Category Archives: Criminal

Eastern State Penitentiary

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Eastern State Penitentiary, prison, isolation

Eastern State Penitentiary, Philadelphia (photo: author)

Many East Coasters recognize the photo featured on this website home page as taken inside the crenelated walls of Eastern State Penitentiary. A “model” institution when it was built outside Philadelphia in the early 1820’s, Eastern Pen remained in use until 1970, by which time officials deemed it “not fit for human habitation.” Governing magazine’s David Kidd recently created a photo essay about this crumbling institution, now near the city’s downtown.

Although the felons have left, today Eastern Pen is a tourist attraction and hosts concerts and other events. If you visited it today, May 10, you could attend a reunion of inmates and guards, who would answer your questions about their former lives there. Every fall, it hosts Terror Behind the Walls, “a massive haunted house in a real prison.”

Kidd points out that the Quakers who built Eastern Pen originally constructed only single-person cells, so that miscreants would have absolute solitude to reflect on their crimes and on the Bible. This, the founders believed, would make men truly penitent (“penitentiary”). In this original sense, a penitentiary differed from a prison, where convicts mingled and shared cells. From the time a prisoner entered Eastern Pen and was led to his cell (wearing a hood) until the time he left (also hooded), he never saw or spoke to another human being. Later, with more crowding, that changed.

The city fathers were proud of their innovation and eagerly showed it to visitors, one of whom was Charles Dickens. Dickens was horrified at the suffering he believed this total isolation would produce. He was inspired to replicate it in A Tale of Two Cities, where the solitary cell in the Bastille drove his character, Dr. Manette, insane.

 

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**** The Reversal

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Michael Connelly, Mickey Haller, Lincoln Lawyer

If you’ve read the Lincoln Lawyer series, you know Mickey Haller does most of his legal work from the back seat of his Lincoln Town Car, which has the vanity plate NT GLTY

Got my Michael Connelly fix for the year—The Reversal—a 2010 crime thriller that alternates chapters between brash lawyer Mickey Haller and his half-brother (or did you miss that one?) cynical LAPD detective Harry Bosch. Both men have teen daughters so are especially anxiety-prone when a man convicted of abducting and murdering a young girl is released from San Quentin as a result of DNA evidence and must face trial again after 24 years.

It’s interesting how Haller—working for the prosecution this time—must introduce old evidence without revealing to the jury the prejudicial information that the accused has already been convicted once. Nor can he say why some witnesses are unable to appear (dead or demented) and interviews with them, actually their previous trial testimony, must be read aloud.

While this isn’t Connelly’s best, he never disappoints and received four Amazon stars from readers. If you like every plot angle tied up with a bow, in this one, that doesn’t happen, and the author leaves Harry still pursuing leads as to the convict’s possible involvement in other crimes. It’s as if Connelly was leaving the door open for a never-written sequel.

Matthew McConaughey, Lincoln Lawyer

Matthew McConaughey stars in the movie version – note vanity plate!

For a fun Netflix pick, Matthew McConaghey in The Lincoln Lawyer. Rotten Tomatoes Critics rating: 83%. I thought it was better than that, and I’d read the book! Also notice how the movie poster changed the license plate to “NT GUILTY,” thinking viewers were too dim to figure it out, I suppose.

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Guilty Until Proven Otherwise

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house fire

(photo: Wikimedia.org)

4-28-14 update – New research published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences estimates that the number of innocent people on death row is about twice that of previous estimates–or about 120 of the approximately 3,000 people on death row in the United States, as reported by TIME. “Each quest for mathematical clarity only serves to underline the troubling paradox at the heart of the modern death penalty,” says reporter David Von Drehle. “We want the option of execution (every poll confirms this, even as the percentages in favor of capital punishment appear to be trending downward). But we also want certainty.”

The Michigan Innocence Clinic, a project of the U-M Law School, takes on cases of individuals wrongfully convicted in the state’s courts. The Clinic is modeled on Innocence Projects in many other states, with one difference. (Check what’s going on in your state.) It’s the only project in the country that focuses on cases that cannot be solved with DNA evidence.

In most felony convictions, DNA or other biological evidence is simply not available, so investigators must dig for other causes of how a prosecution went awry. Typical flaws in cases are eyewitness misidentification—with the shortcomings of eyewitness testimony repeatedly demonstrated—improper forensic science, false confessions, prosecutorial misconduct, unreliable or coerced police informants, and bad lawyering.

