Casefile True Crime - Case 64: Peter Weinberger

Episode Date: October 28, 2017

The Weinberger family was emblematic of 1950s suburban America. Husband and wife Betty and Morris lived in a modest home in Westbury, New York, where they were raising their two-year-old son Lewis and their newborn baby, Peter.  ––– Episode narrated by the Anonymous Host Researched and written by Milly Raso For all credits and sources please visit casefilepodcast.com/case-64-peter-weinberger

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more fun, your home or spare room might be worth more than you think. Find out how much at Airbnb.ca forward slash host. Our episodes deal with serious and often distressing incidents. If you feel at any time you need support, please contact your local crisis center. For suggested phone numbers for confidential support, please see the show notes for this episode on your app or on our website. Today's episode features a crime committed against an infant child. It won't be suitable for all listeners.

On July 4th, 1956, Ken Fetty showered New York City's Fifth Avenue as soldiers marched down the street in celebration of Independence Day. People flocked to the state's beaches and boardwalks, settling in to wait for the firework displays planned later in the night. Baseball teams, the New York Giants and the Brooklyn Dodgers played each other in front of a packed crowd at the Polo Ground Stadium in Upper Manhattan. Radios were blasting a broadcast of a concert in Memphis, where Elvis Presley was performing in front of thousands of adoring fans.

But the holiday celebrations were far more modest in Westbury, a small suburban village about 30 miles east of Manhattan. Westbury was at the time a fairly new village in Long Island, having gone from farmland to a small community in the late 30s. When World War II broke out, 20% of Westbury left to serve the country. This was the highest percentage of any comparable community in the United States. After the war, with the growth of New York City, housing developers set their sights on Long Island, and Westbury became the perfect area for housing estates aimed at middle-income

baby boomers. In the 10 years between 1950 and 1960, the population doubled, going from around 7,000 to 15,000 people. Then they ran out of land to develop, and the population has stayed about the same ever since. On the 4th of July celebrations in Westbury in 1956, families piled into station wagons and headed to the local park or recreation hall for communal festivities. Backyard barbecues and pool parties were common, as was the sight of children on pushbikes

circling the streets. Others opted to spend the holiday at home relaxing, settling in around their black and white televisions tuned into the local news or their favourite serials. That day, 32-year-old schoolteacher Betty Weinberger was one of those who stayed at home. Betty lived with her 48-year-old husband, Morris, their 2-year-old son, Lewis, and their newborn baby, Peter. The Weinberger family were emblematic of 1950's suburban America.

They were polite, well-respected, and proud members of the community. They took great pride in their presentation, their home was tidy, their lawn was mowed, and their clothes were ironed. On hot days, Betty and Morris would lounge under a large beach umbrella in their backyard as Lewis splashed about in an inflatable kiddie pool. They were an unassumingly normal family, with the same minor struggles as others, but their life was good. They lived on Albemarle Road, Westbury.

Albemarle Road was located in a suburban block off the heavily-travelled Northern State Parkway, a multi-lane road that cut along the northern half of Long Island, and serviced traffic in and out of the small communities along the way. Their street was wide, lined with cedar and pine trees, and featured multiple medium-sized family homes. Homes were on spacious properties with enough room to give residents privacy. Lawns were green and well-kept, with colourful gardens surrounded by low hedges. It was only a short walk to the main shopping strip of Post Avenue, and it was close to

Westbury Schools and Library, making it an ideal street to live for the Weinbergers. Betty had only given birth to younger son Peter 33 days earlier. The blue-eyed, sandy-haired one-month-old weighed just nine pounds. He was an affectionate and curious baby, and his mother rarely left his side. Morris Weinberger had left the house earlier that day to take two-year-old Lewis on a driver-round town, and Betty remained home with Peter. Betty was a naturally maternal woman, and she loved being a mother. That day, she dressed baby Peter in a yellow and white kimono, a matching blue-trimmed

peak yellow cap, and a clothed diaper clipped together with a large safety pin. About 3pm, she carried Peter out to the backyard patio where she fed him a bottle. It was a cool and overcast summer's day, so she decided to let Peter have his after-bottle nap outside. Amongst the patio furniture was a baby carriage. It was pushed against the window that looked inside into the living area. Betty wrapped Peter in a light yellow blanket and placed him into the carriage. Once Peter settled, Betty pulled a sheet of mosquito netting over the carriage and walked

back inside to retrieve a fresh clothed diaper. Approximately 10 minutes later, Betty looked out the living room window and saw the mosquito netting on Peter's carriage was curled open. She immediately went outside to fix it, but when she looked into the carriage, her chest tightened, and she felt the dizzying sensation of blood draining from her body. The carriage was empty. Pale and breathless. Time slowed as Betty's mind raced through a variety of illogical explanations.

Did Peter fall out of the carriage? Did Morris come home and get Peter while she was inside? Did she move Peter elsewhere and forgotten? Her numbness turned to terror when she noticed the torn piece of paper on the patio that read, Attention. I'm sorry this had to happen, but I'm in bad need of money and couldn't get it any other way.

