The Parrot Wants to Know What Happened to Gus - PART ONE
Where is Gus? What happened to him? Was he killed? If so, who did it, and why? Find out on this episode of Kinda Murdery!
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Sources:
http://www.bizarrejournal.com/2018/01/haunted-by-his-victim-bizarre-tale-of.html https://ia801406.us.archive.org/29/items/true-detective-april-1929/TrueDetectiveApril1929.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. Hello everyone, and welcome to Kind of Murdery, a true crime
podcast that's mostly about murder and always about the strange and compelling stories that arise
when the path less traveled twists to darkness and those who walk its shadows surrender
to violence and moral corruption. We have a perilous journey ahead, so thank
you for lending me your courage and good company. I'm Zeven Odel Bird and
this is kind of Murdery. Glad to be here with you everyone. You
know. A couple episodes ago, I told the story about pirates. River
pirates. Yeah, but pirates. Nonetheless, to the history isn't about pirates,
but it does have some pirates elements. I found that as written in
an article entitled The Parrot, the Trunk, and the Murder by Joseph W.
Gavin in the April nineteen twenty nine issue of True Detective Magazine. As
always, all my sources are in the show notes. Now, I almost
called this story Polly Wanta Murder, but that didn't seem fair because the parrot
in this particular tale of violence and degraded human nature definitely did not want to
murder. In fact, if anything, he wanted to solve one. Now
there's a famous pirate saying, I'm sure you're familiar with dead men tell no
tales. Well, dead men may not, but in today's story, it
appears that live birds absolutely do. And that's not the only pirate ish aspect
of the tale I'm about to tell. I mean, let's think about it.
What are some of the key things that the pirates of popular imagination are
known for. One, parrots. Long John Silver from the Treasure Island movie,
the inspiration for just about every television and film, and frankly a lot
of literature pirates as well well. Long Don Silver had a parrot named Pieces
of eight, perpetually perched on his shoulder, usually mocking him. Besides parrots,
another thing pirates are known for, well, trunks, chests treasure chests
actually, but a trunk is a synonym for chest, and well three three
should maybe be one. I mean, murder. Pirates are a famously murdery
bunch. Now, again, this is not a pirate story, but it
does illustrate how important context is, because out of context, from parrots to
treasure chests and murder, it sure does sound like a pirate's story. Although
to be fair, treasure chest is a wildly inaccurate description here because the chest
or trunk in this story was not full of treasure. No, it was
full of the medically dismembered and horribly mutilated body of Gus Bowles. Why was
that? What happened to him? Who's responsible? Well, if you'd like
to find that out, I'd like to find that out. Then please join
me as we uncover what truths we can and solve what mysteries we may on
Today's not about pirates, murder story kind of murderies. The parrot wants to
know what happened to Gus starts now. All was quiet in New York Police
headquarters. It was a Tuesday morning in late January eighteen eighty seven. Inspector
Burns, chief of the Detective Bureau, was congratulating his subordinates on the absence
of mysterious crimes and crimes of violence, and the Police Commissioner was telling visitors
from Canada the New York was the best governed and most peaceable city in the
world. At that precise moment, a messenger boy, all sweaty from a
long run, rushed up to Inspector Burns with a telegram. Across The envelope
was stamped in large letters immediate and urgent. The inspector at once tore open
the envelope, read the message, and told the messenger that there was quote
no answer. His face looked suddenly grave. The message came from Police Marshal
Fray of Baltimore. Briefly had stated that the headless and dismembered body of a
man had been discovered packed in a trunk which had been shipped the previous Saturday
from New York to Baltimore. That the murderer had cut up his victim as
a butcher wood a calf, and that indications pointed to the crime having been
committed in New York. Now, when such knowledge as this comes to the
head of the detective force of any large city, one of the results is
certain to be screaming headlines in the newspapers and editorial demands for immediate action on
the part of the police, and Burns prepared for action with the energy that
always characterized him. He summoned a battalion of detectives, including George Titus and
William McLoughlin, as well as Magan and von Garrickton. The police headquarters at
Once became a beehive of activity. What time does the next train leave the
city for Baltimore, Inspector Burns asked Titus. The detective consulted a timetable.
