A Cry From the Grave - Part 2 - The Conclusion
Moorestown, New Jersey is a quiet, beautiful Quaker settlement, much the same as a thousand other small American communities. Along about dusk, the children drop their play, hurry home to their evening meal, and then go to bed. Nobody would pick Moorestown as the scene of a dastardly crime. Still, it was there that real-life, New Jersey-super-sleuth Ellis H. Parker, encountered a case of killing perpetrated by a man, who was, beyond all doubt, the most fiendish and cunning arch-criminal he had ever come in contact with during 35 years of man-hunting!
Super detective Ellis H. Parker returns, not long after, "The Case of the Disappearing Parrot," for another tale of grim deeds in The Garden State. Get ready for Kinda Murdery's, "A Cry from the Grave: An Ellis H. Parker Mystery!"
Sources:
https://dn790009.ca.archive.org/0/items/TrueDetectiveDec1928/TrueDetectiveDec1928.pdf
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Zevon Odelberg is a true crime podcast host and disability advocate. Zevon has cerebral palsy and he wants Kinda Murdery to be welcoming community for people with disabilities and for people living with challenges of any kind. Life can be hard, but being together makes it better.
Warning, Kind of Murdery contains adult themes, explicit language, and descriptions of
violence. It is not suitable for anyone, and we recommend you stop listening
now. Language I heard true crime with a dash of the paranormal, the
garish, the strange in the darkly comic. I'm zevn Odelberg, host of
Kind of Murdery, a podcast that's about more than just murder. It's my
very own pocket dimension, home to a curated collection of bizarre and compelling stories,
the unsolved, the unsettling, and the unbelievable. I cover it all
just so long as it's kind of Murdery. Hey, everybody, welcome to
Kind of Murdery. I am Zeven Odelberg, and I am glad you're here.
You have found your way too, Part two of a Cry from the
Grave. So if you haven't heard part one yet, go back and listen
to it, then rejoin us. We'll save you. And if you're all
caught up, then I'm not gonna Dilly Valley. If you'll remember, super
sleuth ls H. Parker and the police have just returned to the Lively Basement
for a third time in search of Matilda's body. That's where we are,
so let's get to it. I'm so glad you're here with me as we
uncover what truths we can and solve what mysteries we may, kind of murderies.
A cry from the Great Part two starts now. The two policemen got
a spade, and Chief Bradshaw dug feverishly while Officer Jacobs looked through the displaced
earth for a bit of clothing or anything suspicious. Nothing was found. Was
this effort to result in nothing? Still, they dug on a depth of
three feet had been reached. Suddenly the spade struck something soft. Dropping to
their knees, the op us removed the earth rapidly with their hands. There
lay the mutilated body of Matilda Russo. Every stitch of clothing had been removed,
most of it had been buried with the body. The girl had been
ripped open in the stomach and throat, and struck twice on the head,
once on the forehead and once behind, and had been criminally assaulted. Large
clots of blood were in the grave, clear indication that it had been prepared
for her beforehand, and that the body had been placed there while it was
still warm. Now to pause for a moment. You will notice that I
made my actual presence scarce in Moore'stown. I had a reason for this.
My face was a very familiar one there at the time, because just prior
to Matilda's disappearance, I had worked on several murder mysteries near Morristown. I
figured from the beginning that if I were seen around too much, the slayer
of the girl, if she had been slain, would take the hint and
disappear. I calculated correctly that to direct operations from Mount Holly was the proper
course for me to pursue. I had told Chief Bradshaw to call me immediately
if he found anything in that cellar, but no matter how important the news
was, he was not to break anything over the phone. A man I
at once wanted listened in on a telephone conversation of mine and once is plenty.