Don't tell anyone or go to the police about this because I am watching you closely. I am scared stiff and will kill the baby at your first wrong move. Let's put $2,000 in small bills in a brown envelope and place it next to the signpost at the corner of Albemarle Road and Park Avenue at exactly 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. If everything goes smooth, I will bring the baby back and leave him on the same corner safe and happy at exactly 12 noon. No excuses. I can't wait.

Sign. Your babysitter. Detective Edward Curran was scheduled to take the 4th of July holiday off, but he decided to duck into the Nassau County police precinct to sort through a pile of paperwork anyway. With most of his co-workers on holiday, the office was quiet and the day was uneventful. It didn't surprise the few officers that were on duty to see Curran at his desk on his day off. Curran was considered a one of a kind, a top shelf detective, fully dedicated to his

job. That afternoon, the precincts received an unusual emergency call. Distressed parents were reporting their one month old child missing. The baby had been abducted from the backyard of their home in Westbury and the kidnapper had left a ransom note. Even though the kidnapper had instructed the family not to contact the police, they still called as they thought it would be the best way to get their son back. When news of the kidnapping reached Detective Curran, he said, quote,

They got a baby missing out in Westbury. To me, that was illogical. We had no serious crime. How the hell could a baby be missing in the new suburbia? We were a younger society with young children and only the rich babies were kidnapped. In the suburban village of Westbury, the threat of local children being kidnapped for ransom didn't exist. Town life in Westbury was harmonious.

No one was a stranger. It attracted everyday families of moderate income. Not the sort of families criminals would usually target for a ransom. With little threat from outsiders, Westbury residents didn't even bother locking their doors. Children were free to wander the streets without adult supervision. This sense of community safety allowed mothers like Betty Weinberger to leave their napping babies alone on their backyard patios without concern.

Detective Edward Curran took the lead of the Weinberger kidnapping investigation. His superiors permitted him a team of eight detectives. The Weinberger's one-story rent-style house sat on an angle to a curved turn on Albemarle Road. It featured a steep roofline, white window shutters, a brick-facing front, and an attached garage. When approaching the house, Curran noticed that at a very specific spot on Albemarle Road, he could see clean into the Weinberger's fenceless backyard.

And from there, he could clearly see the patio where Peter had been snatched. Meeting Betty and Morris Weinberger didn't give Detective Curran any answers as to why they would be targeted for kidnapping in ransom. Neither Betty or Morris were wealthy, well-known, or influential. They lived off Morris' modest income as a pharmacist as Betty was on maternity leave. And they didn't exude affluence at all. Their property and belongings were humble. Memories of previous, high-profile kidnapping cases throughout the country flashed through

Detective's minds. Twelve-year-old Marion Parker was abducted in December 1927. Her father was a prominent banker in Los Angeles. Twenty-month-old Charles Lindbergh Jr. was taken from his home in March 1932. His father was renowned aviator Charles Lindbergh. Twenty-two-year-old Brooke Hart was abducted in November 1933. His father was the owner of a department store. Six-year-old June Robles was abducted in April 1934.

Her father owned an electric company. With these high-profile kidnappings in mind, police considered the ordinary Weinberger family an atypical target. So they started to consider the grim possibility that the kidnapping story was a cover. Maybe the Weinbergers harmed their own baby and set up a fake kidnapping. It seemed unlikely, but as Curran questioned the couple, his team searched the home for any signs of foul play. They found nothing.

Detective Curran thought Betty looked like any other ordinary mother. She was wearing a long dress and cardigan, and her hair was tightly curled into a short sophisticated style. She certainly didn't look like she could have harmed her child. As he questioned her, she inhaled one cigarette after another, the sticks dangling loose in her shaking hands. Curran felt her inability to hold it together was indicative of her intense care for her baby.

He was starting to believe the kidnapping was genuine, despite the unusual choice of family that was targeted. Morris Weinberger had the stark opposite reaction to his wife. Wearing an ironed collared shirt tucked into slacks, the lean older man barely spoke and kept his emotions internalised. Running his hands across his thin, slipped back, graying hair, Morris had little to say to detectives. His weary, glossy eyes indicated a staunch father, suffering a lot of internal pain.

As detectives put together a profile of the Weinberger family, it became clear that the parents were good people who loved their children. Detective Curran concluded that the Weinbergers had nothing to hide, and there was a kidnapper at large. Curran inspected the ransom note left on the patio. Curiously, it didn't appear to be the hasty scribblings of a lowly, uneducated criminal. The handwriting was neat and consistent. Words were written in straight lines across the page.

