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The Man without a Conscience

Henri Landru, murderer

He was shorter than most, with a bald head and a long, brownish-red beard which gave him the appearance of some mythical forest creature. His brows were thick and bushy and arched above his dark eyes, giving the impression that he was always shocked or surprised. By physical appearance, Henri Landru looked more like a clown than a killer who swindled more than 300 women out of their life savings.
 
But there was something special about this bourgeois second-hand furniture dealer without a conscience that vulnerable women found irresistible. And for 10 of them, their willingness to believe the lies Landru told them would cost them more than their meager fortunes — the price they paid for falling under the spell of this wretch was their lives.
 
Born of parents of modest means in 1869, Landru’s childhood and early years were nondescript. Young Henri was a bright lad who attended Catholic school and was admitted as a sub-deacon in the religious order of St. Louis en l’Isle. By his teen years Landru had realized that he was clever and glib with the ladies. In 1891, he seduced his cousin, Mademoiselle Remy, who became pregnant and bore him a daughter.
 
He was drafted and excelled in military life, rising to the rank of sergeant. Two years after enlisting Landru married Mlle. Remy, while he was quartermaster of the regiment at St. Quentin.

His Early Crimes

Upon discharge Landru went into business as a clerk. His employer, however, was unscrupulous and absconded with the money Landru had given him as a bond. Incensed with this blow which fate had dealt, Landru made a vow to get revenge through a life of crime.
 
Despite his standing as a deacon and member of the choir of his church, Landru became a part-time swindler. His targets were most often the middle-aged widows he met through his legitimate furniture business. Faced with the prospect of long, lonely, poverty-stricken lives, these women came to him to sell their possessions. Landru would prey on their fears and in addition to taking their possessions, wooed his victims and enticed them to let him invest their meager pensions, which he promptly stole.
 
The scam worked well until 1900 when Landru made his first appearance in a French courtroom, being sentenced to a two-year prison term for fraud.
 
For the next decade, Landru was in and out of prisons seven times — spending more time inside a cell than out. He remained married to Remy and together they had four children. Sometime around 1908, he apparently struck upon the scheme that would eventually bring him to the guillotine.
 
In that year, Landru, already serving a sentence in a Parisian prison for fraud, was brought to Lille to stand trial for another scam. He had placed a matrimonial advertisement in a newspaper, portraying himself as a well-to-do widower seeking the companionship of a similarly situated widow. In return for some counterfeit deeds, Landru persuaded a 40-year-old widow to part with a 15,000-franc dowry. Madame Izore was left destitute and sought recompense through the courts. She would have to content herself with the knowledge that Landru would serve an additional three years, for the dowry (worth about $50,000 in current dollars) was gone.
 
He was released shortly before World War I, most likely with the understanding that he would re-enlist in the French Army. He had already driven his father to suicide over his lawlessness and left his family penniless and humiliated. Rather than serve his country in the middle of a horrific war, he drifted around the countryside, well aware of the fact that he had been convicted in absentia for various other offenses and sentenced to lifelong transportation to New Caledonia, in the Coral Sea west of Australia, certainly not the appropriate place for gentleman like himself, he thought.

Motivation

Once the war started, Landru, who was estranged from Remy, began the scams that led to his downfall. Perhaps it was the war with its heretofore-unknown measure of death that turned Landru into a murderer; perhaps it was the years spent in harsh French prisons, or perhaps it was something else.
The Earl of Birkenhead, eminent Oxford don (a professor or lecturer) and author of Famous Trials of History, discounted the theory that Landru was driven by bloodlust to kill his female suitors. “There seems to be no evidence of that,” he wrote in the 1929 follow-up to Famous Trials.

A man who embarks on this kind of adventure must shake himself free of entanglement…It is therefore inevitable that a proportion of the women would be difficult to shake off and some must have shown no great disposition to hand over their property. The obvious means of overcoming their attachment was to destroy them, and to do so was only too easy…We must therefore postulate that he was callous and inhuman — an assumption which offers no difficulty, seeing that his very mode of life was impossible for any other kind of man.

