cabana is assigned to our room. If however, you intend to go to the beach I'll call down and get that information,” Alistair suggested.

“That won't be necessary. Tomorrow will be the beach day. Today, I'll spend time walking the boardwalk. I don't assume that you want to join me, do you?”

“No, I'll take a short nap and wait to see if Sergeant Baxter returns my call.”

“ Very well. Is there anything I can pick up for you while I'm out and about?,” asked Joyce.

“Not that I can think of at the moment”, Basham answered.

The next morning at approximately eleven o'clock Basham sat in the shade of the blue, canvas covered cabana. He made himself comfortable in the beach chair and was just about ready to open the book written by Joyce when she said, “ Aren't you a bit concerned that your detective friend hasn't yet to return your call?”

He looked over the rim of his reading glasses and said, “Not at all. He's a police officer. No doubt he got called out for some type of investigation or another. When the bloke is ready, he'll call.”

“Well. I for one intend to lay in the sun. Would you be a good fellow and rub some tanning oil on my back?”. She asked.

“I'll do it, but I want you to know that while I'm doing it, I

couldn't possibly be considered a good fellow”, said Basham.

“Don't tell me that you're turning into a lecherous, old man,” said Joyce with a laugh.

“Turning? I think not. Actually, I firmly believe that I was born lecherous. There you are. Now, could you tell me just how in bloody hell I get the oil off of the palms of my hands?”

“Just wipe them on the towel.”

“Fine, there, now if you'd be so kind I should like to read your written words. Words by Doctor Joyce Hampton, PHD”.

“Enjoy yourself Alistair”.

“By Jove, I think I will. Before I start do you want anything? A drink? A bit too early for lunch wouldn't you say?”

“Yes, we can order later and eat right here in the cabana. I'll probably order a sandwich of some sort. How about you?”

“I say, you didn't perhaps put another bottle of London Stout in your suitcase, did you?,” he asked.

“No dear. I'm afraid that you're going to have to drink American beer. Just let it warm in the afternoon heat.”

“I will, but it's not the same,” said Alistair as he opened the book written by Joyce. He read, “ At this time anthropology and the study of human evolution offers two doors, the Out Of Africa Hypothesis which offers scientific evidence that the animal, man originated and migrated out of Africa and into the rest of the world. The second door projects the Multiple Regional Hypothesis which provides evidence that the different species of man originated in different parts of the world at either the same or different time.”

“I don't wish to appear dogmatic my dear, but one could say that your introduction to your book tends to protect your bum”, said Alistair.

“Do you really think so? By now you should know that I'm not afraid to take on the male, dominating, critics of my profession. I think you are misinterpreting what I wrote”, Joyce

responded.

“Perhaps, perhaps”, muttered Basham.

“Doctor Basham?”

Both Joyce and Alistair looked up to see Alan Baxter standing on the sand in front of the cabana. “Alan, old chap.

How good to see you. Come in here out of the sun. Have a seat,”

said Basham.

After sitting down in a beach chair Baxter said, “My wife told me that you called. Unfortunately Doctor there has been another murder. Naturally, I was at the crime scene when you called. I apologize for not getting back to you at the time”.

“No need for that my good man. Now, this other murder, I hope it wasn't another young lad like the others', said Basham.

“It was. As a matter of fact, it's identical. Death caused by a blow to the head. Body found barefoot, shoes missing,” said Baxter.

“Blimey. What's the boys name and where did it happen, inside or outside?”, asked Alistair.

“Outside. Actually, it occurred in the tunnel underneath the Boardwalk and Virginia Avenue. The tunnel allows motor vehicles to gain access to the boardwalk.”

“What type of motor vehicles?”

“Most of the time it is delivery trucks going to the Steel Pier. At the same time private vehicles use it as do our patrol cars. Anyway, the young man, was Norman Ridgeway, Caucasian, male eighteen years old.”

“I see do you happen to know why he was there in that vicinity?”, asked Basham.

“Ridgeway worked on the Steel Pier. He had a summer job working as an attendant and usher at the Vaudeville and motion picture theaters”.

“Hmmn. If what you say is true, that the tunnel is used mainly for vehicle traffic, then why was your homicide victim,

on foot in the tunnel?”

“Allow me to further explain Doctor. At Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk there is a pedestrian ramp on both sides of the street end. In the middle is the tunnel. We believe at this time that the killer called the boy either into the tunnel or to at least the tunnel entrance. There, in all probability the victim turned around after meeting the assailant. When he did he was struck in the head and killed.”

“I see. I must say that it is indeed feasible, very feasible”,

Basham replied.

“I was wondering Doctor Basham if you would like to take a look at not only the crime scene, but all of the evidence in all of the cases?”, asked Baxter.

“Before I answer Sergeant. I only get involved in police investigations when I'm formally invited to do so, Basham, answered.

“I realize that sir. I'm asking you for your help.”

