Script

This is the My Dark Path Podcast

When I visited Villisca last year, my original intent was simply to see the location of the Villisca Axe Murders.  The infamous slaughter occurred in a home just a few blocks from the center of this beautiful farming community.  The house remains intact, preserved to allow visitors to experience what the home would have been like on the evening of Sunday, June 9, 1912.  This was the night when a man murdered the entire Moore family, plus two girls, friends of Moore's daughter.

After visiting the home, I walked around the neighborhood, pondering what evil lurked in the heart of the man responsible for the deaths of the eight people that night and what had become of him.  The intensity of the horror of that night is matched by the absurdity of the investigation that tried several suspects.  Ultimately, none were found guilty. 

Just days before arriving in Villisca, I read the book The Man from the Train, which completely changed my perspective on the crime.  The author, Bill James, suggests that the same person committed a series of axe murders between 1898 and 1912 across the United States, including the infamous 1912 Villisca axe murders in Iowa.  And that this unidentified serial killer traveled by train to perform these heinous acts.

If true, this serial killer was responsible for at least 59 deaths, with the potential to have committed up to nearly 100.  The theory hinges on a pattern of behaviors and circumstances: the murders were typically carried out with an axe belonging to the victim, the majority of the murders took place near a train track, the killings were done at night, and the victims were often asleep in their beds. 

The Villisca axe murders are the most notorious of these cases; however, with the passage of over a century, definitive answers are likely out of reach, and the true identity of "The Man from the Train" remains a subject of speculation.

So I walked the short half mile between the train tracks and the Moores' home, just six blocks directly north of the train tracks.  As I walked, I pondered the extent of this serial killer’s crimes that not only extended across more than a decade but possibly across continents as well.

In this episode of My Dark Path, I'll share some of the other poignant stories of the victims of the Man from the Train and one of the hypotheses about who he might have been.

Hi, I’m MF Thomas, and this is the My Dark Path podcast.  Every episode explores the fringes of history, science, and the paranormal.  So, if you geek out over these subjects, you're among friends here.  See our videos on YouTube, visit mydarkpath.com, or find us on X, Instagram, and TikTok.  And if you like My Dark Path, please consider signing up for My Dark Path Plus on Patreon.  Subscribers get exclusive episodes and free swag like t-shirts, stickers, and books.  Find us there at patreon.com/mydarkpath.  I'm grateful for all of our subscribers there.  They make it possible for me to hire more researchers and writers to expand the team working on My Dark Path.  Your support humbles me!

But no matter how you connect with me and My Dark Path, thank you so much for listening and choosing to walk the Dark Paths of the world with me.  Let's get started with Episode 57, The Man from the Train.

And if you're interested in the details of the Villisca Axe murders, you can listen to the entire episode about the Villisca Axe murders in season 3, episode 50 of My Dark Path.

Part 1

I don't usually go out of my way to visit crime scenes or gawk at the misfortunes of others.  But the proximity of Colorado Springs made the opportunity too easy to pass up.

The homes at 743 Harrison Place and 321 W. Dale St, just west of downtown Colorado Springs, are now demolished, and other homes have replaced them.  So, unlike Villisca, there was nothing to see of the location where a horrible series of events took place in September of 1911.  Yet, the act of standing in the location where the homes used to be left me sorrowful for people whose lives were cut short by this killer.

The Wayne family had migrated to the growing town of Colorado Springs just weeks before their deaths.  The 1910 census put the population of the town at about 29,000.  Their new home lay beneath the endless blue skies and against the backdrop of the Rockies.  Henry Wayne, his beloved wife Blanche, and their one-year-old daughter Lulumay had moved there so that Henry could rest and hopefully recover from his diagnosis of tuberculosis.  

A fraternal organization, the Modern Woodsmen of America, had opened a sanitarium in the small town as the air here was crisp and healing.  Tuberculosis is an infectious disease that mainly affects the lungs.  The bacteria that cause tuberculosis are spread from one person to another through tiny droplets released into the air via coughs and sneezes.  The first breakthrough in the treatment of tuberculosis came in 1943 with the development of the antibiotic streptomycin.  But before that time, the best treatment option was to send TB patients to sanatoriums.  These were facilities where patients could get plenty of rest, fresh air, and good nutrition, which were believed to be beneficial in combating the disease.  The theory was that a healthier environment would boost the patient's immune system.