Spelling and grammar were correct. The lettering was small, except for the loops of longer letters. The kidnapper signed the note as babysitter, but the Weinbergers had never employed a babysitter to look after their children. To Curran, the $2,000 ransom was unusually specific. $2,000 wasn't a large sum of money in a kidnapping case. In previous cases, ransom demands hit fire figures and higher. Peter Weinbergers' kidnapper claimed they were in bad need of money, and it looked like

they were only seeking the specific amount they needed. Betty and Morris were under immense pressure to make an incredibly difficult decision. How were they going to respond to the kidnapper's demands? Authorities were reluctant to pay ransoms, as it rewarded the kidnappers and encouraged copycats. But the Weinbergers' decision was unwavering. They would pay the kidnapper whatever it took to get Peter back home safe. Due to the 4th of July holiday, all the banks were closed, but detectives arranged to have

one opened to release money for the ransom. The Weinbergers didn't have enough savings to pay the complete amount, so detectives improvised by wrapping wads of paper with banknotes to give the illusion there was more money than there actually was. The serial numbers on the banknotes were recorded to ensure they could be traced. Detectives also bugged the Weinbergers' telephone to record incoming calls. As they were getting ready to drop the money, Curran realized the ransom note carried flawed instructions.

It demanded the money be left at the corner of Albemarle Road and Park Avenue, but the kidnapper failed to realize that Albemarle Road went in a semi-circle and the road intersected with Park Avenue twice at either end of the semi-circle. Each intersection featured a signpost, meaning there were two possible drop zones. To be safe, detectives prepared two ransom packages, one for each possible drop zone. Within hours of the kidnapping, the local media heard whispers of the unusual crime in Westbury and began to pry around Nassau County police headquarters looking for a scoop. Betty and Morris made a private plea to the five major New York City newspaper publications.

Police hold off printing news of their son's kidnapping while they are in negotiations with the kidnapper. They feared if the media announced news of the crime, it may scare the kidnapper and put their son in danger. Police supported Betty and Morris and requested a one-day news blackout on the crime. The media outlets agreed to comply. As the July 4th Evening newspapers appeared on stands and doorsteps, Betty and Morris Weinberger settled in for a long emotional night without their baby.

The media outlets honored the request to keep news of Peters kidnapping out of the papers, except one. The New York Daily News Evening Edition newspaper took advantage of their competitors' silence and featured a front-page story on Peter Weinberger's kidnapping. In an act that had the potential to sabotage the ransom drop and the police operation scheduled the following morning, the article detailed the kidnapper's ransom demands and revealed the involvement of police in the case. Betty and Morris Weinberger woke from a restless night to morning newspapers featuring bold

front-page headlines detailing Peters' kidnapping. The article in the Evening Edition of the New York Daily News had opened the media floodgates. The following morning, every other media outlet released a story as well. They didn't want to miss out on the huge sales the kidnapping story would provide. Reporters swarmed the front lawn of the Weinberger family home. Detectives were trying to prepare for the ransom drop, but were bombarded by interfering media whose presence jeopardized the entire operation.

The police were called in to try and disperse the media before the kidnapper arrived to collect the ransom. At 9.55am, Betty and Morris dropped a ransom package at each of the two possible drop locations. The packages were placed against the street signposts, as ordered by the kidnapper. They then returned home to await the outcome, while police staked out each location. There were few places to hide along the Upper Mile Road. The wide road and open front lawns lacked decent cover, making it difficult for police to maintain discrete surveillance of the drop locations.

To any keen and watchful eye, their presence would have been noticeable. 10am arrived, and there was no sign of the kidnapper. 10 minutes slowly ticked by with nothing. Then, a taxi carrying a female passenger circled the street multiple times, passing the Weinberger House three times before driving away. A red station wagon with a female driver then pulled up at one of the drop locations, but drove away moments later. Police didn't follow either the taxi or the red station wagon.

They didn't want to blow their cover. As time passed, no one appeared to claim either ransom package. The drop had failed. The kidnapper was a no-show. Winers flanked the Weinberger home. Betty emerged surrounded by a police escort. Emotionally volatile, Betty blamed the media for sabotaging the ransom drop. I could cut all your throats, she yelled, between gut-wrenching sobs.

The Weinbergers were taken to Nassau County police headquarters. Peter's kidnapping was now making national news and was thrusting the quiet town into the media spotlight. Raspberry locals were struck by a fear they never knew. Doors were locked and children were kept inside. All the while, Betty and Morris battled with the uncertain fate of their baby boy in the hands of a kidnapper who no longer trusted them. At 2pm that afternoon, police held a press conference.

Since the media had preemptively exposed their investigation, police decided to be up front. The family is awaiting further instructions, they told the media. We have made no progress at all. We have had several vague leads, but all have gone nowhere. Betty was near collapse. She was seated on a bench as the media crowded her. She held a written statement in shaking hands and spoke in a low, unsteady voice. Quote, I am the mother of Peter Weinberger, who was taken from me yesterday.

Whoever you are, I now plead for the return of my baby, who needs the care of his mother. I assume you are desperately in need of money, and I am willing to cooperate in any way I can to get my baby back. Most of all, lie. Betty broke down sobbing. She dropped her written statement and then spoke candidly off-script directly to Peter's kidnapper. Please, please, please call anyone.

Leave a note anywhere. I shall see that you get what you want. Betty then fainted and was gently carried away by family. Detective Curran picked up Betty's written statement, stood before the media, and finished it on her behalf. Quote, Most of all, I am concerned for the well-being of my son, who is in need of a special feeding, which I will now give you. Curran read out the ingredients of a special baby formula Peter required.

