The Boston Strangler (58 page)

It was an extraordinary session that was about to begin in the stifling courtroom. Every person present knew that the man before them was Albert DeSalvo, the Boston Strangler. But not once was the word “strangling” to be used. There were to be references to “certain crimes,” there were to be allusions to DeSalvo's “past history,” but at no time would anything more explicit be said. In the eyes of the law he was Albert DeSalvo, the Green Man, about to be judged as to his competency to stand trial on indictments charging armed robbery, assault, and indecent and lascivious acts—but not murder.

Almost unnoticed, a white-haired clerk rose and began his “Hear Ye! Hear Ye!”, concluding with a fervent, “God bless the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.” Everyone stood up as Judge Horace J. Cahill, elderly, pink-faced, bespectacled, and stern in his black robes, entered and took his place on the bench.

First, Dr. Mezer and Dr. Tartakoff testified that DeSalvo suffered from a commitable mental disease but could stand trial. Dr. Mezer described it as “chronic undifferentiated schizophrenia” which “would make it difficult for him to accept the world of reality as most people know it.” Dr. Tartakoff had characterized him as a “sociopath with dangerous tendencies”; that is, “an individual who from early life has shown deviations from what are usually considered normal patterns of behavior, thinking, and emotional reactions.”

There was a bustle in the room when the last psychiatrist to testify, Dr. Robey, took the stand. It had been his diagnosis that originally resulted in DeSalvo's commitment. A tall, long-legged, partially bald man with a boyish, eager face, he brought with him a copy of DeSalvo's medical record at Bridgewater.

He differed sharply as to Albert's competence. The man suffered from “schizophrenic reaction, chronic undifferentiated type”—a type that “also has very extensive signs of sexual deviation.” And he added:

“My opinion is that I cannot—repeat—cannot consider him competent to stand trial.” He had seen DeSalvo at Bridgewater, he said, “vacillate back and forth, sometimes appearing strictly sociopathic; at other times almost like an acute anxiety hysteric; at other times appearing much more obsessive and compulsive; again appearing very close to wild overt psychosis.” He had seen DeSalvo “when he appeared to be almost very much what we refer to as in a homosexual panic, or sexual panic of some sort.”

At this DeSalvo reddened and shook his head emphatically.

How would DeSalvo act under stress of a trial, Conn asked.

“He could become more overtly paranoid and indulge in an outburst,” Dr. Robey said. He might also become violent. Under Conn's questioning, he went on to say that he considered DeSalvo a “compulsive confessor.” He added, “He has a real need, because of his underlying illness, to prove to himself and to others his own importance.”

Bailey began a lengthy cross-examination. Dr. Robey knew, of course, that DeSalvo said he had faked his hallucinations, because he thought he would be sent to Bridgewater and be released soon after. Dr. Robey repeated his conviction that Albert had not been faking.

As for understanding the charges pending against him, Dr. Robey felt that DeSalvo might “intellectually know” them but—“Emotionally, I am not so sure.…” In such patients one often found the “emotional awareness of the significance is lost or distorted.”

Dr. Robey also felt that under the stress of cross-examination, DeSalvo would be “in such a state that he would not be making sense.”

Bailey asked: “To your knowledge, has he been in circumstances of great stress?”

“No.”

“He has not?”

“No,” repeated Dr. Robey, firmly.

The lawyer's voice suddenly rang out: “Are you aware that he has been the subject of the most gigantic homicide investigation in the history of the Commonwealth?”

There was a sudden hush in the court. It was the first reference to the fact everyone knew and no one mentioned—Albert's other identity. This was to happen four more times: the testimony walking up the hill to this sensational fact and then walking back down away from it. All were aware—the judge, the psychiatrists, the attorneys, and Albert DeSalvo himself—of his rights, his dangers, and their obligation to say nothing that would infringe on those rights or open the door to those dangers.

Dr. Robey said quietly, “Yes.” Bailey did not pursue the question but asked if it was not a fact that DeSalvo refused to cooperate with him.

No, said Dr. Robey.