Scattered around the sanitarium were cottages, modest two-room homes where the patients' families could stay.  Patients were permitted to visit their families on days when a measure of vigor returned to their bodies.  And so, the Wayne family moved into one such vacant cottage, hopeful Henry would fully recover.  Their landlord was Arthur Burnham, who lived next door with his family - his wife Alice May and their children Nellie and John.

And so it was that families arrived in Colorado Springs, expecting to return to health and normalcy.

But for the Wayne and Burnham families, the night of September 21, 1911, would end in terror.  Six individuals, spanning the two families, were brutally murdered in their homes.

Mrs. Nettie Ruth and Miss Anna Merritt, relatives of Alice Burnham, made the first gruesome discovery the following afternoon.  They came by the home to visit Alice and the children.  As they opened the back door, they were nearly overcome by a foul stench coming from the home,

Without a response to their knocking, the two women first struggled to unlock the Burnham residence's rear door before finally opening it and stepping inside.  There, they saw the remnants of Sunday evening's supper on a table in the small rear room, serving as a kitchen, dining room, and bedroom.  Mrs. Ruth noted it was unchanged from her visit on Sunday night around 9:15.  The bed in this room was untouched.

Then, still seeking the source of the smell, they opened the door to the front bedroom.  They braced for a grim discovery.  A pile of bedclothes on the bed initially masked the tragic sight, but soon, Mrs. Ruth noticed bloodstains on the wall and the body of her young niece, with a crushed skull, lying at the bed's edge.

Overwhelmed and horrified, the women fled the house screaming and found two men passing on the street.  Quickly, the men entered the house while the women waited outside.  Shortly, the good Samaritans reemerged, confirming the triple murder.  News of the tragedy spread rapidly.

Authorities, including the coroner, police, and sheriff, were alerted and soon arrived on the scene.  But as the crowd of authorities and bystanders grew, many started to observe that no one had been around the Wayne house, just steps away from the Burnham's, since the previous day.

The assistant Police Chief and other officers forced entry into the oddly quiet house, where they found the Wayne family – husband, wife, and baby – all dead in their bed, their skulls brutally crushed, just like Burnhams had been.  A bloodstained ax, borrowed by Wayne to chop wood, was found at the backdoor, linking the two crime scenes.

With the discovery of the second murder scene, the crowd outside roiled with shock, anger, and grief.  Many started calling for the lynching of the perpetrator.

Inside both homes, authorities searched for clues and motives.  The lack of robbery as a motive was evident; Mrs. Wayne's jewelry and a gold watch in the Burnham home were untouched.

The method of entry and exit for the murderer was through windows in both homes.  The doors were locked at both homes.  At the Burnham home, a window on the east side was the entry point, as indicated by an overturned ink bottle on the sill.

The search for the murderer quickly focused on Albert Burnham.  As the only survivor of both families, everyone started looking for him.  Deputies started to drive to the sanatorium, where he worked as a yardman.  The sanatorium was about 12 miles away.  When they found him, he was already on his way back to town, riding in the back of a wagon.  Someone had called the sanatorium and told him about the murders via telephone.  When the deputies found him that afternoon, he said: "My god!  How did it happen?  Did they get killed in a railroad accident?"

By 3 pm, the deputies arrived with Burnham at the crime scene.  They took him inside his home to see where his wife and children had been slaughtered. 

Everyone present, from the police to reporters, expected Burnham to break down at the sight of the murder of his entire family.  Instead, he was perhaps the least affected by the scene of anyone in the home.  Reportedly, he didn't cry or flinch.  Instead, he moved randomly around the room, muttering: "it's terrible.  It's terrible."  He also noted, "Nothing's torn up around here," as he inspected the bedroom.

Everyone was surprised by his calm demeanor.  As they left the home to show him his neighbors' home, he paused at the kitchen stove.  He pointed to a pile of ashes in front of it and asked, "How did that get there?"

The deputies didn’t know.  They walked next door to the Wayne home.  Again, Burnham showed virtually no response, even when the axe, the bloody murder weapon, was pointed out. 

The deputies left the homes, taking Burnham directly to the morgue so he could see his family.  His numb response continued – as he saw his family, he said, "That isn't my little child.  My girl’s got lighter their than that.”  Perhaps he was in shock as slowly he recognized his daughter.  When shown his wife’s body, he did not comment.

But while there, he told the deputies: “Don’t waste time with me.  But get busy with someone else.  Whoever did this must have been an enemy of hers [meaning his wife’s].  It couldn’t have been of mine.”

