The Necktie Murder

(Please note: that this was meant to depict 1940’s LA, any language that may be deemed offensive is only for accuracy and is purely a fictional tale with historic events being sprinkled in.)

I got up as the alarm went off, grumbling, I shuffled off to the bathroom and stuck my head under the shower. Threw on my undershirt, combed my hair, shaved, and put on my chosen blazer, slacks and tie. June had breakfast ready, God love her, getting up so early to make sure I had breakfast before I went to work. It had been a long time since I didn’t eat breakfast for fear that I would lose it. I kissed her, put on my hat, said goodbye to the kids, got in our new Nash, and drove to work. As I drove, I thought how I was gonna spend a lot of time in the Nash which we drive on duty, and how much evidence might get messed up.

I walked down the hall through the halls of Central Division into Homicide and sat at my desk. My partner Sam Gallagher, walked in shortly after I did. Captain O’Donnell came in and shouted,

“Alright, Lads! We’ve got work to do, and it won’t fix itself. Callahan and Gallagher, a woman has been found murdered in Pershing square, on with it!”

So we got up and headed toward the police garage.

“Miserable weather to go look at a dead body..” I grumbled.

Sam returned, “Since the Dahlia in January, damn copycats have been a pain in the Ass, leads to more dames strewn about. Always someone tryin’ to pick up a freebie.”

I replied, “I sure as hell hope that this isn’t a copycat killing and we might catch someone who actually did the dahlia, not some s**theel husband or boyfriend who took things too far and tried to cover it up.”

We pulled up to the corner of 5th and Hill of Pershing square at 7:45, the Hacks were all over it snapping pictures like ghouls, it was this kind of shit that might have let the creep who killed the Dahlia get away with it. We pulled up and parked, the Coroner was there looking over the corpse, a naked broad, beaten, stomped, and just all-round messed up.

“Hal, what do you got?” I asked.

“Naked, beaten, strangled. Left under the statue of Beethoven. Whoever did this is either a sadist or a psycho or both.”

I shuddered a little, looking at the corpse, I’d seen many in my day, they don’t get easier. This was a picnic, compared to the Dahlia corpse cut in half and left off the sidewalk, took a pack of Lucky’s to get me through that day, and I typically smoke only six a day.

“What time do you think this was?” I asked,

“Between Two and three in the morning, but it was cold last night I’m not sure,” he said.

“Cause of death?”

“Strangulation, the beating was pre-death. Not sure if this was also Rape, I’ll run tests for any signs of that.”

Sam and I surveyed the area, I found Vic’s purse, no money, a driver’s license that identified her as Linda Wallace, age 28. The lady was pretty, even with all the gore that happened to her, blond, nice figure, a sad waste. Her wedding ring was savagely ripped off, blood was dark showing time had passed. Sam found her clothing torn and dirty along with her shoes. She had on a simple tan coat, with a grey polka dot dress, and black shoes, as well as a simple Beret style hat, before her murderer killed her. We found a set of footprints, size ten, and deep, we figured a big ape of a man. It was a gruesome scene, right in downtown LA, the guy who did this murder is a sick son of a bitch.

Suddenly Sam shouted, “Tom! Look at this!”

He had found a bunch of cigarette butts under a tree. With large-size ten footprints in the mud, we found the place where the struggle occurred, the footprints were ruined but some of the marks showed the path to the sidewalk, there we found muddy footprints that led to the road. The rain got even harder, typical California march weather. I’m glad I had begun wearing rubber shoe covers, June nearly killed me when I ruined my shoes in the mud last time. I went and found a Gamewell and called R&I and ran Linda Wallace. They reported that she was reported missing this morning by her husband Herb Wallace. They reported that the Address was 2229 Griffin Ave. Lincoln Heights.

“Sam, Let’s go to the house and see about the Vic’s movements. I’ll drive!” I called as I got in the car.

As we headed toward Lincoln Heights, my thoughts were racing on how the hell this broad who lived in Lincoln Heights was in Pershing Square. It just didn’t fit at all.

“How the hell did this broad end up in the middle of downtown?! It seems she was attacked there, Early this morning. It’s strange, to say the least.” I pondered alloud.

Sam said, “Guess we’ll see what the husband has to say if he hasn’t skipped town.” He lit up a cigarette and offered me one.

At 8:30 am, we arrived at the house. We walked up the front walk, it was a nice new home, a one-story Bungalow. We saw a car in the driveway, a 1941 Plymouth Sedan. Sam knocked, a tall, caucasian, male, with brown hair and brown eyes, about 30, answered.

