The Cases That Haunt Us (29 page)

RAIL
SIXTEEN

This is the single most important piece of evidence upon which the case against Bruno Richard Hauptmann hinges. It remains one of the most famous pieces of evidence in the history of modern criminology, right up there with the
JFK
“magic bullet” and the Simpson case glove.

First, let us consider the ladder itself. It has often been described as “crude” and “homemade,” but when you actually look at it closely, it is pretty ingenious. It seems crude because it is so light and the rungs are so much farther apart than on a normal ladder. Well, it had to be light to carry easily, and when Mark Olshaker and I examined it, we thought that whoever built it knew exactly how far apart the rungs could be spaced and still allow climbing; in other words, no more than absolutely necessary.

The sectional structure is equally ingenious. The first two sections fold together on hinges, and the third section fits onto the second section if it is needed. This ladder had been thought through and designed by someone who could visualize the finished product.

Someone like a carpenter.

And don’t forget the ladder sketches found in Hauptmann’s notebook.

Then we get to the two prongs of Arthur Koehler’s research. The first used wood samples and cutting-blade patterns to pinpoint the most likely location where the lumber was prepared, shipped, and sold. Can it be just an amazing coincidence that the place he came up with was right there in the Bronx? Even more amazing, Hauptmann once worked for National Lumber and Millwork. Of course, like everything else about this case, some have questioned Koehler’s research methods, techniques, and assumptions, but I have seen no compelling argument that his analysis was incorrect.

And now we come to the heart of the ladder case. On Wednesday, September 26, 1934, two days after Henry Bruckman had found the phone number and address on the molding inside Manfred’s closet, police were once again looking around Hauptmann’s attic for clues. According to the official account, they noticed a gap in the floor; one floorboard about eight feet long in the southwest corner had been removed. Where the board was missing, there were empty nail holes in four successive joists where it would have been hammered down. Koehler determined by matching grain patterns and nail holes that rail sixteen of the kidnap ladder had been the board removed from the attic. It could have been, based on the prosecution’s theory, that Hauptmann ran out of lumber at the last minute and so had to use what was on hand.

But like everything else, this theory has also been disputed. Hauptmann’s defenders point out that the police had been poking around the attic several times before they noticed the gap. Is this the kind of thing you miss? Then they also point out that the police had exclusive access to the apartment for several days after the arrest. They wouldn’t even let in the
FBI
. The matter was “cleared up” as a misunderstanding about jurisdiction according to a memorandum of September 28, 1934, from J. Edgar Hoover, who, though annoyed, seemed to accept the police explanation. But technically speaking, if you’re going to plant evidence, this would be the time.

The opportunity was there and so was the motivation. But let’s look at the big picture. We’ve examined the ladder and Arthur Koehler’s analysis of the matching grain patterns and find it compelling, despite a several inch gap between the end of rail sixteen and the rest of the board still in place in the attic.

What this means is that if police did plant evidence, they would have had to remove the actual rail sixteen from the ladder and replace it with a substitute cut from a certain piece of board. They would have then have had to remove a board from Hauptmann’s attic floor and replace it with the remainder of the board from which the substitute rail sixteen had been fashioned, being careful to create new nail holes that lined up with the existing nail holes in the four joists underneath. They would have had to destroy the original rail sixteen but make sure that the substitute looked enough like it in terms of grain, coloration, contour, and distress marks so that if anyone happened to compare it with one of the original photographs taken just after the crime, they couldn’t tell the difference.

And then, on top of all that, the men who pulled off this switcheroo would have had to be awfully damn sure than anyone and everyone involved in the conspiracy was completely reliable and that no one would spill. Because if even one person did, not only would the case against Hauptmann be in terrible jeopardy, but each of them would be out of a job and facing serious penitentiary time for tampering with evidence. It’s one thing to try to influence witnesses to be a little more authoritative in their identifications. It’s quite another to out-and-out falsify evidence, especially when the
FBI
already has its nose out of joint and would like nothing better than to slam the police. Making a payroll book that almost no one’s seen before disappear is one thing if you want to tamper with evidence. Making a piece of the ladder disappear is quite another.

Though I do wonder why a carpenter who had access to plenty of lumber would have to cannibalize his own attic for a piece of wood, for these reasons, I find it extremely difficult to believe that rail sixteen did not actually come from the spot the police and prosecution said it did.

PUTTING
TOGETHER
THE
PIECES

I think there has to be serious question as to whether Bruno Richard Hauptmann got a fair trial. Forgetting even the circus atmosphere and the nation’s call for blood, particularly against a foreigner whose country had been on the opposite side in the Great War, other factors stood strongly against him. His own lead counsel, Edward Reilly, privately thought his client guilty and stated that he hoped Hauptmann would get the chair. Reilly was at odds with the rest of the defense team for his poor handling of several aspects of the case and spent a total of thirty-eight minutes with Hauptmann before the trial. Reilly came up with only one handwriting expert, whose testimony was lackluster, and drove away another expert who was convinced she could prove the handwriting on the notes was not Hauptmann’s. Reilly’s five-hour summation was chaotic and lame, delivered after a drinking bout at lunch. Most people there thought he was intoxicated.

If we take into account not only Hauptmann’s lead attorney making a mess of the case, but also the strong possibility that witnesses were swayed and that Hauptmann was abused by the police while in custody, what can we still say about the case against him? Not whether he got a perfect trial or even a fair trial, but whether or not he was the right guy.

You may have noticed something curious in the way this narrative unfolded. In relating the events following the night of March 1, 1932, I generally referred to the kidnappers in the plural. In fact, the existence of multiple offenders was the working assumption of both the New Jersey State Police and the
FBI
. Yet once Bruno Hauptmann was arrested, all thought of more than one person’s involvement seems to have evaporated. In fact, once Hauptmann was identified, most, if not all, serious work to uncover any other suspects ceased.