After viewing the bodies, the deputies told him that he'd be detained for further investigation.  They arrived at the county jail about 5 pm.

The crime scene at the Burnham’s was horrific.  Alice and John had been killed while sleeping, a blunt side of an axe crushing their skulls.  Nellie, the 6 year old girl, had either been awakened by the attack or been moved after her death.  She was not found in her bed.  The chief investigator would later observe that something in the room made him describe the killer as a “moral pervert.”  The exact description was never noted, but, unfortunately, we know what that meant.

Like the Villisca murders in 1912, evidence of the killer’s moral perversion was coupled with other telltale signs.  The house was locked up, the blinds were closed.  The murderer had left a bowl of bloody water where he likely washed his hands.  And remember that bottle of ink on the window sill that the killer had knocked over?  Well, not only did the killer leave his smudged prints on the window sill, but he also left a clear thumbprint on the axe handle. 

Albert’s observation about the pile of ashes outside the stove highlighted a clue.  Officers found part of Sunday’s newspaper, crumpled and partially burned in the Burnham’s home.  Above the newspaper, part of a window curtain was scorched, leading to the suspicion that the murder had tried to set fire to the home.  There is some question about whether this burned curtain was the work of the killer or not.  Reportedly, a news photographer later said that he had used too much flash powder.  Still, author Bill James believes that the killer did attempt to burn the house as this was something the killer often did.

Police worked quickly to try to tie Albert to the murders while he was in custody.  Burnham's movements and whereabouts during the time of the murders were scrutinized.  Colleagues from the sanatorium where he worked provided alibis, claiming he was present at work.  Dr.  Rutledge, superintendent of the sanatorium, stood firmly by Burnham's innocence, citing both his physical condition and the logistical improbability of him committing the crimes.  In addition to his alibi, Albert was simply too sick with TB to have committed the murders.  Sadly, he would die of tuberculosis just a few months after the murders.

The Pinkerton Agency in Denver was hired to investigate, and the police chief in nearby Denver also contributed resources.  The agent in charge from Pinkerton, Mr. Prettyman, was confident that they would quickly uncover the killer.  He said, "No person can commit a crime of this kind without leaving some sort of clew.  And once we find the clew, the whole story will unravel like a ball of twine – and with the rapidity that will surprise the men working on the case.  It may take a day, it may be several weeks, but sooner or later we will be in a position to announce that we have a footing.  From then on it will be easy sailing."

With Albert cleared quickly, the investigators turned to others.  Apparently, despite their small home, the Burnhams would rent out the spare bedroom to people who couldn't get a room at a nearby boarding house.  Sometimes, they would even allow a boarder to sleep on a hammock on the porch.  So, all these past boarders now had to be investigated in addition to transients in the area.  Alice Burnham reportedly had a difficult relationship with an ex-boyfriend who lived nearby.  But after investigating all of these individuals, no case could ever be brought forward.  And no one was ever charged for the crime.  But one thing was certain: Mr. Prettyman of the Pinkerton Agency, as well as the police, definitively scorned the idea that the killings were the result of a lunatic who had no connection to either family.

If it were the man from the train, he may have been watching the children play outside and cased the house over the afternoon.  Author Bill James believes that "he may have been focused on Nellie Burnham, then broke into the wrong house and killed the Wayne family by mistake, which is not to say he didn't' also enjoy it.  But realizing his mistake, he then broke into the Burnham house and completed his mission."

Sometimes, the history of these axe murders, like those in Colorado Springs and Villisca, is mixed up with the case of the New Orleans Axeman.  There were many attacks in the New Orleans area, starting with the murder of August Crutti on August 14, 1910, and continuing in 1911 and 1912.  Then, the New Orleans Axeman took a break before resuming his terror in 1918 and 1919.  While there are many similarities, the details of the crimes clearly show the crimes to be from different perpetrators.  Both killers attacked in the middle of the night using axes taken from the homes of their victims and then were left there.  Superficially, sure, these similarities might make one think they were the same person.  Still, the Man from the Train almost always attacked within an hour of midnight.  The New Orleans Axeman struck between 3 and 4 am.  The Man from the Train used a heavy axe, suitable for logging or chopping firewood.  And he always used the blunt side of the axe.  The New Orleans Axeman used small axes, like a meat cleaver, and used the sharp edge of it for his atrocities.  Also, the New Orleans Axeman primarily attacked adults, often ignoring children.  The Man from the Train killed everyone in the home but had, as I've described, a predilection for pre-teen females.  The New Orleans Axeman stayed in the confines of the city while the Man from the Train was only killed in small communities and virtually all within a short walk from the railroad.  While it might be convenient to assume a single man was responsible for all of these murders, the New Orleans Axeman and the Man from the Train were definitively different serial killers.

