Money Crimes with Nicole Lapin - True Crime This Week: Strange Disappearances

Episode Date: November 30, 2025

This week on True Crime This Week, host Vanessa Richardson unravels two of history’s most mysterious vanishings — both stranger than fiction.First, in 1926, the “Queen of Mystery” herself, Agatha Christie, vanished after a late-night drive. Her abandoned car sparked an 11-day nationwide search that baffled police, fellow authors, and millions of readers. When she finally reappeared, Agatha claimed to remember nothing — leaving behind one of the greatest mysteries she ever created.Then, rewind to 1875, when infamous New York City politician William “Boss” Tweed escaped from jail after embezzling millions. His disappearance led to an international manhunt — and it was a political cartoon that finally brought him down.From literary legends to crooked power brokers, these disappearances prove that truth can be far more mysterious than fiction. Scams, Money, & Murder is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. For ad-free listening and early access to episodes, subscribe to Crime House+ on Apple Podcasts. Don’t miss out on all things Scams, Money, & Murder! Instagram: @Crimehouse TikTok: @Crimehouse Facebook: @crimehousestudios X: @crimehousemedia YouTube: @crimehousestudios To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hi, Crime House community. It's Vanessa Richardson. And if you love digging into the most gripping true crime stories, then you need to listen to another Crime House original, Crimes of, with Sabrina Deanna Roga and Corinne Vienne. Crimes of is a weekly series that explores a new theme each season, from crimes of paranormal, unsolved murders, mysterious disappearances, and more. Sabrina and Corinne have been covering the true stories behind Hollywood's most iconic horror villains, and this month, they'll be diving into the paranormal. Listen to Crimes of every Tuesday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to podcasts.

This is Crime House. This week in crime history, we're looking at the stories of two famous and very strange disappearances. On December 3rd, 1926, acclaimed author, 36-year-old Agatha Christie, vanished from the scene of a car crash in the English countryside. She was discovered 11 days later with no memory of what happened. Fifty-one years earlier, a notorious New York City politician named William Boss Tweed was sent to jail after decades of corruption. Not long after the 52-year-old started his sentence, Tweed disappeared from police custody and later turned up on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Welcome to True Crime This Week, part of Crime House Daily. I'm Vanessa Richardson. Every Sunday,

we'll be revisiting notorious crimes from the coming week in history, from serial killers to mysterious disappearances or murders, every episode will explore stories that share a common theme. Each week we'll cover two stories, one further in the past and one more rooted in the present. Here at Crime House, we know none of this would be possible without you, our community. Please support us by rating, reviewing, and following Crime House Daily, wherever you get your podcasts. And for ad-free and early access to Crime House Daily plus exciting bonus content, subscribe to Crime House Plus on Apple Podcasts. This week's theme is Strange Disappearances.

We're starting on December 3rd, 1926, when one of the world's most popular new mystery writers became the subject of her own true crime story. Agatha Christie's disappearance sparked a nationwide search as the public waited with bated breath to learn the author's fate. But even once she was found, Agatha refused to speak about what happened. which only added to the mystery. Then we'll turn the clock back to December 4th, 1875, when William Boss, Tweed slipped away from prison guards

during a visit with his family. Tweed was one of the most legendary and corrupt figures in New York City politics, and the subject of many satirical cartoons. In the end, it was one of these drawings that helped the authorities recognize him when he turned up in Spain. All that and more coming up.

With Instacart, you get groceries that over deliver. Like when your sister-in-law is coming over for appies, and she's particular about cheese. Instacart's got shopper notes, so you can request Bree that's white, but more off-white. Firm, but not hard, smells earthy, but like mushroomy, not nutty. And the only thing she'll have to say is, mm. So download the app today and get zero-dollar delivery fee. on your first three orders. Instacart, groceries that over deliver. Service fees, exclusions, and terms apply. On the evening of December 3rd, 1926, 36-year-old Agatha Christie was at her home in the