“Thank you for asking me. If there is anything that I can possibly do it is to develop a personality profile. Hopefully, that will lead you to the killer”, said Basham.

“When can you start?', asked Baxter.

“Immediately.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

Norman Ridgeway

 

Alistair Basham stood in the middle of the street end of Virginia Avenue in Atlantic City. As he dd he looked left, then right eventually turning around and faced the Boardwalk. “I say, from here I can see the motor car exhibit. Is the exhibit part of the Steel Pier complex?”, he asked.

“Yes sir,” Baxter answered.

“Then from where we are standing that means the Steel Pier is to my right.”

“Yes.”

“Then, common sense dictates that young Mr. Ridgeway, leaving work from the pier crossed the Boardwalk and used the right hand ramp to walk to street level. Wouldn't you agree?”, asked Basham.

“Yes, it makes sense.”

“Then our killer laying in wait here in front of the tunnel knew Ridgway's schedule and route, along with the approximate

time the lad would be leaving work. There is one more thing worth noting Sergeant.”

“What would that be?”

“You mentioned that the tunnel was actually constructed

for vehicle traffic. The killer must know the times of arriving and departing automobiles from the car park along side of the Steel Pier.”

“I'll go along with that”, Baxter agreed.

“Then, the killer, knowing that he wouldn't be interrupted probably called to the victim who he knows. Ridgeway then walks down to the street level, turns right and walks up to the killer who stands at the entrance to the tunnel. The killer then entices or forces the lad into the tunnel and kills him. What I don't know is exactly how did Ridgeway die”.

“I told you. It was just like the others. A blow to the head,” said Baxter.

“No, you're missing the point old boy. I say, can we go to headquarters where I can by chance look over photographs and the autopsy reports?”

“Certainly.”

After parking the unmarked, radio car Sergeant Baxter and Basham entered the building and walked up the single flight of steps leading to the second floor. There the Detective Bureau was located. Alistair observed the nicotine stained, sea foam green paint on the walls. A cloud of cigarette, cigar and pipe tobacco smoke hung in the air. Baxter made his way to a small desk. Once there he offered Basham a seat then sat down himself. The Sergeant then unlocked a side drawer and removed all four files pertaining to the murders.

“I say. You must admit that you work in rather shabby conditions Sergeant”, said Basham.

“You mean this shit house? Absolutely. I've been told that originally, back in the eighteen hundreds hay was stored in the attic above us. It was for the horses that pulled the fire equipment. Every once in awhile, particularly in a North-East storm bits of hay still filter down. But, hey, as the saying goes, I only work here. Now, where would you like to start?.” asked Baxter.

“From the beginning. Beckmen I believe was the lads name.”

“Yes. Here's the file on Beckmen.”

Alistair looked at the photographs of Beckmen's body taken at the crime scene and at the hospital morgue. When he was finished with the photo's he then read the autopsy report.

Thirty minutes later he closed the manila folder that contained the photographs and reports on the Ridgeway case.

“Well, did you find anything?”, asked Baxter.

“Oh, to be sure sir. Some time ago I told you that in my opinion the killer stands at between five foot eight and five foot ten inches tall. Now, after viewing the photographs and reading the autopsy report I found that there is one thing that is consistent. Each victim received a blow to the left side of the parietal bone in the cranium or skull. To me it indicates that your killer is also left handed. You see if in fact the killer was right handed and attacking from behind the blows would be on the right side of the skull. A right handed person standing in front of the victim would strike the left side of the skull on the

parietal bone but slightly behind the frontal bone. There is no evidence of a right handed assailant. Also I did notice something else.”

“What?”, asked Alan

“In viewing the close up photograph of the Ridgeway lad's

fatal injury there appears to be a light area in and around the point of impact. I don't know what it is, but if possible if I were you I'd collect the hairs from Ridgeway'sd head and have it analyzed.”

Interesting doctor. Do you have a theory about the missing shoes?”

“I'm afraid not. Not at this time. We could narrow it down to one, a shoe fetish, but that would be sexual. You have no evidence of any sexual activity with the bodies, before or after there deaths, do you?”

“No sir.”

“Then, my other interpretation is that the killer is on a mission to find something, something he wants, something of great importance or wealth and he wants it bad. The question is why the shoes?”

“Anything else?”, asked Baxter.

“Not at the moment old boy. Be assured however, now that you have invited me to the party I want to be there for the cake at the end. Now, I must get back to my daughter. Unless there is something else?”.

“No sir, Come, I'll drive you back to the Dennis.”

It was nearly five PM when Alistair unlocked the door to the room in the hotel. As he stood in the bedroom he heard the shower running in the bathroom. He also noticed Joyce's book on his bed. He thought about ordering from room service and having tea sent up to the room, but didn't know what Joyce had planned to do, so he decided to wait and talk with her. Ten minutes later she stepped into the bedroom wearing a white, short, terry robe. A towel was wrapped around her head and wet hair. “So, how was your visit with the copper?”, she asked.