Take as an example the prosecution that sent David Gavitt to prison for 27 years. In 1985, his wife and two young daughters died in an overnight fire at their home, and David was hospitalized with burns and cuts. Police and prosecutors spent their energies attempting to prove a case of arson. Arson science has come a long way in recent decades, and many of the old theories about the burn patterns of fires as they spread have been soundly disproved. The Innocence Clinic brought modern experts into the analysis of Gavitt’s case, which convinced the current county prosecutor to drop the charges and release him from prison. Despite his quarter-century-plus in prison, he was luckier than Cameron Todd Willingham, convicted of arson in Corsicana, Texas, for a fire that took the lives of  his three tiny daughters. The faulty evidence that convicted Willingham also was refuted by subsequent, more scientific investigators, but the State of Texas refused to reexamine the case and executed him.

The Michigan Innocence Clinic has received some 4,000 applications (each 20 pages long) from inmates, and has a more than a dozen active cases. It has succeeded in exonerating eight prisoners so far. For a case that has previously been unsuccessfully appealed to be re-examined, not only must evidence must be strong, it must fit certain legal requirements. A video shows the kinds of holes in the prosecution that the Clinic uncovers.

According to an article by Alice Rhein in the Spring 2014 Michigan Alumnus magazine, a Clinic staff member is creating a documentary about one of its successful cases. He is attempting to crowdfund it, and so far has raised about a third of the projected $25,000 budget.

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In Secret

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3-6-14 In Secret

Oscar Issac, Elizabeth Olsen, Tom Felton, Jessica Lang, In Secret, movie, Emile Zola, Therese Raquin

If you don’t remember the 1940’s film noir classics Double Indemnity (Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck) and The Postman Always Rings Twice (Lana Turner, John Garfield), you might enjoy the new suspense movie In Secret (trailer) more than I did.  All three films share a basic plot line, with the latter based on the Émile Zola novel of obsessive love, Thérèse Raquin.

The new movie stars Elizabeth Olsen, Oscar Isaac, Tom Felton, and Jessica Lange in an affecting performance as a domineering mother-in-law who becomes sympathetic after a stroke leaves her unable to speak a terrible secret. In Secret is a period piece, set in 1860’s France (not only does mum-in-law smell a rat, we get to see them, too!), but the familiar plot made it less fun than it might have been. Rotten Tomatoes rating: 47.

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Name Your Poison

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“Cleopatra Testing Poisons on Condemned Prisoners” – by Alexandre Cabanel

“The Poisoner’s Handbook”—a perfect TV show for mystery writers–initially seemed an odd choice for one of PBS’s fine American Experience documentaries a few weeks back. It was based on the book by Deborah Blum, who appears among the show’s interviewees. About the book, Kirkus said, “Caviar for true crime fans and science buffs alike.” And so was the documentary, which you can watch here and which begins:

In 1922, 101 New Yorkers hanged themselves, 444 died in car accidents, 20 were crushed in elevators. There were 237 fatal shootings, and 34 stabbings. And that year, 997 New Yorkers died of poisoning.

Not all those deaths were intentional, it turns out. Ninety years ago, life was full of poisoning hazards at work and at home. You may remember the below-stairs tour of cleaning products, rat poisons, polishes, and “remedies” in the great home in the movie Gosford Park, all of which looked mighty suspicious when the master was murdered.

A major cause of death was carbon monoxide, an odorless, tasteless gas that got into the air thanks to leaky stoves and the piping for gaslights. Even today, when houses are shut up tight for winter, we still hear about deaths from malfunctioning space heaters or, difficult to believe though it is, charcoal grills people roll in to heat up the house. (In 2011, five members of a Long Island family were hospitalized when the 43-year-old mom actually did this.)

Poisonings are so much rarer today, the PBS program explained, because in 1917 New York City hired Dr. Charles Norris to be the city’s (and the nation’s) first chief medical examiner. Norris, born into a wealthy family, was one of those larger-than-life characters who create their own weather. Norris, in turn, hired Alexander Gettler to head the City’s first toxicology laboratory. Gettler and his staff built the field of toxicology from scratch, and he and Norris created modern forensic science. CSI fans are grateful.

Gettler soon realized that he and his staff had to conduct definitive studies of the way different poisons killed, their symptoms in various concentrations, and how they could be detected. Murder by poison, which had been difficult to diagnose in many cases, especially if it wasn’t suspected, became less and less feasible.