“Yes? Wh-w-hat i-is it?!” He stammered.

“LAPD sir. Are you Mr. Wallace?” I replied.

“That’s right.”

“We’ve got some bad news Mr. Wallace, may we come inside?” I asked.

“Alright, p-p-please come in,” he said nervously.

We entered and saw a small living room, and two boys were sitting nervously on the couch, one about ten and the other about eight. Mr. Wallace told them to go into the kitchen.

“I-is th — this about m — my wife?” He asked if he looked like he was about to blow a gasket.

“I’m afraid she was found murdered this morning,” I told him.

His face went white, he looked down and took a deep breath. He looked at us, then down at the floor saying nothing.

“Can you answer a few questions, sir?” I asked.

He quivered, and managed to stammer out, “Sh-sh-sure, uh-uh, could I have a cigarette first to calm down?”

Sam pulled out without a word his pack of Lucky’s and offered him a match. Wallace took it and Sam lit it for him. After a few puffs, I asked him,

“Could we have a look around, while you gather your thoughts and calm down?”

Now a little calmer, “Go ahead.” he replied.

I gave Sam a nod to say ‘watch him while I look around’ and went to work. I looked at the rather small but comfortable home. I looked around the kitchen and checked their Laundry area. Nothing of significance there, the house was neat and tidy. Mrs. Wallace was a fine housekeeper. I went back through the kitchen and dining room, and through the living room to the bedrooms. I looked in the main bedroom, the bed had not been made and only one side slept in. I checked the closet, it was neat and nothing suspicious. I went back to join Sam and Mr. Wallace in the living room. I sat in a chair opposite Wallace and began to question him;

“Can you tell me about the movements of you and your wife last night?”

“I went to take the boys out to a hockey game to watch the Hollywood Wolves play the LA Monarchs. My wife went to visit her mother who has an apartment on South Hill Street, then she was going to visit with her sister who lives near Pershing Square, then she was gonna take a cab home. The boys and I got home around ten. She did not, I thought she’d be home by then but maybe she got slowed up in the rain or something or she was staying with her sister. I went to bed. I filed the missing report at four this morning when I got a call from her sister telling me she never got to her place.”

“Do you have the ticket stubs from that hockey game?”

“Yes I do, right here.” He replied.

He pulled them out of his shirt pocket and handed them to me. They were three tickets, I’d been to similar games in the past, and seen similar stubs so I knew they were genuine.

“Tell me what size shoe do you wear?”

“Size Elevens, I got big feet. No one in the corps could switch boots with me.” He said.

I thought for a moment about how our suspect had size ten feet and was a heavy lug, though some of the weight could have been from the body.

Sam asked him, “Did your wife typically cross through Pershing Square when going from her mother’s to her sister’s?”

Wallace turned to him and replied,

“Yeah, when she wasn’t with me she’d cross through there, it was the quicker way. I told her to take a cab that night but she said only from her sister’s to go home. Damn it I wish I had pushed her to take my advice.” He looked thoroughly shaken.

He Muttered, “In the Corps, I saw many guys die, but losing your wife just tears out your heart.”

“That will be all, for now, Mr. Wallace, thank you for your time and sorry for your loss. Could we have the Addresses of your Mother in law and Sister in Law?”

“Sure, my mother in law lives at 4224 South Hill Street Apartment 3, and my sister in law lives at 609 S Grand Ave Apartment 5.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

It was 10:30 by now, We stepped outside, I checked the hood of Wallace’s car, it was cold and there were no new car tracks in the dirt driveway, and hopped in the car and headed to the Coroner’s for his report on our way to the Mother in law’s place. Dr. Hal Tate had just completed his report when we arrived at 10:37.

“Hal, what do we have?” I asked.

“Definitely death was from Strangulation, ligature marks point to a necktie. An odd weapon of choice. It looks as if the strangulation occurred after she was unconscious, no signs of fingernails trying to fight off the weapon. He’s some kind of sex fiend, definite signs of abuse, and he gave her a bad pounding. Severe head trauma, which lends credence to her being unconscious. I don’t get shook much, but this one was brutal.”

“Thanks, Hal.”

As Sam and I walked out, I was trying to put two and two together. Who did this, Herb Wallace seemed in the clear, and we had no other suspects at the moment although he fit the size of the assailant, did not seem to have a motive. The family seemed happy, there was no evidence of family trouble. This sick bastard has to be caught and strapped down with gas seeping into his tiny ghoulish brain.