So after making the gruesome discovery, mister Bradshaw merely called and said,
come right away. Ellis A hint, of course, at this stage of
the game, was equivalent to a ton of bricks. I knew what awaited
me in Moore'stown, so Detective Kane, my secretary, and I were soon
headed toward the scene at to say the least, breakneck speed. Arriving in
moore'stown, we went directly to the Lively home, where the two officers awaited
us. My secretary remained upstairs. Officer Jacobs guarded the home. Detective Kane,
Chief Bradshaw, and I descended the cellar steps. One look at the
body convinced me that here was one of the most terrifying and fiendish crimes that
I had ever encountered. We left Mantilda's body in the cellar and held a
conference on the first floor. After the conference, when we were leaving the
house by the front door, the latch broke. This made it impossible to
keep the door from swinging open. It was quite essential that it be closed
because the poor girl's body had created quite a stench in the small house,
and if the place were not securely closed, we knew that passers by would
detect the odor, investigate, and the crime would be disclosed. We were
anxious to keep our discovery secret, knowing that the slayer was probably keeping a
close watch on the newspapers, and if he saw the report of the finding
of the body, he would flee at once. So we went back into
the place and nailed the door, making our exit through a window. At
this stage of the game, the finger of suspicion pointed pretty definitely to Lively,
so we decided to nab Lively on site. We called the brush factory
where he was employed, but they returned the information that he hadn't been in
that day. Not having any idea where to look for him, we decided
the Chief Bradshaw and Officer Jacob should lie and wait until he returned home that
night. We were not anxious to arrest him in Philadelphia anyway, on account
of the extradition problem. I went to police headquarters with mister Kane and my
secretary while a waiting word of Lively's return home. I looked up the man's
record through the Philadelphia Police departm and what a record it was. He was
born in South Jersey and as a boy, was sent to the reformatory at
Rahway, New Jersey, for arson. After his release from Rahway, he
was employed by a farmer at Dayton, New Jersey, but he was shortly
sent to the state prison for fourteen years for a serious crime. His next
encounter with the police was when he murdered a man named Madden in a brawl
in Philadelphia. He drew a two year term in the Eastern Penitentiary for this.
After his release, he changed his name from Roberts to Lively and married.
It was well in prison that Lively learned brushmaking. At the time of
the murder, he had lived in Morristown for only a few months and was
well thought of by the neighbors who lived nearby. Lively's house was only half
a block from the East Moorstown Railroad station. The trolley line ran right by
his place. We had both the trolley and the railroad station covered. But
when he came home that night, he got off the trolley two blocks from
his house, sneaked around the back way under cover of darkness, and tried
the front door. Then he vanished the instant he found that the door had
been tampered with. Aided by the darkness of the night, he slipped right
through the hands of the officers lying in wait for him. This we found
out to our sorrow later. A peculiar circumstance in this case was that so
far we had not even suspected Lively of any connection with the Russo case until
after it was too late. There was no doubt in my mind now,
however, that the man had committed the murder. But how could we have
arrested him before finding the body? What would we have charged him with?
Until the body was found, We did not have any proof or even any
indications that the little girl had been slain. For all we knew, she
might have been drowned or kidnapped, or better still, just lost. The
fact that Lively remained at his home for so long after the crime threw us
off the scent. And right here I want to take the time to point
out that the slayer did one of the neatest track covering jobs I have ever
heard of. He had lifted cobwebs from another pile of rubbish and carefully placed
them on the pile of cans over the grave, giving the refuse all the
appearance of having been there untouched for a long time. And if you don't
think this is a hard feat to accomplish, just try it yourself sometime.
There isn't a criminal in a thousand who would even think of such a thing,
let alone plan and execute it successfully. In addition, the fiend had
also fooled us in another way. The aged looking pillows, which oozed out
their stuffings were really comparatively new pillows. We found upon close scrutiny, he
had dragged them around the cellar floor and had torn them to make them look
old. And what a slick job he made of it. As for the
footprints or any other evidence of his having been in the cellar, well,
everything had been completely obliterated. That night, around eight o'clock, a black
woman walked into a room adjoining police headquarters at the Moorstown City Hall. My
secretary was the only one in the room at the time. The woman asked
mishughes if Lewis Lively had been arrested, and my secretary at once became suspicious.