“It went well. I think we made a bit of progress. We still have a way to go however.”

“You say we. That means you're fully involved in these police matters.”

“Yes, I guess I am. I can't very well turn down a request when I'm asked to help, now can I?”

“Oh, it's of little concern to me what you do dear. The university might object, don't you think?”

“Why should they? I'm only available to the police when I'm not teaching. I made that perfectly clear with Baxter at the beginning.”

“Suit yourself Alistair. Now, I must get dressed.”

“Fine, I'll wait out in the hallway while you dress.”

“That's not necessary. I can put on my bra and knickers in the bathroom. I'm sure that you seen a woman in her underwear before”, said Joyce.

“Of course, but I can't remember why or when”, Basham replied.

“Really, you're not that old”.

“I'm twenty years older than you.There are times like this that being old makes me want to cry. What are our plans for this evening, starting with dinner?”

“I was talking with the beach attendant while you were away. I asked about quality restaurants and he recommended either Trench's Neptune Inn or The Knife And Fork. We'll take a cab of course.”

“And, on which one did you decide?”, asked Alistair.

“What are you in the mood for?”, she asked.

“A Beef Wellington, but you can bloody well have a time finding it. I don't care. Where ever you wish to go and try is fine with me,” Basham answered.

“Let me think about it.”

******************

 

Alistair's pet peeve was being overheated and to him this Monday afternoon of August, 7, 1950 the room was stifling. Still, he saw young women attired in shorts and knew that lowering the temperature in the room would cause them to break out in goose pimples, require sweaters and force a few to use the ladies room. So, he endured. He cleared his throat and began his lecture for the day. “ Today, I think it is about time that we discuss the Classical School of thought in relation to criminology.

For your notes, and I suggest that you take notes. For your notes then, the Classical School was developed in the eighteenth century. It was based on utilitarianism. Which defined is, a form of consequentialism which states that the consequences of any action are the only standard of right and wrong.”

Basham stopped speaking when the door to the classroom opened and Maxwell Shieble entered and took a seat in the rear of the room. “Good afternoon Doctor Shieble”, said Basham.

In response Shieble raised one hand and smiled.

“To continue. The Classical School of Criminology is based on the utilitarian philosophy of one Cesare Beccaria, author of,

“On Crimes And Punishments”, written in or about 1763 or 64.

He and others argued that, people have free will to choose how to act. Punishment can deter people from crime as the penalties outweigh benefits. Finally, the more swift and certain the punishment the more effective it is in deterring criminal behavior,” said Basham.

When the lecture was over the students walked out of the classroom. Maxwell Shieble got up out of the chair and walked to the lectern where Basham stood placing his notes in his brief case. He saw Shieble approaching, raised his head and said, “I doubt very much if you're interested in the Classical School of Criminology. At the same time you know my credentials, so I doubt if you are here to critique my lectures. That leaves only the fact that you wish to speak to me about something,” said Alistair.

“Oh, to be sure. Did I or did I not tell you that you were not to get involved in any police investigation while you are here under contract to the university?”, asked Shieble.

“You did.”

“Then, how do you explain this article in today's Philadelphia Inquier? It says and I'll read it to you. It says,

“The Atlantic City Police have announced that they have asked the famous, British Criminologist, Doctor Alistair Basham of Princeton University to help with the recent homicides in the city. During the past several weeks four teenage boys have been found bludgeoned to death in the uptown region consisting of Virginia, Pennsylvania and Delaware Avenues. The latest death occurred at Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk. I'll stop there doctor Basham. Is this article correct?”, asked Shieble.

“No.”

“No? Then please explain”.

“Simply put, I'm not at all famous. Someone is exaggerating.”

“But, you are working for the police.”

“Wrong again old boy. I'm working for the university, however I am working with the Atlantic City Police Department.”

“What's the difference?”

“I'm not financially compensated by the police nor do I expect to be.”

“By you doing so, the university is mentioned. Have you any idea what that could mean?”

“Off hand, I'd say the possibility that sociology students will be signing up for criminology next semester.”

“Fortunately for you there are only three more weeks until the summer courses end. I should dismiss you, but I'll let you finish under our agreement. After Labor Day your contract expires. Then, you can do whatever you wish to do with the police. Right now you will concentrate on your lectures and only your lectures. Do you understand?”, asked Shieble.

“Oh, right on. Allow me if you will to offer a bit of advice.

I could if I chose to do so resign immediately. That would mean that those students who have paid the tuition for the course would not receive a final grade or credits. I dare to say that the university would dislike refunding money to those that attended my classes. If I am as famous as the news article says I am then I'm sure that upon my return to the seashore and knowing that I am there the reporters in all probability will request an interview. I'm sure one or more of their questions would be in relation to Princeton University. Imagine how I would answer. Now, I'm finding our conversation tedious and you sir overbearing. I will end it by saying that I will teach to the best of my ability while here on campus. Off campus and on my own time I shall do as I wish and that might, just might mean working with law enforcement. I suggest you think over the ramifications of your thoughts in this matter.”

