Money Crimes with Nicole Lapin - H.H. Holmes: The Real Story Behind America's First Serial Killer Pt. 1

Episode Date: October 3, 2026

You've heard of H.H. Holmes. The murder castle, the gas chambers, two hundred victims lured from the World's Fair. Almost none of it is true. In the first part of our 3-part series on H.H. Holmes, Katie Ring strips away the legend and tells you what's actually in the record: The medical school scams, the two wives who never knew about each other, the building that hid things behind its walls, and the woman and child who vanished from it on Christmas Eve without a single person asking why.Follow America's Most Infamous Crimes to hear the rest of the story: https://pod.link/1882861002If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Scams, Money, & Murder to never miss a case! To hear episodes ad-free, subscribe to Crime House+. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. Scams, Money, & Murder is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of Reddit, Crime House 24/7, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Murder True Crime Stories, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosX: @crimehousemediaYouTube: @crimehousestudios

Hi, everyone. Before today's episode, there's another show I want to tell you about. It's called What the Fact with Connor Tomlinson from Netflix's Love on the Spectrum and Carter Roy. Every week, they take three unbelievable true facts from history and tell you the full story behind them. Plus, Conner's infectious energy that'll make you realize history is the most fascinating thing on earth. Follow What The Fact wherever you listen or subscribe on YouTube at What The Fact Pod. You've probably heard of him even if you don't know his name. The murder hotel in Chicago, the gas chambers behind the walls, the chutes that carried bodies down to the basement. 200 victims lured out of the crowds at the 1893 World's Fair were never seen again. He's been called America's first serial killer, the beast of Chicago, and the devil in the white city. But here's the problem. Almost none of that is true. So over the next three episodes, I'm going to do. do something a little different. I'm going to tell you what's actually in the record, the court

files, the trial transcript, the detective's own account. And every time we hit a piece of the legend, all tell you where it really came from. Because the true story of Herman Muddott, the conman who called himself H.H. Holmes, doesn't need a single invented detail. What he did to the people who trusted him, his employees, his wives, his girlfriends, his business partner, and that partner's children is dark enough. And it starts in a small town in New Hampshire. With a boy, everyone agreed, was bright, polite, and impossible to read. Every crime tells a story about the people involved, the system that tried to stop it, and the nation that couldn't look away. Some cases are so shocking, so deeply woven into who we are, that decades later, we're still

asking, how did this happen? I'm catering, and this is America's most infamous crimes. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I'll take you deep into cases that have a lasting and on society and still on us today. This is the first of our three-episode series on H.H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. The man behind the legend of Chicago, so-called murder castle. Today, I'll tell you who he actually was. His childhood in New Hampshire, the medical school scams, the trail of debts, the fake names that led him to Chicago, and the building that would make him infamous.

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. In the 1860s, Gilminton, New Hampshire, had a few hundred families, a couple of churches, a schoolhouse, and not much else. It was the kind of place where everybody knew everybody and where a reputation followed you forever, which may explain why Herman Webster Mudgeett spent his whole life discarding old identities and buying new ones. Herman was born on May 16, 1861,

a few weeks after the Civil War began. The Mudgeots were an old New Hampshire family. His father farmed and held a series of solid, small-town positions over the years, and his parents were devout Methodists who ran the household on scripture and discipline. Herman said that when correction was needed in that house, the rod was not spared. And Herman was a small, bright, well-mannered boy who loved to read and did well in school, well enough that the other kids allegedly resented him for it. Because most of what we know about Herman's childhood comes directly from him.

And let's just say he's not the most reliable source. While waiting for his trial in a Philadelphia prison, he published a memoir called Holmes' own story. In it, he tells the tale that's been repeated in every book and documentary since. As a small boy, he was terrified of the village doctor's office. The office was filled with jars and instruments and even a skeleton hanging inside. Some older boys found out about his fear and one day they grabbed him, dragged him through the door, and shoved him face to face with a skeleton. its bony hand seemingly reaching for his face.