Just an hour from now, Inspector, he said. Burns then handed Titus
to telegram he'd received from Marshal Fray and told him to go at once to
Baltimore. He was to telephone or wire all particulars of the mystery that he
could gather at the earliest possible moment. Half an hour later, Titus and
John D. Lindsay of District Attorney to Lancy Nichols staff were on their way
to the railroad station. Each wore a contemplative air, and each had a
keen sense of responsibility and loyalty to his chief. In the meantime, Burns
had assigned other detectives to visit pawn shop and secondhand clothing stores in order to
trace the murdered man's clothing and jewelry, which the telegram stated had been stripped
from the body before it was thrown into the trunk. The head of the
Missing Persons Bureau was asked to throw a dragnet over the city and to ascertain
if any man had just disappeared. The steamboat squad was directed to patrol the
North and East rivers and to keep a sharp lookout for all floating objects,
particularly such as might conceal the head of a man, stool, pigeons,
that's criminal Informants were also requested to visit the resorts of Italian counterfeiters and members
of the mafia, and to report immediately any information they could pick up that
might lead to the identification of the murdered man. In short, there was
no known criminal meeting place in all of New York City that was left uninvestigated
by the police. The murder trunk and its contents were placed in front of
detectives Titus and Lindsay in Baltimore. It was a ghastly sight. Indeed,
the trunk had an oval top and smelled to high heaven. Inside was still
packed the mutilated body of what had once been a man. The limbs had
been severed with the greatest care, the head and neck removed from the torso
in a manner that suggested the work of a skilled surgeon. The legs cut
from the trunk, and the feet from the legs. Everything about the dismemberment
showed that the person who did the cutting was no novice. At dissection,
Titus noticed that the hands of the murdered man were soft and bore no indications
of manual labor, that the fingernails were well manicured, that the victim was
well nourished and fastidiously careful of his person, so he had great hygiene,
and he took good care of himself. Titus also noticed that the neck had
been severed by a razor or some other very sharp instrument, and that the
amputation of the legs had been done by a saw. He asked Marshal Frey
for the particulars. The Marshal told him that the trunk had arrived in Baltimore
by the Adams Express on Sunday, January twenty second. It was addressed to
John A. Wilson, Baltimore. Merrily. Underneath the address were the words
to be kept till called for, My goodness to be kept till called for.
You know, I'm lucky enough to be able to say that I have
some very good and very loyal friends. I imagine many of you listening do
as well, friends who would quote do anything for us, so to speak.
Right, But boy, can you imagine having a ship ahead to them
to hold until you ask for it? Friend? Now, that that is
friendship. People always talk about relationship goals or friendship goals. Well, here's
mine. I want to have a friend so good that they'll babysit a severed
head for me and then produce it on demand. That is a good friend.