His method of killing is unknown, but evidence at his villa suggests that the slayings were most likely quick and clean, and that the victims were probably not defiled in any way. Lust was not his primary motive, and he is among the minority of serial killers where anger, revenge or sexual release are at best secondary motivators.

Landru’s Wives

In 1914 the following advertisement appeared in the Paris newspapers: “Widower with two children, aged 43, with comfortable income, serious and moving in good society, desires to meet widow with a view to matrimony.”
 
For a French war widow facing a life of loneliness and penury in the depressed economy of wartime France, such an advertisement must have seemed heaven-sent. Landru, who placed the ad, had no trouble meeting women. Determining just who Landru wooed and when is naturally difficult and by the dates of his murders, it is clear that he had multiple scams going at a time. His reliance on aliases helps muddy the picture.
 
The first woman to meet this predator was Mme. Cuchet, a 39-year-old woman with a 16-year-old son, Andre. Cuchet worked in a lingerie shop in Paris and was barely keeping her head above water when she made Landru’s acquaintance. He told her his name was Monsieur Diard and that he was an engineer. Their relationship flourished over time but was not without its ups-and-downs.
 
Landru’s scheme was almost revealed before it had a chance to flower after Cuchet and the man she called Diard had a falling-out. Cuchet begged her family and brother-in-law to accompany her to Landru’s villa near Chantilly, with the hopes of ironing out their differences. Landru was not in when they arrived, but the family apparently felt enough at home to search the the place. Her brother-in-law found a chest filled with many letters from other women, and informed Cuchet that her lover was a fraud.
 
She chose to disregard her family’s advice to dump Landru, and instead furnished a villa at Vernouillet, outside Paris and became estranged from her family. The last time Cuchet and Andre were seen alive was in January 1915. Shortly after the three moved into Vernouillet, Landru opened a bank account with 5,000 francs, which he claimed was part of his inheritance from his father. In all likelihood the money came from Cuchet. Soon after Cuchet’s disappearance, Landru’s wife was presented with Cuchet’s watch as a present.
 
His next victim was an Argentine named Mme. Laborde-Line, the widow of a hotelier. She told friends that she was planning to marry a charming engineer from Brazil, but frustrated with the red tape, the pair decided to dispense with the ceremony and move in together. Afterward a man that her former neighbors identified as Landru came back and collected her furniture, sending some to his villa and the rest to a garage. Laborde-Line was last seen in July 1915, when she arrived at the villa with her two dogs.
 
Mme. Guillin, a 51-year-old widow whose full name was Marie Angelique Desiree Pelletier, was last seen at the villa a month later. Also in 1915, Mme. Heon visited Vernouillet and disappeared. Whether or not there were others between the murders of Heon and 19-year-old Mlle. Andree Babelay, a servant girl who disappeared in early 1917 en route to visiting her mother, only heaven knows. Why Babelay was killed is also a mystery; she had no money of her own.
 
After Babelay disappeared, Landru left Vernouillet for a new villa in Gambais and promptly had a large cast-iron oven installed. He laid low for a time but soon returned to his murderous ways.
 
Landru had been courting Mme. Buisson, a wealthy widow, for nearly a year before he succeeded in creating an estrangement from her family. She moved with him to Gambais without her son, who went to live with his aunt. In April 1917, Buisson was seen for the last time.
 
His next victim at Gambais was Mme. Louise Leopoldine Jaume, who disappeared in September 1917. After her disappearance, Landru’s new neighbors in Gambais noticed black, noxious smoke pouring from his villa.
 
Mme. Annette Pascal, 38, followed Jaume by vanishing in the spring of 1918, and finally, Mme. Marie Therese Marchadier, an “entertainer” known among the non-commissioned officers of French Army as “La Belle Mythese” and who had retired to relative anonymity in Paris, was visited by Landru who wanted to purchase her furniture. A friendship blossomed and she accompanied the murderer to Gambais in late 1918 and promptly disappeared.
 
