Medford mail tribune., November 10, 1957, Image 40

............ .v i! . esi
11 ;
The
by William T. Brannen
Art by Lou Peters
It was about eight in the evening
when Mrs. Gertrude Mosier,
45, left her home in Gulfport, a
quiet suburb of St. Petersburg, Fla.,
to walk her dog. She said she might
stop at the shuffleboard court nearby.
When she failed to return by 1 a.m.,
her frantic husband notified police.
The Mosiers' closest friends , the
Irwin E. Hawleys of St. Petersburg, who
had been neighbors back in Michigan
before both families moved to Florida,
were routed from bed by searching
oflicers. Rubbing sleep from their eyes,
the shocked couple said they hadn't
seen Gertrude for several days.
Six hours later, the missing woman's
body was found beside a clump of
bushes on the outskirts of town.
Five blows had crushed her skull and
she had been stabbed. A dog leash was
looped around her neck and strips of
white cloth had been stuffed into her
mouth. Obviously, this was the work
of a man consumed with passionate
hatred for Mrs. Mosier.
Oflicers were sent to check into her
private life. Capt. John Siers and Offi
cer Ike Mitchell came from St. Peters
burg to help. Deputy Sid Saunders
came from the sheriffs office.
A search of the scene turned up sev
eral clues. Mitchell carefully preserved
the strips of cloth for microscopic ex
amination. In the bushes near the body,
he found a white shirt, freshly done
up. Had it been dropped by the killer?
Deputy Saunders found fresh tire
tracks in a road nearby and these were
photographed. It was established that
the leash belonged to Mrs. Mosier's
dog; the dog itself was found later.
The officers could find no hint of
scandal in the life of the dead woman.
She never went out alone at night ex
cept to walk the dog. She had often
Tattered
Shirt
been seen watching the shuffleboard
games, but she'd always been alone.
She was devoted to her husband and
14-year-old daughter. All her friends
scoffed at the idea of a secret romance.
Mitchell found a faded laundry mark
on the shirt. It appeared to be the word,
Carl. But none of the local laundries
could identify the mark.
Then Mitchell studied the strips of
broadcloth. They apparently had been
torn from a shirt, but what interested
Mitchell was the distinctive weave. If
he could find where shirts of this ma
terial were sold, he might trace the
killer. He visited every men's shop in
the county; many sold broadcloth
shirts, but none with this weave.
Mitchell had studied the unusual
cloth so much he was sure he would
recognize the weave if he ever saw it.
He found himself constantly staring
at shirt fronts looking for that parti
cular fabric.
Pictures of the tire tracks indicated
that they were new, but they were a
common size and brand.
With the case about to bog down,
Captain Siers ordered detec
tives to question Mrs. Mosier's
friends again. They were asked to
search their memories for some small
incident, snatch of conversation, or bit
of gossip that might provide a clue to
the killer's identity. The detectives
questioned two dozen couples, but none
could shed any light on the case.
"There must be something," Siers in
sisted. "Have all those couples come
to headquarters. I want to question
them myself."
From the door of the police labora
tory, Mitchell and Saunders watched
the parade as couple after couple was
ushered into the office of Captain Siers.
Suddenly, Mitchell gestured excitedly
to Saunders. "See that couple? Let's go
outside and have a look at their car.
Bring your pictures."
While Saunders squinted at the tire
treads, Mitchell looked inside the car.
Tools were scattered on the floor in the
rear. Protruding from under the back
seat was a bit of white cloth. Mitchell
lifted the seat and found a crumpled
shirt with the tail torn off. It was
smeared with several dark stains.
Saunders studied the tires. They were
new and the treads matched those
found at the murder scene.
"Let's go to the lab," Mitchell said.
Under the microscope, he compared
the torn shirt with the pieces stuffed in
the victim's mouth. It was the distinc
tive broadcloth weave he had been
searching for!
Then he spread the shirt out and put
the pieces into the missing tail. They
fit perfectly. A quick analysis of the
dark spots revealed they were blood.
Mitchell and Saunders hurried into
the captain's office. "You had Mr. and
Mrs. Hawley here. Where are they?"
"They went home," Siers said. "Why?1'
Mitchell told him. Saunders didn't
wait He ran to his car an sped after
the Hawleys, catching up with them as
they arrived home. Hawley protested,
but Saunders arrested him.
Confronted with the evidence of the
shirt, the blood stains, and the tire
treads, Hawley confessed. At 56, Hawley
fancied himself a ladies' man. He al
ways carried a clean shirt in his car
just in case he should arrange a date.
It was his shirt found at the scene of
the crime.
Hawley said he'd had a crush on Mrs.
Mosier for years even before the two
families had left Michigan. But it had
been a one-way affair. Mrs. Mosier
laughed off his advances and told him
he was threatening the friendship of
the two families.
Her continued rebuffs worked Haw
ley into a frenzy. He had watched her
home and noted that some evenings she
left to walk the dog. On the fatal night,
he drove behind her as she walked
toward the shuffleboard court and fol
lowed her when she started home. He
drew up beside her and invited her to
sit in the car and talk. Then he yanked
the leash from the dog and drove off.
When Mrs. Mosier tried to fight him
off, he struck and stabbed her, then
knotted the leash about her neck. He
tore a piece from the tail of his shirt
and stuffed it in her mouth, then hid
her body in the bushes.
Investigation cleared up the5 mystery
of the laundry mark. Hawley's middle
name was Earl and that had been the
mark on the shirt, but it was so faded
police thought it was Carl.
Hawley was indicted for murder but
was found insane. He died three years
later in the Florida State Hospital.
Asked why(iie had suspected Hawley,
Mitchell said: "I didn't. The Hawleys
and Mosiers had been close friends for
years, and he seemed the least likely
suspect. But I had been looking at
thousands of shirts. When Hawley came
to headquarters for questioning, I au
tomatically looked at his. I knew he
was the man as soon as I spotted that
unusual weave!"
8 Fnmili Weekly, November 10, 1957