The Kidnap Years: by David Stout (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

behind the kidnapping was under surveillance. “Early arrests in the case were predicted,” the New York Times reported.47

Soon after the discovery of the dead child, it was reported that Lindbergh had recently been on a boat off the New Jersey coast in a futile attempt to signal the kidnappers, who were supposedly on another boat.

Within a week after the baby was found, there were reports that the New Jersey State Police were closing in on five men and a woman as their main suspects.

John Condon viewed hundreds of photographs in police files in the hope that he would recognize “one of the men with whom he unsuccessfully negotiated,” the Times reported.

Now, there was an assumption that more than one person must be involved in this, the new “crime of the century.”

News that the baby had been found dead affected Violet Sharpe profoundly. Already physically ailing, she sank into a black mood. After a few days in the hospital, she returned to the Morrow home in Englewood to recuperate. Unsympathetic and under growing pressure, Colonel Schwarzkopf pressed her for yet another interview.

Sharpe balked, contending that she was still too ill. A doctor supported her, telling the police that she had a fever and that it would be best for her if another session were not held immediately. But Schwarzkopf insisted, and another round of questioning was scheduled for the evening of Monday, May 23, in a study at the Morrow home. Present were Schwarzkopf, Inspector Harry Walsh of the Jersey City police, another New Jersey detective, and Charles Lindbergh.

Yet again, Sharpe was asked about the chance meeting with Ernie on Lydecker Street (“Are you in the habit of picking up strange men?”) and her earlier lie about going to a movie. She was asked for further details about her trip to the Orangeburg roadhouse. Her answers seemed clipped and grudging.

But she volunteered one thing she’d neglected to mention before. Ernie had called her around one in the afternoon of March 1 as well as that evening before picking her up.

The timing was crucial. By the early afternoon of March 1, word had reached the Morrow estate that Charles and Anne Lindbergh and their baby would be staying overnight at Hopewell instead of coming to Englewood. Thus, the question: was this mysterious Ernie part of a kidnapping conspiracy, and had Sharpe given him information that would aid him? (But if so, why did she voluntarily mention the earlier phone call?)

When the May 23 interrogation was over and a tired Sharpe had left the room, Lindbergh said she had been acting like a person who was ill and despondent over the death of a child she had adored; he didn’t think she was involved in the kidnapping. The police were not convinced. They intended to question her further.

On June 7, Sharpe wrote to a friend in Britain, saying that she felt weak and weighed only one hundred pounds. She was homesick. “But I cannot leave the country, or they would think I knew something about the baby.”48 She confided that she felt that “life is getting so sad, I really don’t think there is much to live for anymore.”

On June 9, Inspector Walsh appeared at the Morrow home again, along with a secretary. Again, the inspector tried to pick Sharpe’s story apart, only this time, he added something new. He showed her a photograph of Ernest Brinkert, who had owned a taxi company in White Plains, Westchester County, New York, and had a record for larceny and assault. Sharpe was apparently unaware that the police had surreptitiously searched her room and found a few business cards for the taxi company.

“So,” Walsh demanded, “is this the Ernie you went on a date with?”

“Yes,” Sharpe replied. “That’s him.”

“So,” the inspector pressed, “why didn’t you tell us before?”

Sharpe explained, again, that she hadn’t recalled her date’s first name early on, let alone his last name.

Walsh goaded Sharpe, putting her into a state so agitated that the police secretary took pity and summoned a doctor. The doctor arrived quickly, examined Sharpe, and announced that questioning must cease for the day. Her heart was racing, and her blood pressure was high. She was near hysteria.

The morning of the next day, Friday, June 10, Walsh called the Morrow estate and said he was sending an officer to bring Sharpe to his office for still more questioning, this time with a doctor looking on. When she learned that her ordeal was not over, Sharpe screamed and rushed upstairs. She grabbed a can of powdered silver polish, which contained cyanide. She mixed some of the powder with water, went to her room, and drank. Minutes later, she was dead.

Schwarzkopf and his detectives were dismayed. They had hoped to pressure Sharpe into telling them who else was involved in the kidnapping and murder—besides Ernest Brinkert, that is. The police dearly wanted to find him. In the best of all worlds, John Condon might even identify him as Cemetery John.

Finding Brinkert was surprisingly easy. Just hours after Sharpe’s death, a White Plains detective went to the home of a man who had fielded Brinkert’s calls for taxi service. Brinkert happened to call in on Friday night. He told the detective that he’d heard that he was wanted for questioning and would be happy to turn himself in.

The detective didn’t want to wait. A trace had been put on the call, showing that it had come from New Rochelle, not far from White Plains. The detective rushed to the location and took Brinkert into custody late Friday night. By this time, Condon had been called to Westchester County and shown a photograph of Brinkert. The photo wasn’t that clear, and he couldn’t say for sure if Brinkert was the man from the cemetery. Then, when he saw him in person that night, Condon could say for sure: he had never seen Ernest Brinkert in his life. Standing a mere five feet four, Brinkert was several inches shorter than Cemetery John.

Brinkert said he