In all, at least 10 women and one boy (and two dogs) had disappeared after meeting Landru, yet no police had ever suspected him of any misdeeds. It would take a pair of anxious families to bring Landru at long last to justice.

The Arrest and Investigation of Landru


Landru had taken great pains to separate his victims from their families, but after their deaths, he took equally strong measures to reassure the families that their loved ones were well.
 
Most killers for financial gain do not destroy the evidence of their victims’ deaths. In insurance or inheritance scams, proof of death is often required — few killers want to wait a decade or so to collect their ill-gotten reward. But Landru obviously took great pains to cover up his crimes. He sought to avoid detection and make it look like his victims were still alive. Two of Guillin’s friends received postcards from Landru saying that Guillin was unable to write herself. He forged a letter from Buisson to her dressmaker and another to the concierge of her Paris apartment. Landru represented himself as the attorney of Jaume, who was divorcing her husband, and successfully closed out her bank accounts.
 
Two years after Buisson met Landru her son passed away. Obviously the family wanted to notify her, but was unable to find her. Her sister remembered that Buisson had whispered her intention of running away to Gambais with a “Monsieur Guillet.” She wrote to the mayor of Gambais, seeking help in locating either Buisson or Guillet. The mayor replied that he knew of neither of them, but perhaps she should meet the family of a Mme. Collomb, who was also missing in Gambais. She had vanished under similar circumstances. Collomb disappeared after meeting Landru in early 1917.
 
The tenant of the villa in question, the mayor told the family of Buisson, was not Monsieur Fremiet, the fiance of Collomb, or Guillet, the fiance of Buisson, but M. Dupont. However, when the police went to Villa Ermitage, as Landru’s estate was known, they could not find Fremiet, Dupont, Diard or Landru. The villa was unoccupied but recently lived in.
 
Mlle. Lacoste, Buisson’s sister, was not discouraged. She had seen “Guillet” so she began combing the streets of Paris near his old residence looking for him. In 1919, her search paid off. She spotted Landru coming out of a dry goods shop and followed him, only to lose him in the crowd. She returned to the store and found out that the man’s name was not Guillet, but Frimiet, and that he lived in the Rue de Rochechouart with his mistress. Immediately, the police were summoned and Landru was arrested.
 
But on what charge should he be held, the authorities wondered. Clearly murder was suspected, but where was the body? There was no evidence that Landru had killed anyone and the strong-willed killer was unwilling to discuss anything with authorities.
 
They returned to Gambais, where a thorough search was undertaken. The gardens were excavated looking for bones, but the only remains police found were those of a pair of dogs. They searched his old villa at Vernouillet and came up equally empty. All the police had to go on was a cryptic memorandum book where Landru had meticulously recorded his income and expenses.
 
But within the copious notes were several names that interested authorities. On one page was the entry: “A Cuchet, G. Cuchet, Bresil, Crozatier, Havre. Ct. Buisson, A. Collomb, Andree Babelay, Mme. Louis (sic) Jaume, A. Pascal, Mme Thr. Mercadier.” Buisson and Collomb were missing and the authorities soon learned that the whereabouts of the Cuchets were also in question. They suspected this was a list of victims. But again, they had no bodies.
 
Confident in the erroneous knowledge that he could not be convicted of murder without a body, Landru kept silent and refused to talk with police. For two years, authorities investigated the disappearances of his victims, yet Landru never admitted anything. Slowly, they learned that each of the women in the ledger met Landru through his marriage advertisements and disappeared. Stupidly, Landru recorded the purchase of one-way tickets from Paris to Gambais for each of his victims, while marking round-trip tickets for himself.
 
