All calm, all routine, all official. But can your imagination reconstruct the scene? Dr. Alice Wynekoop must have been terrified and possibly hysterical. The school teacher, Miss Enid Hennessey, must have been — well, at least a little nervous.
And a house where a murder has been committed tends to be full of people, most of them policemen. Sooner or later it’s full of reporters.
Probably every light in the house was turned on. As for the policemen — well, let’s try to estimate from Officer March’s testimony:
“Officers Walter Kelly, myself and Officer Wm. Tyrrell were the first squad there. Lieutenant Peterson came in about five minutes after. A great many police officers came in. The coroner’s office was there and another squad. There were maybe four or five other policemen there that night. Five or six minutes after about two squads came.”
There must have been a crowd outside the house, too. That many policemen can’t arrive in any neighborhood without attracting curious onlookers. There probably hadn’t been that much excitement on West Monroe Street since the Chicago fire.
Later, at the trial, Dr. Catherine testified that her mother, Dr. Alice, didn’t sleep a wink after the police left. To which one can only add, “And no wonder!”
No arrest was made that night, though there was the customary long period of questioning and the necessary homicide squad procedure of photographing and fingerprinting. Dr. Alice advanced the theory that a burglar was responsible for the crime. She declared that there had been thefts of drugs and money from the house. But to Captain John Stege, the manner of Rheta’s slaying didn’t agree with the theory. Suicide was ruled out immediately by the angle of the shot and the chloroform bums on the girl’s face.
There were a lot of things Captain Stege wanted to know — and the newspapers wanted to know the same things. For instance, where was Earle Wynekoop on the night of the murder and why was he away from home?
Presumably Earle was on his way to the Grand Canyon on a color photography job, accompanied by a friend named Stanley. But there were rumors that Earle had been in Chicago not more than a day before the crime.
At this point Earle became more interesting to the newspapers than Dr. Alice. He was a tall, handsome brunet. He was taken into custody — after his arrival by train from Kansas City — along with an attractive young girl, whom he had met while employed at the World’s Fair. She had known him as Michael Wynekoop and he had told her that he was unmarried. She was released, however, and vanishes forever from the story.
Earle stated that he had started west for Arizona some time before his wife’s murder. He was cooperative in the matter of newspaper interviews. He gave as his opinion that Rheta had been murdered by a moron. He added other and even more interesting details regarding his married life. The marriage, said Earle, was a failure. Rheta at one time had attempted to poison the family by putting iron filings and drugs in the food. She had tuberculosis, Earle added, according to the newspaper story, and was mentally deranged.
He boasted of having fifty girl friends listed in his date book.
In the meantime, while Earle was making wild and far from helpful statements to the press, Dr. Alice Wynekoop, aged sixty-three, frail, sensitive and with a serious heart condition, was being ruthlessly questioned for an almost uninterrupted period of twenty-four hours.
During those hours, there was other material for newspaper stories. So many people crowded around the “gloomy old mansion” on West Monroe Street that the police in charge asked for another squad to come and help keep order. Burdine Gardner, Rheta’s father, came from Indianapolis, and, dramatically, took his daughter’s body home for burial. He had a few statements to make to the press, regarding the mansion on Monroe Street — (it was he who first described it as “gloomy and old-fashioned”); and regarding Dr. Alice — (“She struck me as a most peculiar person”).
Other things helped to enliven the daily papers. A lie-detector test on Dr. Alice: unsuccessful because of the elderly woman’s blood pressure condition. An interview by Dr. Harry Hoffman of the Behavior Clinic in one of the city’s more sensational newspapers.
But the top story was Dr. Wynekoop’s confession.
Earle Wynekoop was in custody by that time. There are varying reports of what occurred before the confession was made. According to one, Dr. Alice met Earle in the jail and he said to her, “For God’s sake, Mother, if you did this on account of the bond of love between us, go ahead and confess.” Dr. Alice then answered — grim-faced, according to the same report — “But Earle, I did not kill Rheta.” Earle, exhausted from a night of grilling, sobbed, “Mother, Mother—” Fortunately, the newspaper account breaks off at this point.
Just exactly how Dr. Wynekoop’s statement was obtained is difficult to imagine from either the newspaper stories or the transcript of the trial. It is safe to assume, I think, that, guilty or not guilty, Dr. Wynekoop was tired and worried beyond endurance at that time when it was made. It has been said that Dr. Alice was told that Earle had confessed to the crime.
However, here is the way Captain John Stege described, at the trial, the scene in the police station at about 10:30 on the morning of November 24, 1933.
“She was lying on the couch in Captain Duffy’s office with an overcoat over her. I said, ‘Good morning, Doctor.’ She said, ‘Good morning, Captain,’ and I said, ‘Did you have any breakfast?’ She said, ‘No, I don’t want any, but I would like some coffee.’ I told Officer Donoghue to go out and get her some coffee. Dr. Hoffman was in the room. She said to me, ‘Captain, what would happen if I told the story about killing Rheta?’ I said, ‘Doctor, I don’t want any story from you. All I want is the truth., ”
No matter how the confession was obtained, it kept the papers happy for another few hours. As introduced at her trial it read as follows:
“Rheta was concerned about her health and frequently weighed herself, usually stripping for the purpose. On Tuesday, November 21, after luncheon at about one, she decided to go down to the Loop to purchase some sheet music that she had been wanting. She was given money for this purpose and laid it on the table, deciding to weigh herself before dressing to go downtown. I went to the office. She was sitting on the table practically undressed and suggested that the pain in her side was troubling her more than usual. I remarked to her since it was a convenient interval... for an examination, we might just as well have it over. She complained of considerable soreness, severe pain and tenderness. She thought she would endure the examination better if she might have a little anesthetic. Chloroform was conveniently at hand, and a few drops were put on a sponge. She breathed it very deeply. She took several deep inhalations. I asked her if I was hurting her and she made no answer. Inspection revealed that respiration had stopped. Artificial respiration for about twenty minutes gave no response. Stethoscopic examination revealed no heart beat. Turning the patient quickly on her side and examining posteriorly as well as anteriorly, there was no sign of life. Wondering what method would ease the situation best to all and with the suggestion offered by the presence of a loaded revolver, further injury being impossible, with great difficulty one cartridge was exploded at a distance of some half dozen inches from the patient. The scene was so overwhelming that no action was possible for a period of several hours.”