Product Description

A fresh and fascinating look at the Evelyn Dick murder trial and the intriguing mystery of her disappearance.

The "torso" murder trial of young attractive Evelyn Dick grabbed headlines in 1946 and 1947. Her husband John's head and limbs had been sawed from his body and burned up in her furnace. After she was sentenced to hang, up-and-coming lawyer J.J. Robinette appealed her case, won her a new trial and then an acquittal. But, when police found the decayed remains of Evelyn's newborn baby encased in cement in a suitcase in her attic, the best Robinette could do for her was a manslaughter conviction and eleven years in prison.

Evelyn Dick was released with a new identity in 1958. Since then, rumors, stories and sightings have abounded. Where did she go and what happened to her? Writer producer Brian Vallée, after crisscrossing the country, conducting several dozen interviews and tirelessly researching old newspaper files and thousands of pages of transcripts and police reports, answers many of the questions that surround this mysterious case. The result is a lively, spine-tingling account of the case itself and Evelyn Dick's surprising new life. With much of the material never before published, The Torso Murder is a captivating, chilling true story.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #574117 in Books
• Published on: 2002-03-02
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 288 pages

About the Author
Brian Vallée, the best-selling author of Life with Billy, is a former journalist and award-winning producer-director with CBC's The Fifth Estate. He continues his documentary work as a freelancer with items airing on CBC's Life and Times and The Fifth Estate. He was a researcher and scriptwriter for the made-for-TV documentary The Notorious Mrs. Dick. His other non-fiction books include Life and Death with Billy and Edwin Alonzo Boyd: The Story of the Notorious Boyd Gang. His first novel, Pariah, was published in the U.S. and Canada in 1991.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One: Ash Wednesday

It was about 9:30 a.m. on Ash Wednesday when John Dick and his cousin's wife, Ann Kammerer, left the house on Gertrude Street and hopped on the King streetcar heading uptown. John had been boarding with the Kammerers and their son for just over a month. He was dressed in a gray overcoat, a conductor's cap and the navy blue uniform of the Hamilton Street Railway -- the HSR -- which operated the city's buses and streetcars. Brass buttons gleamed from both the overcoat and uniform jacket, beneath which he wore a blue and white pinstripe shirt, a brown tie and a blue sleeveless wool sweater. The black oxfords were required HSR footwear. He had with him a small black leather satchel for carrying his driver's equipment: tin ticket box, transfer punch, cash and metal coin holder.

John Dick's shift didn't start until 4 p.m., but he had matters to attend to beforehand. Ann noticed the fleeting smile when he greeted his fellow driver. But as they moved back in the streetcar, the familiar furrowed brow and anxious look were firmly in place. She knew he was nervous about seeing Evelyn, his beautiful young estranged wife, who had called the day before to arrange a meeting. He had been subdued at breakfast, having only coffee instead of the usual bacon and eggs. Ann concluded he must have been thinking about Evelyn. He had lived with her for only two of the five months since their October wedding. Dick, solidly built, fair, just under six feet, was thirty-nine when he married Evelyn, a dark-eyed beauty, fourteen years younger than him. It was evident early on that the marriage was doomed, and Alex Kammerer was not surprised when his cousin showed up in a taxi with all his belongings on a Sunday morning in early February.

Ann had known John Dick for thirteen years, and in all that time she had never seen him so despondent. He had lost his appetite and his weight was down. Before his recent troubles she had always found him to be even-tempered, good-natured and usually hungry. He had skipped breakfast today, but last night he was at least talking about food.

"What are you having for supper tomorrow?" he had asked Ann.

"Why? What would you like?"

"I'd really like to have fish -- salmon. You're going to be uptown tomorrow anyway, so why don't you go to the fish store on York Street and pick up some salmon?"

Ann agreed.

"I'll probably be home from work late," said Dick, "so just leave me some on the back of the stove."

Now, as the streetcar lumbered past the HSR car barns and offices on King Street East, John Dick moved towards the door.

