A New Story, A New Character
On an unusually hot April day in 1960 in the California city of Souwerk in a house on Diemert Avenue, a middle aged woman, a housewife, was murdered. Her name was Carolyn Wolfsheimer. Her husband, Albert Wolfsheimer, came home from his job at Bethlehem Steel at 5:30 in the evening and found her laying dead in the living room of their tract home with a length of clothesline wrapped around her neck. He called the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, which responded by sending five marked police cars, one unmarked police car and an ambulance to the house. Soon the residential street was impassible because of the Sheriff's cars, the newspapermen's cars and the neighbors standing in the street wondering, and then expressing shock at what had happened in their quiet neighborhood.
A seven-year-old boy walked up to one of the deputies keeping the neighbor's back and said, "I know who did it."
"And who might that be?"
"The star man."
"Star man? What's a star man? Do you mean a man from Mars?" the deputy asked indulgently.
"There are no men from Mars. Mrs. Wolfsheimer called him the star man. She said that he read her stars."
"Do you mean an astrologer?"
The boy shrugged. "If that's another name for 'star man' I guess so."
"Wait right here. Let me get a detective."
The deputy left the boy alone for a moment and then returned with a man wearing a suit and tie and a hat. He said that his name was Detective Foreman.
"What's this about a 'star man?'"
"That's who did it," the boy said. "That's who killed Mrs. Wolfsheimer."
"How do you know?"
"I saw him go into the house this morning and then leave about an hour later. In a hurry."
"Had you seen this man before?"
"A couple of times. He read Mrs. Wolfsheimer's stars. That's what she told me. He told her what was going to happen."
"Why weren't you in school?"
"Smog. I've got bad asthma. I was sitting in the living room looking out the window for the Helm's man."
"What did this 'star man' look like?"
"Like that guy who sells cars on TV during the roller derby. The Fender Bender."
The two deputies looked at one another for a moment and then the uniformed man said, "Dick Laine? Fender Bender Laine? Wears thick glasses?"
"That's him."
"What kind of car did he drive? the detective asked.
"Like that one," the boy said pointing to a green 1954 Plymouth coupe. "Except gray."
The detective opened his notebook. "What's your name, son?"
"Roger Scott. I live at 15043 Diemert. My phone number is University 41742."
"We may want to talk to you later. Now run along and let us get on with our business."
But Detective Foreman never got back to the boy. Instead, three days later Albert Wolfsheimer was arrested for the murder of his wife. The investigation claimed that Wolfsheimer had killed his wife before going to work and that he had done it in a fit of rage because she had, the previous day, bought a new $250.00 Kirby vacuum cleaner that they could not afford and that he suspected that Mrs. Wolfsheimer was having an affair with her dentist. The boy's claims about Mrs. Wolfsheimer being a devotee of astrology were discounted due to the fact that none of the neighbors or acquaintances of Mrs. Wolfsheimer could ever remember her mentioning astrology or fortune-telling in any way or any time.
Three months later Albert Wolfsheimer was found guilty of murdering his wife. He was sentanced to life imprisonment at Folsom prison.
Two months after that an astrologer named Ezra Gadsen was arrested for the murder of Mrs. Juanita Barnes of Downey, California. Like Mrs. Wolfsheimer, Mrs. Barnes had been strangled. Gadsen drove a gray 1954 Plymouth coupe. He wore thick eyeglasses and he bore a passing resemblance to Fender Bender Laine. He had been noticed by the mail man, who thought it strange that Mrs. Barnes did not see him off from the door. Mrs. Barnes was a friendly woman with whom the mail man often shared a cup of coffee in her kitchen while taking a break on his route. A search of Gadsen's apartment in Bell Gardens resulted in the finding of a Dresden figurine of milkmaid that Mr. Wolfsheimer had said was missing after his wife's death
Mr. Wolfsheimer was released from prison and he moved from California back to his native Pennsylvania. Ezra Gadsen was tired and convicted of the murders of Mrs. Wolfsheimer and Mrs. Barnes. He was sentenced to die in the gas chamber at San Quentin. After several appeals he was lead into the death chamber, strapped into the chair and the cyanide tablets were dropped into pail of acid.
It was after the arrest of Mr. Wolfsheimer that the boy, Roger Scott, decided that he didn't want to be a policeman after all. He decided that cops were dopes. He had told them what he saw and they ignored him. After Mr. Wolfsheimer was released from prison Roger rode his bicycle to the Sheriff's station and asked the desk sergeant for Detective Foreman. Foreman looked at the boy as if he'd never seen him before. Roger looked back and said, "I told you it was the 'star man.'" Then he turned on his heel before he could see Foreman's face fall and turn red.
