Read Erased: Missing Women, Murdered Wives Online
Authors: Marilee Strong
Tags: #Violence in Society, #General, #Murderers, #Case studies, #United States, #Psychology, #Women's Studies, #Murder, #Uxoricide, #Pregnancy & Childbirth, #True Crime, #Social Science, #Crimes against, #Pregnant Women, #Health & Fitness
E R A S E D
premeditated his wife’s murder. They theorized that Evelyn was killed
after she had gone to bed on the night of May 16, 1955, after she had
removed her dental plate. (The fact that the retainer she wore to keep
her remaining teeth in place while she slept was not found supported
this scenario.)
Marianne Beaman, who hadn’t seen Ewing since he jumped bail,
testified that he had actually proposed to her twice. A particularly
damning piece of evidence was the discovery of a codicil Ewing added
to his will after his wife’s disappearance, bequeathing 50 percent of
his estate to Marianne and just $1 to his wife ‘‘because she had ample
financial provisions for her needs.’’ Although Scott had argued that
he had no motive to kill his wife because her brother was actually her
primary beneficiary, in fact Evelyn’s will stated that he and Throsby
were to share her fortune equally.
The defense argued that Ewing’s bizarre and frequently changing
explanations for his wife’s disappearance were simply a husband’s
foolish but understandable attempts to assuage his own bruised
ego, to shield himself from the painful realization that his wife had
abandoned him. Scott never took the stand—on the advice of his
lawyers and against his own wishes, his attorney insisted. Instead,
they put on a few witnesses who claimed to have seen a woman who
looked like Mrs. Scott after she went missing.
Both at the beginning and end of the trial, the defense attempted
to abort the whole proceeding, claiming that the court had no
jurisdiction to try Scott because it had not been proved where (not to
mention if) his wife died. At best, the court should have to wait seven
years for Mrs. Scott to be declared legally dead. That ‘‘Hail Mary’’
attempt at a legal pass was denied.
In his closing argument, Leavy described how circumstantial
evidence forms an unbreakable chain of proof, using many of the
words and metaphors Stanislaus County prosecutors would convey
to the Scott Peterson jury five decades later.
‘‘In no circumstantial case does one bit of evidence stand alone
in establishing a corpus delicti of murder, establish the essential ele-ments of murder, or the guilt of the defendant,’’ Leavy began. ‘‘You
have to take one circumstance that may be meaningless standing
alone, then you take another circumstance that may be meaningless
standing alone, and the two together may not give meaning. But
maybe there’s another circumstance, a fourth, a fifth. When you
take all of the circumstances together, they are a mosaic, a picture,
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of the corpus delicti of murder. They establish together each link
in the chain of circumstances that is inconsistent with any rational
hypothesis of innocence.
‘‘By your good reasoning, by your good judgment, you will come
to the conclusion that Evelyn Scott is deceased . . . and that the defen-dant is the perpetrator,’’ the deputy DA continued. ‘‘No, we can’t
say that she was suffocated, chloroformed, poisoned, or whatever,
but that by some criminal agency she met foul play. And there is only
one person, with the exclusion of all others, that the evidence points
to, and that is L. Ewing Scott.’’
Defense attorney Tom Williams tried to use Scott’s mistakes as
proof of innocence, as Mark Geragos would a half century later for
Scott Peterson— as if anyone is ever capable of pulling off a perfect
murder.
‘‘If Mr. Scott is clever enough to murder his wife and conceal her
body so that it has not been found for two and one-half years, then
that man is not stupid enough to leave anything on the surface of the
ground,’’ Williams said, referring to the eyeglasses and other items
found in the cast-off incinerator ashes.
His cocounsel, Al Matthews, was left with the task of putting the
fear of God in the jury—to scare the jurors into believing they could
be executing a man whose ‘‘victim’’ might actually be alive. ‘‘Even
if everything the prosecution has brought into this courtroom is
absolutely true,’’ said Matthews, in a Perry Mason–like moment, ‘‘it
still doesn’t stop Mrs. Scott from walking in that front courtroom
door—and you know it.’’