Part 2

While I shared the details of the sorrowful destruction of these two families in Colorado Springs, they represent just 2 of 25 family killings that are attributed to the Man on the Train between 1900 and 1912.

The first of these occurred in 1900 in Trenton Corners, New Jersey, when the Van Lieus family of two were murdered.  The last was the murder of the Pfanschmidt family in 1912 in Payson, Illinois.

And, despite 12 years between these 25 family annihilations, all of them had almost identical characteristics.

·       The blunt side of the axe was used.

·       The axe belonged to the victims and was left at or near the crime scene after the murders.

·       The murders occurred late at night when everyone in the house was sleeping

·       A young girl is among the victims.  This serial killer seemed to have a fixation on young girls. Oftentimes, the body of a young girl was the only one that the killer seemed to pay much attention to and was posed postmortem.  It is also hinted at in several cases that the killer masturbated over the dead body of a young girl.

·       The mirrors were covered in cloth.  The heads of the victims were covered with a blanket.

·       The crimes took place in rural areas or small towns

·       Close proximity to the railroad tracks (typically within a quarter of a mile) and, in many cases, the location was near the intersection of two railroad lines

·       The murderer either set fire to the house locked it up tight, or jammed the door before leaving

·       Leaving a lamp burning without its glass chimney at the crime scene

·       Nothing being stolen, despite valuables being left out in plain sight

The last murder attributed to the Man on the Train in Illinois in 1912 reflects these common characteristics:

In the serene farmlands near Payson, Illinois, east of Quincy, a horrific crime unfolded in the early hours of September 29, 1912.  This event would not only shock the local community but also send ripples of horror throughout the Midwest as some, by this time, had begun to recognize the pattern that the Man from the Train deployed.

The timing of this tragedy was particularly unsettling, coming just months after the infamous Moore family murders in Villisca, Iowa, which had already instilled fear and uncertainty in the region.  Villisca and Payson are about 300 miles apart via road or railway.  Newspapers reported that the police thought it to be the “degenerate who had perpetrated similar ace murders in Iowa and Colorado recently.”

The chilling discovery was made on the morning of September 30.  The Pfanschmidt household, a modest home just outside Payson, was engulfed in flames, revealing a gruesome scene.  The victims were Charles Pfanschmidt, 46, his wife Mathilda, their 15-year-old daughter Blanche, and a young schoolteacher named Emma Kaempen, who boarded with them.  Initial investigations suggested the killings occurred on Friday night, with the fire set later to obliterate evidence.  Isolation of the house was ensured by severed telephone lines.

The grim scene was first noticed by neighbors who saw smoke rising early Sunday.  Firefighters arrived to witness a fierce blaze that nearly destroyed the house.  When the metal roof was finally removed and investigators could enter, a horrifying sight awaited: the bodies of the three women, Matilda, Blanche, and Emma, were discovered upstairs, brutally bludgeoned with an axe.  Down in the cellar, amidst the charred remains, lay another body, barely recognizable and extensively dismembered – later identified as Charles Pfanschmidt.  Also near the Charles’ body in the cellar was an axe head with human blood baked on it from the heat of the fire.  The axe handle had burned in the fire.

In the aftermath, a massive manhunt ensued.  Police, deputies, and armed locals scoured the area, aided by bloodhounds.  The focus was on a suspect believed to have arrived by buggy shortly before the fire.  This crime bore eerie similarities to the recent axe murders in Iowa and Colorado, drawing attention from the Iowa Attorney General and leading to involvement from the Burns Detective Agency.  The Burns agency sent CW Tobie, one of the detectives that had spent a few weeks on the Villisca case, to Payson.

Suspicion quickly fell on Ray Pfanschmidt, the 20-year-old son of the deceased couple.  Ray had recently moved out to work on a railroad project, living in a tent near the site.  The evidence against him was tenuous: a set of buggy tracks and bloodstained clothing possibly belonging to him, discovered under an outhouse by J.L. Freese, a local resident.  Despite the lack of concrete evidence, the police arrested Ray, driven by the era's less rigorous standards of proof and the pressing need for closure.