She excused herself for a moment and rushed into another room and told someone
to call me in a hurry. She then went back and engaged the woman
in what must have been a charming conversation, for she held her against her
will until I arrived. The woman was Missus Lively, and I at once
detained her. That smart move on the part of Misus helped materially in clearing
up the mystery. Although Missus Lively denied any knowledge of the crime, we
knew that our best play was to detain her now to return to Lively.
We checked up at the railroad, trolley and the ferry stations for miles around
to see if he had bought a ticket for anywhere. We found out exactly
nothing. I then had a flyer printed saying I wanted the man for murder.
This was sent in the usual fashion to every police department in this country
and Canada. Lively was only five feet two inches in height, and we
thought that his small stature would aid in his capture, never realizing that he
would convert it to his own advantage by a clever trick. I had a
hunch that Lively, wherever he might be, would seek employment as a brushmaker.
So I had a talk with President Fernley of the Brush Manufacturer's Association of
the United States and Canada. Mister Fernley had in his possession the names and
addresses of all the leading concerns in the brush line, and suggested that a
photograph and description of Lively be sent to all of them, coupled with instructions
that if the man applied for work, he was to be detained. The
police notified Fernley's idea was a smart one, and I agreed to it immediately
and the plan was carried out. Police headquarters of various cities were also notified
to this angle of the search, as Luck would have at a brush company
in Boston, after receiving the notice, at once communicated with the Hub City
police headquarters, who in turn relayed the information to me, to the effect
that Lively, using one of his many aliases, had applied for a job
two days before the arrival of the notice. He was told there was nothing
available but to leave an address where he was to be notified if anything turned
up. The address was watched, but the police did not make an immediate
inquiry. They merely covered the house. They knew that if they asked at
the house for Lively and he happened to be out, he would probably be
tipped off by telephone and never return. Meanwhile, the brush factory, at
my suggestion, sent a letter to Lively telling him there was a job for
him. Two Boston detectives stationed themselves in the factory disguised as workmen, waiting
for the fugitive to walk into the trap, but he never showed up.
The place where he was supposed to be living was then tackled, but it
was found that the man had vanished two days before the police vigil began.
The next trace of him came from a police officer in a small town up
in Maine. He stated that he was riding along in the road in his
car when a young fellow stopped him and asked for a lift. The policeman
picked up the stranger and the two road for miles, carrying on a conversation
about this, that and the other thing. During the drive, the officer
took a good look at Lively and remarked to him that his face seemed familiar,
which was no wonder, for it was plastered up in one thousand and
one police stations. Lively laughed this off, telling the officer that he must
have mistaken him for someone else. Then Lively finally told the policeman he was
broke, and the officer arranged a free meal in a bed for the stranger
at a tourist camp. He then left the man. The next morning,
he was dumbfounded when he saw Lively's face on a flyer at the station house.
The police went to the place where Lively had spent the night, but
the man, as usual, was still two jumps ahead of the whole bunch
of us. I have never seen a smarter fellow, and on top of
this, fate seemed to smile on him. Meanwhile, we were keeping Missus
Lively in jail for reasons of our own. She had several visitors, and
just as soon as these people called, we would question them and get their
names, addresses, and any other information possible. One day, an African
American man dropped into my office and asked if he could see Missus Lively.
Something about the man's demeanor told me that he knew of Lewis Lively's whereabouts.
I consented to him seeing Missus Lively, but I wanted to observe firstthand what
went on between the two of them, So I accompanied the visitor to Missus
Lively's cell. I told him it would be all right for him to talk
for as long as he desired with Lively's wife. I remained to hear the
conversation. The man who had told me his home was in Philadelphia, merely
walked up to the cell and said, hello, Marie, how you feeling.
