The Mad Bomber of New York (26 page)

“Have you ever driven to New York City, George?” one of the detectives asked. Metesky said that he had, and when asked if he had routed his trips through White Plains, he admitted it to be the case.

In a bedside drawer, Detective Rowan discovered a notebook with the name “George P. Metesky” boldly printed on the cover and containing some hand-printed pages within. The men flipped through the book and instantly recognized the distinctive lettering and staccato phrases used by the writer. At that point Metesky was given a pen and a sheet of yellow paper and asked to write his name. The officers watched intently as each disjoined letter appeared on the page like plucked notes on a violin, and from the characteristic double bars of the first letter
G
, they knew they had their man.

With bespectacled eyes peering up at the detectives, Metesky politely asked, “This is not then about an auto accident?” The men exchanged glances, and Detective Lynch responded, “Why don't you go ahead and get dressed, George. We'd like to see the garage.”

A moment later, George Metesky walked out of his bedroom. He was wearing freshly shined brown shoes, a brown cardigan sweater, a red dotted necktie—and a double-breasted blue suit with narrow pinstripes. It was neatly buttoned.

He led the group outside along a muddy, gravel-strewn driveway, and, as the icy fog glistened in the dancing flashlight beams, he unlocked the door and guided the men into his garage. The black Daimler sedan sat silently in the darkness. As Metesky flicked on the lights, the broom-swept and well-ordered workshop came into view. Rows of methodically placed tools appeared along the walls, and at the back of the structure lay a spotless workbench and a box of more tools underneath. At once, Detective Lynch's attention was drawn to a manually controlled metalworking lathe resting atop the bench. As he began to investigate, Metesky again solicited, “This is not then about an auto accident?”

Detective Lynch studied Metesky momentarily and said, “You know why we're here, don't you, George?”

Metesky grimaced slightly and shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, George,” persisted the detective. “You know.”

The officers drew closer in a tightening ring around their suspect. “Perhaps I had better consult an attorney,” stammered Metesky.

Sensing a possible confession, Lynch persevered, “Never mind an attorney, George. Why are we here?”

Metesky's eyes narrowed and his breathing became quick and uneven. “Maybe you suspect that I'm the Mad Bomber,” he offered.

“Maybe you are not so
mad
,” Detective Lynch responded with a grin. “Tell me. George, what does F.P. stand for?”

The trepidation seemed to melt away from Metesky's mind and his demeanor instantly transformed to one of purpose and self-assurance. He looked around the garage at each of the men and haughtily adjusted the knot of his tie.

“Fair Play,” came the answer, his blue eyes wide with defiance.

By the time the handcuffed Metesky had been led back down the unpaved driveway and into the waiting cars, Anna and Mae Milauskas had awoken and huddled at the front doorstep. Shivering in the cold and bewildered by what was unfolding, they sobbed and pleaded with the men. “George couldn't hurt anybody. Don't worry about him. He couldn't hurt anybody.” As the entourage sped away into the night, Metesky gazed plaintively at his gaunt sisters through the fogged rear window of the unmarked patrol car.

Within minutes of arriving at Waterbury Police headquarters, Detective Lynch telephoned Chief Byrnes back in New York and informed him that Metesky had been taken into custody. They reviewed the evidence compiled at the home and Byrnes directed that Detective Lynch begin a preliminary interrogation. In the meantime, Byrnes and other high officials of the department, including chief of detectives James Leggett, Captain Howard Finney, and deputy commissioners Walter Arm and Aloysius Melia, together with representatives of the bomb squad and the police laboratory, piled into multiple official-use vehicles and sped north through the darkness to Waterbury, Connecticut.

At 1:30 a.m., Metesky was taken to one of several interrogation rooms on the second floor of the Waterbury detective bureau, where he was seated opposite Detective Lynch and the entire New York–Waterbury arresting team. Metesky peered at the officers with a pleasant and cooperative calm and, for the better part of the questioning, smiled affably. It was, according to one television report, “an innocent, happy, strange smile.” He spoke in soft and courteous tones, and though he had no foreign accent, as had been predicated by some on the force and in the press, he frequently resorted to double negatives and grammatical lapses of speech.

Using a prepared chronological chart of events and furiously scribbling notes on a yellow tablet as he listened, Detective Lynch began his questioning with the earliest bombings and letters, and slowly moved forward in time. Though Metesky appeared hazy about some of the dates and particulars of several events, he worked closely with the detective and willingly made a full admission of responsibility for each of the units, as he called them, providing technical details known only to police. Metesky explained that he “got a bum deal” from Con Ed after being gassed on the job in 1931. Having contracted tuberculosis and having received little compensation from his employer, Metesky continued, he was left with no alternative but to take matters into his own hands.

