CHAPTER III
HOW THE CRIME WAS HANDLED BY THE POLICE—THE CONFESSIONS
Now begins some of the most interesting work connected with the taxicab case—the examination of the first prisoners, which led to confessions, the implication of other guilty persons not yet under arrest, and the voluntary pleas of guilty in court which saved costly trials in all but Montani’s case.
This sort of work is familiar under the term of “third degree.” It is popularly supposed to be accompanied by force and sometimes brutality—and in wrong hands often is. Commissioner Dougherty’s experience with a commercial detective agency, however, has led him to develop intelligent methods. The commercial detective organization has none of the authority of an official police force, and at the same time, through its national operations and the general character of its work, deals chiefly with the most accomplished criminals. Therefore, tact and legal subtilty are depended upon in examining suspects, and the Commissioner long ago learned to get his results mainly by straight question and answer. He puts his own wits against those of the suspect, backed by experience in many other cases. He has a practical grasp of criminal psychology, as well as many ingenious ways of using evidence to the best purpose, overwhelming the suspect, and breaking down stolidity and deception. Dougherty is not only opposed to force in the “third degree,” but knows that it is of absolutely no use.
The first prisoner examined was Eddie Kinsman.
When he was brought to Police Headquarters Kinsman appeared to be thoroughly satisfied with himself, and confident that no policeman would get anything out of him. He proved to be a good-looking young fellow, of athletic build, and by no means a fool.
Methods of examination are never twice alike, for they depend upon the case and the suspect. As a rule, however, when the criminal first sits down to answer Commissioner Dougherty he is astonished by that gentleman’s apparent lack of guile, and ignorance of worldly knowledge. When Dougherty composes himself for an inquiry, he is rather a heavy-looking citizen, not unlike a country magistrate, and his first questions, put for the purpose of determining the suspect’s character and previous surroundings, usually relate to bald routine matters, such as name, age, residence, education, family, and so on.
“Gee!” thinks the suspect, “This guy is the biggest lobster I ever got up against! I wonder how he ever got to be a police commissioner. He must have a strong political pull.”
Kinsman was ushered into a large, quiet office, where this bureaucratic official began by asking his name, birthplace and other details.
“Will you kindly stand up a minute while I get your height?” asked the questioner, and Kinsman did so in a patronizing way. Then the dull-looking gentleman turned back Kinsman’s coat and looked at the little label sewed in the inside pocket.
“I see that you have been in Chicago recently,” he observed. “This suit was made by a tailor there. You ordered it February 17th, two days after the robbery.”