The gardens in Gambais and Vernouillet were dug up time and time again. Authorities tried to link Landru to purchases of acids and other chemicals, to no avail. Finally, neighbors at Gambais told authorities of the noxious fumes that often emanated from the kitchen. The stove that Landru had installed shortly after his arrival in Gambais was inspected and horrific evidence of murder was uncovered.
 
In the ashes police found small bones, undoubtedly human, as well as burned, but still recognizable fasteners of the kind worn on the clothes of French women. Landru had disposed of his victims by burning their remains. How they were killed was still a mystery, but what had happened to Mmes. Collomb and Buisson, as well as the nine others, was clear.
 
Two years after his arrest, Landru was charged with 11 counts of murder and set for trial.

France’s Trial of the Century


There is little doubt that Landru’s trial captivated his countrymen. Consider the time it occurred. He was arrested in April 1919 at his home in Paris with his mistress, 27-year-old Mlle. Fernande Segret, whom he had picked up on an bus in the city. France was still recovering from the bloodiest war in the history and the peace talks at Versailles were not going well for them. Shortages and economic depression abounded and a case that promised sex, gossip and gruesome killing was delightfully played up by the papers as a diversion from the dreary day-to-day life of post-war France.
 
Landru’s trial began in November 1921 and lasted nearly a month.
 
The French system of justice had been instituted in 1848 and while not, as is commonly believed, assuming the guilt of the accused until innocence is proven, it is heavily weighted against the person on trial. Not only does the chief judge of the three-judge panel serve as an interrogator, the French allow questioning of the accused for the sake of investigation in front of the jury during the trial. The French system also allows relatives of the victim to bring suit for damages during the course of the trial, and the victims’ legal counsel can question the accused and argue before the jury. Often the defendant is expected to rebut any adverse claims by witnesses immediately after the testimony concludes.
 
Clinging to his mistaken belief that he could not be convicted without evidence of a body, Landru’s defense was essentially to stonewall the court. Time after time he would refuse to answer questions and would reply that it was no one else’s business what he knew of their disappearances. For days he stood before withering interrogation by the court without changing his story.
 
“I have nothing to say,” he said over and over, much to the frustration of observers. Every time new evidence was unearthed, Landru merely shrugged his shoulders and denied everything or refused to discuss it.
 
“What of your relationship with Mme. Guillin?” he was asked in open court.
 
“I am a gallant man and will say nothing,” Landru replied to the exasperated magistrate. “I cannot think of revealing the nature of my relations with Mme. Guillin without the lady’s permission.”
 
During the course of the trial Landru’s health began to fail. He began to provide statements of “fact” in response to questions, but the prosecution easily refuted his allegations. His strategy was a tactical blunder, wrote Lord Birkenhead.
 
“Where explanations are obviously needed,” he wrote, “the failure to afford these explanations…will tend to confirm the inference.”
 
Landru’s impudence before the court clearly grated on the jury. His evasions and quickness to answer with sarcasm only succeeded in proving that he was the kind of man who would deceive women like his victims.
 
It took the jury just two hours – after nearly 25 days of testimony – to decide Landru had killed the 11 women. The penalty for such a crime was death.
 
French justice is swift. Just two months passed from the time of his conviction until Landru received word that his execution was imminent. The French system did not inform the condemned until very shortly before the execution.
 
The guillotine is a curious method of execution and although it is generally held to be humane, there is some question about how quickly one dies after being decapitated. Two doctors in the 1960s wrote that “death is not instantaneous. Every vital element survives decapitation…it is a savage vivisection followed by premature burial.” Drs. Piedlievre and Fournier go on to discuss how the brain is capable of breaking down complex sugars in the neurons into oxygen for as long as six minutes after decapitation.
 
Regardless, in February 1922, Landru was brought before the guillotine.
 
Landru bade farewell to his attorneys and presented them with some artwork he had drawn while in prison. Had they looked inside the frame, his attorneys would have found a written confession from Landru admitting his crimes and the means by which he disposed of the bodies, but this was not discovered until nearly five decades later. He declined to hear a Mass and rejected the traditional glass of brandy from his jailer. Landru indignantly refused to make a statement, saying the very question was an insult.
 