Ewing Scott was so sure he would be acquitted that he told
reporters he was looking forward to being home for the holidays. He
was wrong. Four days before Christmas 1957, he was convicted of
murder in the first degree, but the jury voted to spare his life. Perhaps
they did feel some subliminal fear that Evelyn Scott might one day
reappear.
Q
All was not lost, however, from Scott’s point of view. He still had
not played his ace. Unfortunately for Ewing Scott, he never got to play
that card, as it was soon revealed how he attempted to rig the game.
Scott had devised a scheme he hoped would clear him of murder,
a plot so macabre that it sounds like something from a horror movie.
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E R A S E D
But I believe it is emblematic of the extreme Machiavellianism and
overweening narcissism of eraser killers, the psychopathic level of
callousness that can be found only in the darkest of hearts.
After Scott was convicted, a small-time television actor told police
that two men had asked him to say he saw Evelyn Scott living it up in
Rio de Janeiro after she disappeared. When questioned by police, one
of the men he identified, a private investigator who worked for Scott’s
defense, confessed to an even more sinister plot. The private eye said
that at the direction of Ewing Scott, he and another investigator on
the defense team had attempted to frame someone else for Evelyn
Scott’s murder.
The story he told was chilling: the two investigators attempted
to obtain a severed arm from a cadaver, which they intended to
plant on the property of William Brawner, the friend and former
neighbor who hosted the sixty-third birthday party for Evelyn Scott
the day before she disappeared and who had been the first to take his
suspicions of Ewing Scott to the district attorney.
The conspirators hoped to pass scientific scrutiny by injecting the
arm with blood matching Evelyn’s type. (There was no DNA testing
in those days.) To make it appear even more believable that the arm
belonged to the late Mrs. Scott, they planned to place Evelyn’s actual
wedding band on the cadaver’s ring finger. The private investigator
claimed that Scott provided a sketch of Brawner’s property and told
them where he had hidden Evelyn’s ring at the Bel Air house.
It is unclear whether the idea was actually to frame Brawner or
Evelyn’s brother, whom Brawner assisted in his fight for trusteeship
of the estate. But there was plenty of evidence that such a plot existed.
Two chiropractors testified that the investigators asked them a few
weeks after Scott was found guilty if they could supply a body part and
blood of a certain type. Two police officers testified that they had seen
the investigators near the Brawner home. A third private investigator
said that one of the conspirators approached him during the trial and
offered him $150,000 to plant the incriminating evidence.
Q
Scott appealed his conviction, contending that the evidence pre-sented at trial was insufficient to establish the corpus delicti of
murder—in other words, that it was not proven that his wife was
indeed dead and that he killed her. There was ample precedent in
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U.S. law that corpus delicti can be proved by circumstantial evidence.
But in all cases reported up to that time there had been some proof of
death in the form of a body or some part of the victim’s body, direct
evidence of how the person was killed (such as cases where a sailor
was tossed overboard at sea in front of witnesses), or an admission
or confession by the defendant to the crime.
In reviewing the conviction of Ewing Scott, the California District
Court of Appeal acknowledged that the evidence against him was
wholly circumstantial, reiterating the standard put forth in English
law and previous U.S. cases that circumstantial evidence is sufficient
to prove guilt if it is so convincing as to preclude every reasonable
hypothesis of innocence. In its 1960 ruling, the court stated in the
boldest possible terms that a killer is not entitled to a free pass because
he is clever enough to erase evidence directly connecting him to his
crime.
‘‘Appellant contends that since no body was produced, no direct
evidence of death was introduced and there was no confession, the
people’s case was based on mere suspicion and conjecture,’’ the
court stated in its published opinion on the Ewing Scott case. ‘‘If
this contention is valid it would mean that a man could commit a
secret murder and escape punishment if he was able to completely
destroy the body of his victim, however complete and convincing
the circumstantial evidence of guilt. No one would say that the law
should be powerless to uncover such a crime and inflict punishment
unless the accused had made a confession.’’