But instead of being terrified, he claimed the ordeal cured his fear and left him with a lifelong fascination with the dead. It's a perfect origin story, a perfect story told by one of the most documented liars of the 19th century. Keep in mind that this was also written while he was trying to sell a sympathetic version of himself to the public. Maybe it happened or maybe he built it out of nothing. the same way he fabricated companies and identities, but I guess we'll never know. What the record actually shows is not as grandiose. He was a clever boy who grew up in a strict household, who lived in a town too small for his ambitions,

and who learned early on that the right story, told in the right way, could get him almost anything. At 16, he finished at the local academy and started teaching at a school in the area. A year later, he met a young woman named Clara Levering, from a nearby town. Clara came from a family with some money, which Herman later said is part of why he pursued her. On July 4, 1878, Herman and Clara eloped, and shortly after, they had a son. But it wasn't long until Herman basically abandoned them. He had decided he wanted to become a doctor and spent about a year at the University of Vermont. But he eventually decided it was beneath him, and in 1882 he talked his way into the medical school of the University of the University of Vermont.

of Michigan in Ann Arbor, one of the most respected programs in the country. Clara and the baby stayed behind in New Hampshire. Herman rarely came back, but he also never divorced her. He just moved on, leaving his old life behind like it never existed. While Herman was at school, he discovered that dead bodies could be surprisingly profitable. But before you wonder how the hell medical students were getting bodies in the 1880s, this was actually a huge, problem for medical schools. They needed cadavers for anatomy classes, but there weren't enough bodies that could be legally obtained, so a black market developed. Grave robbers, sometimes called Resurrection Men, would dig up recently buried bodies and sell them to the medical schools.

And there are several accounts that say Herman got involved in this, procuring cadavers and even robbing graves and morgues to sell bodies to medical schools. Now, whether Herman personally went around with a shovel, digging up graves every Tuesday night is harder to establish. So I'm not going to tell you that's a proven fact. But we do know that he had access to cadavers. He knew how the system worked, and he understood very early on that a dead body could be useful and profitable. And then he took the idea somewhere even darker.

According to Herman's own later account, he and a fellow medical student began working on an insurance scheme involving cadavers. The basic idea was to make a dead person appear to be the insured person so someone could collect the life insurance money. And this is where you can start to see the blueprint forming. He had the medical knowledge to understand bodies. He had the access to the bodies. He understood how difficult identification could be. And now he was figuring out how to turn all of that into money.

It's hard to grasp from the outside looking in how absurd this is. But this was the 1880s. This was a time where there were no DNA tests, no fingerprint databases, no modern crime labs, and no way to instantly connect a body to a missing person. Investigators had far fewer tools to figure out who somebody was or how they died. A life insurance policy was sold on a handshake and a signature, and a body was identified by whoever showed up claiming to know it. If a man told you his name was Robert Phelps, then his name was Robert Phelps,

unless somebody who knew better happened to walk through the door. Herman understood how to take advantage of that and used it at every opportunity. He graduated in 1884 and started drifting. He turned up in Morris Forks, a small town in far northern New York, near the Canadian border, where he taught school, worked as a town doctor, and boarded with a local family. The people of Morris Forks liked him. He was remembered as pleasant and hardworking. He was also remembered for how he left.

quietly at night with his rent unpaid and his accounts around town unsettled from there the trail runs through the northeast and the Midwest a drugstore job here a business venture there and a series of debts quiet scandals and sudden departures in Philadelphia he worked at a drugstore but after a boy reportedly died from medicine bought at the store Herman denied any involvement and quickly left the city whatever really happened his reaction was the same when questions he was already at a train station. By 1886, he'd landed in Minneapolis, working in yet another pharmacy.

And it was somewhere in this stretch that Herman Mudgeett solved the biggest problem he had, his legal name, the name that attached him to the trail of creditors, judgments, and abandoned obligations. So he just threw the name away and Herman Webster Muddjit became Dr. Henry Howard Holmes. You've probably heard that his choice and name

was inspired by the character Sherlock Holmes, which isn't hard to believe given his high opinion of himself, but the book was actually published a year after he changed his name. So it's actually just a coincidence. And the wild thing is that Herman didn't even have to do any legal paperwork or file anything with the courts. He just started saying it, and people went along with it. Because in 1886, there was no system to confirm it.