No. Roger decided he was not going to be a policeman. He decided he was going to be a private detective. Private detectives were smarter than cops, tougher than cops and drove better cars than cops.
My name is Roger Scott. I was that boy. And that is how I started my career as a snooper.
A seven-year-old boy walked up to one of the deputies keeping the neighbor's back and said, "I know who did it."
"And who might that be?"
"The star man."
"Star man? What's a star man? Do you mean a man from Mars?" the deputy asked indulgently.
"There are no men from Mars. Mrs. Wolfsheimer called him the star man. She said that he read her stars."
"Do you mean an astrologer?"
The boy shrugged. "If that's another name for 'star man' I guess so."
"Wait right here. Let me get a detective."
The deputy left the boy alone for a moment and then returned with a man wearing a suit and tie and a hat. He said that his name was Detective Foreman.
"What's this about a 'star man?'"
"That's who did it," the boy said. "That's who killed Mrs. Wolfsheimer."
"How do you know?"
"I saw him go into the house this morning and then leave about an hour later. In a hurry."
"Had you seen this man before?"
"A couple of times. He read Mrs. Wolfsheimer's stars. That's what she told me. He told her what was going to happen."
"Why weren't you in school?"
"Smog. I've got bad asthma. I was sitting in the living room looking out the window for the Helm's man."
"What did this 'star man' look like?"
"Like that guy who sells cars on TV during the roller derby. The Fender Bender."
The two deputies looked at one another for a moment and then the uniformed man said, "Dick Laine? Fender Bender Laine? Wears thick glasses?"
"That's him."
"What kind of car did he drive? the detective asked.
"Like that one," the boy said pointing to a green 1954 Plymouth coupe. "Except gray."
The detective opened his notebook. "What's your name, son?"
"Roger Scott. I live at 15043 Diemert. My phone number is University 41742."
"We may want to talk to you later. Now run along and let us get on with our business."
But Detective Foreman never got back to the boy. Instead, three days later Albert Wolfsheimer was arrested for the murder of his wife. The investigation claimed that Wolfsheimer had killed his wife before going to work and that he had done it in a fit of rage because she had, the previous day, bought a new $250.00 Kirby vacuum cleaner that they could not afford and that he suspected that Mrs. Wolfsheimer was having an affair with her dentist. The boy's claims about Mrs. Wolfsheimer being a devotee of astrology were discounted due to the fact that none of the neighbors or acquaintances of Mrs. Wolfsheimer could ever remember her mentioning astrology or fortune-telling in any way or any time.
Three months later Albert Wolfsheimer was found guilty of murdering his wife. He was sentanced to life imprisonment at Folsom prison.
Two months after that an astrologer named Ezra Gadsen was arrested for the murder of Mrs. Juanita Barnes of Downey, California. Like Mrs. Wolfsheimer, Mrs. Barnes had been strangled. Gadsen drove a gray 1954 Plymouth coupe. He wore thick eyeglasses and he bore a passing resemblance to Fender Bender Laine. He had been noticed by the mail man, who thought it strange that Mrs. Barnes did not see him off from the door. Mrs. Barnes was a friendly woman with whom the mail man often shared a cup of coffee in her kitchen while taking a break on his route. A search of Gadsen's apartment in Bell Gardens resulted in the finding of a Dresden figurine of milkmaid that Mr. Wolfsheimer had said was missing after his wife's death
Mr. Wolfsheimer was released from prison and he moved from California back to his native Pennsylvania. Ezra Gadsen was tired and convicted of the murders of Mrs. Wolfsheimer and Mrs. Barnes. He was sentenced to die in the gas chamber at San Quentin. After several appeals he was lead into the death chamber, strapped into the chair and the cyanide tablets were dropped into pail of acid.
It was after the arrest of Mr. Wolfsheimer that the boy, Roger Scott, decided that he didn't want to be a policeman after all. He decided that cops were dopes. He had told them what he saw and they ignored him. After Mr. Wolfsheimer was released from prison Roger rode his bicycle to the Sheriff's station and asked the desk sergeant for Detective Foreman. Foreman looked at the boy as if he'd never seen him before. Roger looked back and said, "I told you it was the 'star man.'" Then he turned on his heel before he could see Foreman's face fall and turn red.
No. Roger decided he was not going to be a policeman. He decided he was going to be a private detective. Private detectives were smarter than cops, tougher than cops and drove better cars than cops.
My name is Roger Scott. I was that boy. And that is how I started my career as a snooper.
posted by Hitz at 6:44 PM
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