The test set forth so clearly in the Ewing Scott ruling is the same one
jurors were instructed to follow in weighing circumstantial evidence
in the Scott Peterson case: that the chain of circumstances must be so
powerful as to preclude any reasonable explanation pointing toward
innocence. Jurors are entitled and entrusted to draw inferences from
the statements and actions of the defendant both prior to and after
the crime as they shed light on character, motive, and state of mind.
‘‘Every circumstance in evidence respecting the conduct of appel-lant tended in some degree to shed light upon the question [of]
whether he believed his wife would return, or knew she could not
return,’’ Clement Shinn, the presiding justice, wrote in the Ewing
Scott ruling. ‘‘There were many incidental questions to be answered.
What did the evidence prove as to appellant’s character? Would he
have been capable of taking the life of the woman who had been his
wife of six years? Why would he have wanted to be rid of her? What
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E R A S E D
were the reasonable deductions from his conduct after May 16th with
respect to his state of mind? Did it indicate that he knew his wife was
dead? Presumably the jury gave answers to these questions that were
unfavorable to appellant.’’
The circumstantial evidence so derided by some commentators in
the Scott Peterson case helped answer similar questions. Peterson’s
lack of concern for his missing wife and child as captured on the
Amber tapes, his efforts to sell Laci’s car and home, his request for
grief counseling for Laci’s friends and family within hours of her
disappearance, his statements to Amber that he did not want any
biological children, and his talk of a future without responsibility
were all telling indicators that he knew his wife was never coming
home and that his baby was never going to be born.
The appellate court cited ample grounds to support the jury’s
verdict in the Ewing Scott case. They found it completely implausible
that Evelyn would have left home voluntarily without her dentures
and eyeglasses, without baggage or clothing, without drawing on her
bank accounts or communicating with any of the friends she held
so dear. There was no evidence that she was ill, mentally unstable,
alcoholic, or unhappy with her life, no evidence that she had harmed
any of her previous husbands or sought to harm Ewing, as he alleged.
Ewing, however, did have motive for killing Evelyn: to loot her
estate. For years even before she disappeared, he had angled for
control of her financial affairs, liquidating her assets and depositing
large sums in bank accounts all over the country. He showed no
sadness or loss at her disappearance, did not even report her missing.
Instead, he acted in all ways as if he knew she would never return.
He forged her name and fraudulently accessed her accounts. He
dated other women and even proposed marriage within six months
of his wife’s disappearance. He brought Marianne home to spend the
night with him in the bed he had shared with his wife. Since Evelyn’s
disappearance, he had done nothing but disparage her character.
When he finally faced possible punishment for his actions, he fled
from justice.
‘‘The jury could reasonably have found, and no doubt did find,
that every statement of appellant, every act and failure to act, tended
to prove that he was pleased to be rid of his wife,’’ wrote Justice
Shinn. ‘‘We can only conclude that appellant has felt immune from
a conviction of murder in the belief that his wife’s body lies where it
cannot be found.’’
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Shinn declared that the circumstantial evidence in the Ewing Scott
case ‘‘was as strong and convincing as a confession would have been’’
and more convincing than testimony for which credibility could not
be proven.
Scott ‘‘wove about himself a web of incriminating circumstances
that was complete,’’ Shinn wrote. ‘‘He has evolved from the evidence
no theory of innocence; the jury could not find a theory, nor can we.
[He] merely says, and others may say, ‘But Mrs. Scott may still be
alive.’ They would have to rest their belief upon some mythical or
miraculous hypothesis, since it could not find support in any reason-able deduction from the established facts. But the law is reason; it does
not proceed upon fantasy or remote and unrealistic possibilities.’’
Q
If there was any lingering doubt that Evelyn Scott was dead and that
her husband had killed her—even after exposure of his failed plan
to, almost literally, finger someone else with the cadaver arm—it was
extinguished by Ewing Scott himself in the waning years of his life.