Landru stood before the guillotine, which had been the preferred form of execution in France since its revolution a little over a century before. He knelt down and within moments, the blade had fallen ending the life and crimes one of the coldest mass murderers of all time.

Monster in the Belfry

Theo Durrant

The macabre scene in the little room off to the side of the death house at San Quentin was a fitting end to a gory and violent series of crimes, but even the bizarre actions of Theo Durrant’s parents shed little light on what had caused the handsome medical student, polite almost to the point of condescension, to turn into a monster and murder two young women.
 
As the dead body of William Henry Theodore Durrant, his face reflecting the after-effects of execution by hanging, laid in repose in the state-issue coffin not four feet from their table, his parents sat down to a sumptuous meal of roast beef, fruit salad and tea, enjoying the repast as if they did not have a care in the world.
 
Perhaps they took comfort in the idea that their son went to meet his maker as an innocent man. The pair was unshaken their belief that Theo did not commit the heinous murders of Minnie Williams and Blanche Lamont, whose naked, ravaged bodies were left hidden in a San Francisco church. If so, then they were the only ones who did, for even as the date of his execution neared, Durrant’s Baptist minister admitted he had trouble believing Durrant’s claim of unjust persecution. In response, Durrant converted to Catholicism.
 
The jurors who convicted Durrant of murder certainly had no trouble with the state’s case — they took just five minutes to return from their deliberations with a guilty verdict.
 
In 1898, Durrant went to the gallows without admitting any guilt, and nothing in his many statements to the press shed any light on his motivation to kill.
 
The public, though, was not really interested in what made Durrant a sexual murderer; they simply labeled him a monster.

Theo and Blanche

The epitome of late 19th century femininity and sexuality, 18-year-old Blanche Lamont was probably very pleased when Theo Durrant started courting her.
 
He was certainly a catch. In addition to attending medical school, Durrant was the assistant superintendent of the Sunday school at Emanuel Baptist Church in San Francisco. He was a member of the California Signal Corps, the contemporary equivalent of the National Guard. Everyone thought he was quite handsome, gallant and gentlemanly. He was courteous to the young and old alike, and as a student at Cooper Medical College, his future appeared bright.
 
Born in Montana but living with her aunt and uncle near Emanuel — with one “m” — Baptist Church on 21st Street, Blanche was young, but she was not naive. She knew she was attractive to men and took care to keep herself that way. Blanche dressed well and was studying at the Normal School just up the road from Cooper Medical College to be a teacher. The only known picture of Blanche appears to be taken from a school group photo where she looks ahead confidently, showing just a wisp of a smile. The photo only hints at what the press repeatedly described as her “doe-like eyelashes.”
 
So it came to be on a crisp April morning in 1895 that Theo and Blanche met up at the electric trolley stop near their respective homes on their way to school. Both were well-noticed by the other riders on the tram that morning. Blanche wore a billowing black skirt topped with a fashionable Basque jacket and a wide-brimmed hat that tied beneath her tender chin with a bright yellow ribbon.
 
Blanche LamontSitting close to Durrant, she stared ahead with a knowing smile on her face as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear and playfully slapped at her with the kid gloves she had removed upon boarding the train.
 
Very likely Durrant was making arrangements to meet Blanche that afternoon at church, but neither had religious intentions. It had become fashionable recently for young people to meet for clandestine sexual rendezvous in empty church rooms, and Emanuel Baptist had seen its share of such blasphemies. One of the church elders had mentioned this to fellow leaders, bemoaning, “I have heard stories of strange actions on the part of some of the young people of the church.”
 
Durrant and Blanche parted at the Polk Street stop and bade farewell as they went to their respective schools. Each spent a presumably non-descript day in their studies and before 2 p.m. Durrant was seen pacing anxiously near the trolley stop as if he was waiting for someone.
 