In 2011, I read The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithradates, Rome’s Deadliest Enemy by Adrienne Mayor, a finalist for the nonfiction National Book Award in 2009. During his lifetime (120-63 BCE), Mithradates Eupator fought some of the most famous Roman generals, mostly successfully. At the height of his career, he governed 22 nations around the Black Sea and could speak all of their languages. He was an infamous poisoner. He believed his mother murdered his father by poison, and, to protect himself, he learned as much as he could about them.

One protection he engaged in was to take small doses of certain poisons every day to build up his tolerance. (Anyone familiar with Dorothy L. Sayers’s Lord Peter Wimsey mystery Strong Poison is familiar with this strategy.) As a result, when Mithradates’ enemies at one point gave him a lethal dose of something, it had no effect, which didn’t hurt his reputation for invincibility. In the region where Mithradates ruled, there was a body of water made poisonous by a deadly plant. Many ducks lived there and fed on the plant, unharmed. Mithradates prepared a great banquet for his enemies, featuring—you guessed it—those self-same ducks, and, by morning, his guests were all dead. He also developed a “universal antidote” to poison, still of scholarly interest. When the Romans finally captured Mithradates, he tried to commit suicide by poison, but his protection worked too well, and he was ultimately stabbed to death.

Gardeners may have noticed the King’s name is familiar: Eupatorium is a genus of flowering plant with several hundred species, including (and in my garden) Joe-Pye Weed. One of its species is, of course, poisonous to humans.

Circling back to American Experience, the underlying message might be that, much as Americans complain about “government regulations,” in the 1920’s before the Food and Drug Administration took dangerous patent medicines off the drug store shelves, before there was a Consumer Product Safety Commission, and before the workplace safety rules that protect people like the poor young women who worked as radium dial-painters and died horribly of jaw and bone cancer, everyday life was full of deadly hazards, and mystery writers had one more handy tool in their store of potential mayhem-makers.

Want more? 12 Toxic Tales from National Geographic.

apothecary bottles, poison

Paris: The Early Detectives (Updated)

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Paris in the 19th and early 20th century was in creative ferment and in love with modernism—and the scandalous. In areas like Montmarte, “people went to abandon their inhibitions”; low-rent neighborhoods attracted people on the brittle edge of society; guillotinings were held at odd hours in the vain hope of reducing the crowds of spectators; crime stories were insanely popular; and real-life criminals and anarchists were hailed as heroes.

The Crimes of Paris: A True Story of Murder, Theft, and Detection, by Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler describes this world and the ongoing war between the criminals and the Sureté detectives intent on stopping them. They anchor their story with the 1911 theft of the Mona Lisa and loop backward from there to trace the increasingly scientific methods used to identify malefactors. One of the most successful was a system of measuring and classifying facial and other physical features created by Alphonse Bertillon. By 1900, detectives throughout Europe and the United States used “bertillonage” to identify criminals until the system was replaced by fingerprinting. A reference to Bertillon even appears in The Hound of the Baskervilles, as a rival to Sherlock Holmes.

History, in its tendency to repeat itself, is reviving Bertillon’s concept as biometrics; in today’s incarnation, computers much more accurately measure facial data points. The Mona Lisa was recovered in 1913, and the Hooblers present several plausible “who, how, and why” scenarios, but it’s clear that if the man who possessed it hadn’t turned it over to art experts in Florence, the skills of the detectives of a hundred years ago would never have found it!

Genealogical footnote: When the Mona Lisa went missing, the authorities stopped all ships leaving France and notified destination ports of ships recently departed. When the German liner Kaiser Wilhelm II steamed into New York harbor some days later, U.S. authorities searched the ship and passengers thoroughly. The Kaiser Wilhelm II was the boat on which my grandfather emigrated from Hungary in October 1906. Alfred Stieglitz’s famous photograph below, The Steerage, suggests what his voyage would have been like.

 

 June 2013 Update: a remarkable show of drawings and prints by Henri Toulouse-Lautrec appears this summer at the Allentown Art Museum of the Lehigh Valley, and is one of the first museum’s outside Europe to host this large collection. The show includes some recently found print of famous works that have retained their color–looking as fresh now as they were when pulled from the presses 120 years ago!  Lautrec captured the world of Montmartre the Hooblers describe–the singers and dancers, the whores, the denizens of the bars and cafes–to a greater degree than most artists would, because he was as attentive to depicting members of the audience as the was a black-gloved chanteuse. If you can’t visit in person (exhibit available until September 1), you can read about it here.

