Fatal (26 page)

The world didn’t have to wait long. That very evening, the late edition of the
Boston Globe
ran a banner headline: “SECRET OUT! MORPHIA AND ATROPIA CAUSED MRS. GIBBS’ DEATH! SUSPICIONS OF WOMAN’S FATHER-IN-LAW HAVE BEEN VERIFIED!”

Captain Paul Gibbs had been vindicated. After more than a week of insisting that Jane’s victims had died of arsenic poisoning, the prosecution had finally acknowledged what the old sailor had been saying all along.

The change in the government’s position resulted partly from a turnabout by Professor Wood, who had revised his initial opinion. Wood now agreed that the arsenic in Minnie Gibbs’s body had indeed “come from the embalming fluid used by undertaker Davis and was in no wise responsible for her death.” Further chemical analysis had turned up lethal traces of morphine and atropine in the victim’s organs, leading him to conclude “that it was these drugs and not arsenic that killed Mrs. Gibbs.”

Equally important to the government’s case was the testimony of Mr. Benjamin Waters, proprietor of a pharmacy in the nearby town of Wareham. Waters told officials that, during the second week of July, Jane Toppan had telephoned his store from the Cataumet post office and “ordered a bottle of morphia tablets, the strongest kind.” He had wrapped up
the bottle in brown paper and shipped it to her on the next train. According to Waters, there was “enough poison in the morphia to send into eternal rest a score of persons.”

Waters’s story was substantiated by the Cataumet postmaster, Frank K. Irwin, who kept a record of every call placed from his establishment (which served not only as the town’s post office and “telephone exchange” but also its general store). Irwin had not only noted Jane’s call in his ledger but had overheard her place the order for the morphine.

Another crucial link in the State’s chain of evidence was provided by a drugstore clerk named William Robinson, who recalled Jane’s frequent purchases of Hunyadi mineral water. That Jane freely dispensed this beverage to her patients was confirmed by several witnesses, including Beulah Jacobs, who testified that Minnie Gibbs had been given a glassful to drink shortly before she sank into a coma and died.

Putting all these facts together, the government was now thoroughly (and correctly) convinced that it had figured out Nurse Toppan’s murderous MO. Her victims, as the
Boston Post
reported, had all “died the same way—died after a poisoned glass of Hunyadi water was handed to them by Miss Toppan.”

Indeed District Attorney Holmes felt so confident in the findings that, late Saturday afternoon, he announced that “the inquest will not be resumed, the government being perfectly satisfied that it has secured sufficient evidence against Miss Toppan to connect her with the death of Miss Gibbs.”

Holmes had another announcement, too—even more unwelcome news for Jane and her lawyer.

He intended to order further exhumations. Sometime in the coming days, he declared, the corpses of the two elder members of the ill-fated Davis family, Alden and Mary, would be disinterred from their graves in the Cataumet cemetery and autopsied for traces of poison.

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

—S
HAKESPEARE
,
Hamlet

P
UBLICLY, AT LEAST
, J
ANE’S LAWYER BRUSHED OFF THE
revelations that had emerged from the inquest. “It makes me smile when I think of the stories that have been printed about the discoveries made in connection with this morphia purchase,” Murphy told reporters. “I assure you that the defense is not the least bit worried about them.”

Jane, too, appeared unfazed when she was next seen in public. Despite rumors that her incarceration was taking a terrible toll on her mental state—“MIND IS YIELDING!” cried the headline of the
Globe
on November 13—she seemed perfectly calm and cheerful when she emerged from the jailhouse on Friday morning, November 15, to attend her twice-postponed preliminary hearing.

Earlier that morning, shortly after eight, Murphy had arrived at her cell, bearing a large bunch of chrysanthemums and a basket of fruit for his client, who—according to reports—was “happy as a schoolgirl when he presented them to her.”