Further investigations revealed potential motives.  Charles Pfanschmidt, a substantial landowner, had been frustrated with his son's financial irresponsibility, documented through bank notices of overdrawn accounts.  With the parents' death, Ray stood to inherit a significant fortune, providing him with a conceivable motive.

Detective C. W. Tobie from the Burns Agency was brought in to explore any connections between this case and the other Midwestern axe murders.  Ray, in jail, enlisted Tobie's expertise to propose an alternative theory – that a roving axe murderer responsible for similar crimes across the region could be the real culprit.  This strategy aimed to introduce reasonable doubt in Ray's defense.

The trial, held in March 1913, focused solely on the murder of Blanche, a common tactic in multi-victim cases to circumvent double jeopardy.  Despite the circumstantial nature of the evidence, the prevailing public opinion against Ray, irresponsible, led to his conviction and a death sentence.  The trial was marred by emotional testimonies, including from Ray's own grandfather, who spoke of his constant demands for money.

Ray’s lawyers appealed, arguing that their original change of venue request should have been granted as the passions against their client still burned hot.  In Feb 1914, Ray was granted a new trial by the Illinois Supreme Court, and then found not guilty for the murder of his sister.  Then he was put on trial for the murder of his father – and found not guilty.  Then, the state dismissed the case of murder for his mother.  These events convinced many in the area that Ray had evaded justice for the murders and that the Burns detective, C.W. Tobie played a pivotal role.  At one point, Tobie was simultaneously receiving compensation from both the state of Iowa and Ray, the very subject of his investigation – posing a potential ethical conflict.  However, if there had been any tangible link between the Illinois and Iowa cases, Tobie would likely have pursued it.  The reward offered for solving the Villisca murders was a significant incentive, as both Tobie and the Burns Agency stood to gain financially from resolving the case.

Ultimately, Ray Pfanschmidt collected his inheritance and left the area.

And, at least according to Bill James and his research, this was the last case in the US involving the Man from the Train.  But to tell the story of the last case, we have to look at the very first murder that involved the Man from the Train and identify who he could have been.

For that, we jump to the last decade of the 19th century – to the year 1898 and the town of Worcester, Massachusetts. 

Part 3

About 30 miles north of Worcester lies Quacumquasit Pond.  In the late 1800s, this location featured a resort complete with stables, boats, a picnic area, a dance hall, and a small hotel.  It was early in the summer of 1897 when a man in his mid-thirties arrived at the Point of Pines resort, penniless and seeking employment.  Captain H. D. Hodgson, who managed the resort, offered Mueller accommodation in exchange for his carpentry and repair work.  The man introduced himself as Paul Mueller and claimed that he was a German military veteran.  He was short but muscular.  His English was poor.  People noted that his teeth were small and widely spaced.  He was only about 5' 5'' and weighed perhaps 155 pounds.  His long, greasy hair and poorly trimmed beard and mustache.  Newspapers investigating Mueller later on would also note that Mueller was, in fact, left-handed.  A fact, if you recall, is relevant to many of the axe murder cases.  Additional observations noted that he had small feet (size six), a scar from his wrist to his little finger, another above his right eye, and a distinctive walk.  Overall, Mueller had a very offputting appearance, but Hodgson, very short on funds, found the agreement to be cost effective.

When Mueller arrived, the resort was also tending to a horse thought to have a broken leg.  In that era, and often still today, a horse with a broken leg would typically be euthanized due to the implications of such an injury.

In a remarkable turn of events, Mueller saved the horse from death by crafting a leg brace for the animal.  The community was amazed with Mueller attributed this skill to his experience in the German army.  Later newspaper articles about Mueller would recount some of his other characteristics.  He was reported to be an efficient woodchopper and an efficient worker.  The summer and early fall passed, with Mueller happily working at the resort.

But this, in October 1897, a conflict arose between Mueller and Hodgson.  They were hauling a load of wood when a disagreement escalated during their trip back to the resort.  Still about 3 miles from their destination, the argument escalated until Mueller jumped from the wagon, right in front of a farmhouse.  Hodgson continued on, but Mueller approached the farmhouse and asked the owner for a job.

The home and farm were owned by Francis Newton.  Francis Newton was not a native to the area.  Born in 1853 in New Braintree, he moved to Brookfield as a young man.  Initially, he ran a milk route and later operated a bakery in Hartford, Connecticut, located fifty miles south.  He married Sarah, and in around 1888, they adopted a baby girl from Sweden, naming her Ethel but calling her Elsie. 