Wasn't it a fact, Bailey went on, that DeSalvo decided not to cooperate with him after he learned that Dr. Robey had written a letter containing “confidential information” about him to a writer named Gerold Frank?

Dr. Robey recalled writing to Mr. Frank who, he said, had been originally referred to him by Assistant Attorney General Bottomly. He did not remember the letter's contents, however.

Bailey showed him a copy of the letter, dated August 4, 1965. “Yes,” said Dr. Robey with a smile, after reading it. It was his letter. Judge Cahill ordered it entered as Exhibit 1. Bailey revealed that another inmate of Bridgewater had rifled Dr. Robey's files, come upon a carbon of the letter, and had shown it to Albert. In the letter Dr. Robey wrote, in part, that he still considered Albert incompetent to stand trial, and described him as “paranoid.”

Was it not a fact, asked Bailey, that from then on DeSalvo refused to tell Dr. Robey anything about himself, that “he has never consented to discuss and has, in fact, not discussed certain crimes under investigation of which you are well aware—serious crimes?”

It was the second reference to the other Albert DeSalvo.

Dr. Robey said no, Albert would say he did not want to talk about himself “and then he would proceed to tell you a great deal about himself,” but then he agreed that Albert had not discussed the other crimes with him.

Then Bailey stated that DeSalvo had discussed these crimes with other psychiatrists.

The cross-examination moved on to other subjects.

Now Albert DeSalvo stood in the witness stand, almost at attention, his hands at his sides, and Bailey, speaking quietly, began to lead him through a catechism:

“Albert, have you understood the proceedings that have gone on today, do you think?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you heard the testimony of the doctors?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you feel you are ready to go to trial?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever had any doubts at all about what your defense would be if these cases were called to trial?”

“I have never had any doubts as to what my defense would be because I'm doing only what is right, no matter what the consequences may be. I am fully aware of these.”

“Now, Albert, do you wish further treatment by psychiatrists?”

“What I always asked for was medical help, and I haven't yet received any.”

“Are you concerned about going to prison?”

“No, sir. I am concerned about being helped. If not, what is the good of living?”

“Would you rather be in Walpole Prison or Bridgewater?”

“I prefer not to be in any prison. I prefer to be in the hospital where I can at least get some type of treatment.”

Bailey led him into the subject of his treatment at Bridgewater. DeSalvo said instead of medical attention, “when I came into the institution, I was first brought up to what they call the “F” ward for highly violent patients. I was stripped naked, sat in a chair. There were four or five officers sitting watching television, while the other inmates were screaming and running around and doing things. They had me sitting there naked, asking me certain questions—unethical questions.” He paused. “They told me, ‘If you're not crazy now, you will be when we get through with you.'”

Bailey asked, “Albert, are you concerned about the possibility of conviction?”

“Yes, sir, I am concerned.”

“Do you realize there is a risk that you might be convicted?”

“Yes.”

“Are you willing to assume that risk in order to have this matter thrashed out?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

The third reference to Albert's other identity came when Conn, cross-examining him, asked, “Do you fully understand the possible penalties for the crimes under which you are currently indicted in this county?” And when DeSalvo said yes, went on, “Do you fully understand the implications of your past conduct? Do you understand what can happen to you, sir, as a result of what you have done?” Yes, said DeSalvo, again.

The fourth time came in a series of questions by Conn: “You indicated, Mr. DeSalvo, that you made certain disclosures to Assistant Attorney General John Bottomly. Did you have such interviews?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And during the course of these interviews, you made certain disclosures to Mr. Bottomly?”

Judge Cahill interrupted. “That is characterizing it, indicating that it was something out of the ordinary. He is protected on that on the advice of counsel.”

“Yes, your Honor,” said Conn. And went on: “There were certain conditions spelled out before you talked to him?”

That was right.

“Can you give us the gist of these conditions?”

“Well,” said Albert. He sought for words. “My attorney explained that he would have certain high officials talk to me and prove that the person involved in these things is just not shooting blanks—and who would be in a position to verify that these are true facts. I was told that under the conditions anything I said would never be held against me.”

