I think that’s all that was in the pocketbook, possibly some specie in his pocket. The largest portion of that was bills. The sixty-five cents was in change. I didn’t find anything else in his pocketbook. The watch and chain were in his upper vest pocket, the watch. He had a ring on his left hand — I’m not quite positive as to that, I forget really. A gold ring, if I remember correctly.
Upstairs, Mrs. Borden was lying between the dressing case, which was on the north side of the building, and the bed. She was lying with her back exposed, and also the right back of the head exposed, and her hands were something in this position. That is, just around the head. Her head was not resting on them. Her hands didn’t touch. They came very near to each other, but they didn’t touch. The face was resting in such a position that the right back of the head was exposed. Turned to the left. Probably a more convenient way to express it would be to say that she was lying on the left side of her face. That is, the left side of her nose and eye were resting upon the floor. Her clothing was bloody — the back of her clothing, that is. The upper part of it. Her waist.
I felt the body with my hand, touched her head and her hand, and found it was warm. I could not say the temperature, but a warm body. I had a clinical thermometer with me, but I didn’t use it. When I use the word warm, I don’t quite mean the warmth of life. I’m referring to the warmth as distinguished between the warmth of life and the coldness of death. I’m using it in the medical sense, the word warmth. The body was much colder than that of Mr. Borden. Her blood was coagulated and of a dark color. The blood on her head was matted and practically dry. There was no oozing from it as in Mr. Borden’s. I counted the wounds, and lifted the body with Dr. Bowen’s assistance, in order to get at the wounds more quickly.
Then, in consequence of what had been told me, I collected a sample of that morning’s milk, and a sample of the milk of the previous day. Bridget Sullivan gave me those samples. I sealed them up hermetically, put them in separate jars, and marked them according to the day on which the milk was sampled. I think I put something like this: “Sample of milk of August 4th”... “Sample of milk of August 3rd.” Then I put them in charge of a policeman to keep, and sent them later to Professor Wood.
I went with the officer then, through the lower floor and through the cellar. In the cellar, we saw some axes and hatchets that were there. I think there were two axes and two hatchets. I made no examination at the time, other than just to look at them. I used no glass or anything of that sort. But I noticed that one of them — the heavy claw-hammer hatchet — looked as if it had been scraped. When I went again to look at Mr. Borden a second time, Mr. Fleet was just coming in...
I should say I got the information about twenty-five minutes to twelve. A driver for Mr. Stone, stablekeeper in Fall River, brought it. I was at my residence, number 13 Park Street. I put on my coat and hat, or cap, and went to 92 Second Street.
I was then, as I am at present, assistant city marshal of Fall River.
I went there in a police-department buggy, arrived there at about fifteen minutes to twelve, I should say. As I approached the house, I first saw Mr. Manning, reporter for the Fall River Globe. I saw Officer Medley outside of the house, had some words with him and then went into the house. Mr. Morse and Bridget Sullivan were in the kitchen, and I think Mrs. Churchill. I went through the kitchen to the sitting room, and saw Dr. Dolan standing or leaning over the body of Mr. Borden. Andrew J. Borden. I found that the blood was on his face and ran down onto his shirt, his clothing, and also went through the head of the lounge and on the floor or carpet. There was quite a little pool of blood there.
I then went upstairs to the front bedroom — or spare bedroom, so-called — and saw Mrs. Borden laid dead between the bed and the dressing case, face downward, with her head all broke in or cut. She was covered with blood, and there was considerable blood under her head, and the blood was congealed and black. That is, of a dark color. The blood about Mr. Borden’s head was of a reddish color, and much thinner.
I came out the head of the stairs, and then went into the room where Miss Lizzie Borden was, sitting down on a lounge — or sofa — with Reverend Mr. Buck, Miss Russell being in the room.
I told Miss Borden who I was, made known who I was — I was then in citizens’ clothes, as I am now — and I asked her if she knew anything about the murders. She said that she did not. All she knew was that Mr. Borden — her father, as she put it — came home about half-past ten or quarter to eleven, went into the sitting room, sat down in the large chair, took out some papers and looked at them. She was ironing some handkerchiefs in the dining room, as she stated. She saw that her father was feeble, and she went to him and advised him and assisted him to lay down upon the sofa.
She then went into the dining room to her ironing, but left after her father was laid down and went out into the yard and up in the barn. I asked her how long she remained in the barn. She said she remained in the barn about a half hour. I then asked her what she meant by “up in the barn”. She said, “I mean up in the barn. Upstairs, sir.” She said after she had been there about half an hour, she came down again, went into the house, and found her father on the lounge, in the position in which she had left him.
But killed.
Or dead.
“Who was in the house this morning or last night?” I asked her.
“No one but my father, Mrs. Borden, Bridget, Mr. Morse and myself,” she said.
“Who’s this Mr. Morse?” I asked.
“He’s my uncle,” she said. “He came here yesterday, and slept in the room where Mrs. Borden was found dead.”
“Do you think Mr. Morse had anything to do with the killing of your parents?” I asked.
She said no, she didn’t think he had, because Mr. Morse left the house this morning before nine o’clock, and didn’t return until after the murder. I asked her if she thought Bridget could have done this, and she said she didn’t think that she could or did.
I should say here that I didn’t use the word Bridget at that time, because she’d given me the name as Maggie; I should say Maggie.
I asked her if she thought Maggie had anything to do with the killing of these. She said no, that Maggie had gone upstairs previous to her father’s lying down on the lounge, and when she came from the barn she called Maggie downstairs.
I then asked her if she had any idea who could have killed her father and mother.
“She’s not my mother, sir,” she said. “She’s my step mother. My mother died when I was a child.”
That’s about all the conversation I had with her at that time.
I then went downstairs in the cellar and found Officers Mullaly and Devine down there. When I got there, Officer Mullaly had two axes and two hatchets on the cellar floor. I looked around in the cellar to see if we could find any other instrument that might have been used for the purpose of killing, but failed to find anything. The two hatchets and axes were left there that day.
The largest hatchet, the claw-hammer hatchet — with the rust stain on it, and the red spot upon the handle that apparently had been washed or wiped — was placed behind some boxes in the cellar adjoining the wash cellar. I put it there, separating it from the other hatchet. I went out in the yard then, and instructed some of the men — who’d been sent by the marshal to me — to cover the different highways and depots, and then I went upstairs, the front hallway upstairs.