The policy on McHaffie
had lapsed for non-
payment of premiums- Lyda had been
outwitted at her own
game. But not all was
lost. Her next victim
came knocking on her
door!
brothers had bitten the dust, three
years after Billy McHaffie had gone
under and a year and a half after
Harlan Lewis had dropped in on Lyda
for the second time – the newly-elected
sheriff of Twin Falls, Edward Sherman,
summoned Virgil “Val” Ormsby, his
deput y.
“Val,’’ said Sheriff Sherman, “you’re
a young man and I’m about to put you
on your first case.’’
“OK,’’ he said to the sheriff. “What’s
the case?’’
“You know Bud Taylor, the foreman
on the Blue Hills ranch just outside
town? Well, he’s been on the phone.
Claims he can put us on to a poison
mystery.’’
“Poison!’’ echoed Ormsby.
“Well, you know how people are.
They go off half-cocked. Anyway,
poison’s a hard thing to prove and
you’ve got to be careful about accusing
innocent people.’’
Half an hour later Ormsby was sitting
in the Blue Hills ranch house, talking
to Bud Taylor.
“You knew Ed Meyer, one of my best
hands, didn’t you, Val?’’ Taylor began.
“Yeah, Ed died here a couple of
months back.’’
“Well, we had two doctors in. One
said Ed died of typhoid and the other
said he died of ptomaine. Do you
know what he really died of? He was
poisoned!’’
“What makes you say that?’’
The foreman recounted a little
history. Big Ed Meyer, only a few
months before his death, had married
a girl named Lyda Lewis. Lyda, Bud
Taylor said, was a great believer in
insurance. And so Meyer had taken out
$10,000-worth, naming his bride as
the beneficiary. Then he died less than
two months after taking out the policy.
“It’s surer’n hell bet,’’ Taylor went
on, “that this woman got Ed to take out
that insurance so’s she could poison
him and collect on it!’’
Ormsby made notes. “What I want
you to do, Val,’’ Taylor went on, “is dig
up Big Ed and have an autopsy and
prove he was poisoned.’’
“Wait a minute,’’ said Ormsby. “The
sheriff’s office can’t just go and dig up
a body without evidence. All we got
here is your say-so, and how do we
know you’re right?’’
Taylor grew impatient. “I know damn
well I’m right! Something happens to
every man this woman marries!’’
During the next few days Deputy
Ormsby dug into the records of Big
Ed Meyer’s death. He learned that,
while Dr. David Coughlin had ascribed
it to ptomaine, Dr. Harry Bieler had
ascribed it to typhoid. Calling on Dr.
Coughlin first, Ormsby asked if it was
possible that the ranch hand had died
by being poisoned.
“What makes you ask a thing like
that?’’ asked Coughlin.
Ormsby just shrugged.
“Of course it’s possible,’’ said
Coughlin. “Ptomaine has the same
symptoms as do
certain other
poisons, but a
doctor doesn’t
suspect poison
unless he’s looking
for it.’’
“Well,’’ pressed
Ormsby, “then it’s
entirely possible
that Big Ed Meyer
was poisoned and
you didn’t notice
it?’’
“Yes,’’ admitted
Dr. Coughlin,
“that’s possible.’’
Ormsby then
tackled Dr. Bieler. “I could have been
fooled,’’ the physician agreed when the
deputy explained his suspicions.
Confident now that he was on the
trail of something, Ormsby barged into
Sheriff Sherman’s office. “I think,’’
he said to the sheriff, “that I’m on to a
murder – maybe several murders.’’
Ormsby filled the sheriff in on what
he had learned. The sheriff gave
his deputy a long, hard look. “Keep
digging, but for God’s sake keep your
mouth shut until we have the goods on
that girl,’’ he said finally.
Ormsby went to the local library.
“Got anything on poisons?’’ he asked.
The librarian had just one volume
on the subject. Ormsby tucked it under
his arm and went back to the sheriff’s
office.
“What I’d like to do with your
permission,’’ he said, “is try to
backtrack on this Lyda girl. Meantime’’- he held up the poison book – “I’ll be
reading this.’’
Then he headed off for Keytesville,
Missouri, where he set out to find
anybody who could fill him in
on the Dooley brothers.
“Their father is still around,’’
the deputy’s hotel receptionist told
Ormsby. “He runs a farm just outside
town.’’
Old Alonzo Dooley squinted at
Ormsby when the deputy approached
him in a barn behind the house.
“I’m here to see you about your boys
who died five years ago,” Ormsby said
after he had introduced himself.
The deputy asked Dooley if he
knew whether Lyda had collected any
insurance on the deaths of his sons.
Above, the rope – still in place –
which Lyda used to escape over the
prison wall. Inset above, prison
trustee Dave Bryant who provided
her with a saw to cut through her
cell bars (below)