London suburb of Sunningdale. At around 9.30 p.m., she climbed the stairs to her daughter's room. Seven-year-old Rosalind was fast asleep. Agatha slipped inside and gave her a kiss good night. Then, She walked out the front door, climbed into her Morris Cowley sedan, and drove off into the night. At 36 years old, Agatha Christie was already a big name in the world of crime fiction. She'd written six popular murder mystery novels, three of them starring the clever Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot. Her most recent book, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, had come out earlier in the year to rave reviews and huge sales. But now, she was about to play a lead role in her own mystery. The following morning, on December 4, 1926, her car was discovered, 15 miles from her home

near the Newlands Corner Nature Reserve. The vehicle looked like it had been run off the road. It was found at the bottom of a grassy hill, the hood buried in a clump of bushes. The headlights were still on, and when police looked inside, they found many of Agatha's belongings. But Agatha herself was nowhere to be found. As authorities began to search for Agatha, they looked back on the author's life for clues. Agatha Christie was born in 1890 to an upper middle-class English family. She spent most of her childhood roaming the grounds of her parents' large house in the seaside town of Torquay. Her father had family money, so he never

bothered with a job. Instead, he'd usually leave home early and play cards with his friends at the local social club. Then he'd return in the evening for dinner. Agatha's mother did work, but not a traditional career. She wrote poetry and was involved in the New Age spiritualism movement, which believed in communicating with the dead through seances. Clara also explored other religions like Unitarianism and Zoroastrianism. Growing up, Agatha had virtually no exposure to other children.

Her sister and brother were much older, so they weren't around, and her mother insisted on homeschooling her, which meant she didn't have classmates either. But Agatha didn't mind. She was a shy girl with an extremely active imagination. Although she lacked real friends, she had plenty of imaginary ones, both human and animal. Sometimes these imaginary friends had starring roles in the short stories she wrote, and from an early age, she was obsessed with death and funerals. One of her regular pastimes was placing flowers on her pet canary's grave. Agatha would later say she had a very happy childhood, but eventually she grew up and had to exchange her imaginary relationships for some real

ones. In 1912, 22-year-old Agatha met Archibald Christie, a dashing 23-year-old pilot. He swept her off her feet and they dated for two years before marrying, just after the outbreak of World War I in 1914. Three days after their wedding, Archie went to France to fly for the Allies. Agatha would barely see him over the next four years. During the war, Agatha stayed in England, where she volunteered at a military hospital. She learned a lot about poisons and toxins during her time there, but it wasn't Agatha's dream. She'd always loved writing, and now that she had a newfound knowledge of medicine, she decided to try her hand at writing a murder mystery. The result was her debut novel, The Mysterious Affair at Stiles, in which Detective Poirot investigates

a fatal poisoning at an English manor house. Agatha sent the manuscript to multiple publishers, but there was little interest. It took several years until finally, in 1919, someone was willing to take a chance on her. That gamble paid off tenfold. The Mysterious Affair at Stiles was a hit. Critics loved the story, and Agatha's distinctions. description of the poisoning was so accurate that the novel got a rave review from the Royal Pharmaceutical Society. With all the success, Agatha's publisher offered her a contract to write five more novels. Her career was taking off, but her home life was crashing and burning. By the time the mysterious affair at Stiles came out, Archie was back from the war

and Agatha had given birth to her first and only child, Rosalind. It should have been a happy time, but it seemed like being apart for so long had strained Agatha and Archie's marriage. Before long, Archie, who'd taken a job at a London investment bank after the war, began to pull away. He spent more and more time on the golf course or at his social club, and things only got worse for Agatha a few years later. In April of 1926, her beloved mother died. 35-year-old Agatha moved back to her childhood home in Torquee for a few months to go through her mother's belongings and manage the sale of the house. Not only was she overwhelmed by grief, but she still had to finish her next novel. The deadline was looming.

