The Great Taxicab Robbery 5
Montani Points Out “King Dodo”_
All through Friday and Saturday, while the network investigation was
going on, Commissioner Dougherty continued his examination of Montani.
Some important information against him now came from outside.
It developed that Montani had been involved several months before in an
insurance case, claiming indemnity for a burned automobile under a
policy. He had presented, as part of its value, a bill for repairs
amounting to $1,348. The insurance company, however, had found that this
bill was fraudulent, that the repairs had never been made, and had
obtained a statement to that effect from the Italian chauffeur. Out of
pity for his wife and two children the case was not pressed against him.
Now that he was involved in another crime, however, the insurance people
came forward and laid the facts before the police.
Of course, Montani knew nothing about this new development.
For two days the chauffeur was questioned at intervals, and the inquiry
centered chiefly on the knotty points in his story of the crime. He was
particularly pressed for better explanations of the slackening of his
cab when the robbers boarded it, but stuck to his original statement
about a man getting in front of the vehicle. He described this person as
an old man, and said he must have been in league with the criminals. As
the police had good evidence that there had been nobody in front of the
taxicab, however, this point was returned to again and again, and toward
night on Saturday, February 17, the little chauffeur began to feel the
strain.
On his way to supper that evening with men from the Detective Bureau,
Montani was taken through the Bowery. Suddenly he stopped, dramatically,
and exclaimed:
“There! That is the old man who got in front of my cab!”
His finger indicated a Bowery character as typical as anything ever seen
in melodrama—a ragged little old figure with an amazing set of whiskers,
engaged in picking up cigar butts along the gutters. He was immediately
taken to headquarters.
No detail of his work interests Commissioner Dougherty more keenly than
his study of the many picturesque characters who turn up as an important
case unfolds. He has a ready appreciation of everybody who appears, from
the society lady who lost her jewels to the typical Bowery loafer. He is
as ready to look at facts from a criminal’s point of view as that of an
honest man. He has often gone half across the country to get acquainted
with a good burglar, and in this warm human interest lies the basis of
his skill as an examiner of suspects. These details are set down, not in
glorification of Dougherty, but for the guidance of every police officer
interested in his methods.
The moment Dougherty laid eyes on this new character, with his
magnificent whiskers, he gave him a nickname.
“King Dodo!” said the Commissioner, and that by that name he was known
in so far as he figured in the case at all. “King Dodo” proved to be
entirely innocent, and nothing more than the victim of a chance move of
Montani’s, who evidently thought that he ought to produce something
tangible to back up his assertion that the cab had been intercepted by
an old man. “King Dodo” established a perfect alibi, proving that he had
been elsewhere at the time of the robbery, and after being questioned
and the truth of his story established, he was released, there being no
reason for holding him.
“I feel safe,” said the Commissioner solemnly, “in paroling you on your
own responsibility, to appear again if wanted.”
That may have been a heavier responsibility than had been put on his
shoulders in years. But he rose to it. Two days later a decently
dressed, clean shaven, elderly gentleman came in and asked for the
Commissioner. He was “all dolled up,” in police parlance, and looked
like a retired small shopkeeper. The staff did not recognize him for a
moment. But it was “King Dodo,” doing his best to fill the part of a
minor figure in the great taxicab mystery. There being nothing for him
to do, he dropped back into private life.
On his Sunday visit to Boston Inspector Hughes talked with Chief
Inspector Watts of that city, learned where Kinsman lived, and that his
family was a respectable one; found a bright patrolman named Dorsey who
knew Kinsman, and gave more information about his personal appearance,
habits and career as a boxer, desertion from the Navy, and so forth, and
made arrangements to have the Kinsman home watched so that news of his
return would be secured immediately. It was clear that Kinsman had not
returned to Boston.
_Discovery of Kinsman’s Trail_
As soon as Inspector Hughes returned from Boston, on Monday morning, the
Commissioner took steps to question the crews of every train that had
left New York since one p. m. on the day of the robbery.
Just the other afternoon the writer sat with a squad of young detectives
at Police Headquarters and heard a talk on methods given by Dougherty,
and one point clearly brought out was the usefulness to the
thief-catcher of routine information.