The debts belonged to Mudge It, the wife belonged to Mudge It, and the trail of small-town scandals from New Hampshire to Minnesota belonged to Mudge it. But Dr. Holmes was an entirely new person, sophisticated, credentialed, and debt-free. Dr. Holmes gave Herman a clean slate. And so, in August of 1886, Dr. H.H. Holmes stepped off a train in Chicago, 25 years old and nearly broke, but with a genuine medical degree and a talent for selling lies. and no past that anyone around him could trace. Over the years, I've met people whose lives were changed forever in a single moment.

In my new podcast, Before and After, I explore what happens after after that decisive moment. Personal, powerful conversations with Colin Kaepernick, Jeremy Renner, Gabby Giffords, and others. Join me wherever you get your podcasts. Search before and after with Lester Holt to listen completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium to unlock new episodes early. To understand what H.H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. Pops. H. H. Pops. H. H. Pops. Possible. Possible. The railroad junctions had turned it into one of the fastest growing commuter districts in. America, and people were pouring in by the thousands. Young families, shopkeepers, clerks, tradesmen, nearly all of them strangers to each other. People in Englewood hadn't known each other for long,

and new faces arrived every week. For most people, that was an opportunity. For homes, it was a cover. It was a con man's dream. At the corner of 63rd in Wallace Streets, he found a drugstore run by a woman named Elizabeth Holton. It was in the perfect location because it was on a corner with a streetcar line, steady foot traffic, and a railroad station nearby. Dr. Holton was an anomaly. She was a physician in a time where female doctors were incredibly rare, and she ran the pharmacy alongside her husband while raising a family. She needed reliable help behind the counter and the polite, well-spoken young man with the University of Michigan degree seemed like a perfect fit. Homes, was allegedly a model employee. He was attentive, tireless, remembered names, moved products,

and customers liked him. Within a couple of years, he'd positioned himself as the natural successor to the business, and when the Hultons were ready to step back, he offered to buy the store. And here's one of the first places where the legend gets it wrong. If you've read the popular accounts of this case, you may have heard what supposedly happened next. That the Holtons mysteriously vanished after the sale and that Holmes murdered the widow who owned the store and told curious neighbors she'd moved to California. That story has been printed, filmed, included in history books, and repeated for over a century. But it's actually not true. A researcher named Adam Selzer who spent years pulling their original documents on this case,

the deeds, the court records, the city directories, and the paperwork showed that Dr. Elizabeth Holton was alive and well, living in Chicago, raising her children and practicing into the 20th century. Dr. Holton wasn't Holmes' first victim, but she was H.H. Holmes's first plaintiff. Now, here's what actually happened. Holmes didn't have the money to buy the pharmacy, so he raised it by taking out a loan against the store itself, including the shelves, equipment, and inventory, and promised to pay it back at $100 a month. In other words, he used her business to buy her business. Now, when the payment stopped, Dr. Holton actually took him to court to chase what she was owed, but the dispute dragged on while Holmes carried on as if nothing were wrong.

Remember that. Within his first couple of years in Chicago, a legitimate, respected businesswoman put it on the public record that H.H. Holmes is a dishonest con man. But it would take eight more years and at least nine lives before anyone treated that fact as a warning. instead of a small billing dispute. Meanwhile, Holmes was creating a respected front for himself. Back in Minneapolis, he'd met a young woman named Merta Bellknap. She was sweet-natured, and most importantly, came from a good family. So in 1887, he married her.

Never mind that he was still legally married to Clara back in New Hampshire, although he did file for divorce from Clara around this time, alleging that she had been unfaithful, the audacity. However, it didn't seem to make an impact anyways because a surviving paperwork suggests Claire was probably never even notified it existed. So now there were two Mrs. Mudgets, and neither one knew the other one existed. At first, Murdo worked alongside her husband in the Inglewood store, but that didn't last long.

