“Did she!’’
snapped Alonzo,
steamed
up now after all
those years. “She
sure did!’’
Hours later,
Ormsby went back
to the hotel and
began to read the
poison book. By the
time he returned to
Twin Falls, he was
something of an
amateur authority
on lethal substances.
Figuring that
both the Dooley
brothers and Ed
Meyer had been
poisoned by Lyda
for their insurance,
Ormsby pressed
Sheriff Sherman for
an autopsy on Big
Ed. Sherman, still
reluctant to cause
a public outcry on
mere suspicion,
refused. “Keep
digging, Val,’’ he
urged.
Ormsby now
began to put himself
in Lyda’s lethal
shoes. Where, he
wondered, would
she have got the
poison? Drugstores,
he knew, sold
arsenic – a favourite
ingredient of
poisoners – under
various guises.
There was arsenic
in ant poison, and it
was also to be found
in rat and coyote
poison.
Knowing that all sales of anything
containing poison were recorded in the
ledgers of drugstores, Ormsby began a
tour of Twin Falls. He looked at the
poison sales registers until his eyes
hurt. He knew that many murderers
bought poison which they claimed was
intended for rats, but he found nothing
to indicate that Lyda had bought
anything containing a lethal substance.
Stymied, but by no means
discouraged, the deputy next decided
to try to get a lead on what happened to
Lyda’s second husband and suspected
third victim Billy McHaffie. The only
clue he had about McHaffie was the
rumour that, after marrying Lyda, he
had gone to live in Montana, which
now became Ormsby’s next stop.
He was in luck. In going through the
state’s death records, he found that
William McHaffie had, three years
before, been buried after dying of the
flu.
Deputy Ormsby sped to Hardin. He
poked around the premises of what
he knew in his bones had been another
murder scene – the fourth that he now
had in his sights – and found nothing.
He got back in his car and began a tour
of the area, looking into the poison
sales books at drugstores. Once again
he drew a blank. His suspect had
signed for nothing containing poison of
any description.
Then it occurred to him that he
could do worse than inquire around
the insurance agents in the district.
And this led him to the very man who
three years before had written a $5,000
policy on Billy McHaffie. His name
was Jack Reynolds and he had an office
in the main street in Billings.
“Yes, I insured McHaffie,” said
Reynolds, “and I was sorry right after I
did it too.’’
“Why?’’ asked Ormsby.
“Because I’ve always had the
suspicion that his wife took that
insurance out on McHaffie just so
she could kill him. But murder is
dangerous stuff to talk about – so I’ve
always kept my mouth shut...until
now.’’
“What makes you suspect foul play?’’
“Well, not long after McHaffie died,
Lyda married a friend of mine. His
name was Harlan Lewis. He was an
implement salesman.’’
“What happened to him?’’
Reynolds shrugged. “I don’t know.
After they got married they moved to
Denver, Colorado, and that’s the last I
heard of either of them.’’
“But if he was a friend of yours, why
didn’t you hear from him?’’
“We had a disagreement before he
left.’’
“What about?’
“Insurance. Lyda and Lewis came
in here and she wanted him to take out
ten thousand dollars on his life, with
her the beneficiary.’’
“So?’’
“So I told both of ’em point-blank
that I didn’t like the look of things.
Then I drew my friend Lewis to one
side and told him if he knew which
side his bread was buttered on, he
wouldn’t have anything to do with that
woman. And do you know what he
did? He punched me on the nose and
told me he never wanted to speak to me
again. Then he and Lyda walked out
and went into the office across the
street.’’
Ormsby looked out the window to
follow Reynolds’s gaze. He saw
another insurance office Going there,
he introduced himself to the
insurance man – a character named
Arms.
“When,’’ the deputy asked, “did a
policy holder of yours by the name of
Harlan Lewis die?’’
Arms looked up his records. “Less
than a year ago,’’ he said. “Why?’’
“Never mind why. Just tell me what
his address was.’’ Arms gave Ormsby
an address in Denver, Colorado.
In Denver the deputy found himself
wandering through an unoccupied
house on the edge of town. This wasthe house where Lyda had lived with
Harlan Lewis, her third husband and,
the deputy suspected, the fourth of five
men she had somehow poisoned.T
here was a small barn at the rear
of the property. Ormsby wandered
into it. Poking around the cellar, he
saw an old cardboard box. Opening it,
he found a pile of blackish paper, each
sheet around one foot square. At first
he thought it was carbon paper but,
picking up a piece and examining it, he
began to curse to himself.
Why hadn’t he thought of this – why
hadn’t he suspected it before? He had
found a box of old-fashioned fly papers
which, when soaked in water, make an
arsenic solution!
So that was how Lyda had got away
with it all those years! She had bought
fly papers, for which no records were
kept and the purchase of which never
aroused suspicion, made a lethal potion
from them and, pretending that it was
a bitter medicine, administered it to her
victims.
Ormsby rushed back to Twin Falls.
He now had enough evidence to start
digging up bodies. The first to comeup was Big Ed Meyer. The authorities
couldn’t have been less surprised when
the autopsy showed that Big Ed was
shot through with arsenic.
Then the Dooley boys were
disinterred, and they like Big Ed were
filled with arsenic. Next came Billy
McHaffie. He too was a sight for sore
microscopic eyes. Finally, Harlan
Lewis was exhumed and he was as
arsenic-happy as the others.
The law now had, after five long
years, the goods on a modern Borgia
who poisoned five men and turned a
tidy profit in the process. But where
was she?
Deputy Ormsby took to the road
once more. By checking baggage
records, he traced Lyda to San
Francisco. And there, checking
marriage records, he learned that a
month previously she had become the
wife of sailor Paul Southard.
Navy records disclosed that Southard
had gone on a tour of duty in Honolulu.
Ormsby dispatched a cable, asking the
police there to arrest Lyda Southard
and hold her.
She was living with Southard near
Pearl Harbor, in a little bungalow.He suddenly realised
how Lyda had got
away with murder for
so long. She bought
fly papers – for which
no records were kept- and soaked them in
water to produce an
arsenic solution!