After conferring for an hour, Jane and her counsel left the jail, accompanied by State Officer Letteney and Keeper Cash. Jane’s face, according to reporters
who had turned out for the event, was “wreathed in smiles.” As the party made its way to the courthouse, Jane walked with such a brisk and sprightly step that she quickly outdistanced the others. Noticing how far behind they were, she came to a halt and jokingly remarked on their lagging pace.

Assembled in front of the big stone courthouse was a crowd of newspapermen, several of them wielding cameras. “Oh, look,” Jane cried to Murphy. “They are trying to get a snapshot of me.” Though one paper, the
Lowell Sun
, suggested that Jane was frightened of the photographers (“MISS TOPPAN STARTLED BY CAMERA FIENDS” read the headline), most observers agreed that she seemed somewhat amused to find herself the focus of such extraordinary interest.

Inside the courtroom, Jane took the same place she had occupied one week earlier. She was dressed in the identical outfit she had worn on that occasion—black dress, black hat, white tie, and incongruous collar. Hands folded on her lap, she sat calmly beside Murphy, observing the proceedings “with head erect and eyes bright” (in the words of one reporter).

Judge Fred Swift, who was already seated at the bench when the prisoner entered, promptly began the proceedings. “I will now hear what is to be said by the counsel for the prisoner as to the continuance of the case,” he declared.

Rising, Murphy stated that he had arranged with the government to have the hearing continued yet again—this time until December 11—and asked the judge to grant his request. State Detective Letteney, representing the government, made no objection.

Judge Swift asked the prisoner to rise. Getting calmly to her feet, Jane looked him squarely in the face while he ordered that she be returned to jail and held there, without bail, until the agreed-upon date. With a rap of his gavel, Judge Swift then adjourned the court. The entire proceedings had lasted barely four minutes.

As Jane was escorted back across the lawn to the jailhouse, she appeared to be her old jolly self, “laughing merrily” (according to the
Globe
) as she chatted with her lawyer. Murphy remained in her cell until it was time for him to catch the 10:25 train back to Lowell. As he headed for the depot, reporters saw Jane watching him through the barred window of her cell—“casting longing glances after the one in whom she has confided all, and upon whom she relies to secure her freedom.”

•   •   •

Accounts emanating from the jailhouse continued to stress Jane’s serene acceptance of her situation. Though Keeper Cash had been ordered to keep a close eye on her because of her earlier suicide attempts, she showed no signs of depression. On the contrary, her famous “rollicking good-nature” was very much in evidence. When someone asked how she was bearing up behind bars, she reportedly replied: “Well, I am having a good rest in here, anyway.”

Letters from supporters continued to arrive. A gentleman named Charles M. Dauchy—whose son had been stricken with typhoid fever during the Spanish-American War—expressed his everlasting gratitude for the “splendid care” Jane had lavished on his child. A woman named Gertrude L. Lafon, a onetime classmate at the Cambridge Hospital Training School for
Nurses, wrote to say how much she had always respected Jane.

Jane continued to find ways to beguile the time. With material furnished by the motherly Mrs. Cash, she had begun work on a new dress for herself. Seated in the morning sunshine streaming through her cell window, she contentedly plied her needle for hours at a time. She had also formed a warm attachment to Mrs. Cash’s three-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, whose regular visits, according to the
Barnstable Patriot
, were “the brightest moments of Mrs. Toppan’s prison life.” Nearly every afternoon, the little girl would “toddle up to the cell door and, with her tiny fingers grasping the bars, stand for an hour at a time talking with the nurse.”

Even the exhumations of Mr. and Mrs. Davis did not—to all outward appearances—cause her any particular consternation. The bodies were removed from their graves on the chilly, rain-swept morning of Thursday, November 21. Officials had intended to conduct the autopsies in a carriage shed adjoining the church across from the Cataumet cemetery. The little structure offered such poor protection from the weather, however, that the corpses were carried to the more sheltered precincts of the Major Allen house nearby.