In 1896, they relocated to a secluded, run-down house on a back road between Brookfield and Sturbridge, known locally as the Sturbridge Road.  Despite being middle-aged when he purchased the farm, Francis diligently worked to improve the barn and house, transforming it into a respectable farm.  So, while he was a hard-working and prosperous farmer, he wasn’t wealthy. 

Like all farms, Newton needed help.  No doubt, Mueller's odd introduction would have given Newton pause. Yet, given the size of the community, it was likely that Newton had heard of Mueller's heroics that saved the horse from death.  Whatever it was that prompted Newton to offer Mueller employment, we don't know.  They agreed to an employment contract, and Mueller immediately moved into the home, sleeping in a bedroom right next door to his employers. 

Reportedly, Newton was happy with Mueller’s work.  Newton’s brother in law would later describe him as being efficient and agreeable but cranky at times.  Others who knew him called him sullen.  Newton, for his part, was also not prone to winning over people.  He had a stern demeanor, noting he was known for being harsh with his hired help, demanding, and strict.  Newton reportedly made it clear to Mueller that subpar work would not be tolerated. 

In addition to his routine work, Mueller applied his carpentry skills, building a horse-drawn slide that could be used for hauling heavy loads in the winter.  And so, four months passed with Mueller working for and living with the Newton family.  That is, until early January, 1898.

On the chilly Sunday afternoon of January 9, 1898, an incessant barking echoed from inside the Newton residence.  Francis Newton had been conspicuously absent since the previous Friday around 5 PM.  Joseph Upham, a neighbor, was the last to see him while visiting to collect a debt of a single dollar.  Of course that seems irrelevant, but that was the equivalent of $300 of wages earned today…so not inconsequential.

Upham remembered a warm, cheerful scene during his visit: Newton's young daughter, Elsie, and her mother, Sarah, contentedly playing on the floor.  The visit was cordial as well, with Francis showing Upham some new farm equipment in the barn.  Upham observed their farmhand, Paul Mueller, working in the barn as well.  Nothing seemed amiss between Newton and Mueller at the time.

However, by Sunday, a sense of unease had settled over the farm.  The Newton’s fifteen cows moaned, burdened with milk and unfed for two days.  Elmer Newcomb, residing a quarter-mile away and the closest neighbor, noticed the unusual neglect.  Newton, known for his business acumen and careful handling of his farm, wouldn't just overlook his responsibilities.

Prompted by concern, Elmer, along with other neighbors William Bemis and William Eaton, went over to tend to the neglected cattle.  They speculated that the Newtons might have left for the weekend unexpectedly, though it was strange they hadn't arranged for the care of their livestock.  After tending to the cows, the men refrained from prying further and left.

Off the property, the group indulged in speculative discussions.  Perhaps Newton's relative success and somewhat distant demeanor sparked envy among neighbors.  However, after some deliberation, they all agreed the situation was peculiar, particularly the lack of arrangements for the cattle.  Eaton was particularly insistent on a follow-up visit.  The men were very hesitant to intrude on a neighbor's privacy, but they all felt uneasy.  Farmers don’t have the luxury of disappearing.  Elmer, Eaton, and three more neighbors formed a party to investigate.  Only Bemis declined to join them.

They approached the Newtons' two-story white farmhouse around 10:00 p.m. that night.  Finding both front and back doors locked and curtains drawn, their knocks, calls, and attempts to force the door were only answered by the continuous barking of the dog.  The entire scene increased their discomfort as they lingered on the wraparound porch.  Finally, one broke a window pane that allowed them to enter the house, coming out into the parlor.

Another member of the party found and lit a lamp, then the men cautiously proceeded to the first bedroom on the main floor, located in the central section of the house.  There, they discovered both mother and daughter in their beds, submerged in blood, with covers heaped over their heads.  Both had gruesome injuries to their heads, each struck five times over the right temple.

Francis was found in his bed, his head brutally battered beyond recognition.  He lay in his nightclothes, covered entirely by blankets.  The attack, marked by four blows to the left temple and one to the cheek, was so severe that the steel penetrated his brain, and there was no sign of struggle, suggesting he was asleep when attacked.  

Remarkably, the family was not robbed, as their jewelry remained untouched, and Mrs. Newton's gold watch was still on her wrist.  Both Sarah and Elsie's nightgowns were disturbed, and their bodies bore the brunt of the assault. 