Day after day, she had to watch Dr. Holmes turn his charm on every young woman who crossed the counter, and she hated it. Within a year or so, Holmes moved her out. out, first to a house on the north side and eventually to the quiet suburb of Wilmot where her parents had settled to. In 1889, Murda gave birth to a daughter, Lucy. Homes visited, paid bills, and kept his wife and daughter exactly far enough away that they would never, ever drop by the store unannounced. Because at the store, Dr. Holmes was a bachelor, a successful, unattached young doctor, which was useful since he was constantly hiring young women and constantly

according the ones who caught his interest. Meanwhile, the business was booming, or at least it seemed like it was. Holmes almost never bought anything. He acquired them. He would order materials on credit under his name, mortgage them for cash under another, then sell or hide them before the creditor came calling. He ran schemes out of the store and he was basically selling snake oil.

Patent remedies he bottled himself, a miracle cure or two, and at one point a company promoting a machine that supposedly turned out flattened glass. One that never worked and may have never even fully existed. Holmes made up companies to sign for deliveries. He created business partners and property owners, some of them just versions of himself under a different name. And the thing is, plenty of people actually caught on to him. Throughout the late 1880s, he was sued again and again.

He lost, settled, dodged, appealed, and moved on. and every single suit ended the same way as a line in a ledger, money owed, case closed, next case. At this time, a person walks into Herman's life who is pivotal to this story, so I want to introduce you to him properly. Benjamin Pitzel was a carpenter, a big, rough-edged, hard-drinking man with a wife named Carrie, who he would eventually have five children with. He had bounced around the Midwest, scraping a living out of manual work and bad luck,

and somewhere around the late 1880s, he started doing jobs for H.H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. Homs. Then paperwork, signing documents, fronting for companies that didn't exist, and lending his face to whichever scheme needed one. Ben wasn't a schemer by nature. He had had run-ins with the law over the years, but he wasn't clever the way Holmes was. He got into the kind of trouble that follows a broke man with a temper and a bottle. He was loyal, desperate for steady money, easy to steer. Aunt Holmes actually paid him. Obviously, not well, but reliably enough to keep a

struggling family fed, and that was enough to keep him around. Carrie Pittsell would say later that she never trusted Holmes and didn't like what he was doing to her husband, but the family needed the money and Holmes always had another job. Over the years, Ben became a crucial part of Holmes's schemes. Every fake company, every forged signature, and every insured shipment that never existed. He was the one man who knew where everything was buried. In the world of ordinary conmen, that would have made Ben the partner you can never afford to lose. In H.H. Holmes's world, it made him something else, although neither of them knew it yet. By 1888, Holmes had a respectable name, was making money, had a base of operations, and an eye for the future. And that future sat

directly across the street from the drugstore. It was an empty lot, but Holmes had a vision, so he bought it and he started to build. Happy Halloween, Crime House listeners, I'm Vanessa Richardson. Did you know horror films like Abigail and Sinister were based on true stories? Join me every Sunday this month on Crime House 24-7 for Crime House of Horrors, where I dive into four stories behind some of our favorite scary movies. From Abigail, The Autopsy of Jane Doe, Sinister, and The Taking of Deborah Logan, you'll find one thing in common. The truth is scarier than fiction. Listen every Sunday on Crimehouse 24-7 or join

Crimehouse Plus for all four right now. Add free. Subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or at CrimehousePlus.com. The building across from the drugstore didn't go up overnight. It took shape slowly piece by piece between 1887 and 1892. It started as a two-story building, and a two-story building, and then Holmes added a third floor in 1892, eventually stretching more than 150 feet along 63rd Street. There were storefronts on the ground floor, apartments and offices above, bay windows, and these weird false battlements

along the roof that made the whole thing look vaguely like a fortress. And as this giant building started looming over the little wooden storefronts around it, the neighbors gave it a nickname that would eventually become infamous, the castle. The name stuck, but no one could have prepared themselves for what the name would represent in a few years. Even the ownership of the place was a con.