This would have been a great time for Archie to step up and support her. Instead, he stayed at their house outside London and left Agatha to handle the practical and emotional aftermath of her mother's death on her own. From time to time, Archie visited Agatha at the Torquee house. On one of these visits, in August, 1926, he brought some not-so-great news. He'd fallen in love with a woman he'd met on the golf course, Nancy Neal, and he wanted a divorce. Despite all her husband's shortcomings, Agatha wasn't ready to give up on him just yet. In the fall, she returned to their home in Sunningdale and tried to persuade him to change his mind. But Archie wasn't interested in reconciliation. He avoided her as much as possible, spending most of his night sleeping

at his social club in the city or with Nancy. This continued for several months until Friday, December 3rd. That day, Archie told Agatha he wouldn't be coming home after work. He planned to spend the weekend with Nancy. This led to a blowout. fight between Archie and Agatha, which ended with Archie storming out of the house. That left Agatha at home, with her daughter in bed upstairs and household staff milling about. We don't know what was going through her head at that moment, with her mother dead and her marriage falling apart around her. We don't know why she got into her car and drove off a little after 9.30 p.m. And for the next 11 days, nobody knew where she was, depending on

who you believe. Neither did she. In 1926, Agatha Christie was one of England's most popular mystery novelists. Sadly, her personal life wasn't going as well as her literary pursuits. In April, her mother passed away. Thanks to Agatha's demanding publishing schedule, she had to keep writing through her grief. Then in August, her husband of 12 years, 37-year-old Archibald Christie told her he was having an affair and wanted a divorce. On December 3rd, after months of trying and failing to save her marriage, 36-year-old Agatha drove away from her home in Sunningdale, England. The following morning, her car was found crashed into the bushes at the bottom of a hill 15 miles away. Inside the vehicle. Police found a packed bag of Agatha's clothes, her driver's license, and a fur coat. The coat was

an immediate cause for alarm. She'd crashed on a bitterly cold December night. If Agatha had wandered away in a daze after the crash, police worried she may have died of exposure somewhere in the surrounding countryside, but they also weren't ruling out foul play. Archie and his mistress, Nancy, were immediately under suspicion. Police tracked the two of them down at their weekend getaway and brought them in for questioning. Eventually, they were able to provide alibis that proved they weren't responsible for whatever had happened to Agatha. However, their interviews were revealing. That's when the authorities first learned about the state of the Christie's marriage and the effect it was having on Agatha. This information led investigators to an

even darker possibility. Her car was found near a lake called the Silent Pool. Had Agatha been so depressed about her relationship that she drove off the road and drowned herself in the lake? If that was the case, it would explain why she'd abandoned all her belongings in the car. Fearing the worst, police dredged the lake with a net looking for a body, but the lake was empty. Wherever Agatha was, it wasn't there. Within a day, Agatha's disappearance was front-page news across England. Police launched a full search. combing the countryside with thousands of officers and civilian volunteers, many of them fans of Agatha's work. The Daily Mail tabloid offered a 100-pound reward for information leading to her safe return,

the equivalent of nearly 8,000 pounds today. Not only that, but for the first time in history, airplanes were used in an English search operation, and that wasn't the only unique aspect of the investigation. Agatha's fellow mystery writer, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, requested one of her gloves. He gave it to a psychic medium in the hopes that it would lead them to Agatha, but whatever spirits the medium reached were just as clueless as the people looking for Agatha here on Earth. The search continued for the next ten days. Eventually, Agatha was found, but it wasn't a psychic or a detective who located her,

It was a musician. Roughly 230 miles north of Agatha's wrecked car was a spa town called Harrogate. One of the local resorts was called the Hydropathic Hotel. People traveled from all over to soak in the warm Turkish baths there. As Agatha's disappearance turned into a national obsession, the mystery of the missing author became a hot topic among the guests. One of those guests was a lively and outgoing South African woman named Teresa Neal. When the manhunt came up, she said,

Miss Christie is a very elusive person. I cannot be bothered with her. In fact, Teresa didn't seem terribly bothered by anything. She was too busy having a good time. She spent her days shopping, taking long walks, and chatting with other visitors. During the evenings, she was in the hotel ballroom, dancing the Charleston. On one of these nights in mid-December, a saxophone player in the house band took a closer look at Teresa and noticed that she looked a lot like Agatha Christie. In fact, the more he looked at her,

the more he believed she actually was Agatha Christie. The band's drummer agreed, and together they contacted the police. On the evening of December 14, 1926, Archibald Christie accompanied a group of police officers to the hydropathic hotel. They were there to see if Agatha was truly at the resort. Archie set up shop in the hotel's dining room and waited. As dinner approached, he watched as Agatha herself walked in, sat down at a nearby table and began reading the newspaper. The front page featured a story on her disappearance.