After he was sent to San Quentin, Scott became something of a
jailhouse lawyer, peppering the courts and politicians and reporters
with pleas to overturn his sentence. Cocksure to the end that he
would eventually be exonerated, he even refused two offers of parole
because, he claimed, that would be tantamount to admitting guilt.
He finally was released outright in 1978.
Six years later—enfeebled and living in a tiny apartment, the
luxury he had known while married to Evelyn gone forever—Scott
confessed to Diane Wagner, a journalist who was writing a book
on the case, that he had killed his wife. He stuck to part of his
long-held story, claiming he did it because she had tried to poison
him (although by his own time line, her alleged poisoning attempt
was four years before he murdered her).
He said he struck her once on the top of the head with a rubber
mallet in their bedroom on the night of May 16, 1955, then drove her
body out to the desert near Las Vegas and buried her. He claimed he
didn’t care that he had gone to prison, but still seemed to relish one
thing: that her body was never found, that he put one over on the
police and everyone who cared about Evelyn Scott.
‘‘I was smarter than they were, wasn’t I?’’ he bragged.
C H A P T E R
F I V E
Disappearing Acts
Q BeforetheEwingScottcase,somestatesactually
forbade prosecution for murder without a body. The principle dates
back to English common law and the influential jurist Sir Matthew
Hale, who proclaimed in the eighteenth century that one should not
be convicted of murder unless ‘‘at least the body be found dead.’’ His
logic was reasonable enough, as he was aware of a few instances in
which men were convicted and executed in the absence of a body,
only to have the ‘‘victim’’ turn up later very much alive.
Over time, however, Lord Hale’s ‘‘rule’’ struck other jurists as
dangerously one-sided, especially in cases of murder on the high seas,
where bodies were almost never recovered. In the mid-nineteenth
century, British barrister William Best, who authored a highly influ-ential treatise on circumstantial evidence, noted that Hale’s rule was
unintentionally encouraging killers to dispose of their victims’ bodies
and cover up crime scenes by arson and other means to escape
punishment.
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Disappearing Acts
8 5
Although the Hale rule has long since been interpreted by judges
and legal scholars as more of a caution than a prohibition, the concept
of ‘‘no body, no crime’’ has so permeated the public consciousness
that it is not only criminals who still believe it to be true. For example,
Joran van der Sloot’s father, who was training to be a judge on the
island of Aruba at the time his son and two friends were detained
as suspects in the disappearance of a vacationing American teenager,
Natalee Holloway, used those very words to assure the three that
without a body they would never be prosecuted. He was right, at
least so far. Within a few months all three were released. As this
book goes to press more than two years after her disappearance,
Natalee has still not been found despite extensive searches in and
around the island with cadaver dogs and high-tech sonar equipment,
and no one is facing any charges whatsoever in regards to her
disappearance.
The erroneous but widespread belief that murder cannot be
proved without a body is a problem not only at trial but at the
investigative stage as well. Without a body or apparent crime scene, a
missing persons investigation may be derailed before it ever becomes
a homicide inquiry.
Q
Don Weber and Lynda Singshinsuk each seemed destined for great
things. The two had grown up in the same small town of Robinson,
Illinois, about two hundred miles south of Chicago. Don was a high
school track star and a member of one of the town’s most well-to-do
families; Lynda, a Thai immigrant whose physician father worked
at the local hospital. They didn’t begin dating until they were both
undergraduates at the University of Illinois. For the next six years, on
and off, they maintained a mostly long-distance relationship as Don
went off to law school and Lynda into training to become a doctor.
In January 1990, Lynda decided to end the relationship for good.
By that time, Weber, twenty-nine, was living in New York City,
having graduated from Fordham Law School and taken a job with
the accounting firm Peat Marwick, and was pursuing a master’s in
law at NYU with hopes of working in international business. Lynda,
twenty-four, was in her third year of medical school at Northwestern
University in Chicago, and had fallen for another man, a fellow med
student.
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