17 ounces of sterile water, one and a half level tablespoons of sugar, and one 13 ounce can of evaporated milk. This was to be divided into feedings of five ounces each, and given six times a day at intervals of four hours. Peter was also in need of vitamin B12 and five drops of dozex. Curran explained that Peter needed the special formula to survive, and the recipe required a pharmacist's knowledge. The media and public were unaware that the recipe was completely fabricated by police.

Peter didn't require a special formula at all. Police concocted the recipe, hoping it would compel the kidnapper to visit a pharmacy. If the pharmacist recognized the very specific formula request, they could tip off detectives. The following day, a heavy-set man walked into a pharmacy in Stanford, Connecticut, about 40 miles away from Westbury. The man inquired about two of the ingredients listed in Peter's phony baby formula, vitamin B12 and dozex. The pharmacist didn't have the items available, so the man quickly left.

When police were informed, the unknown man was long gone and never identified. In the meantime, police started a thorough search for Peter in Westbury, despite believing with utmost certainty that their son was still alive. Betty and Morris felt increasingly anxious, as more than 100 police officers canvassed the streets around their home, peered down drains, lifted manhole covers, ripped apart bushes, and sifted through poles of soft dirt. It wouldn't have quelled Betty and Morris' anxiety when the media spun the police search as proof law enforcement assumed Peter was dead.

This was incorrect. It was simply a step police had to take. It didn't mean they were treating it as a homicide. To Betty and Morris' relief, no sign of Peter was found. The media continued to stalk the family. Their front yard was full of reporters and photographers who bombarded them with intrusive and insensitive questions whenever they appeared. Police canvassed the Albemarle Road to see if any residents noticed anyone suspicious in

the area on July 4th. Two young boys came forward who were walking down Albemarle Road on their way to play baseball that afternoon. They saw a bushy head, shabbily dressed man reading a newspaper in a green car parked near the Weinberger home. The boys were able to identify the green car as a Chrysler Plymouth. No one in the street owned a car that matched that description. Detectives noted this as their first major clue beyond the ransom note.

Three days passed with no new compelling leads and concern grew for Peter's well-being. The longer Peter was gone, the less likely his basic needs such as feeding, cleaning and sleeping were being met. If the kidnapper chose Peter because he was an easy target to snatch, they might not have considered the newborn baby would also be a difficult hostage to tend to. So with each new day, came an increased sense of urgency. And to crack the case, Detective Curran worked day and night. He didn't even go home.

He slept on a cot at police headquarters. Betty and Morris called another press conference. It was held in the backyard of their home. Betty was dry-eyed and emotionally exhausted. Morris stood silently beside her. Covered in a thick blanket behind them was the carriage Peter had been snatched from. Betty said, Once again in desperation, we appeal to you who have our baby. We beg you to let us have word.

Is the baby well? Please take care of him. He needs attention so much. We don't want any revenge. We want our baby. Please, please use the church or clergyman to make contact with us. Drop a note in the collection box. The clergymen are all committed to us not to turn over the information to police.

The police have given their word they won't interfere. Tomorrow is Sunday and the churches all over the city will be open. New York churches and synagogues supported the Weinbergers by keeping their doors open all day and all night. However, the kidnapper didn't show up. Days later, a telephone operator in New York received a call. The mail caller said, The kidnapped baby will be left in the 168th Street subway station. He then hung up.

Police swooped on the station in Washington Heights. Witnesses at the station described seeing a man in a light gray suit carrying a package. Police searched for the man in gray, but concluded the call was a hoax and the man in gray was not related to the kidnapping. This was the start of a spade of hoax calls and letters that bombarded the Weinbergers. Betty and Morris received over 10 prank calls a day. The calls came from as far away as Chicago and Michigan. Callers claimed to be Peter's kidnapper and attempted to take advantage of the desperate

mother and father. During one call, Betty was instructed to take the ransom money to a movie theater in Queens. Police were wary that it was another hoax, but Betty was determined. She was going to attend the drop with or without them. So 30 undercover police officers went to the theater and took seats throughout to keep an eye on the exchange. Betty arrived at the theater with the ransom payment in her purse. She took a seat alone in the second last row.

Within minutes, a man sprinted at her, snatched her purse and attempted to escape. All 30 undercover police left from their seats and jumped on the man. But they later discovered he was nothing more than an opportunistic petty criminal, totally unrelated to the kidnapping and to the phone call. He targeted Betty not knowing who she was, but because she was alone in the theater and he thought she was an easy target for a robbery. The initial caller who orchestrated the theater ransom job wasn't heard from again. At 10.45 am on July 10th, six days after Peter was taken, the telephone in the Weinberger

House rang once more. Morris answered and a male voice instructed him to place ransom money in a mailbox off exit 26 on the Northern State Parkway. Morris followed through with the mailbox drop, but no one arrived to collect the money. Police put the call down to yet another hoax. But later that same afternoon, the Weinberger's telephone rang again. Betty answered this time, as police secretly listened in and recorded the conversation. The male caller said, Listen, do you want to see your kid or don't you?