Aside from several representatives of the press, those in attendance included Professor Wood, Undertaker Davis, and State Detectives Whitney and Letteney. The autopsy itself was carried out by Medical Examiner Faunce, with the assistance of Dr. C. E. Harris of Hyannis. Despite having lain in the ground for over three months, the bodies, according to witnesses, were “in a remarkable state of preservation.”
The livers and stomachs were removed and given over to Professor Wood for transportation back to his lab at Harvard. Wood—who promised to “make all possible haste” with his analysis—estimated that his report would be ready in “less than two weeks,” in plenty of time for Jane’s rescheduled hearing.

Since Alden Davis’s death had been officially attributed to cerebral hemorrhage, his skull was sawn open and his brain examined. Even at a glance, it was clear that the diagnosis on his death certificate was wrong. The brain showed no sign of ruptured blood vessels. “NOT DUE TO APOPLEXY,” proclaimed the headline of the next day’s
Herald
. “SOMETHING ELSE CAUSED ALDEN DAVIS’ DEATH.” That “something,” of course, was now believed to be Nurse Toppan’s lethal cocktail of poisoned mineral water. The discovery was a further boon to the state and a blow to the defense. Surely, the paper conjectured, news of this development would “cause Miss Toppan to lose the cheerfulness that has characterized her since she was last brought before the district court.”

But the paper was wrong. According to Mrs. Cash—who was pumped by reporters each day for any scrap of information concerning the celebrity inmate—Jane’s spirits remained as upbeat as ever.

If there was anything that worried her it was money. By all accounts, she was completely broke. Though she had earned a respectable income as a private nurse, she had nothing to show for her years of employment—no savings, no jewelry, no property. The financial support promised by her wealthy Cambridge friends had not materialized.

In the view of certain sympathizers, her circumstances made it impossible for her to mount a proper defense. Even her childhood friend James Murphy was representing her for free. A few days after her latest appearance in court, reports began to surface that the government itself might come to the aid of Nurse Toppan by assigning a number of state detectives to work on her behalf.

Since the government was, of course, intent on convicting her, this suggestion struck many people as highly peculiar. There was, however, a precedent for it. Eighteen years earlier, a sensational crime had occurred in the Boston area. A Watertown woman named Carleton had been brutally slain in the doorway of her own home, her skull crushed with a granite paving stone. Eventually, a man named Roger Amero was arrested for the crime. Unable to hire his own investigators, the penniless Amero appealed to then-governor Benjamin Butler, who agreed to put a pair of state detectives at the disposal of the defense. Pitted against members of their own force—who were doing their best to establish his guilt—the detectives managed to dig up enough evidence to win Amero’s release.

With this episode in mind, one anonymous source close to the Toppan case argued that the same governmental assistance should be offered to Jane Toppan:

Anyone who follows trials closely knows that it will take considerable time to reach the trial stage. The Grand Jury will not take up the case for months, and counsel will not be assigned until after the indictment. In the meantime, the State will be hard at work perfecting its case. The best
detective talent will be employed to this end.

If Miss Toppan is guilty of one-half the crimes which have been charged and implied against her, no punishment is too severe for her. In Massachusetts, however, a defendant is looked upon as innocent until proven guilty. Therefore, in the eyes of the law, Miss Toppan is an innocent woman. But she is deprived because of her incarceration, as well as because of her lack of means of seeking out evidence which might be of vital importance at her trial. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts can afford to be generous. At least it can afford to be fair. It has a large force of detectives whose business it is to investigate crimes and apprehend criminals. Two of the force are at work on perfecting the prosecution’s case. Would it not be a magnanimous act if some of the other officers should be placed at Miss Toppan’s disposal to look up evidence in her defense?

In truth, however, the government had no interest in assisting Miss Toppan. On the contrary. Even as this high-minded proposal was being bruited about in the press, District Attorney Holmes was planning a little surprise for Jane and her lawyer—a move that would catch them completely off-guard and place them at a distinct legal disadvantage.