The lot and the building weren't held in Holmes' name. On paper, they belonged to a man named H.S. Campbell. If a creditor won a judgment against H.H. Holmes and came for the building, they'd discover that homes didn't own it. And if they went looking for Mr. Campbell, they'd have a long search ahead of them because H.S. Campbell didn't exist. Now, the legend says Holmes designed this building as a machine for murder, and that he hired and fired construction crews in a constant rotation so that no one but him would ever understand its secrets. And workers did come and go constantly.

That much is documented. But here's the thing about a man who never pays anyone. His workers quit, his contractors walk off the job and sue him, and his suppliers cut off his materials. Holmes was sued by the people building the castle, just like he was sued by everyone. anyone else. You don't need a diabolical master plan to explain the revolving door at the construction site. You just need his credit history. Both things can be true, though. Of course, a man can be both

cheap and secretive. And a building assembled with rotating teams and no one seeing it through was always going to come out strange. And it did. One police finally went through the castle years later. They found rooms without windows, doors that opened onto brick, hallways that bent backwards on themselves, stairs that didn't seem to lead anywhere useful, a large walk-in vault, and gaps and voids between the walls. What those spaces were really for depends entirely on who was describing them, when and to which newspaper. For now, here's what the record supports. The castle was real, it was strange, and homes filled it with shops, tenants, and hiding places. And some of those hiding places had a purpose we can actually prove, because his creditors

proved it themselves. Homes furnished the entire building on credit floor to ceiling. When one furniture company finally came to repossess everything, it was all simply gone. The building was searched top to bottom and nothing turned up. The company only learned the truth later, reportedly on a tip from someone who'd worked in the building. An entire roomful of merchandise had been sealed behind a false partition, which was invisible unless you knew the wall shouldn't be there. They tore it open and there were their goods stacked in the dark. Imagine years before anyone called it the murder castle. The building at 63rd and Wallace was already a place engineered so that things H.H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H.

And here's what's easy to forget about this building, considering everything it became. It was busy. The ground floor was ordinary. There were people in and out of it all day. Street cars rattling paths. and deliveries at the curb. Homes rented the upstairs rooms to borders and office space to small businesses. Whatever else the castle was, it was never a lonely house at the edge of town. Everything that happened inside it

happened over the heads of shoppers. The drugstore moved across the street into the castle's corner storefront and other businesses filled in around it, a restaurant space, a barber, and a jewelry counter inside the drugstore. To run the jewelry business, Holmes hired a jeweler named Ned Connor, who moved into the upstairs apartment with his wife

Julia and their young daughter, Pearl. Julia Connor was tall, striking, and good with numbers. Holmes put her to work behind the counter keeping books and handling customers. But it didn't take long for everyone to see that the attention Dr. Holmes paid Julia went well past business. Ned saw it to and confronted her, and she didn't deny much. The marriage that was already strained by money buckled and broke. Ned eventually moved out, quit the jewelry counter, and filed for divorce, leaving Julia and Pearl in the building. I want to be clear about what Julia's situation actually was

because the legends just referred to her as a mistress, as if that one word explains her. Julia Connor was a young mother, separated in a city far from her people, raising a little girl in an apartment her employer owned. Her housing, her income, her reputation, and her future all ran through one person. Holmes didn't simply charm Julia Connor. He pulled her into his orbit, the way he did with so many people,

on terms where walking away would cost her more than staying. Through 1891, Julia worked the store and Pearl grew up on that corner, a familiar little figure to the clerks and the neighbors, in and out of the shops along 63rd Street. And by the end of the year, people around the building understood that Julia expected to become the next Mrs. Holmes. Whatever he'd promised her, she believed it, and she'd said as much to the people who knew her. And on Christmas Eve of 1891,

Julia and Pearl Connor were in the castle where they lived, surrounded by people who saw them every single day. Then no one ever saw either of them again. No goodbye to the neighbors, no forwarding address for the shopkeepers who knew Pearl by name, no letter back to Ned or to Julia's family. A woman and a child gone from a crowded building on a busy corner overnight during Christmas.