Who is this? Betty asked. Well, it's the party you would be interested in. I called up earlier and I don't know who he answered. I made an appointment and nobody showed up. Betty said, You made an appointment with my husband. What did you ask him to do? Go over to exit 26, the caller responded.

Yes, we kept that appointment. My husband went. No, nobody was there. I was there for over an hour. Well, now on exit 28, if you want, right by the sign, I'll be there in at most a half hour. You'll find a blue bag there, put the money in and take the note and it'll tell you where you'll find the baby in an hour's time.

Although the possibility of this being another hoax crossed Detective Curran's mind. He dressed several police officers in ragged clothing and sent them to exit 28. They would pretend to be workers picking up rubbish along the parkway whilst maintaining a visual on the drop site. To their surprise, there was a large blue duffel bag resting by the base of the exit 28 sign, just like the caller had said there would be. The undercover police lined the parkway as Betty and Morris approached the bag with a ransom package.

Inside the bag was a handwritten note. Betty and Morris collected the note and placed the ransom money in the bag before driving away. Undercover police kept a close eye on the bag for an extended period of time, but no one showed up to take the money. Police retrieved the bag and abandoned the operation. However, the drop wasn't the futile hoax police had suspected. To their surprise, the note Betty and Morris retrieved from the bag featured the exact

same handwriting as the ransom note left on their patio. Finally, after six long days, Peter's kidnapper was communicating. Even though the kidnapper had made no previous attempt to retrieve the ransom packages, this new note demanded a larger sum of $5,000. The instructions were for the money to be left underneath a pile of old car seat covers, further down the northern state parkway. The note ended with, quote, If everything goes smooth, the baby will be left wrapped in an army blanket and placed at the exit of the parkway closest to your house in exactly

one hour. Signed, your babysitter. Betty and Morris found the pile of car seat covers and placed the $5,000 ransom underneath them as the kidnapper had instructed. But again, to the detective's frustration, it was ignored. The kidnapper didn't show up to collect the money, so police grabbed the car seat covers and left. Police felt the kidnapper was playing with them, but for what purpose, they couldn't

determine. Hope was starting to fade amongst everyone that Peter would be found safe. Everyone except his parents. Betty and Morris firmly believed Peter was still alive. During the 1950s, the FBI only got involved in kidnapping cases after one week. They could act earlier if the victim was taken across state lines, but there was no evidence of that in this case. So, the FBI didn't become involved until July 11th, exactly one week after Peter's

kidnapping. 55 FBI agents from the New York office swarmed Nassau County. Professional jealousy and personal pride created an immediate rift between local detectives and FBI agents. The FBI's arrival signified the inability of local detectives to solve the case, and they weren't eager to hand over their investigation. To dispel the tension between the two groups, Detective Curran asked his superiors to match the FBI's presence with an equal number of local officers.

This would help Nassau County police feel like they were still an integral part of the investigation. Curran was given the additional personnel, which enabled each FBI agent to be teamed up with a local officer. This eased the tension, and the extra manpower provided a much needed boost to the failing investigation. The two ransom notes written by the kidnapper were the biggest leads they had, so they were analysed by handwriting experts from the FBI.

Their analysis showed that 16 letters in the kidnapper's handwriting had what were considered distinctive characteristics. These were habitual or unavoidable patterns in the style of writing that were unique to the author. Most notably, the kidnapper had a very unusual way of angling the letter M, which made it look like it was the letter Z. The handwriting experts created what they called the happy birthday letter. It was a scripted birthday greeting that used every letter of the alphabet.

When people were under suspicion by investigators, they were asked to rewrite the happy birthday letter. Their writing sample was then compared to the ransom notes. Dozens of happy birthday letters were written by potential suspects, including close friends and relatives of the Weinbergers, but there was no match. Copies of the kidnapper's handwriting were distributed to law enforcement agencies across the country. Detectives worked around the clock for weeks, cross-checking the kidnapper's handwriting

to large volumes of court documents, driver's license registrations, voting registrations, tax records and probation files. While this was happening, technicians inspected the car seat covers retrieved from the most recent ransom drop site. From the wear and indentations on the fabric, they were able to determine that the car seat covers were frequently used by someone weighing approximately 160 pounds. They also established the brand of vehicle the seat covers came from, an early 1950s Chrysler Plymouth, the same car that witnesses saw parked near the Weinberger home on the

afternoon of the kidnapping. On August 22, almost seven weeks after the kidnapping, a probation officer based in Brooklyn arrived at Nassau County Police Headquarters. He carried a pile of documents pertaining to a man who lived in Plainview, a suburb less than six miles away from Westbury. The Plainview man had recently completed a year of probation for bootlegging in Suffolk County. The probation officer had been sent the information regarding the kidnapper's handwriting, and

as he read through his monthly probation reports, he kept the sample close by in case he noticed the match. While reading a report, he came across the signature of a man on probation named Angelo But the probation officer examined the signature more closely and realized he had misread the surname. What he first interpreted as the letter Z was actually an M written on a sloping angle. It was a distinct writing characteristic associated with Peter's kidnapper. The man's name was actually Angelo Lamarca.