“You'll never teach here again Basham.”

“What's the old saying? It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there?”

Later that evening Joyce sat quietly at the kitchen table listening to Basham as he related what had taken place earlier in the day. As she did she slowly stirred the coffee in the cup before her on the table. When Alistair was finished she said, “I think you were right in the way you dealt with Maxwell. You might have been just a bit too harsh when you threatened to resign. Of course the decisions you made are yours and yours alone. It does come to me however, that the summer semesters are indeed coming to a close. That in itself presents a few questions,” she said.

“Questions? What type of questions?',asked Basham.

“Well, for one, what will I do? Should I go to California?

Should I go back to England and look for an opportunity to work on a dig?”

“Are there opportunities in England?”, asked Alistair.

“Someone is always putting up money in England for research in anthropology. Personally, I think it still has something to do with the discovery of the Piltdown Man conducted in 1912. The English still wish to be the one that finds the so called, missing link. If they find another matching the fossils found in Essex then they are spot on. If they find evidence of an earlier specie, well then imagine how British anthropology will be regarded in the scientific world.”

“Yet, by the tone of your voice I detect there's a problem in you doing that,” said Alistair.

“There is. If such an opportunity presents itself it will in all likely hood mean a dig in Africa. That means surrendering my ideas and stance in paleoanthropology.”

“Knowing you as I do I can see your dilemma. If you were to ask me for advice in the matter I would say this. Return to England. I assume that next to standing up to your bum in dirt, rock and stone looking for old bones your next love is teaching the subject. Go home look for and wait for an opening in one of the schools needing a professor. Take the position, gain tenure and live happily ever after.”

“Unfortunately I have no place to go to in England. My home in Nottingham was sold years ago.”

“Then, I say that you should stay with me until such time things settle down and your future brightens. Stiff upper lip old girl. Stiff upper lip.”

“What would people say?”

“Who the bloody hell cares? My home has a bedroom with private bath. Marjorie Helm used it all the years she served me as housekeeper. Now, she is in a nursing home and the room is vacant. It's yours with no strings attached.”

“Thank you Alistair, you are most gracious.”

“You're welcome love. Now, if we are finished eating I suggest we clear the table and do up the dishes.”

Returning to his own apartment Basham took a long, hot, shower put on his pajamas and pulled down the covers on his bed. When he did the telephone in the bedroom rang. “Blimey! Who in bloody hell is calling me now?”, he said aloud. “Hello?”, he said answering the ring.

“Doctor Basham? Alan Baxter. I've been trying to reach you since six o'clock this evening,” he said.

“And, you didn't get me did you? I was visiting a friend. What can I do for you?”, asked Basham.

“Well fortunately we got to the pathologist in time for him to take hair samples from Ridgeway's head. Evidently they then used a Gas chromatography instrument to identify the substance you noticed in the victims hair. What you saw was zinc residue.”

Basham stood silent for a few moments as his mind raced searching for a situation in which zinc would be a factor. Then it came to him. “Sergeant, if the substance is zinc residue as you say it is then you have identified the murder weapon. In my opinion it is a galvanized pipe.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

School Days

 

At four PM, Friday, August 11, 1950 Alistair Basham

Called the Atlantic City Police Department using the telephone in his living quarters. When connected he asked to speak to Sergeant Baxter. “Sergeant Baxter”, said the detective when he came on the line.

“Sergeant? Alistair Basham here. I want you to know that we will be traveling to your fair city this afternoon. As a matter of fact I'm waiting for my daughter to arrive with the motor car at any moment.”

“Will you be at the Dennis?”

“Oh no old boy. These trips are becoming rather expensive, particularly for two poor, underpaid college professors. My daughter has made arrangements for our staying at the Palmer House. Wherever that is. Seems a member of the faculty has a relative that owns the place, but is in Europe and not using it.”

“The name rings a bell. I think it's in the beach block of Delancy Place,” said Baxter.

“Very good. Anyway, should you need to meet or talk with me that's where I'll be. I shall let you know the address and telephone number. Now, I hear the bloody beeping of the horn in my daughters motor car. I mustn't keep her waiting.”

“Later, Basham stood on the steps that led to the porch of the luxury home and faced the ocean. “Splendid, you only have to walk twenty yards or so to the beach and I can sit and read on the porch as an ocean breeze comes my way. Jolly good, I'd say.”

“What's even better is I will have my own bedroom and bath and don't have to worry about embarrassing you should I forget myself and show a bit of leg,” Joyce replied.

“Oh, I'm never embarrassed my dear. When you see my red face when you're exposed it's caused by the discomfort of an aging man having difficulty to perform.”

“Well, I suggest that we unpack, then go to the market and shop for food. I don't much fancy eating out this time here. The traffic is horrendous, parking fees are high as is the menu items at any fine restaurant. I believe that you will like my cooking.