Witness – Scene 1

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This week’s post is the first scene of my thriller Witness, set in Rome in the current day. I’m interested in your feedback. Enjoy!

The scowling twenty-something with spiky white-blond hair still trailed her by more than a block, though the distance between them was shrinking fast. Steel zippers and snaps punctuated his black leather jacket, and he hid his eyes behind mirror sunglasses, but the prickling skin on Eugenia Clarke’s neck told her he fixed those eyes on her.

She forced herself not to turn and look. Dozens of times she’d walked these few blocks along Rome’s Via del Babuino, which connects the Piazza del Popolo with the Piazza di Spagna, but the street felt hostile now. Despite the clear autumn sunlight of a Sunday afternoon, the stones of the shuttered buildings reflected no warmth.

She glanced behind her. Damn!

She should have called out to one of the young couples she’d passed when she first entered the street, but at that point she hadn’t expected he would really follow her. Even now she could hardly believe it, did not want to believe it, did not want to panic. Yet the street was unaccountably deserted, its antique shops closed tight as oysters. How ironic, she thought. An experienced travel writer, Eugenia helped tourists stay out of trouble. Thousands of readers relied on her. How is this happening? She picked up her pace.

Her gaze darted left and right, searching for refuge, help of any sort. A side street to the left, jammed with parked cars, no people. On the right, a trattoria a few doors down, closed. Even the cats took siestas. She kicked off her flapping sandals and began to run. The clomp of his boots alternated with her pounding heartbeats. He’d catch her long before she could reach the crowds near the Spanish Steps.

His bootsteps grew nearer, and the metallic taste of adrenalin filled her mouth. Another few strides and, finally, ahead on the right, the Anglican All Saints’ Church. She remembered the sanctuary’s side door that opened onto a narrow park leading to another street. She dashed across the Via di Gesu e Maria—Thank you, Jesus and Mary!—through the main doors, and into a hallway sidling along the sanctuary.

“Hello?” Panting, Eugenia called again, louder, as she streaked past the unattended offices. Silence. Desks abandoned. Phones stilled. Where is everyone? Isn’t there church business on a Sunday? Counting the collection, choir practice—something?

A hint of incense and candle smoke lingered in the empty sanctuary. Sun streaming through leaded windows stained the brickwork bloody. The tile was cold on her feet. She called out to the empty air. “Hello! Anybody here?” After a few seconds, “Anybody??”

She checked behind her, down the unlit hallway. Not there yet. At the side door, the new-looking deadbolt turned easily, but the heavy brass doorknob resisted, and she needed both sweating hands to turn it. A final glance over her shoulder before she jerked open the stubborn door.

Outside, she blinked in the sudden brightness. She sensed movement to her left, and tried to duck away. A harsh blow struck the back of her head. Dizzy, she watched her new straw hat sail to the ground. Reaching up to protect herself, she knocked off the man’s sunglasses. He seized her arm and squeezed it hard enough to bruise.

“Fatti i cazzi tuoi!” he growled. Mind your own fucking business! She swayed, stunned and staring into eyes pale and hard as silver coins, until her knees gave way and she collapsed against him. She slid down his chest, breathing the foul odor of sweat-stained leather. A zipper tore her cheek. He gripped her armpit to keep her from falling, and his fist found her face, stomach, ribs. She twisted away, but she couldn’t escape. Their bodies were locked too close together, and she managed only to bury her face deeper in the rancid jacket. Again a metallic taste. Blood, this time. She gasped for breath as a boot came down hard on her bare foot. She felt the force of his blows, but the pain hadn’t started yet.

Her vision blurred, her thoughts clouded. She stared mesmerized at the intricate tattoo coiling up his wrist and disappearing under the leather sleeve. A blue and green snake’s head covered the back of his hand, and through her hazy perceptions she could almost believe it was the snake striking her. Her gaze followed its hypnotic black eyes as it dove into the man’s pocket, and he pulled out a knife. The flash as the blade flicked open broke the spell. She tore herself from his grasp and choked out, “No!”

“Impicciona!” he spat. Meddler.

A flood of pain rose up within her, and she might have heard shouts, running feet. She fell into blackness.