"I'll see you tonight or tomorrow morning," he said to Ann as he stepped off the car at the Sanford Avenue stop. She watched him a moment as he began the half-block walk back to the HSR.

Dick had been a conductor with the company for three years -- first on streetcars, then on buses, and for the past year on streetcars again. He replaced his conductor's cap with the brown fedora he had been carrying as he approached the inspector's office adjoining the car sheds. It was shortly after 10 a.m. when he entered. Inspector William Mottram was on duty. He had worked for the HSR for more than twenty-five years and had been promoted to inspector just before John Dick joined the company.

"Can I leave my cap and bag here for a while?" asked Dick.

"Ok" replied Mottram. "Just put them on the desk."

Dick left the cap and bag on the desk and quickly left the office. About three hours later, just before 1 p.m., he returned to find that Mottram had left on his lunch break, replaced by Supervisor Harvey Walters. They talked a few minutes and then Dick picked up his satchel and conductor's cap, left his fedora on the desk and headed for the door. "I'll be back," he said.

The three-story red brick house at 32 Carrick Avenue, with its inviting white veranda across the front, was in a solid middle-class neighborhood. Evelyn Dick had purchased the house herself, closing the deal near the end of October 1945. Her new husband, John Dick, had moved in with her, but after three tumultuous months he was gone for good on February 3, when he picked up the last of his things and went to live with his cousin. Twenty-five-year-old Evelyn shared the house with her four-year-old daughter, Heather; her mother, Alexandra MacLean; and a border who had moved in the day after John Dick left.

Evelyn had been at the house all morning but after lunch she was readying to go out. She was wearing a stylish gray fur coat, gray overshoes and a black turban-style hat.

"Where are you going?" asked her mother.

"I'm just going uptown," said Evelyn. "I have to pick up a couple of things. I'll be back around five."

It was about 1:30 when she left the house.

William Landeg, owner of Grafton Garage, a sprawling single-story stone building at the northwest corner of King William and Catharine streets, knew exactly what Evelyn Dick wanted when she walked into his office at 2 p.m.

"You want to borrow the car, right?"

"Right," smiled Evelyn, her dark eyes fixing his.

"The car" was a 1938 eight-cylinder black Packard sedan. Evelyn had once owned it but four years ago had sold it to Landeg in lieu of $300 she owed him for repair and storage charges. It was a good deal for him -- perhaps too good -- and letting her borrow the car from time to time may have eased any guilt he felt. Besides, he genuinely liked Evelyn and had known her father for many years. In the last month she had borrowed the Packard four times. Before that, he hadn't seen her in two years.

"I'll get it back by five," she promised. She knew the Packard was his personal vehicle and that he needed it for the two-mile drive home for his supper break. Landeg wasn't worried; she'd always returned the Packard on time. As he handed her the keys, he warned her there were two outboard motors on the floor of the back seat.

Proprietor Joseph Visheau noticed that John Dick was wearing a crisp blue shirt when he showed up at the Windsor Hotel dining room at King William and John streets about 2:15 p.m. Lunchtime was over and the kitchen was closed. The place was empty, but Dick took a seat at one of the tables. Visheau's sister, Agnes Viola, was the waitress that day. "I'm sorry, but the kitchen closes at two," she said.

Not only was the kitchen closed but the restaurant had a policy of serving only full-course meals. However, Visheau liked John Dick; he called him Jack. Although Jack had been coming to the restaurant off and on for three years, Visheau didn't consider him a regular and he thought it unusual that this was the third day in a row he had showed up. Just the night before he had rushed in out of the rain.

"Can I order supper?" he had asked, swiping the rain from his coat.

"Sorry, Jack," said Visheau, "it's all closed up." Dick had to settle for a coffee at the bar.

The day before that -- Monday -- he'd made it in time for lunch. Visheau had allowed him a "short meal" of soup, pie and coffee, and he was quickly gone. "We never served short meals to anybody else," Visheau would say later.

Now here he was back again. Visheau went over to the table

"Look, I'm in a hurry," said Dick. "And I have to go to work at four. Can't you just get me a bowl of soup?"