What say for tonight I make a Shepherds Pie?”

“Oh, I say, with lamb of course,” said Basham.

“Of course.”

The next day Alan Baxter sat on the porch at 120 Delancy Place across from Basham. It was ten o'clock in the morning. The sun was still rising in a powder blue sky and a gentle ocean breeze came in over the beach. “Rather a fine morning hey what?”, asked Basham.

“Yes it is. I wanted to meet with you and bring you up to date. First, however, I want to talk about your galvanized pipe theory”, said Baxter.

“Oh, it's not a theory old boy. Can you think of anything else containing zinc that was left in Ridgeway's hair after he was struck. If so, please enlighten me.

“No, I can't. At the same time I can't picture any one walking the streets holding a galvanized pipe in his hand and no one either seeing it or questioning it.”

“What you have Sergeant is an individual with a length of steel pipe that has been galvanized against rust by dipping it in a zinc solution. Have you ever worked with pipe?”

“Yes, at times.”

“Work with it enough and your hands become soiled. It isn't dirt on your skin. More than likely it's zinc residue.”

“Then, how does the killer keep it out of view?”, asked Baxter.

“I would assume that the weapon is approximately eighteen to twenty inches long. That length serves two purposes. The first is that he can conceal it in his pant leg by sliding it between the waistband of his trousers and underwear or skin. He would still be able to walk without discomfort. When the lads had their backs to him he could quickly remove it and strike. The length would be just long enough to create ample force to kill. He then looks for whatever it is that he's after, removes the shoes and disappears. Another thing, while we're on the subject of the pipe. Should you apprehend a suspect check the inside of his trousers for zinc. I'm sure that if I'm correct there will be residue.”

Baxter took out his notebook and took notes. As he did Basham continued to talk. “Now, enough about that. You said that you wanted to bring me up to date on the killings.”

“Yes, so far we have been able to find that all of the boys were highly intelligent. All were enrolled in college preparatory courses. Two of them, Beckmen and Ridgeway were in the same homeroom. All of them lived in the general vicinity of each other.

Lodell as you know lived at Delaware and Atlantic Avenue. Beckmen lived at 20 North Massachusetts Avenue, directly across from Holy Spirit High School. Woolford lived at 120 North Rhode Island Avenue and Ridgeway at 228 North New Hampshire Avenue.”

“I'm sorry old fellow, but I don't follow you.”

“Oh, I keep forgetting that you're not from around here. What it means is that the location of the victims residence means that they probably went to school in the morning on the same trolley car. If they were not the best of friends they certainly knew each other, said Baxter.

“Oh, I see. You are looking for a fraternal, social class. I must agree that it has some merit,” Basham replied.

“I agree,” said Baxter.

“I hope there is more information Sergeant.”

“Yes sir. In checking with the families of the victims we are convinced that the make and model of the shoes are all the same.

The shoes are brown, Thom McAn, loafers.”

“Loafers?”

“Yes sir. It is the shoe that is in style right now in America. The kids like it because they don't have to tie laces. At least, that's my way of looking at it, said Baxter.

“So, we have come to a point in time when the youth of the civilized world is too lazy to bend over and tie their shoes. Bloody Awful if you were to ask me,” Basham replied.

“Also all of the victims worked in the same area of town.

Beckmen on the Steel Pier at Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk. Woolford at Mammy's Restaurant at Pennsylvania Avenue and the Boardwalk. Lodell worked at Planter Peanuts and Ridgeway worked as an usher at the Virginia Theater, also at Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk”.

“Ah, that made it very convenient for the killer. We have already determined that the assailant both knew the lads and at the same time their schedule upon leaving work. He laid in wait, enticed the lads to either come to him or struck them from behind. After doing so he moves the body to a place where he can't be seen, removes the shoes and socks of the lads and moves away into the night. I assume he carried the shoes with him. Anything else?”

“Yes sir. We checked the ceiling light in the vestibule of the apartment house on Delaware Avenue. The bulb had indeed been loosened. We took the bulb as evidence, dusted it for fingerprints and found several latent prints that do not match. As a result we have to believe that the prints could be anyone's, the store clerk that sold it, the maintenance man who installed it and hopefully the killer who unscrewed it while it was in the fixture. We sent it to the F.B.I. in hopes they might have matching print or prints in their data base.”

“Jolly good. That could be very beneficial. Is that all?”, asked Basham.

“No sir. I'm hoping that at this point you can at least give me a personality profile of the killer,” Baxter replied.

“I thought I have. Let me reiterate. In my way of thinking your killer is, as I've told you, five foot eight inches or five feet ten inches tall. He is left handed, knows not only his victims but their movements. He is searching for something. What? I don't know at this time, but we must consider that it is in relation to the shoes. The weapon used to kill is the galvanized pipe. And, oh yes, he is in all likely hood a Caucasian.”

“How do you figure that he's a white guy?', asked Baxter.