Don't worry, here's three dollars in case you need it, see you
later. Goodbye. He saw Missus Lively for less than a minute. This
struck me as mighty suspicious that a man should come all the way from Philadelphia
with so small an amount of money to give her as three dollars, and
then only talk with her for a few seconds. The words don't worry stuck
in my mind. I suspected that the stranger's mere presence in the jail was
assurance to missus Lively that her husband was communicating with him in some manner.
We trailed the man, whose name I won't mention for obvious reasons, and
had his male watched in Philadelphia. All that came through the post office for
him was a newspaper from Chase City, Virginia. I got in touch with
the postal authorities of the Virginia town and found out that the man had formerly
lived with his parents there and had left for Philadelphia only a few months previously.
So any male coming to the home of his parents in Chase City was
also watched. All that came for him there were two newspapers from Boston.
They had no marks of any kind on them, but we figured and rightly
that they came from Lively, and that they were Lively's way of letting his
friends know where he was. I had the man's mother questioned as to whether
or not she knew anyone in Boston, and she said she did not.
She was unable to say who sent the papers to her son. This clue
did not prove a very material way of apprehending Lively, but it gave me
my first positive assurance that our suspect was communicating with his wife and other kin
in South Jersey. A double strict watch was then focused on all of Lively's
friends and relatives. All confessed that Lively had me guessing. All right,
I've had a lot of trouble tracking down men and women, but I've yet
to run across anyone so cunning and shrewd as he proved to be. During
the time that Missus Lively was in jail, she struck up quite a friendship
with another inmate who was a white woman. Not long after the white woman
was released from jail, she walked into my office and asked if she could
speak to Missus Lively. Her request, of course, was granted at once.
They carried on a conversation in a tone of voice so subdued that Detective
Kane, secreted in an adjoining cell, could not make out head or tail
of what was said. All he could hear was murmuring. We trailed the
woman and followed her every action. One night, she visited a relative of
livelies in Bridgeton the following day she again visited Missus Lively in jail. She
was observed slipping a note to the prisoner. I decided to let both women
have enough to hang themselves, because I knew that sooner or later Missus Lively's
cell would yield information which would lead to the capture of her husband. Finally,
after keen observation of the movements of all those interested in Lively, we
decided that the time was ripe for a grand stand play. One morning,
without warning, we made a sudden search of the jail and found hidden in
a corner of one of the cells, various scraps of paper, which,
when pieced together, proved to be what we expected to find. There they
were the notes which Lively had written, and which the former woman jail inmate
had smuggled through to the hunted man's wife. And of all things, one
of the notes from Lively conveyed the information that quote, this thing has about
blown over, so I'm going to slip home soon. And see you all
quote. We found later that the notes had been sent to a relative in
Bridgton, concealed in baskets of grapes. What was going to come next?
In addition to the notes which had been torn up, we also discovered another
note which was intact. It was written by Lively to a relative in South
Jersey and read, in part, Miss Evelyn can and look for me at
eleven thirty tonight. I'm gonna make good to you for what you've done for
Marie, and you keep an eye open for that Detective Parker. I at
once covered all towns in the vicinity of Moorestown, Bridgeton, and Vineland and
laid an elaborate trap for the fugitive. I interviewed employees of the trolley and
railroad lines in that section, notifying that Lively was in the immediate neighborhood,
and told them to keep a close watch for him. I told him that
the man was near at hand, because I knew that would spur the watch.
Had I said he was expected, the men I talked with would probably
have dismissed the matter from their minds, thinking that it would be more or
less a wild goose chase. The police, of course, were told the
exact facts of the case, for they understood that when I said I was
led to believe that Lively would put in an appearance, I meant it.
The weeks went by, however, and Lively was still to be apprehended.