Almost as soon as it happened, word of Metesky's apprehension had begun to spread, and all through the night hordes of media began to converge on Waterbury. Radio-equipped cars from New York and all over New England transported news reporters and equipment crews to the beleaguered police department, and soon representatives from the national wire services as well as major television networks began to appear on the scene. An ecstatic
Waterbury Republican-American
would brag, “Waterbury went coast-to-coast this morning as the first news of the arrest of a suspect in New York's 16-year hunt for the man New York police dubbed the ‘Mad Bomber' leaked out.”

At 3:00 a.m., the officers took a break from their inquiry and placed Metesky in a holding cell. Hearing a ruckus downstairs, Captain Pakul hurried to the department's first-floor booking area and was immediately accosted by a slew of early arriving local news reporters. “There is absolutely no question of it,” declared Pakul to the swelling crowd. “He's the guy.” The Captain identified Metesky as a fifty-four-year-old resident of Waterbury and confirmed that he had made admissions covering approximately sixty different bombs. Pakul commended Metesky's “remarkable memory” in readily recalling pertinent details of each event, and confirmed recently published statements that the suspect had suffered from tuberculosis.

As Pakul spoke with members of the news media, officials from the New York City Police Department finally arrived at Waterbury headquarters and proceeded without public comment to the upstairs interrogation room, where the other detectives were hopelessly attempting to gain a few moments of sleep. Detective Lynch composed himself and proceeded to brief the men on the admissions that had been made by their suspect. At 4:40 a.m., Metesky was roused from his holding cell and once again led to the interrogation room. Though he had had little if any sleep, his cheerful demeanor dimmed not the slightest, and as the questioning commenced he once again remained smiling and cooperative.

The inquiry, now conducted by Chief Leggett in the presence of the other police officials as well as a stenographer, began with much of the same ground covered by Detective Lynch. He inquired as to Metesky's motive for the bombings and his injury at the Hell Gate power station, and he elicited a detailed description of his subsequent illness and his attempts to obtain satisfaction through the workmen's compensation system. One by one, Metesky was then taken through all of the bombings from 1940 through 1956 and asked to explain, describe, and corroborate the techniques used to carry them out. Again, Metesky admitted to each and every bombing.

With the assistance of Detective William Schmitt, who joined the officers in the interrogation room, the questioning became much more technical in nature. Schmitt, who for years had been assigned the task of analyzing the various fragments and inner components of Metesky's bombs, understood, perhaps better than any other person, the detailed machinations of the infernal machines and their construction, and he periodically interposed questions for the chief to ask. Metesky obligingly offered explicit details regarding the design and inner workings of his various bombs, removing any remaining doubt that the Mad Bomber had finally been captured. When the discussion turned to the early fusing mechanisms, however, even Schmitt was amazed by Metesky's ingenuity. Their dialogue was captured by the stenographer:

Q
. What was the means used to explode that bomb [at Grand Central Station]?

A
. It was a wafer.

Q
. What do you mean a wafer?

A
. The wafer was a Parke-Davis throat disc which would be affected by the moisture in the bomb housing. I would put about three drops of water in it.

Leggett turned to Schmitt with wide eyes and a slackened jaw. The department had been puzzled for years about some of the timers utilized by the Bomber and suddenly the remarkable technique had been revealed by its creator.

Q
. How did it work?

A
. It would compress the disc releasing the pressure on the ball bearing.

Leggett took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, signaling a break in the questioning. “Would you like a cup of coffee and a sandwich?” he asked. Metesky smiled broadly and cleared his throat. “I would like some throat discs.”

Though the search of 17 Fourth Street had included the basement of the home and the confessed workshop of the accused, detectives had failed to uncover any bomb components or other corroborating physical evidence of Metesky's menacing endeavor. It had been assumed that the materials used for each bomb had been separately purchased just prior to construction in an effort to keep stockpiled incriminating evidence to a minimum, but the police weren't sure. Following the formal interrogation, Detective Schmitt entered the small holding cell where Metesky lay on a canvas-blanketed bunk and asked, “George do you recognize my name?” Metesky smiled and responded that he did. In an effort to establish a rapport, Schmitt then asked whether he had any thoughts or concerns, knowing that Metesky must have been aware from published reports that he, Schmitt, had been taking apart and analyzing many of the bomb units at the police lab.