“Choice of weapon old boy. Blacks normally use a knife or gun. Orientals, prefer strangulation, Hespanics, again although most times they prefer a machete a knife will suffice. Using a galvanized pipe that in all probability was cut and modified to be used as a murder weapon points to a Caucasian. I would say that your killer, known to the lads had to be sure each boy was dead and couldn't revive and appear against him in court.”

“So you still think the victims knew their killer, said Baxter.

“Think of it Sergeant, you yourself have affiliated the boys as known to each other. Beckmen's, murder has an effect on Woolford, Lodell and Ridgeway. They have lost a friend under rather brutal circumstances. Still, they do not suspect anything or anyone. Then, Woolford is killed. Lodell and Ridgeway become apprehensive. What would you do in their place? You would be leery of who you observed and where you traveled. Still, the killer got to both of them Why? Because they knew and trusted the killer.”

“O.K. What's next,” asked Alan Baxter.

“Off hand I'd say that you are getting close to making and identification of the murderer if not an arrest. Be patient.

Continue to view the actions of the lads. Did they do certain things together? Look for the logical connection that ties them and their killer together. When you do, you should have your man.”

****************

Back at Princeton, Joyce paced slowly back and forth across the front of the classroom as she gave her lecture. “Although scientific research and the resulting data indicates that the origin of man began in Africa I submit to you the interested student, the fact that there are yet to be discovered, earlier species of earlier humans.

We know that the crust of the earth moves every forty two thousand years. Isn't it possible that remains of another human specie could be entombed in many locations? Note that it is becoming increasingly clear that our evolution is not as straight forward as it was once thought. Allow me to give you another example. The discovery of fossil remains of Homo hablis, also known as the skillful person, a specie of the genus Homo which lived two point two million years ago to at least one point six million years ago refers to Homo hablis as a member of the human family. Homo hablis made stone tools. Stone tool paleolithics have been found in England that date back two and two tenth million years ago. This in itself raises the odds that the missing link can be found anywhere in the world, other than Africa.

Let's stay on the location of England in relation to early man. An ancient elephant pit was discovered in Dawlish, England. It is estimated that early man dug that pit one point two to three point five million years ago. Also, archeologists from the London University unearthed evidence of human occupation in Britain. The discovery was made in East Anglia. These findings demonstrate that ancient humans occupied Britain over 800,000 years ago.”

*************

Once again Alistair Basham sat at the kitchen table in Joyce's apartment. “I say my dear, I'm beginning to feel as though I'm taking advantage of you. You're cooking and inviting me to dinner these so many times,” said Basham.

“Nonsense. I enjoy cooking. To tell you the truth it is probably the only time that I feel domesticated rather than the doctor of anthropology who lectures in tweed and wool with her hair tied back in a bun. Let me enjoy being a woman from time to me.”

“Speaking of lectures how did it go today?”, asked Basham.

“Fine, today was about the findings in Britain. The students can't dismiss physical evidence, even those who will remain tied to the Out of Africa Theory. How was your day?”

“Rather boring I'd say. The class is predominantly female who have visions of saving the world when they graduate. I see them as only taking my class merely for receiving three credits towards their degree, “Alistair answered.

“Are you sure that you don't have in the back of your mind those homicides in Atlantic City? If so, you might not be putting your best effort into your lectures,” said Joyce.

“Hmmmn. You might have a point my dear. Now that I think about it the only thing on my mind is when will the police make an arrest? I feel that I've done all that I can do. I am not a detective in these matters. I'm simply an individual that examines the facts and evidence and attempts to create a personality profile of a subject capable of committing those crimes and why. I think that I've done that. It's up for the police and Sergeant Baxter to take the investigation further.”

“I'm sure he will Alistair.”

“We'll see. Now since you have mentioned things on my mind have you given any further thought to living in Harrow?,”

asked Basham.

“I won't lie to you. I've thought about it certainly, but I still haven't made a decision.”

“Well, you haven't said no and so far that's in my favor,”

Alistair replied.

“Why do you want me to live with you in the outskirts of London?”

“I've already told you that I'm merely providing you with an option of having a place to reside until such time that you decide what it is you want to do. At the same time I believe I mentioned that there are no strings attached. You will be able to come and go as you please. If necessary I'll place locks on your bedroom door.”

“Now, you're being silly. I regard you as a gentleman. I knew that the first time I met you at the faculty gathering.”

“A gentleman you say? Perhaps, but still a man.”

*****************

Eight people, the parents of the four young men that had been murdered sat uncomfortably in mismatched, hardback chairs in the lineup room of the Detective Bureau of the Atlantic City Police Department. Sergeant Alan Baxter placed a chair in front of the group, took a seat and then facing them said,”I want to thank all of you for coming here today. Let me start by saying that we are making progress in our investigation. Each day we have been able to put another piece of the puzzle together. When completed that puzzle hopefully will reveal the person responsible for the death of your children.