When Archie walked up and tried to talk to her, She just looked at him blankly. It seemed like she didn't even recognize the man she'd been married to for the past 12 years. He showed her a picture of their daughter, Rosalind, but Agatha had no idea who she was. And when one of the friends she'd made at the hotel approached them, she introduced Archie as her brother. Eventually, Archie and the police were able to convince Agatha to leave the hotel and go to her sister's house in a nearby town. There, she was examined by doctors and diagnosed with a form of temporary amnesia brought on by stress and depression. And slowly but surely, detectives were able to piece together what had happened over the last 11 days.

Immediately before or after running her car off the road on December 3rd, Agatha experienced a bout of amnesia. In a daze, with no memory of who she was or what she was doing, she walked to a nearby town and bought a train. train ticket to London. At Waterloo Station, she saw an ad for the hydropathic hotel in Harrogate, which seemingly inspired her to take the next train there. Nobody could explain how she came up with the name Teresa Neal. However, many people pointed out that her alter ego shared a last name with her husband's mistress, Nancy Neal. The public did not like this explanation. Many believe the whole event had been a publicity stunt to drum up interest. in her next book, and they were angry that English taxpayers had footed the bill for an

exhaustive search for a woman who was relaxing at a resort hotel the entire time. It is true that the story of Agatha's disappearance led to a spike in sales of all of her books, but if she really did fake her amnesia, it's possible she had other motives besides money. Hours before she vanished, her husband had blown her off to see his mistress, as an established crime writer, Agatha knew Archie would become the prime suspect if she went missing. Not only that, but her disappearance ensured that Archie spent his romantic weekend in a police interrogation room instead of his lover's bed. And whether you want to call it karma or revenge, it also brought all the sordid details of his affair into the public eye. But the truth might be a lot simpler

and upsetting. It's very possible that Agatha did have some kind of men. mental health episode, the combined trauma of her mother's death and her failing marriage could have led Agatha to experience a rare medical condition known as a dissociative fugue. People experiencing dissociative fugue lose all knowledge of their previous life. In many cases, they travel to new locations and assume new identities, sometimes for months or even years at a time. In 1985, a reporter named Jody Roberts experienced a dissociative fugue and disappeared from her home in Olympia, Washington.

Her family and friends assumed she was dead. But 12 years later, she was discovered living in Alaska under the name Jane D. Williams, with no memory of her old life. If Agatha Christie hadn't been a recognizable public figure, it's possible her fugue state could have lasted a lot longer than 11 days. In January of 1927, a few weeks after being, being found safe in Harrogate, Agatha was sent to the Canary Islands to recover from her ordeal. She returned to England three months later, with her memories fully restored.

If her disappearance had been a hoax designed to sabotage her husband's affair, it didn't work. She filed for divorce in 1928, and Archie soon married Nancy Neal. In a magazine interview that year, Agatha briefly touched on the disappearance. She claimed that on the night she vanished, she was so upset about the state of her marriage that she drove off the road, intending to end her life. Instead, she hit her head on the steering wheel, which she claims triggered her amnesia. That was the only time Agatha ever publicly spoke about what happened. In her autobiography, she doesn't mention the episode at all.

Instead, the only thing she said about the end of her first marriage was, quote, there is no need to dwell on it. Fortunately, Agatha's second marriage would fare much better. Not long after her divorce, she met a British archaeologist named Max Malawon while touring ancient ruins in Iraq. Even though Max was 14 years younger than Agatha, the two hit it off. They tied the knot in 1930 and remained happily married until Agatha's death in 1976 when she was 85 years old. He died two years later. Between annual trips to dig sites in Iraq and Syria, Agatha wrote 60 more novels and was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II for her contributions to literature.

Today, she's the best-selling fiction writer of all time, with more than two billion copies of her novels in print in over 100 languages. Agatha Christie dreamed up some of the most enduring mysteries of all time, but not of them is more fascinating than the one where she was the main character. Up next, the story of another strange and mysterious disappearance. Danger lurks in the American landscape. No one in their right mind would be out here, which makes it the perfect place to kill someone. Introducing Hot and Deadly from ID, your podcast for classic American true crime served with a side of biscuits and gravy.