When people asked, Holmes had an answer ready. He said Julia had left town for a family matter, nothing to worry about. The details shifted a little depending on who was asking and when. Gone to relatives, gone out of state, gone for good. But the tone never did. It was always boring. He never gave anyone a story interesting enough to check. And people accepted it.

Ned Connor, by then out of the building and rebuilding his own life, had no standing to ask and no idea, anything was wrong. His estranged wife leaving Chicago made as much sense as anything else. Julia's family was far away. At a time when a letter going unanswered could mean a dozen innocent things. There was no missing person's report. There was no investigation. There was just a vacant apartment and a corner where a little girl used to be. It would be three and a half years before anyone really questioned what happened to Julia and Pearl Connor. And by then, the list of people who'd vanish from the orbit of H.H. H. H. H. H. H. Holmes would be much, much longer.

At the end of every episode, I like to pull out one detail from the story. Usually not the biggest thing that happened, but the moment where somebody should have seen it, said it, or done something. Today, I'm ringing the alarm on a lawsuit. Dr. Elizabeth Holton hired a hardworking young man, sold him her drugstore in good faith, and then had to chase him through the courts when the payment stopped. Homes had conned her and essentially bought her store with her own property. Instead of cutting her losses like many others, she followed through. Her suit was in writing and on the public record, but nothing ever happened. My first thought was that the courts probably didn't take the case that seriously because she was a woman, but this actually happened

to multiple businesses. Contractors sued him, furniture company sued him, suppliers came to repossess their goods and found them hidden behind a little. literal false wall. By 1891, the paper trail on H.H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. KATH. Get a judgment. Try to get it paid. Close the case. None of those creditors really had any reason to compare notes with the others. And nobody not the courts, not the police, not the insurance men, were in the business of adding it up. A man who steals furniture is a nuisance. Nobody asks what else a man like that might be willing to take from you. Regardless, I still find it insane that none of these people talk to each other

and realize this guy was ripping everyone off. And the sad thing about that is if everyone talked to each other, then he would have gotten a reputation. People would have looked closer at him, be more suspicious, and not take him at face value when his wife never comes back home. I find it funny. Well, funny is probably not the best word here. I find it interesting that so many people talk about how terrible gossip is,

but some gossip can quite literally save lives. Thanks so much for joining me for this episode. To enhance your listening experience, join Crimehouse Plus and get all three parts of each week's America's most infamous crime stories dropped out once every Monday and ad-free. You'll also get the rest of the crime house lineup add-free and early and exclusive bonus episodes. To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com, or if you listen on Apple Podcasts, tap try free at the top

of the America's most infamous crime show page. Come back tomorrow for the next episode on H.H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. H. History is my thing, and I have been waiting my whole life for a show like this one. And I'm Carter Roy. And this is What the Fact? Every week, three facts. Each one with a whole story behind it. The worst years anyone has ever lived through. The golden age of pirates. The movies that almost never got made.

The discoveries that rewrote everything we thought we knew. Carter sets the scene. Connor brings the facts. The tangents. And the genuine belief that this is the most interesting subject in the world. It is. The wildest stuff is real. And the real stuff is wilder than you think.

New episodes every Wednesday follow what the world. The Fact on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or subscribe on YouTube at What The Fact Pod. You know their names. You know their faces, but you've never heard these stories. On Celebrity Ghost Stories, an A&E original podcast presented by Rewind Studios, you'll hear spooky stories directly from the actors, musicians, and athletes you love in their own words. What do you do when a spirit saves you from the edge of death? When a single night in a strange hotel ends with you running for the door, from angry spirits to haunted houses to unexplainable magic. These are true first-person accounts told by the stars who lived through them.

Follow Celebrity Ghost Stories, available now on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. If you're looking for your next podcast, check out what With The Fact with Connor Tomlinson from Netflix's Love on the Spectrum and Carter Roy. Every week, they take three unbelievable true facts from history and tell you the full story behind them. Follow What The Fact wherever you listen or subscribe on YouTube at What The Fact Pod.