Right now what I need from you is any information that you might have they will help us go further into the investigation. For instance, we know that the boys knew each other. They went to the same school and probably studied the same courses. At the same time they lived in the uptown section of the City. Right now, I'm looking for something, anything that

would result in them having a common interest, such as sports, or hobbies.”

“Charles was an avid, Philadelphia Phillies and Eagles fan. He also collected stamps and coins”, said Harvey Beckmen.

Baxter wrote down the information.

“Micheal was mostly interested in music. He had his own phonograph that he kept in his bedroom. I don't know how many times I had to bang on his door to tell him to lower the volume. Once in awhile he would play around with postage stamps and coins. I think that the Ridgeway boy got him into collecting those things, said Mary Woolford.

Baxter added the information in his notepad.

“Now that I think of it Harry wasn't so much into stamp collecting. He appeared to be more interested in coins.

Many times he asked to look at the change I had in my purse”, said Helen Lodell.

“I'm not certain, but I'm sure of you were to look into it, Norman was a member of the Coin Collector Club in Atlantic City High School, said Fred Ridgeway.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

The Numismatic

 

On Monday, August 21, 1950 at two PM Alistair Basham

continued his lecture on the subject of Social Structure Theories in Criminology. Pointing to student in the third row Alistair said,

Mr. Anderson. Would you come forward and relate to your classmates the definition of the Social disorganization theory.”

Harvey Anderson made his way to the front of the class and began to speak. “ The Social disorganization theory is actually based on the work of Henry McKay and Clifford R. Shaw. Their theory is that Social disorganization contends that neighborhoods affected with poverty and economic deprivation tend to have high rates of population turnover. With high turnover , informal social structure often fails to develop. When that happens it is often difficult to maintain social order in a community.”

Basham could hear the words spoken by the student. Yet his eyes focused on the way the young man was dressed. Anderson wore a white Tee-shirt, blue jeans and brown loafers. He also did not wear socks. After clearing his throat Alistair said,

“An excellent recitation young man. However, not to be accusatorial, but out of curiosity why do you come into my classroom without wearing socks sir?”

Harvey Anderson stood in embarrassment for a moment, then answered. “Because it's the style Doctor Basham. Barefoot and loafers. That's the way it is, for now at least.”

Basham though for a moment and said, “Of course. Please excuse the ignorance of an old man from a past generation.”

Back in his apartment Alistair dialed the long distance telephone number of the Atlantic City Police Department's Detective Bureau. When the connection was made he asked to speak to Sergeant Baxter. He was then told that Baxter was unavailable at the moment. Basham then left a message, asking that Baxter call him as soon as possible.

At six PM that evening Alistair answered Baxter's call.

“I'm sorry to be late in calling Doctor. However, you would be pleased to know that we are close to zeroing in on a suspect,” said the Sergeant.

“Who?”, asked Basham.

“I'd rather not speak about it on the telephone sir. There are too many leaks around here as it is and I don't want the news media interfering and screwing things up for me. If you are free tomorrow I'll drive up, bring you up to date and after putting our heads together wrap up these cases once and for all.”

“I look forward to our meeting Sergeant.”

“Same here I should be there between ten or eleven in the morning.”

“Excellent, see you then. Cheerio.”

Later that evening Alistair sat eating a steak and kidney pie made by Joyce. “Excellent as usual my dear. Now, how much is my share of the cost for the ingredients?”

“Well if you insist, eight dollars will do it,” Joyce replied.

After removing his wallet from his left rear pocket he removed the bills and placed them on the table. “So, my girl how are you today. Still down in the mouth?”

“Not really. Time is running out. The summer semester is just about over and I must let the university know if I'm interested in the California dig.”

“I see.”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

“Oh no. I have no intentions of swaying you one way or the other. I will say, however, that I will support any decision that you do make.”

“Thank you, but that doesn’t solve the problem at the moment. Anyway, you appear to be in good spirits,”said Joyce.

“Oh, rather. I heard from Alan Baxter earlier this evening. It appears that he is close to naming a suspect and making an arrest. He is motoring up here tomorrow morning.”

“Don't you have a class tomorrow?”, she asked.

“Not really. Actually it is nothing more than a study period allowing my students to prepare for the final exam.”

“Does Maxwell Shieble know about the study period?”

“Don't bloody know. Don't bloody care.”

At approximately ten thirty the next morning Alan Baxter knocked on the front door of Basham's apartment. “Ah Sergeant, how good to see you. How was your drive up here this morning?,” asked Alistair.

“I must admit there was some traffic. Mostly commuters going to work. Route 206 is always busy,” said Baxter.

“Come sit down. Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee or tea?”

“No thank you, but since you mentioned coffee I could stand to use your bathroom. I've been holding a morning coffee piss for the last thirty minutes.”

“Of course old boy. You know where it is.”