I just, of course, I don't actually need a babysitter for severed
heads. I'm not a psycho killer. But I think we can all agree
that that does sort of set a new bar for loyalty and friendship. All
right. Back to the story. No one came to pick up the trunk
on day or Monday. It was taken on Tuesday from the Calvert Street station
to the company's freight station on North Street. When it was turned over to
the baggage master, he immediately shouted, Oh my god, the smell from
that trunk is horrible. There's some dead thing inside I know it. Send
for the police. Superintendent Schuler was sent for and had the trunk removed to
the Central Police station, where the lid was torn off and the horrible sight
revealed. The horrible sight being the dismembered and decapitated body of it we just
described previously. The Baltimore police and Detective Titus figured that the victim weighed about
one hundred and sixty pounds, was five feet nine inches tall, and of
fair complexion. As the head and neck were missing, no one could fix
the man's age. The inside of the trunk was covered with blood, indicating
that the ghastly packing had been done before rigor mortis set in. The newspaper
reporters now pressed Detective Titus for his opinion about the crime. The Baltimore newspapers
were hung grief for news, and their reporters used every trick known to the
profession to wheedle some out of Detective Titus. A patiently planned, cold blooded
killing done by one of the most vengeful and abnormal characters that any novelist could
invent, was all the detective could be induced to say. His face was
very grave as he left the police station to communicate with Inspector Burns. Meanwhile,
Marshal Frey had called all his detectives into conference recalling the old adage that
two heads are better than one. The Marshal asked each man for his opinion
as to where the murder was committed and its background, telling them that any
theory or train of thought that might lead to results was welcome. Some of
the detectives thought that the crime had been committed in Chicago, and that the
trunk had been shipped from there to New York and then reshipped from New York
to Baltimore in order to mislead and puzzle the police. They based this theory
upon a tag tied to one end of the murder trunk containing a label for
the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad Dearborn station. Marshall Frey liked this idea and
had sent a telegram to the Chicago police at the same time that he sent
a similar one to Inspector Burns in New York. A few of Marshall's detectives
conjectured that the murdered man was an irishman who had been removed by agents of
some secret revolutionary organization for some real or supposed treachery to Ireland, which is
a convoluted way of saying that they thought he was an Ira vengeance killing others
thought he was a Sicilian counterfeiter, done to death by the mafia for disloyalty
to his associates or failure to give them a proper split of the proceeds of
some sale of fake money. Whatever opinion I may have is not of any
value as evidence in the case, Detective Titus replied, mysteriously. The coroner
gave Titus permission to take the murder trunk and the body of the unfortunate man
whose dismembered remains filled it back to New York, and with that the curtain
fell on the Baltimore Act of the sad rama, leaving the crime as deep
and dark a mystery as ever. When the murder trunk and its gory contents
arrived in New York, Inspector Burns made a careful examination of the handwriting of
the address to which it had been sent. The script was in a bold,
businesslike hand, indicating a man accustomed to writing and of more than ordinary
intelligence. The ink with which it was written was blue, an unusual shade.
The trunk was of cheap material and differed in no ways from an ordinary
piece of luggage. Burns was holed up in his private office for a long
time with Detective Titus. When he emerged, there was a puzzled look on
his face. Titus had reported that one of the murdered man's fingers was deformed
as a result of having been broken and improperly set, and that it was
possible that some doctor might remember having been consulted about it. On hearing this,
Burns paced his office restlessly. Someone who knew the detective well might have
noticed an unfamiliar tension in the man, who was usually so well composed.
Had the Baltimore detectives overlooked this finger they had overlooked or withheld from the reporters
other clues, each of which might lead to the apprehension of the murderer or
murderers. But the Baltimore detectives purposely withheld information from the newspaper men, fearing
its publication would reveal to the slayer the clues they had in their possession.
Marshal Frey from Baltimore thought that secrecy it was absolutely essential at this stage of
the investigation, and New York's Detective Titus agreed with him. The clues upon
which the detectives now hoped to get at the truth of the tragedy included a
white calico shirt with polka dots, which the murdered man wore. Under an
edge which was folded and apparently ironed with a sinister purpose, was the name
see Camphole. This had been written in indelible ink in a script which indicated
some attempt at disguise. Beneath the white linen undershirt, which was on the
body and stuck to the man's back, was a business card on which was
printed E. D. Siegel Meets and Provisions two O five Throop Avenue,
Brooklyn, New York. Another card read London and Manchester Plate Glass Company,
seventy three Dash, seventy five Worcester Street, New York. These seemed clues,
indeed, and in the darkness, even the faintest gleam of light was
eagerly welcomed by the police. Detective Titus and formed District Attorney Nichol by telephone
of the latest developments in the case. While this was happening in New York,
Inspector Riley of the Eastern District of Brooklyn was running down some clues which
involved members of the mafia. The inspector believed that the murder bore all the
earmarks of that secret assassination society, and that the victim had been drugged and
rendered unconscious before he was killed. His men were instructed to make careful inquiries
about missing Italians. Two detectives were at once dispatched to Segell's butcher shop with
instructions to bring him to police headquarters if he refused to answer any questions or
showed any signs of suspicious behavior. Given the way the body had been cut
up, Siegel seemed like a promising lead, and the detectives entered his shop
excitedly. D Siegel was a mild mannered man with gray hair and a mustache
and a strong hawklike profile. He became terribly excited when asked if he could
explain how his card got into the murder trunk. He gesticulated wildly and flung
his arms about in an attitude of despair. How do I know, he
exclaimed, forgive my German accent there, but he is German, and what
the heck, I'm going to go for it? How do I know?