Witnesses said he nearly flew down the street in anticipation when he saw Blanche approaching. They boarded the tram together, joined by May Lannigan, who would later testify that she remembered the meeting vividly because “it was the man’s hair which attracted my attention. It struck me as unusual to see a gentleman with such long hair.” She explained that Durrant’s hair touched his collar in the back.
 
Another witness placed the pair walking toward Emanuel Baptist Church a short time later. Walking into the wind caused Blanche’s clothing to cling tightly to her full-bodied form which offended the witnessing lady’s Victorian sensibilities and cemented the encounter in her mind. The woman did not offer a suggestion of what Blanche should have done in the situation.
 
The last person to see Blanche alive was Caroline Leak who saw Durrant open the church’s heavy oak door and hold it as Blanche entered. At the last minute the wind caught the door and almost caught Durrant’s fingers as it slammed shut.
 
The newspapers that covered the murder of Blanche Lamont stated that the young lady, worldly yet demure, “did not part with life and honor without a struggle,” and that a “sexual outrage had probably occurred after death.”
 
None of that was known to church choral director George King as he entered the sanctuary to practice organ sonatas some three hours after Durrant and his victim. King had barely seated himself at the instrument and begun to pump the pedals before a very pale and somewhat disorganized Durrant appeared before him, he testified later.
 
“I’ve been fixing a gas jet upstairs,” Durrant explained. “Be a good fellow and go to the drug store and fetch a Bromo Seltzer.”
 
King complied and within moments of his return with the tonic, Durrant’s features took on their normal, handsome appearance. Durrant bade his friend farewell and strode out into the cold evening air.
 
As King practiced his Bach, the naked corpse of Blanche Lamont was hidden high above him, dark purple bruises on her neck a silent testament to the rage of the fiend who killed her and then laid her out as medical students do with their cadavers — her head propped between two blocks of wood and a third under her neck that lifted her chin.
 
After he had finished raping Blanche’s dead body, Durrant took her arms and folded them across her naked breasts as if to protect her modesty. He then left the bell tower and closed the seldom-used trap door, leaving his grisly work to the dust and flies.
 
Less than five hours after he killed a woman in the bell tower, Durrant was back at the Emanuel Baptist Church for an evening prayer service. There he spotted Tryphena Noble, Blanche’s aunt. He inquired after the student teacher.
 
Tryphena looked worried as she told Durrant that she hoped Blanche would be at the prayer service that night because she had not returned home from school and her absence was most disturbing.

Suspicion

For some reason never explained, Tryphena Noble waited three days before she reported Blanche’s disappearance to San Francisco police. Immediately suspicion fell on Durrant, who seemed preoccupied with sex. He confided to one classmate without prompting that he “had no knowledge of women,” and police learned that a young female parishoner had once been accosted in the church library by Durrant in, as she delicately put it, “his birthday suit.”
 
Contrasting Durrant’s claim of virginity, he bragged to other friends of his exploits in the brothels of Carson City and once boasted that he had raped a Native American woman.
 
Durrant did little to allay the suspicions that he was involved in Blanche’s disappearance.
 
“Perhaps,” he told police, “she has wandered from the moral path and gone astray.”
 
Durrant showed up unannounced at the home of Tryphena Noble and shared his fears that Blanche had been kidnapped by “white slavers” and forced into a life of prostitution. He vowed to rescue her from this horrid fate.
 
Down in the Tenderloin District Durrant tried to pawn some women’s rings but was unable to strike a deal with the pawnbroker. Shortly after this, Tryphena received in the mail three rings belonging to Blanche. They were wrapped in a paper bearing the name of George King, the church organist.
 
But without a body and no sign of foul play, the police could do nothing in the disappearance of Blanche except to hope that either the young woman would turn up alive, or that more clues to her fate would reveal themselves.