Does this make sense? I don’t think so.

A couple of evidentiary items suggest more than one person. The first is Dr. Condon’s belief that he heard some discussion between Cemetery John and another individual during his telephone conversation. The second is the impression by both Lindbergh and Al Reich that John had lookouts at the cemetery observing the car and looking for police.

Then there are the details in the notes themselves. I don’t pay serious attention to whether a ransom note speaks of
I
or
we.
In itself, that’s meaningless in determining if more than one person is involved. What I tell my people is to stand back and look at what the entire communication is saying. And in this case, an elaborate story was presented about how the baby was being cared for by two nurses on board a boat. Clearly, this did not happen. The baby was dead and discarded the very night of the abduction.

But this story is too elaborate for an otherwise unsophisticated offender to have made up just to get the money. In my opinion, the story of how the baby was being cared for, and by whom, represents the plan of what was
supposed to happen.
The baby’s accidental death in the fall to the window ledge or foundation footings canceled all that, but you can’t very well admit that and expect to get the money. So you stick with your original story, even down to stripping the sleeping suit off the corpse before you get rid of it. This all suggests to me more than one offender.

As does the crime scene itself. Mark and I and our researcher Katherine Johnston Ramsland spent several hours in the Hopewell house. It is now a state-run school for teenaged boys, but the building is still very much as the Lindberghs left it, down to the original wood paneling in the library and the mantel and Delft tiles imported from Holland above the fireplace in the baby’s nursery.

Examining the house and the surrounding countryside, and analyzing the logistics, it is virtually inconceivable to us that one man alone could have pulled off this kidnapping. The easiest and most efficient way to place the ladder would have been directly in front of the nursery window, yet that would have put it directly in front of the library window on the first floor, where there was a good chance Colonel Lindbergh would have been sitting. So the ladder had to be positioned to the side. This corresponds with the impressions left in the ground, but makes access into the window and back out again extremely awkward. It would be nearly impossible for the intruder to maneuver from the ladder to the narrow window, pry it open, climb through, snatch the child, carry him in a bag back out the window and to the ladder without falling, never mind without dropping the bag. The only efficient way to get the child from the nursery window to the ladder is through a handoff.

Was this a handoff of one intruder to another or of a household staff member to an intruder? Could be either, but the dual-intruder theory makes more sense because there is no good reason to suspect any of the servants in the house that night of direct complicity in the crime. But someone had the time to wipe down the room for prints, and this would have been someone sufficiently familiar with the room not to waste time. I just do not believe it was possible for one person to do all that: to drive close enough to the house at night, carry the ladder, the bag, and chisel up to the wall, climb up, climb in, and take the child all by himself. More than one individual took part in the crime that night.

Add to this logistical issue the matter of intelligence. The criminals had up-to-the-minute knowledge. The baby was not supposed to be in Hopewell that night. Only a few people knew that. Was Bruno Hauptmann so unaware of the Lindberghs’ habits that he just lucked into going to kidnap the baby on the one Tuesday of his life that he slept at Hopewell? Those are pretty long odds.

Or did Hauptmann drive to Englewood, pull up at Next Day Hill, discover that the child was not there, then get back in his car with his ladder and drive for more than an hour almost halfway across the state to Hopewell to carry out his mission? Once he got to Next Day Hill, how would he have found out? Did he sneak into this huge estate, not find the baby, then leave? Did he knock on the door and casually ask where he could find the Lindbergh baby? Was he able to accomplish this without anyone seeing him? It just doesn’t make any sense, and it doesn’t match with the timing of the kidnapping as it took place in Hopewell.

Whoever took the baby that night had to have inside information. This doesn’t mean one of the servants was consciously in on the crime, only that someone—likely Violet Sharpe—let the information slip to someone else to whom the kidnappers had a direct line. Though he was meticulously investigated, nothing turned up to suggest any direct link between Hauptmann and anyone who would have had this information.

WHODUNIT?

So did Bruno Richard Hauptmann do it?

I think he did
something.
If not, he is the victim of the most incredible, almost indescribable bad luck in the annals of law enforcement: that he was a semiliterate German immigrant when all indications pointed to a semiliterate German immigrant as the writer of the ransom notes; that his handwriting and usage were close enough to the notes for a series of experts to declare it a match; that he resembled the eyewitness descriptions; that he had maps of the area near Hopewell because he said he used to hunt there; that he had come to the United States illegally after a series of crimes that included armed robbery and breaking and entering using a ladder; that he was a skilled carpenter with drawings of ladders in his notebooks when the key to the crime was an individually designed and constructed ladder; that there was another sketch of the money box in one of the ransom notes that looked like something a carpenter would draw; that he had purchased lumber and once worked for the establishment where some of the wood for the ladder had been purchased; that he had about a third of the ransom cash hidden in his garage and he lied about it; that he had come into money and was able to start living a better lifestyle at exactly the same time as the ransom was passed; that he lived close to the cemetery where the original meeting with Cemetery John took place, and the cemetery where the ransom was handed over; that through a lapse of memory he forgot that he hadn’t actually written Jafsie’s address and phone number inside his son’s closet. This string of bad luck would have extended so far as to include having bought a keg of nails from the same batch as those that were used in the kidnap ladder!

We could go on, but I think you get the idea.

Hauptmann had a compulsive, controlling personality. Like many men of his generation, he controlled his household, he controlled the money, he made the decisions. His wife went along docilely and willingly. He kept many secrets from her, and no one has suggested she knew anything of the kidnapping or the presence of the ransom money in the garage. She didn’t even know his first name was Bruno until the police told her. She believed in him, and it is understandable that he didn’t want to disappoint that belief, even at the cost of his life.