My business cards are lying around here by the dozen, and everybody who calls
it at liberty to take one or more of them. Then Segel took off
his belt, apron and jacket. I do not know any man named c.
Comfold, he stammered. And I feel sure that those who butchet this
man you speak of are not customers of mine, Jiminy, how would you
be sure of that? I mean, if you're sure they're not customers,
is that because you did it yourself, not your customers? Also, I
mean, if you're innocent, using the verb butchered to describe how the man
was killed, probably an unwise or at least unfortunate choice. If you're guilty,
it seems more like a subconscious admission. But who knows. Maybe I'm
getting way over my skis here. Oh but maybe not. It seems like
the detectives agree with me. It says right here. The second remark,
coming from the butcher, struck the detectives as rather ludicrous, but looking at
the man, they were impressed, in spite of themselves, by an eerie
notion that what he said might be true. They left, leaving Siegel wide
eyed. The large force of detectives employed on the case, the frequent reports
which they made to Victor Burns, and the silence of the inspector himself was
remarkable. The detectives were divided in their opinions regarding the motive of the butchery,
and this was very important because without establishing a motive, an indictment for
murder in the first degree would not stand. Some of the detectives thought that
the victim was an Italian blackmailer or counterfeiter, and that the butchery was the
work of the mafia. These theorists pointed to the horrible mutilation of the body
as proof of Sicilian vengeance. Others believed the crime was committed by an indignant
husband, smarting under the belief that the victim had broken up his home and
dishonored his wife. A few imagine that the victim had been held up by
a gang who had double crossed. Trunk manufacturers who examined the Boody trunk shook
their heads and expressed the belief that the box was manufactured in Chicago. Naturally,
the question then arose again, was the murder trunk shipped from Chicago to
New York and leadership to Baltimore to bamboozle the police. Inspector Burns was a
arkhably discreet man, and this was no exception. All the reporters could induce
him to say regarding the Chicago angle of the case or any of the other
angles, was simply well, I don't know what to think. The situation
was greatly complicated by an influx of letters from cranks and busybodies, offering theories
and suggestions and supplying what some of them called straight tips to the police.
Inspector Burns was getting more mail than ever before in his life, and so
was Inspector O'Reilly. One hot tip claimed that the murdered man was a resident
of Centerport, Long Island, and known there as Chris Campfold. The report
ran that Campfold had been treading the primrose path of dalliance since he came to
Long Island, and getting more than the yellow primrose, which is an exceptionally
polite and poetic way of saying he was committing adultery, or put more bluntly,
banging other men's wives. The report further stated that he disappeared some weeks
back, and that his sudden exit the neighborhood was connected with threats made by
a married man and a confession by the man's wife. The alleged agrieved husband
was sought out and found asked if he knew c Camphold, the man cursed
and spat out. I only hope that somebody around here had the spunk to
kill that blankety blank dutchman. Dang that reminds me of Austin Power's Gold Member,
where Austin's father, Nigel Powers, played brilliantly by Michael Caine, says
there are only two things I can't stand in this world. People who are
in turret of other people's cultures. The man that lights always cracked me up.