When Baxter walked back into the living room he took a seat on the couch opposite of where Basham sat in a chair. “Well, I know that you are anxious to know what we have. In interviewing the parents of the boys we found one, let's say, social connection. All of them collected either postage stamps or coins or both,” he said.

“And?”, asked Basham anxiously.

“And we were finally able to gain access to the high school records of the victims. It seems that all four were in the Coin Collectors Club in school. From there we also learned that the club consisted of eleven other students, or a total of fifteen. We then focused on each of those eleven students. None of them come anywhere near the physical profile you came up with. As a matter of fact most of that group were freshmen, small built and I would say frail. That left us looking at the remaining member of the club. The teacher.”

“Ah, I see. Please go on,” said Basham.

“Rather than approach him immediately we placed him under surveillance. We figure him to be about in his forties when it comes to age. He is approximately six feet tall and weighing between one hundred and ninety to two hundred pounds. He's balding and I think you will appreciate this. He smokes cigarettes.”

“Why would I be interested in that fact?', asked Alistair.

“Because every time he places or displaces the end of a cigarette in his mouth he uses his left hand.”

“By Jove, that is good news. I believe you've got your man Sergeant.”

“Not so fast Doctor. I still lack a motive. True, he definitely knew the boys. Why would he kill them? Certainly not for a pair of shoes”, said Baxter.

“I agree. At the same time I learned recently that wearing the loafer shoe without socks is the style or fad now days in America”, Basham replied.

“Yes, the Penny Loafer. Practically all teenage boys are wearing them,” said Baxter.

“What did you say? Did you say Penny Loafer?”

“Yes, why?', asked the Sergeant.

“That's it. That may be the connection. Please explain further this fad or thing called the Penny Loafer.”.

“I'll tell you what I know and that is the shoe actually originated back in the nineteen thirties. They were originally called, Weejuns. The shoe had a strap across the top of the shoe for style purposes as a loafer it had no buckles or laces. The strap then as it does now has a split design that is supposed to look like a pair of lips. This opening in the split strap allowed those interested in doing so to insert small objects for decorative

reasons. Things like pennies.”

“Things like pennies. Smashing! Simply smashing! Do you see the connection? The killer is not after the shoes of the victims. He's after the pennies that had been placed in them”, said Basham.

“But why? Why kill four young men for mere pennies?', asked Baxter. “It doesn't make sense.”

“It does if the pennies aren't mere pennies but coins of value. Come with me. We will speak with the curator of the University Coin Collection. Perhaps we will learn exactly what penny is valuable enough to kill over.

Later that evening at dinner Basham raised his glass and said, “Here's to you mate. I'm sure that tomorrow at this time you will be celebrating the arrest of the teacher. I never did ask you his name.”

“Sass, Raymond Sass. He teaches history, but also was responsible for the extra curriculum activity of the Stamp and Coin Club.”

“So, it appears that your Mr. Sass either had or knew who did have a 1943 copper one cent piece, minted by mistake and worth thousands of dollars,” said Basham.

“That's the way it looks. From what we've been told the thought is that when the United States Mints changed from producing copper pennies to making steel pennies in 1943 some amount of copper was still in the presses. When production began several pennies were made of copper and not steel. Today, it is estimated that the coins, now being considered rare and worth $27,000.00 each will only increase in value.”

“So, right now in 1950, two coins would be worth somewhere around $54,000.00. Three coins $71,000.00 and we don't know how far it will go,” Basham added.

“ One thing we do know. If Sass didn't find the pennies he would still keep looking for them and killing for them. I'm taking him off of the streets when I get back to the city.”

“Jolly good old boy. My congratulations on a fine piece of police work. I'll say good by for now. There's no telling when or even if I shall return to Atlantic City. Actually, I'm about to make my arrangements for traveling back to England. At any rate I sincerely hope that we can and will stay in touch. Take care of yourself mate”, said Basham as he shook hands and hugged Alan Basham.

*****************

Basham looked at Joyce who sat silently on the couch.

“Well now, I see that you are still in a bit of a dither. All summer classes end tomorrow. As a matter of fact I've begun to pack. Although I will admit that I still have to make traveling arrangements,” said Alistair, breaking the silence.

“Is that so difficult?”, asked Joyce.

“Oh yes. I don't know if I should fly or go on the Queen Mary,' he answered.

“Why in the world would you go by sea?”

“In my way of thinking it would make a nice three day. crossing honeymoon.”

“Joyce sat up suddenly. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Why not. I enjoy your cooking. You're an paleoanthropologist who is use to working with old bones and fossils. I'm sure I meet the qualifications of an ancient man. Well don't sit there with your mouth open give me your answer woman.”

“Yes, you old fool. Of course I'll marry you. Forget about the ship. We'll fly home. That way I get to see the house in Harrow. I already know that I'll have a lot of redecorating to do. And, by the way, as a paleoantropologist I have handled old bones. Now, as a married woman as well as an anthropologist I'm very certain I'll be able to get life into an old relic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Publication Date: 04-10-2016

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