The murder weapon, an ax, was found on the bedroom floor near where the women were slain, beside Elsie's bed.  The killer had made their escape through a window, leaving the house's doors locked from inside.  An open can of kerosene and a soaked pile of wood indicated an attempted arson, with a lit kerosene lamp thrown at the pile.  However, the fire failed to spread, only charring a few sticks without igniting the oil or the hard oak wood.

Later, the medical examiner concluded several things – first, death had been instant for all victims, believing they had not awakened before their demise.  Second, the assailant's attack on mother and daughter was more ferocious than that against Francis.  Third, the ax's blade edge was not used in the attacks.  Fourth, there was no evidence of sexual assault. 

Initial police theories centered around robbery as the motive.  The Globe's headline in its first report declared "KILLED FOR $40," suggesting a financial incentive behind the crime.  However, this proved to be misleading.  Although a small amount of money was taken, the family's gold watches and other valuables remained untouched.

Attention turned immediately to the absence of the farmhand, Paul Mueller.

His last known movements came into focus.  A neighbor had passed the Newton house around 11:30 PM on the fateful night.  The house was completely dark, and the man assumed the family was asleep.  William Eaton saw Mueller near the farm around midnight.  George Pike and Arthur Rice also encountered him shortly after, but Mueller ignored their greetings.  But shortly after this time, several witnesses saw Mueller leaving the farm, heading towards the Brookfield train depot. 

Other than these interactions, details about Mueller's whereabouts become murky and filled with unconfirmed sightings and speculation about his actions, including an odd focus on his clothing.  Some reports suggested that instead of catching a train, Mueller sought refuge and help from strangers.  An East Brookfield resident claimed Mueller appeared at his home, requesting food and shelter and expressing fear for his life.  This account, however, was not corroborated by others and seemingly disregarded by the police.

It's more plausible that Mueller aimed for the train.  The New York express on the Boston and Albany railroad departed from the West Brookfield depot at 1:29 AM.  While it was a six-mile journey by road from the crime scene to the depot, Mueller likely shortened this distance by walking the railroad track rather than the roads, cutting the distance to just four miles.

In the initial report by The Boston Globe, the all-night ticket agent was adamant that no one purchased a ticket that night, and the yard watchman also didn't recall anyone boarding the train from the station.  However, in a later edition of the newspaper, their stories changed.  They remembered a short, shabbily dressed man buying a ticket to Springfield, Massachusetts, at 1:05 a.m.  The man then ducked out of sight to wait inconspicuously for the train.

The ticket was purchased with an 1836 half dollar coin, which Arthur Rice, one of the neighbors who found the bodies and had seen Mueller, claimed belonged to Newton.  Rice, familiar with Newton's coin collection, was insistent on this point.  The story of the coin collection persisted in newspaper reports for years, cited as late as 1902 as a crucial piece of evidence implicating Mueller.  It remains odd that the ticket agent initially failed to recall such a unique transaction with a poorly dressed man using an antique coin, but the police pursued this lead to Springfield based on the agent's updated testimony.

Arthur Cooley, the brakeman on the Springfield express night train, noted a small, stout man with long dark hair behaving suspiciously, both on the Springfield platform and in the smoking car.  Cooley described the man's anxious behavior, frequently lying down and then suddenly sitting up to scan the car.  The man disembarked, or at least left the smoking car, in New Haven, Connecticut.  Cooley remembered his attire in detail, noting his dark, rust-colored coat and light checked cap.  The man had no luggage.

In New Haven, ticket agent Harold Brotherton also had a belated recollection of a man fitting Mueller's description, selling him a ticket to Bridgeport, Connecticut, around 4:00 a.m. on Saturday, a few hours post-murder.  Brotherton specifically noted the man's golf cap with a red thread, a peculiar choice given his otherwise poor attire.

A baggage handler named Tracey observed the same short man in the distinctive cap disembarking at New Haven and not re-boarding.  Tracey found it unusual for someone of the man's appearance to wear a cap typically seen on students.  Brotherton remarked on the incongruity of the cap with the man's shabby clothes, finding it "singular."

Mueller's myriad of brief stops meant that no witness had a prolonged encounter with him, leading to varied and conflicting descriptions of his whereabouts.  The police were left to follow a convoluted trail of these reports, trailing Mueller's path station by station, two days behind.  Eventually, Mueller's trail disappeared in southern Connecticut.  Given that Mueller had received mail from a sister in Paterson, New Jersey, it was speculated he might be heading there for refuge.  The distance from New Haven to Paterson spans eighty-eight miles.