All right, that's enough of a levity break. Let's get back to
our very serious dark story. So it seems that this angry husband in Long
Island did indeed know the victim a c. Comphold, and that Comfold was
an adulterer, a womanizer, and had certainly stirred up hate in at least
one heart and at least one community. But we'll see what unfolds. Although
Burns and his battalion of detectives were concentrating on New York for clues, and
Inspector O'Reilly was hoping that Brooklyn would supply the key to the mystery, Burns
checked up on reports from Chicago that an irishman once prominent in Irish secret Revolutionary
societies had not been seen for several weeks, and his friends fear that he'd
been slain by someone who wrongfully connected him with giving information to the British government.
This man worked for the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad, the cart of
which was found in the murder coffin in Baltimore. To Haang, the plot
thickens. I mean, it seems virtually impossible that our murder victim could be
both the philandering dutchman see comphold and also a potentially loose lipped railroad working former
member of the IRA irishman from Chicago. Those are pretty different identities. Unless
it's the dismembered body of a superspy that was shoved into the bloody trunk,
those are probably two different men, although there seems to be clues arguing on
behalf of both of them. All right back to it, So the missing
and presumed murdered Irishman was a member of the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad,
and the railroad card had been found in the murder coffin in Baltimore. The
fierce dissensions among the two factions of Irish revolutionaries in Chicago at the time that
would be the IRA on one side and the Ulster Volunteer Force on the other.
I believe and their charges that a British spy was high in the councils
of the IRA lent color to the theory that the slaying man was a Chicagoan.
You know, I need to correct myself here. I've been using the
wrong name, the presumptive modern name of these Irish revolutionary groups. The IRA
wasn't actually founded as the IRA until nineteen nineteen, so when this story has
taken place in eighteen eighty seven, believe the Irish revolutionary group at that time
would have been called the Fenians. If anybody knows more and wants to correct
me, please do reach out at kind of Murdery on all social media,
kind of Murdery at gmail dot com, or you can call the kind of
Murdery hotline eighty eight Murdery that's eighty eight six to eight seven three three seven
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always, please also feel free to reach out to me if you're going through
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share our unique life stories so that we can all become more human to each
other, and not just others, but we can all see each other as
the connected people that we are and come to understand that no matter how different
our lives may be, we're still all human. We still have the same
hopes and years and dreams and loves and hates, etc. Well hopefully we
don't all have the same loves and hates that could lead to trouble, but
I think you take my point. Feel free to reach out to me if
you'd like to share your story or your thoughts, and of course please do
call the hotline eighty eight Murdery eighty eight six eighty seven three three seven to
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if God forbid you find yourself in a really dark place, please do call
nine eight eight, and please do remember that you are loved and the world
is a better place with you in it. Okay, thank you for giving
me a moment to share that. Let's get back to the story. So
rumors that there was a British spy among the Irish revolutionaries in Chicago, and
that a former member of the revolutionaries or potentially former member of the revolutionaries,
had recently disappeared and was a member of the railroad whose card was found in
the murder trunk that lent credence to the idea that perhaps the murdered man was
from Chicago. Of course, there's also the furious husband in Long Island who
knows that his wife has been cheating with a Dutchman named c. Comfold,
which is the name that was found inside the victim's shirt sleeve. So there
seems to be somewhat compelling evidence that this murder victim could be either from Chicago
or the philandering Dutchman from Long Island. We got to get to the bottom
of this, but we're not the only ones who need to get to the
bottom of it. So does Inspector Burns and his condre of dedicated New York
Police murder detectives. All right, so we're now went through underground channels to
the reporters that Inspector had sent an additional fleet of detectives into Brooklyn to discover
the murderer, and that he had personally assumed charge of the invading host of
detectives. The invading host is the fleet of detectives he sent into Brooklyn.