But something told me, I can't explain my exact mental process that the man
had returned to South Jersey slipping through the net we had so carefully laid for
him. My hunch later proved to be correct, for Lively at that time
had already been hiding in Bridgton for several days. He had managed to elude
capture by a clever trick, taking advantage of his diminutive stature and dressing as
a woman. Just about daybreak on the morning of October nineteenth, Asia Wilson
and James Florentino, two police officers of Island, were about to exchange duties
at a rather remote spot on the outskirts of the city. Good morning,
Asia, said Florentino, as he met his brother, officer, whom he
was to relieve. Then jokingly, didn't catch Lively yet, did you?
If I had, you'd have heard all about it, returned Wilson, laughing,
just At that moment, the two officers heard footsteps nearby. The mantle
of night had not yet released the city from its folds. A man approached.
He was short of stature. As he passed along the sidewalk within three
feet of the officers, he noticed them and quickened his pace. Florentino looked
at Wilson in quick surprise, each thinking the same thing. Did you see
him, he asked in amazement. I certainly did. I think that's lively,
so do I. Let's go, said Wilson. By this time,
the man was quite a bit down the street. He was too smart to
break into a run, but he was walking mighty fast. The two officers
hailed a passing automobile. They would use the car, they decided, because
if it was Lively, he would be taken off guard as he had just
seen them on foot. Florentino and Wilson raced down the street in the automobile
and directed the driver to draw up a breast of the suspected child slayer.
Wilson jumped to the sidewalk for the purpose of identifying the suspicious pedestrian. No
sooner had he done so than the man who most evidently was Lively drew a
gun and shot the officer through the right lung. Florentino then leapt out of
the car, picked up his brother officer, and placed him in the car
before being rushed to the hospital. Wilson, seriously wounded, gripped Florentino's hand
and gasped, that's our man, Jim, Now you go and get him.
Lively, meanwhile had dashed into a park which skirted the street. The
place was dotted with trees. Florentino, who had left his gun in the
car and his excitement, ran into a nearby house, borrowed a shotgun,
and then plunged into the darkness hunting Lively. It so happened that the gun
the officer had borrowed contained but one shot. He knew he would have to
spend the one shot well. He prowled about the murky park, and finally,
about six feet in front of him, he saw a figure moving behind
a tree. An instant later, a bullet whistled past his car. Lively,
who had more nerve than a dozen ordinary men, had stepped out into
the open to fire the shot. Quick as a flash, Florentino aimed and
fired it. Lively before the man had a chance to get behind the tree
again, but his single blast went wild. The policeman was in a devil
of a predicament. Here he was only six feet from a murderer who was
loaded down with ammunition, while he himself didn't have any shot left. But
he never thought of running away. He knew that if he did, Lively
would guess his lack of ammunition. If Florentino attempted to run, he would
probably have paid for it with his life. So he decided to stand his
ground and outwit the man. He shouted to Lively. Listen, Lively,
I'll stand right here and shoot at you all day. If you don't surrender,
the shots will attract attention in a crowd, and when that crowd finds
out who you are, they'll tear you to pieces. If you throw away
your gun and surrender, I'll save you from the mob. This was a
fast bit of way work on Florentino's part. Lively didn't answer for a moment,
and then a few seconds later something thumped on the ground. Then from
Lively, there, I've thrown away my gun. I'll come with you.
And so Lively surrendered, and the manhunt, which had had us all baffled
for five months was over. Officer Florentino commandeered a second vehicle and took Lively
to Vineland Jail, where he was docketed and locked up. He was then
taken from there to Bridgeton and placed in the cooler. I walked in after
he'd been there for a few minutes and asked him if he knew who I
was. Yes, you're mister Parker, he said, that is who I
am, Lewis I replied, now, only yesterday the grand jury found a
true bill against you, charging you with the murder of Matilda Russo. Do
you want to tell me about it? Yes, sir so. Lively told
how he'd lured Matilda into his house with the promise of giving her some pudding.
He admitted that he had sent his wife and son away the week previous
so that he could be alone for the murder. When Matilda came into his
house that Saturday evening, he struck her over the head with a club.