Theo and Minnie

Meanwhile, Durrant began paying attention to another church-going young lady, 21-year-old Minnie Williams. It was on Good Friday, April 12, 1895, that Minnie bade farewell to her boardinghouse companions and headed to a Christian fellowship meeting at the home of church elder. The boarders last saw Minnie at 7 p.m.
 
Minnie WilliamsA few minutes later Minnie was observed speaking sharply with Theo Durrant in front of the church. Their conversation was so heated that a man named Hodgkins felt the need to intervene.
 
“His manner was unbecoming to a gentleman,” Hodgkins said later. The peace restored, Minnie and Durrant entered the church together and Hodgkins went on his way.
 
Two hours later, Durrant arrived at the home of the Vogels, who were hosting the meeting. He appeared shaken and disheveled at the Vogel house and before joining his friends at the meeting, announced that he had to wash his hands. By the time the meeting broke up close to midnight, he appeared to have recovered himself.
 
The only odd thing anyone noticed was that on leaving the meeting Durrant said he was going to the church where he had “left something.”

Discovery

The next morning Durrant left San Francisco for a Signal Corps bivouac at Mount Diablo.
 
At the same time a group of ladies had gathered at the Emanuel Baptist Church to prepare for the Easter Sunday service by decorating the pews with flowers. The work was not difficult and it did not take them long to finish. With a few moments to spare the group decided to take a bit of refreshment in a room off the church vestibule used as a library.
 
No one was paying much attention as one of the ladies opened a cupboard door in search of teacups. With a horrible shriek, the woman took a step back and promptly fainted. The others in the room turned to look and what they saw sent the lot of them screaming in terror from into the street.
 
Their shouts prompted calls to the police who arrived on the scene and were directed to the library where they found the naked, brutalized body of Minnie Williams.
 
Minnie had been crammed into the cupboard. Her wrists were slashed, her breasts repeatedly stabbed and her underclothes had been forced down her throat with a stick.
 
The cuts on Minnie’s arms were so deep that not only had her killer sliced through the arteries, he had severed the tendons. The stab wounds to her breasts were made with a weapon of convenience, most likely a knife from the church kitchen. There was a difference of opinion as to whether Minnie had undressed herself willingly or if the killer had done so to facilitate his foul intentions. Eventually the coroner ruled that Minnie had been raped after death.
 
“It appeared that the cold-blooded wretch had deliberately unfastened his victim’s dress that the knife might penetrate her flesh,” wrote the San Francisco Chronicle.
 
Police had but one suspect — Durrant — and the Chronicle led its Easter Sunday morning edition with a proclaimation that not only had Durrant killed Minnie Williams, but that the Sunday School teacher had probably murdered Blanche Lamont as well. The paper goaded the police into searching the church for clues to Blanche’s disappearance.
 
The authorities made a perfunctory search of the church on Easter Sunday, not expecting to find anything of substance. This was a church, after all, and Blanche had been missing for two weeks. It was impossible to hide a body there for so long without discovery, particularly because the church was busy preparing for Easter.
 
Then someone remembered the belfry. It was largely ornamental because it held no bell and thus no one had any reason to go up into the cupola. A close examination of the rusty trap door hinges showed that it had recently been opened.
 
Reopening the door the investigators were met by the smell of death and the loud buzzing of flies. A policeman hoisted a lantern up into the steeple and peered in.
 
It was the bloated, decaying corpse of Blanche Lamont that greeted the police. She lay naked and dead, her face “was fearfully distorted, the mouth being open, exposing the pearly teeth and attesting the horrible death the poor girl had died,” was how one paper reported the discovery.
 
By the end of the day a detective from the San Francisco police department had reached Mount Diablo and apprehended Durrant. The barbarity of the crimes elicited a rage on the part of the people of the city and an angry mob met the ferry at Fisherman’s Wharf.
 
“Only the presence of a large police contingent prevented a lynching,” wrote crime historian Harold Schechter.