FBI handwriting experts compared Angelo Lamarca's handwriting on his probation documentation to Peter's ransom notes. They spotted several more substantial similarities. When they did a background check on Angelo Lamarca, they discovered he owned a green 1951 Chrysler Plymouth, the same vehicle witnessed near the Weinberger home around the time of the kidnapping. Previous police reports on Lamarca had him weighing 160 pounds, the exact weight which correlated to the wear of the seat covers recovered from the final unsuccessful ransom

drop. That was enough for Detective Curran. In the early hours of August 23rd, 51 days after Peter's kidnapping, police took up positions surrounding Lamarca's home and the properties belonging to his known relatives. Detective Curran screamed go over the radio and police stormed each of the properties simultaneously. It was 2am when eight detectives rushed into the Lamarca family home on Richfield Street in Plainview.

Angelo Lamarca was inside his quaint house with his wife Donna. The couple had the night to themselves as Lamarca's parents were babysitting his two young children. Lamarca didn't put up a fight. The scrawny man was half asleep, his eyelids were heavy, his dark hair was unkempt and his lower face was shady with stubble. Police kicked open doors and searched closets and cupboards inside the house. But they found no sign of Peter.

Lamarca denied any involvement in the crime. With a suspect in custody, the cooperation between Nassau County Police and the FBI broke down. The FBI took Lamarca away without notifying Nassau County. They took him straight to their FBI headquarters on Manhattan's east side. Detective Curran stormed into the FBI office and demanded custody of Lamarca. He said the FBI couldn't lay claim to him because there was no indication he had violated federal law.

The FBI relented and permitted Curran to lead the questioning of Lamarca. As FBI agents watched through two-way glass, Detective Curran entered the interrogation room. Curran introduced himself and attempted to establish a connection to Lamarca by divulging that they grew up in the same area and that the detective actually lived on the same street as Lamarca's parents. He told him he was the only friend he had and encouraged him to start talking. But Lamarca continued to deny involvement in Peter's kidnapping.

So Detective Curran brought Lamarca's wife Donna into the interrogation room. She was distraught and said, Angelo, did you kidnap this child? Think of that baby's mother, Angelo. If you did this and I was the mother, I'd want to know where he is. Lamarca barked at the detective to get his wife out. Curran thought that Lamarca's agitated voice sounded very familiar. Curran threw a copy of Lamarca's probation report that contained his handwriting under the table.

He then placed a copy of the ransom notes next to it. The similarities in the handwriting were undeniable. Lamarca remained silent for a long time. He then nodded and admitted that he wrote the ransom notes. He explained he wrote them along with several others in jest for friends. Afterwards, he threw them in a wastebasket. He said that someone must have taken them out of the wastebasket and used them in Peter's kidnapping.

The explanation was far-fetched at best, but Lamarca stood by it. So Detective Curran considered his next play. Curran had recognized Lamarca's distinct voice the moment he heard the man snap at his wife. So he asked for a reel-to-reel tape recorder to be brought into the room. Curran played the recorded telephone calls the kidnapper had made to the Weinbergers. When Lamarca heard his voice on the recordings, he crumbled and started the talk. 31-year-old Angelo Lamarca's wage of $1.80 per hour was barely enough to provide for his young family.

The Lamarcas were struggling to pay off their $116 monthly mortgage, as well as several other debts, including $900 on a freezer, $500 for the storm windows on their home, and $400 owed to a loan shark. Unpayable bills swamped the couple, and the loan shark was threatening the family. When Lamarca wanted to take his wife Donna out for dinner in a movie to celebrate their 10th wedding anniversary on June 9th, 1956, Donna protested. She felt they couldn't afford it. This led to their first heated argument about money.

By the end of the night Donna noticed a change in her husband. From that moment on Angelo lost sight of himself and was constantly nervous and prone to arguments. He would regularly yell at their two children, something he rarely did before. He stopped communicating with Donna, and it seemed like his mind was constantly elsewhere. Donna Lamarca, quote, He didn't sleep very well. He would get up at night and walk around, go downstairs. Then he would come up and try to sleep again, then get up and go downstairs again.

I know he needed a haircut badly. He used to pull his hair and hit his fist against the table. Finally, Angelo Lamarca fell into a long bout of what Donna described as a sullen mood. Lamarca was desperate for quick money to protect his family. Seemingly out of his mind and incapable of understanding the consequences of such actions, he devised a plan to kidnap a baby for ransom, but only for the $2,000 he needed to get out of his immediate debts. He didn't want the police to get involved as he intended to return the child back to his family once his ransom demands were met. On the day of July 4th, 1956, Lamarca drove the residential streets of Westbury in his cries of Plymouth, looking for a target.