This was front page news because it indicated that Burns was not at all satisfied
with the work of Inspector Riley and his men in Brooklyn. The truth is,
Inspector Burns was never popular with reporters, and not even with many of
his own detectives. Titus and McLoughlin had more shining qualities as manhunters and a
more extensive knowledge of criminals and their ways than Inspector Burns. But somehow it
always felt as though the roots of Inspector Burns understanding when far deeper than those
of any of his subordinates. His conscious mind would often hold to superficial and
indefensible opinions, but every now and then something on inspiring would manifest itself in
him, and as if he were the voice of an inspired being. This
made him more interesting than any other detective on his squad. As a matter
of fact, Burns never believed that the murdered man was an Italian. He
thought the body too large and too fair skinned. At any rate, it
was deemed necessary for some experienced hand to supervise the operations in the Eastern District
of Brooklyn, which had never had an enviable reputation among policemen at that time,
and perhaps no better supervisor could have been found than Inspector Burns. One
day, shortly after this, but the whole country watching the swiftly shifting scenes,
the efforts to solve the mystery gave rise to new hopes when two of
the Inspector's detectives reported that they had proved that the murder trunk had been shipped
from the Eastern District of Brooklyn on Saturday, January twenty first by the Westcott
Transfer Company, which delivered it to the Adams Express Company in New York that
afternoon. The receipt which they exhibited confirmed this conclusion. Through some secret channel
and stool pigeons whose names were not to be revealed, and whose methods of
operation are atypical, to say the least. The detectives obtained other information relative
of the trunk, which led the inspector to believe that Brooklyn held the key
to the mystery. After studying the express receipt with the closest attention, Burns
removed his eyeglasses. His eyes sparkled with excitement. Well, he remarked,
gruffly, can you beat that? The detective to whom this query was addressed
smiled wanly and tossed a card to the inspector. On the card was engraved
Henry Bentz Wines and Liquors, three nine five Kent Avenue, in Brooklyn,
New York. The murder trunk was shipped from that guy's saloon, said the
detective, pointing to the name on the card. Burns beamed across the desk
at the detective. Could Ben's give any enlightened description of the man who shipped
it? He asked, he could, and he did, answered the detective.
He told me that on the morning of Saturday, January twenty first,
a thick set man about fifty five years of age, of medium height,
with gray hair and a gray mustache, came into the saloon. After buying
some drinks and treating all hands at the bar, he asked permission to leave
in the back room a trunk which he had on the sidewalk until he got
an expressman to take it away. The permission was granted. The man then
asked for a pen, ink and paper. The ink given to him was
blue, of the same shade as that with which the address on the murder
trunk was written. Half an hour later, the expressman called for the trunk,
gave Bens a receipt for it, and put it into his wagon.
The detective added that there was nothing to indicate with certainty that Bence was prevaricating
or withholding any information that could throw further light on the tragedy. Another new
development, the strangest in the case, now engrossed the attention of Inspector Burns.
One of his detectives made a report which filled him with radiant energy.
Wow, that's really excited. If you've got radiant energy, you are excited.
This new development that had Inspector Burns positively radiating was a report that quotes
something unusual unquote was taking place in the apartment of Edward Unger on the fifth
floor of a tenement a twenty two Ridge Street, Manhattan. An elderly woman
who lived in the tenement was complaining that the rooms were the scene of misconduct
of some kind. The parrot, she remarked to the grocer, it's raising
the dickens. Nobody ever heard that bird screaming so loudly or so frequently.
All I could understand of his gab was where's Gus? Where's Guss? Where's
Gus? Indeed, and if you'd like to know, just like this parrot
would like to know just what happened to Gus, then please do rejoin me
this Thursday for part two, the thrilling conclusion of kind of Murders. The
parrot wants to know what happened to Gus. Until then, thank you so
much for being here. I look forward to seeing you on Thursday. I'm
Zevan Odelberg, and this has been kind of murdery.
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