He began by relating an amusing incident. Some days before a detective
had turned up at headquarters for instruction, and naïvely asked the
Commissioner to lend him a pencil and a slip of paper, so he could make
some notes. Another detective was found who had only a hazy idea of the
location of New York’s telephone exchanges. Taking these as his text,
the Commissioner explained the value to every police officer of what
might be called “time-table” information—knowing the depots and ferries,
what roads run out of them, the cities reached, the number and character
of trains, the general methods of dispatching trains, and so forth. The
Commissioner himself is as well informed on such matters as any railroad
man, and thoroughly familiar with routine methods in many other lines of
work and business. How such knowledge can be employed was shown by the
next move in the taxicab case.
Detectives were sent to every railroad terminal to secure lists of
trains, learn the names of the crews, and make out schedules of the time
when each crew would be back in the city. Then each man was found and
carefully questioned. His memory could be helped by pictures of Kinsman
and Annie, and by intimate details of personal appearance and manner.
The search bore fruit, though it took time.
On Wednesday Detective Watson, who was a railroad engineer before he
joined the police, found that Train No. 13 on the New York Central had
taken on three passengers answering the descriptions on the afternoon of
the robbery. They had boarded the train at Peekskill, the town to which,
as it was subsequently learned, they had ridden in a taxicab. The
conductor’s attention had been drawn to Annie by her smoking a cigarette
on the sly in the toilet of the day coach. He remembered her high cheek
bones, and the black velvet hat with its little roses, and the athletic
build of her men companions, who both appeared to be boxers. It was also
established that the trio had gone to Albany, for one of the trainmen
distinctly remembered helping Annie down at that station.
_“Plant 21” Is Established_
Monday, February 19, was an important day in more ways than one.
While the train investigation was going on, it was learned that a woman
known as “Myrtle Horn,” an intimate of Annie’s, had moved to a lower
West Side rooming house, taking Annie’s trunk with her, as though Annie
expected to return to the city. After a preliminary survey, this house
was visited by Commissioner Dougherty in person. He explained that he
was a contractor, about to build a section of the new subway, and that
he was looking for a quiet room at a reasonable price where he might
have some of the comforts of home. After a little talk with the landlady
it became clear that she was honest and trustworthy, with no information
of the new lodger who had taken her front room in the basement.
Arrangements were quickly made to put this house, inside and outside,
under constant surveillance.
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[Illustration: GENE SPLAINE]
[Illustration: EDDIE KINSMAN]
[Illustration: GENO MONTANI]
[Illustration: “SCOTTY THE LAMB”]
[Illustration: JOHN MOLLOY]
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Along in the evening Mrs. Isabella Goodwin, a police matron, was
installed there. The Commissioner brought her, and carried her bundle.
The landlady and the matron had never seen each other in their lives,
but kissed ostentatiously, and made considerable fuss on the chance of
being overheard. Mrs. Goodwin was “planted” as the landlady’s “sister,”
who had come from Montreal to live with her and help in the housework
until she could find a position in New York. The Commissioner grumbled a
little about her stinginess in refusing to pay an expressman to bring
her bundle, and then took his departure, explaining that the train had
been late, and the baby was not well, and his wife, Aggie, would be
worried about him, and so forth. Mrs. Goodwin established herself in a
room at the rear of the basement, handy to that occupied by Myrtle Horn,
and kept her eyes and ears open as she went about the housework,
slipping out to report when she had any information, and receiving
instructions.
Outside surveillance on this house was conducted from an empty store
across the street. Arrangements for the use of such property are usually
made by the police without difficulty, though occasionally a
close-fisted owner expects rent. Blinds were put up over the windows,
peep-holes made, and a few hammers provided, with some nails and boards.
Then six of the best “shadow men” in the Detective Bureau were stationed
there. They made a little noise occasionally, in “getting the store
ready for a big firm moving up from downtown,” and watched the house day
and night. Whenever Myrtle went out she was followed. If she had
visitors, they were investigated. This store was known by the code term
of “Plant 21,” so that reports could be sent without disclosing police information.
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