When cruising down Albemarle Road, he glimpsed Betty Weinberger on the patio in her backyard, feeding a newborn baby. He pulled over in a spot that allowed him to inconspicuously observe the mother and son. When Betty placed Peter in the carriage and went inside, Lamarca was watching. He tore a piece of paper from a notebook and scrawled the ransom note on it. Within the 10 minutes Betty was inside the house, Lamarca snatched Peter from the patio, left the note, and drove away. What Lamarca did with Peter directly after the kidnapping is unclear. He claimed he didn't take Peter back to his own home, and when police questioned his wife Donna, they absolved her of any involvement. Lamarca said he had an accomplice who kept the baby overnight and fed it.

He named the accomplice, but then recanted and confessed he just named an acquaintance he didn't like to cause the man grief. He then provided another name for his accomplice, Shorty, but he couldn't provide any further details about Shorty, and police couldn't find a match. Detective Curran firmly believed Lamarca was lying about having an accomplice. He was making up the story as a means to deflect responsibility away from himself. Nevertheless, Lamarca continued to shape his version of events around this unknown accomplice. On the morning of July 5th, the day of the first ransom drop, Lamarca claimed he waited at Exit 31 of the Northern State Parkway, about two miles away from the Weinberger Home. He said Shorty drove Peter to Albemarle Road to pick up the ransom while he waited at Exit 31. Shorty returned at 10.15am and Lamarca was surprised to see Peter was still in the car.

Shorty said he abandoned the ransom because there were too many police and reporters around the drop zone. Lamarca spoke with Shorty for about 15 minutes and then drove to a diner to continue their conversation, leaving Peter in the car. The men decided they didn't want to go through with the kidnapping plot any further and contemplated leaving Peter at a nearby church, but then changed their minds. Lamarca ended his statement with the following, quote, The baby was left on July 5th, 1956, still alive, in the bushes by Exit 37 on Northern State Parkway at about 11.40am. Detectives weren't buying Lamarca's story about Shorty the accomplice. They believed the evidence suggested Lamarca acted alone, but they checked out his story about leaving Peter at Exit 37. It was nearing 7pm on August 23rd when Lamarca was taken to Exit 37 by detectives.

He pointed to a small dirt track leading off the service road that curved into a goldenrod meadow. The meadow was a tangle of vines and shrubbery shadowed by tall wild cherry and scrub oak trees. Lamarca said it was to the right where the baby was left. Police marched arms length from each other, but the bushland was so dense they couldn't see anything under the tall growth of overgrown scrub. The search had to be temporarily abandoned at 8.30pm when the darkness of night blanketed the area. Early the following day, August 24th, 60 local detectives and FBI agents came together on an unseasonably cold warning to trudge through the thick bushland to search for Peter. Hours passed with no find. One detective who felt the underbrush was too thick to see into from a standing position got on his hands and knees and started crawling.

He tore at an overgrown honeysuckle and he noticed the glimmer of a metallic object. When he wiped the dirt away from the item, he identified it as a large safety pin. It was closed and not yet rusted. Betty and Morris Weinberger were informed of the arrest of Angelo Lamarca. Surrounded by a handful of supportive friends and family, they waited at home for updates. As Angelo wasn't initially charged with murder, they held out hope Peter would be found alive. Betty stated, There's no question in my mind that my baby is still alive.

The detective who found the safety pin kept searching. He found pieces of faded yellow decomposed cloth. Then beyond the cloth, he found the skeletal remains of an infant child. Betty and Morris received word only five minutes later. One relative said, There was a profound silence and Betty and Morris looked at each other. There was little any of us could say. Their reaction was very, very severe.

Betty was asked to identify the items that were discovered around the infant's remains. The large safety pin confirmed nothing. There was a standard diaper pin used by many parents. It wasn't until Betty was shown the second item that she broke down. The decomposed cloth found by the remains was from an infant's kimono and hat. Originally a bright yellow and white color. Betty loved the way the color yellow complimented her baby's bright personality. Medical examiners confirmed Peter had been placed beneath the honeysuckle bush approximately 50 days earlier.

This matched Lamarca's confession that he abandoned Peter the day after he kidnapped him. Because of death couldn't be confirmed. Sign showed Peter could have died from either asphyxia, starvation, exposure or a mixture of all of those things. A definitive time of death could not be determined. Angelo Lamarca was charged with kidnapping and first-degree murder. At the time, the Federal Kidnapping Act made the death penalty mandatory for convicted kidnappers who physically harmed their victims. The indictments stated, The defendant, honor about the fourth day of July 1956, willfully and feloniously, did take, carry away and detain one Peter Weinberger.

With intent to keep and conceal said Peter Weinberger from his parents and to extort and obtain money and reward for the return and disposition of said Peter Weinberger. Whilst then and there engaged in the commission of a felony, did kill said Peter Weinberger. Lamarca applied to have the trial heard outside of New York on the basis that the crime was so widely publicized, popular opinion of him was biased. The saturation coverage on television, radio and newspapers had already resulted in people forming the opinion that he was guilty, meaning it would be impossible for him to get a fair trial. But his application was denied. The trial commenced on November 5th, 1956. Lamarca pled not guilty by reason of insanity.