Visheau decided to bend the rules again. They served Dick his soup and complied when he asked to follow up with a sandwich and coffee. He ate quickly and didn't wait for his check.

He went to the coffee bar, where Visheau told him, he owed twenty-five cents. Dick dropped a nickel and a quarter on the counter and was gone. Always in a hurry, thought Visheau.

George Lawson, a stocky thirty-one-year-old detective with the Hamilton Police, was off duty on this day. He was downtown to do some mid-afternoon shopping when he noticed Bill Bohozuk in his two-tone Buick coupe in front of the Capitol Theatre.

"Standing there talking to him was Little Frances, the young girl who sold tickets at the Palace Theatre, which was only a block away," recalls Lawson, now eighty-seven. "He stood out like a sore thumb, you know -- the way he dressed. And he was handsome and he had his beautiful big car."

Although Lawson and Bohozuk were both members of the Leander Boat Club, they had never been introduced and knew each other only by sight. Because of Bohozuk's reputation as a ladies' man, Lawson was feeling protective towards Frances. She was a favorite of the beat cops who regularly patrolled the downtown. They would often stop to chat with her or wave as they passed by. Frances didn't see Lawson as he walked by, but Bohozuk waved to him.

A while later Lawson was headed home after a disappointing trip to his favorite bakery for some "special cake." He'd forgotten it was closed on Wednesdays. "So I went to what they called the Polish Groceteria at the corner of Mary and King which was half a block down," says Lawson. "I did my business in there and walked back up to get the streetcar. And that's when I bumped into little Frances walking down to go to work at the Palace." He cornered her and kidded her about Bohozuk. "What are you doing talking to a fellow like that?" he asked.

"Which fellow?"

"The guy in the car I saw you talking with in front of the Capitol."

"Oh, we were just talking." Frances smiled. "He just comes into the show once in a while."

"Well you be careful," said Lawson.

Alexandra MacLean was preparing supper shortly before 6 p.m. when her daughter suddenly appeared at the back door off the kitchen and asked for the key to the garage. Behind Evelyn, MacLean saw the large black car parked in the laneway in front of the garage.

"What are you doing with that car?" she asked, handing her daughter the key.

"I'm going to put it in the garage."

MacLean knew the garage was strewn with leftover lumber from a small second garage they had torn down when they moved i...

Customer Reviews

Interesting Reading
If you've seen the movie, or know of the case, this book provides some interesting information. It is relatively well-written, contains pictures, and is easy to read. I recommend it.

A must for True Crime Fans
I stumbled across this book while looking for something about The Lipstick Killer of Chicago, William Heirens. He, too, is believed to have dismembered at least one victim during his reign of terror from 1945-1946 in Chicago. (His culpability in the crimes is also circumstantial.)

Instead, I found this book about the John Dick murder/mutilation in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada in 1946. I had never heard of this case before, and it is still the only account I have read of it yet. But this book has made me want more.

From the Prologue, I was intrigued. Vallee is such an interesting writer. His words and phrases are crafted for mood, clarity, and objectivity. He leads the reader through this small Canadian town; through the lives of these seemingly ordinary, if not strange, groups of people. It is still as salacious a story as when the news initially broke in those early days of March 1946.

John Dick, an immigrant man who recently married, is missing. His employer is the only one who seems concerned, while his wife and her family continue to engage in some strange behavior. Her deepest concern is that he still owes her money, while her father's sole concern is that no police should be called to his daughter's house. As the investigation unfolds, we find a string of love affairs, a dead infant, shoddy police work, and some criminal masterminds. Love, murder, money, greed--all seem to be personified by the enigmatic Evelyn Dick. Is she guilty... or just a victim?

Brian Vallee takes an even handed approach to this complex story. He takes account of nearly every side and every issue. The story itself is fascinating, and as was stated by one contributor, better than any work of fiction. For all the titillating details, Vallee constantly reminds his readers of the gruesome crimes that made these people infamous. His compassion and objectivity do allow him to come up with his own conclusions about the crimes, ending the work beautifully.

Highly recommend!