On each episode, you'll hear some of ID. most shocking stories of murder and betrayal. From the mystery of a preacher shot and killed by a bow and arrow to a former prom queen gone missing and found murdered. Listen to Hot and Deadly on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. Fifty one years before Agatha Christie disappeared in England, another high-profile celebrity vanished into thin air. On December 4th, 1875, politician William Boss Tweed escaped from jail. Tweed had spent decades stealing hundreds of millions of dollars from the city of New York, and now he was about to lead the police on an international manhunt.

In December 1875, 52-year-old Boss Tweed was having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit. While everyone else in New York City was putting up lights and singing carols, he was locked up in the Ludlow Street jail on fraud charges. Luckily for Tweed, the warden had taken pity on him. In honor of the holiday season, he was allowed to go have dinner at his son's house, five miles up town, accompanied by two guards. When their carriage arrived on the evening of December 4th, Tweed's family rushed to embrace him.

Then everyone sat down for dinner. Midway through the meal, Tweed excused himself and went upstairs. After he'd been gone for a while, Tweed's son went to check on him. A few minutes later, he came running down the stairs in a panic, shouting, Papa's gone! The guards rushed to check for themselves, but Tweed's son was right. The 52-year-old, 5-11, 300-pound political icon had seemingly vanished into thin air. Boss Tweed had gotten lucky, and it wasn't the first time.

William Marcy Tweed was born on April 3rd, 1823 in Manhattan's Lower East Side. He was the son of a third-generation Scottish chairmaker. At 11 years old, he left school to learn the family business. But it seemed he was destined for a different path. After a brief stint as a saddlemaker, Tweed decided to continue his education. But this time, he enrolled at a private school in New Jersey. That's where he learned a trade that would be much. more valuable to him over the course of his life, bookkeeping, which is similar to accounting.

After completing his studies, Tweed took a job as a bookkeeper at a brush factory that his father had invested in. Just a few years later, in 1842, the 19-year-old became an executive at the brush-making company. Two years later, he became even more intertwined with the company when he married Mary Jane Scotton, the daughter of one of the factory's main investors. After five years there, Tweed branched out and embarked on a more exciting career. In 1849, he established his own volunteer fire department. At the time, the city of New York didn't have its own official fire department. Instead, the city was protected by dozens of privately run volunteer fire companies. Whenever a building caught fire, these competing fire brigades would race to be the first on the scene with their hoses and pumps.

Even though they weren't getting paid, members of successful fire companies often received political patronage and favors from the people whose homes and businesses they saved. This created a lot of fierce rivalries between the different fire brigades. Sometimes if two competing companies arrived at the same fire at the same time, the volunteers would wind up fighting each other in the streets as the building burned. Tweed's Fire Brigade was called the Americus Engine Company number six. commonly known as the Big Six. And before long, the Big Six was one of the best-known fire brigades in lower Manhattan. In two years, they'd put out so many fires that Tweed became a local celebrity. With the encouragement of some of his deep-pocketed friends, Tweed left firefighting behind for something even more lucrative.

Politics. Tweed took his first shot at public office in 1850, when the 28-year-old ran for the New York. City Board of Alderman. This was basically the city council at the time. Tweed ran as a Democratic representing the city's seventh ward, which included most of the Lower East Side. Despite his fame from the Big Six, Tweed narrowly lost to a candidate from the Whig party. In many ways, the wigs were the precursor to the Republican Party, and when the seat opened up the following year, Tweed ran against the Whig candidate again. But this time, he persuaded one of his friends to enter the race as a Whig Party candidate, too. In the three-way election, Whig voters split their votes between the

two Whig candidates, allowing Tweed to coast to an easy victory. Tweed had played dirty, and won big. That made him a perfect fit for the city's Board of Alderman, which was so corrupt that it was commonly known as the 40 Thieves. And though Tweed made many friends among the city's elite, he didn't stick around long. In 1852, Tweed took advantage of his upward momentum and ran for U.S. Congress. With the help from his loyal voters and his new friends in high places, Tweed won the election and headed for Washington, D.C. However, life in the capital didn't suit him. As one of several hundred congressmen, Tweed didn't have nearly as much cloud as he did back in New York City. So after one unproductive two-year term in Congress,