She yelled feebly, and then he struck her again. Then he removed her
clothing and mutually. He'd hidden her in his house all that day in preparation
for his crime, and had put the finishing touches on Matilda's grave. After
the completion of his ghastly, terrible crime, he buried the child and her
clothes, burned her shoes, and then otherwise proceeded to cover up his tracks
and the way which I have already outlined. He stayed around the house after
the crime, he said, because he was satisfied he had foiled us.
But he decided to get out of town that Friday following the murder, after
he'd sneaked home the back way and found the door nailed. He knew then
he told me that we were on his trail. His motive for the murder,
he revealed, was that he hated Matilda because she had fought with his
son, Little Louis. The prisoner then further admitted that when he decided to
come back to New Jersey, thinking the affair had blown over and desiring to
see his relatives, he dressed as a woman and took a Jersey Central train
from Jersey City to Bridgeton. He had the colossal nerve to arrive in Bridgeton
in the middle of the day, he said. The conductor on the train
looked at him rather sharply, but then passed by I was a little nervous
when that conductor looked at me, Mister Parker, I thought my woman's makeup
was not perfect, Lively said. Arriving in Bridgton, he went to his
sister's house, but she slammed the door in his face. He then went
into hiding for a few days. He never did tell us where he was
going. On the morning he was caught in violand he had discarded his feminine
attire after having vamped a truck driver into giving him a lift, he said,
the truck driver suddenly suspected that he was a man and ordered him to
get off. Lively showed absolutely no remorse after shooting Officer Wilson, who,
although close to death for several days, fortunately recovered. I released missus Lively
as she was innocent of any direct connection with the murder. I knew she
was innocent from the first, but she was arrested because I was convinced that
Lively would communicate with her. Lively was tried for the crime, convicted and
senden to death in the electric chair. Supreme Court Justice Samuel Kaylish, one
of the most learned and high principled men I have ever known, was the
presiding judge. I have heard Justice Kaylish sentence murderers to die in the chair.
Some times it has seemed to me that he was doing so against his
own scruples and merely fulfilling his duty. But when he sentenced Lewis Lively to
death, there was a note in his voice that I interpreted to mean that
on this particular occasion, he was more than glad to fulfill his duty,
as outlined by the verdict of the jury. The tragic and gruesome story of
Matilda Russo's murder might end here except for one more interesting incident. After Lively's
conviction, and the night before he was to be transferred to the death house
of the New Jersey State Prison at Trenton, where he was to settle his
debt to society, the warden of the Mount Holly Jail rushed into my office.
Lewis Lively insists upon seeing you. He said, well, what does
he want? I asked, you won't say. He just wants to see
you, says it is important. Knowing so well that Lively was a killer
of the first order, I became suspicious. Instead of going to see him,
I ordered a search made of his cell. There my associates found a
sharp instrument which the man had made after being incarcerated. It was shown to
me, and the next morning I went to the doomed man's cell and spoke
to him through the bars. We found a shank in your cell last night,
Louis, I said, did you plan to kill me with it?
Well? Sure as hell I did, was his brutal reply. You're no
better than the rest of them, Parker. This incident will give you a
better description of Lively than I could ever picture for you with mere adjectives.
On the night of his execution, I was one of the witnesses in the
death house. I've seen many executions, and I have been responsible for sending
many men to their death. Sometimes I have felt a lump in my throat
when seeing a man I have tracked pay his penalty. But when Lewis Lively
was led into the dimly lit death chamber, I felt no qualms of conscience.
As I said before, he was the most desperate fiend I have ever
encountered, and when the prison doctor pronounced him dead, I breathed the sigh
of relief. I hope to never see his like again, and that is
the grim conclusion of Ellis Parker's A Cry from the Grave until next Thursday.
I'm Zevan Odelberg and this has been kind of murdery. Oh. If you
like the show, please subscribe, review and tell your friends. You can
find us on social media at kinda Murdery or email at Kindamurdery at gmail dot com.
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