Conn: “And what was the information going to be used for? Were you told? To prove that in such—”

Bailey had stood up, but Judge Cahill broke in. “You are getting close—”

“I know,” said Conn.

Judge Cahill repeated his words warningly: “You are getting closer—”

Bailey spoke. “Your Honor, this is a little difficult for the defendant. I will stipulate that the information was to be used for the benefit of the doctors in determining whether or not this man's history was fact or delusion.”

Judge Cahill sat back. “All right. Let it go at that.”

Conn asked, Did DeSalvo know what his defense would be?

Yes, he said. Not guilty by reason of insanity.

“Do you feel that you are sick?”

“I feel that I am in a mental condition.”

How long did he think he had been in this “mental condition?”

DeSalvo spoke softly, now and then gesturing with his hands at his sides—turning them, palms up, as if seeking to find words. “I feel that it could have started from my childhood and erupted more violently during the later stages of my life. I have reexamined my own background many many times, having time; and after thinking this all over, I said, ‘What good is my life now?' I have to do what I think is right, no matter what happens. So long as the truth is revealed, so society will somehow understand it—”

“What do you mean by ‘right'? What is ‘right' for you?” Conn asked.

Outside, there was the sudden rat-a-tat-tat of jackhammers pounding on a construction job. DeSalvo waited. The June heat was oppressive—and became more so when Judge Cahill ordered the windows closed and even the fans turned off so DeSalvo's words could be heard above the outside noise. Life seemed stilled in a haze of heat that had settled in the huge, high-ceilinged courtroom with its dark-stained chairs and benches, and its four square chandeliers. Only DeSalvo's thin boy's voice and the small impersonal clicking of the stenotypist's machine could be heard.

“I feel that what is right is to tell the truth, and if to tell the truth is going to hurt me.…” He gestured resignedly. “Well, that's the chance. I am willing to take the risk because if I have to be punished in any way, then these are the penalties I must accept.” He paused. “I have got to live with myself. I have got to do what I feel is right, no matter what may happen to me.”

“This is something you
have
to do?” pursued Conn. His accusing gaze seemed even more relentless. Was the State, perhaps, attempting to prove him incompetent, suggesting that DeSalvo labored under a compulsion to confess?

“No, it is not something I have to do,” DeSalvo said. “It's very hard to explain. It's something inside you, that once in your life you have got to do what is right.”

“And what is right, Mr. DeSalvo, even though it hurts your wife and children, whom you love, is to tell the truth?”

Yes, said DeSalvo.

“And to tell what you have done in the past?”

It was the final reference.

Albert began to lift his hands again, then dropped them.

“I feel that I couldn't live with myself.… I wish to in my own way to release everything that is inside me, the truth. And whatever may be the consequences, I will accept because I have always from the very beginning wanted to tell the truth.”

Ten days later Judge Cahill found Albert DeSalvo competent. On July 11, 1966, he was brought before Judge George P. Ponte in the same courthouse. He pleaded not guilty. Assistant District Attorney Conn recommended that DeSalvo be remanded without bail to Bridgewater, for trial—as the Green Man—at a later date to be agreed upon.

Lee Bailey moved close to the bench and said, “Your Honor, though this man is charged with other offenses, he has committed thirteen homicides. I agree that Bridgewater State Hospital is the best place for him.”

The two massive guards took DeSalvo into custody again.

Albert DeSalvo, the Boston Strangler, had still not—legally—been in a courtroom.

Today DeSalvo, awaiting treatment—“perhaps the doctors can cut out the corner of my brain that made me do those things”—continues his duties at Bridgewater, caring for senile patients, shaving the old men, feeding them when they are unable to feed themselves.

Four years had passed since Anna Slesers was found dead by her son in the hallway of her small apartment at 77 Gainsborough Street and one of the most exhaustive manhunts of modern times began. Thirteen women had died, hundreds more had been assaulted, and one of the most civilized of cities had been terrorized by a single man, pathologically criminal and cunning.