in California. Yet, it took the FBI almost two months to find their man.â
This spokesman, or at least the person whom the article purported to quote, was Bottomly.
On Valentineâs Day the Task Force coordinator fired off a four-page, single-spaced typed letter to James Handley, special agent-in-charge of the Boston FBI office, denying that he had made the statements attributed him by Norton and Castriconeâ except for the jibe about the FBIâs dragged-out pursuit of Hurkos. Bottomly should have left bad enough alone at that point. Instead, he went on to write: âAs a result of our conversation on February 12, 1964, I am of the opinion that regardless of the exact words I used on February 10, 1964 you and those you represent consider it not only irresponsible for me ever to imply criticism of the FBI, but that it is wrong for me to criticize and I should not do it. In addition to correcting the record, this letter is written to inform you and those you represent that I disagree strongly with that position. I believe criticism has value. It is my hope and expectation that the FBI can survive criticism. In some cases, I would suggest that the FBI might be improved by listening to it rather than attempting to stifle or suppress it. Finally, I happen to be proud of the political society in which I live and the heritage of which we are beneficiaries, and I resent strongly any attempt by you or those you represent to restrict my voicing or writing my opinions freely ... In closing, I reiterate my sincere wish that the FBI in the future advise the Department of the Attorney General of any investigation or impending arrest of any consultant which this Department is planning to retain or has retained. I share with you the desire for cooperation. However, I value criticism and accept it in the spirit in which it is given in the hope that I may learn therefrom and improve myself thereby.â
At that point, Edward Brooke was probably devoutly wishing heâd never heard of Hurkos, and maybe not of Bottomly, either. Of course the matter didnât end there. The incorporeal presence of Hurkos would linger, like the bad smell emitted by a clogged drain. Brooke was still deflecting media queries about the incident a month later.
Did the Hurkos affair hurt the image of the Strangler Bureau?
âIt made it a laughingstock,â snorts Gordon Parry, a forensics expert who investigated the deaths of Patricia Bissette and Mary Sullivan.
One year later, the point was moot, because in March of 1965 an inmate of Massachusetts Correctional Institution-Bridgewater, a state facility for the sexually dangerous and criminally insane, confessed to being the Phantom Fiend, Mr. S., murderer of thirteen women.
His name was Albert Henry DeSalvo.
PART TWO
5
The Measuring Man
Who was the man who claimed to be the Boston Strangler?
Albert Henry DeSalvo, the third of six children, was born in Chelsea, Massachusetts, on September 3, 1931, to Charlotte and Frank DeSalvo, natives of Newfoundland. In todayâs jargon, the family would be described as dysfunctional. The reality was far worse than this euphemism could ever encompass. Frank DeSalvo, a fisherman and a skilled machinist, was arrested repeatedly for refusing to support his wife and children. It would have been much better for them had he committed the kind of crime that would have kept him in prison for a long stretch and out of their lives. He was a monster of abuse to Charlotte and the four boys and two girls, beating them regularly with fists, belts, and pipes. On one occasion he pulled a gun on Charlotte; on another he broke her fingers, serially snapping them like dry twigs. According to Albert, Frank had once sold him and his sisters to a Maine farmer for nine dollars. He also brought home prostitutes and had intercourse with them in front of the children. Albert also claimed that his father taught him how to shoplift.
Richard DeSalvo, Albertâs younger
This spokesman, or at least the person whom the article purported to quote, was Bottomly.
On Valentineâs Day the Task Force coordinator fired off a four-page, single-spaced typed letter to James Handley, special agent-in-charge of the Boston FBI office, denying that he had made the statements attributed him by Norton and Castriconeâ except for the jibe about the FBIâs dragged-out pursuit of Hurkos. Bottomly should have left bad enough alone at that point. Instead, he went on to write: âAs a result of our conversation on February 12, 1964, I am of the opinion that regardless of the exact words I used on February 10, 1964 you and those you represent consider it not only irresponsible for me ever to imply criticism of the FBI, but that it is wrong for me to criticize and I should not do it. In addition to correcting the record, this letter is written to inform you and those you represent that I disagree strongly with that position. I believe criticism has value. It is my hope and expectation that the FBI can survive criticism. In some cases, I would suggest that the FBI might be improved by listening to it rather than attempting to stifle or suppress it. Finally, I happen to be proud of the political society in which I live and the heritage of which we are beneficiaries, and I resent strongly any attempt by you or those you represent to restrict my voicing or writing my opinions freely ... In closing, I reiterate my sincere wish that the FBI in the future advise the Department of the Attorney General of any investigation or impending arrest of any consultant which this Department is planning to retain or has retained. I share with you the desire for cooperation. However, I value criticism and accept it in the spirit in which it is given in the hope that I may learn therefrom and improve myself thereby.â
At that point, Edward Brooke was probably devoutly wishing heâd never heard of Hurkos, and maybe not of Bottomly, either. Of course the matter didnât end there. The incorporeal presence of Hurkos would linger, like the bad smell emitted by a clogged drain. Brooke was still deflecting media queries about the incident a month later.
Did the Hurkos affair hurt the image of the Strangler Bureau?
âIt made it a laughingstock,â snorts Gordon Parry, a forensics expert who investigated the deaths of Patricia Bissette and Mary Sullivan.
One year later, the point was moot, because in March of 1965 an inmate of Massachusetts Correctional Institution-Bridgewater, a state facility for the sexually dangerous and criminally insane, confessed to being the Phantom Fiend, Mr. S., murderer of thirteen women.
His name was Albert Henry DeSalvo.
PART TWO
5
The Measuring Man
Who was the man who claimed to be the Boston Strangler?
Albert Henry DeSalvo, the third of six children, was born in Chelsea, Massachusetts, on September 3, 1931, to Charlotte and Frank DeSalvo, natives of Newfoundland. In todayâs jargon, the family would be described as dysfunctional. The reality was far worse than this euphemism could ever encompass. Frank DeSalvo, a fisherman and a skilled machinist, was arrested repeatedly for refusing to support his wife and children. It would have been much better for them had he committed the kind of crime that would have kept him in prison for a long stretch and out of their lives. He was a monster of abuse to Charlotte and the four boys and two girls, beating them regularly with fists, belts, and pipes. On one occasion he pulled a gun on Charlotte; on another he broke her fingers, serially snapping them like dry twigs. According to Albert, Frank had once sold him and his sisters to a Maine farmer for nine dollars. He also brought home prostitutes and had intercourse with them in front of the children. Albert also claimed that his father taught him how to shoplift.
Richard DeSalvo, Albertâs younger
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