We got in the car and drove to the Mother’s apartment house, it was 11:25 when we got there. We walked up the stairs to the Apartment which was on the third floor. We knocked on the door, and Mrs. Ann Hodge answered the door and invited us into her small but neat apartment. She told us her daughter had stayed with her until approximately 12:30, they had been discussing family and old memories of her late father. Mrs. Hodge told us she went to bed around that time and her daughter stayed for a bit to look through some photo albums then go to her sister’s later.

As we walked out, I said,

“Let’s walk the path we think Mrs. Wallace took before her sad and brutal death.”

“Okay, good idea, it might give us an idea of what happened to the dame,” Sam replied.

We followed the sidewalk to the 5th street and South Hill, and crossed to the other side, then crossed into Pershing Square, we questioned local neighbors and one lady told of a Big Mexican mugger about 6’2 and 200 pounds, hanging around the square most of the night last night in and around midnight. We took her name, Consuelo Sanchez. As we went further along, we questioned more of the local Mexicans, one businessman told us about this fellow who was a ne’er do well who lived in an apartment house on skid row, he did not know the address but knew of his father and mother’s names Juan and Tiasonnia Martinez and their address, they lived in a bungalow on Vendome Street.

We walked back to the car, and drove there it was 13:15 when we got there, we spoke to the Mother Mrs. Martinez,

“Mrs. Martinez, what is the name this ne’er do well son of yours? We suspect Robbed, raped, and murdered a woman last night.” I asked.

“Jose, Jose Martinez. Always in trouble, since he was a boy. Was arrested in 1943, but was sent overseas instead.” she replied.

“Do you have an address for us to check out?”

“No.”

“Thank you for your time and information, Ma’am.”

We bade Mrs. Martinez goodbye and went to the car. We radioed in and checked with R&I to see if they had an address on Jose Martinez. They reported his last known address was 713 5th Street, Apartment 20. Sam and I got in the car and drove to Martinez’s place.

At 14:00 we arrived at the possible residence of our suspect Jose Martinez. We checked our weapons to make sure that they were loaded. We walked to the Manager and inquired whether Jose Martinez still occupied the same Apartment. He confirmed that he did, we asked him if Jose Martinez left his apartment the previous night, he told us he had, and did not return till 4:00. We told him to lay off his phone or we’d bust him for aiding and abetting. We quietly walked up the stairs. I whispered to Sam,

“We go in hard, and take the bastard by surprise.”

I nodded in agreement and I kicked in the door, guns drawn. Martinez was sitting in a chair he was startled shouting,

“WHAT THE F***?!!”

I responded, “Put your hands up Chico, you’re in big trouble. Cuff him Sam!”

Sam cuffed him and watched him. I took a look around, I checked through the kitchen, it was messy, but nothing of significance. I looked in the bedroom, there were several packed suitcases. as I took a look in the closet, at first it seemed like there was nothing but I looked in a hatbox, and it contained the Wallace woman’s jewelry. Looking further, I found a bloodstained still wet jacket, slacks, and shoes. It looked like he was getting ready to dispose of most of the stuff as he left town.

“Okay Martinez, here’s where we stand, you’ve got a criminal record, and we’ve got witnesses who say they saw you near the place where the lady was killed. We’ve got enough evidence to have you on Death Row by next month.”

“You dumb puto, my people have been here 200 hundred years and…” he started.

“Very fucking admirable Chico now tell me where you were last night?!” I interrupted.

“I was here all night.” He said nervously.

“Nice try Chico, the manager and a witness say that you were out. Come on Martinez, where were you?” I said.

“I was…in Pershing Square…” He said slowly and scared.

“What were you doing?” I asked.

“Nothin’.” He grunted tight faced.

“And I was meeting the Pope! Come on just confess, you did it, you are placed at the scene, where are your shoes or boots that you wore last night?” I pressed him.

He first stuttered, then shouted at the top of his lungs, “I…uh…..uh….uh……..uh…………..I DID IT, JUST TAKE ME AWAY YOU GOT ME!!!”

We called a paddy wagon, when it arrived we put the prisoner in the wagon, and took him away. This was one of the quickest busts I ever was a part of, but most murderers aren’t geniuses and doing stupid things. It was a copycat that thought it would join the Black Dahlia, but he didn’t have the brains to pull it off. It was a Pachuco punk, who thought he could rape and kill a woman and get away with it. It’s 19:00, time to go home, all the evidence has been collected, the guy is locked up and is ready to go in front of the DA by the day after tomorrow.

Jose Martinez was tried and convicted on March 16th, 1947, pleading guilty to first-degree Robbery, Rape, and Murder. He was sentenced to death. He is now in San Quentin on death row awaiting execution.