Durrant on Trial

Theo Durrant’s trial began in the fall of 1895 and was front-page news in every big city newspaper across the nation. The mustachioed medical student/Sunday School teacher yielded excellent copy for the penny papers that reported daily on the exploits in the courtroom.
 
The Sweet Pea GirlLike many other killers, Durrant drew his share of admirers and was besieged by marriage proposals and love letters. He was gentlemanly and gallant in the courtroom to his female admirers; each morning Durrant accepted a bouquet of flowers from a pretty blonde woman the press dubbed “The Sweet Pea Girl of San Francisco.”
 
The prosecution’s case was straightforward and simple, albeit circumstantial.
 
The defense tried a variety of tactics including accusing the church pastor who spent significant amounts of time alone in the church and had access to every part of the building. They pointed out that no blood was found on Durrant or any of his clothing, and there was no indication he had destroyed any clothes in the time prior to the discovery of the bodies.
 
Prosecutors proposed that Durrant was naked during the murder of Minnie Williams, lending credence to the belief she had been willing sexual partner prior to her murder.
 
Doctors who examined Durrant for the prosecution and defense debated on the stand about the young man’s soundness of mind.
 
“It was not claimed that Durrant was insane,” wrote Matthew Worth Pinkerton in his account of the case in Murder in All Ages, published in 1898. “Yet that there was something morally defective in his makeup is apparent.”
 
Durrant was probably a budding serial killer of the disorganized type. As the name implies, Durrant very likely did not plan to kill Minnie or Blanche — they were simply targets of opportunity whose deaths were provoked by some unknown trigger.
 
Blanche’s body might never have been discovered and her case never solved if Durrant had taken more care to hide Minnie’s corpse. His actions were not merely sloppy, they were proof that his psyche had broken down and he was out of control. This is not the same as being legally insane as the experts for both sides testified.
 
The distinction was apparent to the jury, which rendered a guilty verdict before the courtroom had cleared for what was expected to be lengthy deliberations.
 
Durrant was sentenced to death.

“An Innocent Boy”

The appeals process slowed the wheels of justice and it was not until three years had passed that Durrant faced the hangman. In the intervening years Durrant’s attorneys had spared no effort to save his life, bringing up the details of his sordid sex life, drunken debauches on the Barbary Coast and twisted fetishes. Still, court after court upheld the convictions and sentence. When the U.S. Supreme Court let the verdict stand, he announced that he was “ready to die like a Durrant.”
 
On the morning of his hanging he declined to confess his sins to his priest because he said he was not guilty. Then he climbed the gallows, his arms strapped to his side, and proceeded to deliver a lengthy oration on his innocence, blaming his convictions on the press.
 
“I now go to receive the justice given to an innocent boy who has not stained his hands with the crimes that have been put upon him by the press of San Francisco,” he said.
 
As Durrant gathered his energy to continue his rant, the hangman slipped the hood over the head of the condemned man. From beneath the white bag, Durrant’s muffled voice continued:
 
“I do not look upon people now as enemies,” he said as the hangman adjusted the noose around his neck. “I forgive them as I expect to be forgiven for anything I have done…”
 
He paused briefly as the executioner slid the knot down the rope just behind his right ear. “I am innocent. I say now this day before God, to whom I now go to meet my dues, I am innocent…”
 
The hangman considered this a sufficient statement and pulled the lever which sprang the trap. Durrant dropped three feet below the gallows and he was dead immediately.
 
His body was placed in a black lacquer coffin and his parents were allowed to see their son. His handsome features were marred by the hanging. His blue eyes that some people claimed were pale to the point of glassiness bulged from his face and his blackened tongue protruded from between his lips.
 
It was thus that his parents received him in that small room off the San Quentin execution chamber, and he remained that way as they enjoyed their afternoon repast.
 
Durrant’s crimes were so heinous that no cemetery in the area would accept his remains. It took some time for his parents to find a cemetery in Los Angeles that would bury his ashes.