The defense argued that Lamarca spiralled into a deep depression, spurred on by overwhelming and increasing debt. In a moment of temporary insanity that diseased his otherwise sane mind, he devised the kidnapping plot to get out of a hopeless and desperate situation that threatened the livelihood of his family. In his unstable mindset, Lamarca's kidnapping plot seemed like a viable solution to his problems. He was so detached from reality, he was unable to perceive right from wrong. The defense also argued that he was not technically a murderer. Lamarca had no intention to harm Peter. He intended to return him to his parents, but was forced to act otherwise when he discovered the media presence in and around the proposed drop site. The defense asked the jury for mercy, as Lamarca was himself the father of a nine-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl.

The district attorney responded, what mercy was shown baby Peter when he was left in the woods? On December 7th, 1956, the jury found Angelo Lamarca guilty on both counts. He was sentenced to death by electric chair. When the sentence was read in court, Lamarca's legs buckled and he needed others to support him to stay standing. His wife fainted. The district attorney said, quote, This man Lamarca has passed that sentence on himself, literally and actually, with the life of that little child in the palm of his hand, he determined his own fate when he said to himself, shall that baby live or shall that baby die?

His hands closed and he chose death. When that baby's life expired, Lamarca's life expired too. After the trial, Betty and Morris Weinberger completely sealed themselves away from the publicity. They denounced the mainstream media for interfering and sabotaging the investigation during its initial stages, and for the immoral and heartless way they pursued and publicized the story. The parents' traumatic experience raised questions about the ethical obligations of the media. In this particular case, they were more interested in selling newspapers than protecting the integrity of a delicate investigation. Their abrasive aggressiveness in seeking new information and scoops was done with no sensitivity to the victims.

In response, the New York public became critical of the media and questioned if they had succeeded in murdering an infant. Peter's quiet and private funeral was held on September 10th, 1956, two months and five days after being kidnapped. For the first time since his kidnapping, the media honored the Weinbergers please to stay away and give them privacy. The Weinbergers later moved and lived the remainder of their lives in relative obscurity. They eventually had another son together. The crime changed the village of Westbury and had a profound effect on other small suburban communities throughout America. Nothing like it had ever happened before. The assumed sense of communal security was lost forever, and Lamarca's conviction didn't relieve this sense of fear.

America's families weren't safe, not even in their own backyards. Years later, a reporter for a Long Island newspaper tracked down an elderly 79-year-old Morris Weinberger. The reporter asked Morris if he still thought about the kidnapping. Morris replied no. He felt no sense in doing so. After the death of his son, he had continued to live life as it came along. As a direct result of Peter's case, Congress changed the law that required seven days to pass before the FBI could enter a kidnapping investigation. Today, the FBI can get involved within 24 hours of the crime.

Angelo Lamarca was incarcerated on death row in New York's Sing Sing Prison. He became severely depressed. The prospect of facing the electric chair, or what his fellow inmates called Old Sparky, consumed his every thought. As a distraction, he did something he had never done before. He began sketching art and writing poetry. The creative outlet gave him peace. He wrote a poem called A Love Stronger Than Steel. I am trapped in a web of cold iron and steel for something I did when my mind wasn't right.

For 18 months, Lamarca appealed his death sentence on the basis that his trial was unfair. By now, some low-to-middle-income members of the public came to view Lamarca with sympathy. They felt that he was not an evil predatory monster who enjoyed murdering children. The suffering that led to his desperate act was relatable. Many local families understood what it was like to be destitute and hopeless. They donated money, food, clothing and toys to Lamarca's wife and children. They didn't want the children to suffer for the sins of their father. Ultimately, Angelo Lamarca's sixth and final appeal failed,

and his execution was ordered to take place on August 7th, 1958. The day of his execution, Lamarca was met by his young children. He told them to do well in school and to look after their mother. When his plea for his day of execution was rejected, a Catholic chaplain entered his cell, and the two prayed quietly. Lamarca was then led down the corridor to the execution chamber. His whimpers echoed down the hall. Detective Edward Curran was sitting in the glass-in audience section of the execution chamber.

He didn't particularly want to be there, but Betty Weinberger had asked him to attend, so he felt compelled to do so. It wasn't in the Weinberger's interest to personally watch Lamarca die. They never sought revenge. They just wanted their baby back. For Curran, this was the final chapter of a long, painful story. But as the heavy door opened and Lamarca was marched into the room where he would soon die, Curran felt nothing.

Lamarca was dressed in a white shirt, dark grey trousers, and black loafers. When he saw Old Sparky, he turned to the chaplain who offered him a crucifix to kiss. Six guards eased Lamarca into the electric chair. His limbs were strapped down tight. A heavy leather mask was placed over his head to cover his eyes and mouth. Before it was tightened, he said his final words. What are you trying to do? Choke me.

2,000 volts of electricity shot through his body via the electrode strapped to his head and legs. Within seconds, he was unconscious. When the electricity was turned off, Lamarca's masked head slumped forward. A physician pressed a stethoscope to his chest and said, This man is dead.