On February 13, 1898, Brookfield authorities, losing hope of apprehending Mueller, contemplated raising a $5,000 reward.  This sum, they hoped, would incentivize professional detectives.  However, Robert Pinkerton, a renowned detective, expressed skepticism, believing the trail too cold and Mueller's capture, if ever, a matter of sheer luck.  The Brookfield community, while unable to raise $5,000, did manage to collect $500 as a reward for Mueller's capture.  Detectives tracked him across Connecticut and New York, and at one point, they suspected he might have fled to Europe by boat.  In a notable incident, Detective Tarbell retrieved a pair of trousers from New Haven, left behind by a man, with unconfirmed bloodstains.  Unfortunately, a worker from Point of Pines couldn't confirm if these trousers belonged to Mueller, making them the last tangible piece of evidence in the case.

The disappointing manhunt for Mueller can also be noted for one significant oversight.  No one made and published any drawings of his likeness.  Many in Brookfield could have provided a description of Mueller, but despite it not being standard police procedure in 1898 to create sketches from witness accounts, it had certainly been done before.  This missed opportunity could have played a crucial role in the search for Mueller.  Newspapers featured line drawings of figures such as Arthur Rice, the last person to see Mueller, and Policeman Tarbell, in charge of the investigation, along with other items like the kerosene can, no published drawings of Mueller were found.

Today, the Villisca axe murders are perhaps the most well-known among the 25 family murders likely committed by the man from the train.  But this Newton family murder was not underreported at the time.  It received as much attention in its day as the Villisca murders.  And across the country, reports of Mueller being spotted in various prisons were frequent.  Within the first month after the Newton family murders, seven men were arrested under suspicion of being Mueller, ranging from locations as close as Worcester to as far as Nebraska.  Over the following year, an additional five were detained.  These erroneous arrests continued until 1905, with at least sixteen men apprehended for their resemblance to Mueller.

But none of these arrested were Mueller.  He successfully fled into the night, onto a train, reemerging only a century later as the cases of family murders were evaluated and tied back to him, the Man from the Train.

Part 4

So why, absent direct evidence tying Mueller to the Colorado Springs murders and the Villisca axe murders, do researchers think that Mueller is the Man from the Train?

Let’s compare the Newton family murder in Brookfield to the Villisca murders

1.     The murder weapon was the blunt end of an axe.

2.     The family was attacked after going to sleep.  All victims were hit repeatedly in the head.  Afterwards, all victim’s heads were covered with cloth.

3.     A young girl was sexually exposed after death, and the axe was left next to her bed.

4.     Variables were left in plain sight, with none stolen, although some cash was taken from the Newtons.

5.     All window shades and blinds were completely closed.  All doors were locked or jammed shut.

6.     Paul Mueller was left-handed.  The Villisca murderer was believed to be left-handed, and the final man tried for them was left-handed, a fact used against him in his trial.

7.     Paul Mueller was very short.  The Villisca murderer was believed to be short as well – the ceilings on the Moore home were very low.  The axe used in those murders grazed the ceilings several times in dealing the death blows.  A taller man could not have swung the axe in the way that it was used in Villisca. 

And so, from the Newton family murders in 1898 through the final ones in 1912 in Villisca, Iowa, and Payson, Illinois, the Man from the Train, Paul Mueller, annihilated dozens of families over a 14-year period.  So what happened to Mueller after 1912?  There are four potential outcomes. 

1.     He died soon after the Payson murders.

2.     He lived, but stopped killing for some reason.

3.     He was arrested and sent to prison for another crime.

4.     He returned to Germany and continued to murder there.

Walking through these scenarios, it's odd, but number four seems the most plausible.  Of course, death is unpredictable, but Mueller certainly wasn't an ill or weak man, so an early death seems unlikely.  Similarly, it seems highly unlikely that his addiction to murder would have suddenly been sated, and he would have intentionally stopped.  He could have easily been arrested for another crime and sent to prison.  This was not a time when criminals were identified with DNA, fingerprints, and photos.  If he were arrested in another state, far from Illinois and Iowa, police would have no ability to tie him to these crimes.

And so, we come to the fourth explanation for why the Man from the Train went quiet after 1912.  He returned to Germany.  And, for that story, you’ll have to join me in an upcoming episode of My Dark Path.

Thank you for listening to My Dark Path.  I'm MF Thomas, the creator and host, and I produce the show with our creative director is Dom Purdie.  I wrote this episode with some research help from Mohamed Ashraf.

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