Tweed gave up his seat and went back to the Big Apple in 1855. The city would never be the same. Tweed spent the rest of the 1850s digging deeper into the world of local politics. He won back his old seat on the board of aldermen, but his real source of power came from a powerful fraternal organization called the Society of St. Tammany, better known as Tammany Hall. Founded in the late 1700s by a group of upper-class revolutionary war veterans, members of Tammany Hall were extremely influential within the local Democratic Party. In many ways, Tammany Hall was the local Democratic Party.

They were what's known as a political machine, an organization that hands out favors in exchange for votes. For decades, members of Tammany Hall had earned the goodwill of New York's exploding population of Irish immigrants through charity. Tammany Hall paid for charitable causes like food, shelter, and legal services in immigrant communities. They helped members of the Irish community get jobs, including cushy patronage positions in city government. In return for this support, Irish voters turned out in huge numbers to vote for whichever candidates Tammany Hall endorsed. In a city that was estimated to be one-third Irish, this allowed Tammany Hall to effectively dominate local politics. After moving back to New York, Tweed had joined Tammany Hall. He spent the next few years rising in the ranks,

and soon he was leading the general committee. It was a dangerous pairing. Tammany had always been corrupt, but Tweed was about to take it to a whole new level. Tweed used his influence to secure political appointments for himself and his allies. He issued bribes and outright rigged elections to get his friends. friends sworn in as county clerk and district attorney. This ensured that the people in charge of keeping records and enforcing the law would look the other way if the city's money disappeared.

Tweed used his influence to help another friend, George Barnard, secure a seat on the New York State Supreme Court in 1860, and he used Tammany's power within the mayor's office to get himself appointed as a deputy street commissioner. This gave him access to the city's contractors and street repair funds, which he either pocketed or doled out as political favors to Tammany Hall's allies and supporters. At one point, he used some of the money he'd stolen to buy a local printing company. Then he used his political connections to make his company the official print shop for all-city business. As his empire grew, Tweed realized it would be useful to have a law firm at his disposal, so in 1860, even though he didn't go to law school, Tweed,

Tweed had his friend, George Barnard, on the state Supreme Court, certify him as a lawyer. Then Tweed opened his own law firm. He used the firm to bribe companies that wanted to do business with the city. When the Erie Railway wanted political support for one of their new lines in New York, they got it by paying Tweed's law firm $100,000 for quote-unquote legal services. That's nearly $4 million in today's money. By the end of the 1860s, Tweed had grown so powerful that he was widely known as Boss Tweed and the shadow mayor of New York City.

It's estimated that Tweed and his circle of friends, known as the Tweed Ring, were pocketing as much as 85 cents out of every dollar spent on city projects. It seemed like Tweed was unstoppable, and he wanted to keep it that way. Most people with the power to stop. him were already working for him. And many of the powerful people who weren't on his payroll were oblivious to the fact that he was robbing them blind. Wealthy philanthropists and civil leaders thought Tweed was an upstanding citizen. They even supported a rewrite of the city charter in 1870 that gave Tweed and his appointees even more power. By this point, Tweed was

enormously wealthy. He owned a mansion on Fifth Avenue, sat on the boards of several major companies and founded his own bank to keep track of all his money. But there was at least one New Yorker who hadn't fallen under Tweed's spell. He was a German immigrant named Thomas Nast. He may not have been as influential as Tweed, but he had something that Tweed didn't. Artistry. boss, Tweed, rose to the top of New York City politics through his leadership of the Tammany Hall political machine and his endless appetite for fraud. By 1869, 46-year-old Tweed and his friends, known as the Tweed Ring, controlled nearly every public office in New York, and were stealing

tens of millions of dollars a year from the city. But by 1870, the first cracks had already appeared. They came in the form of cartoons that ran in Harper's Weekly, a popular magazine. In one cartoon from 1871, Boss Tweed and several other well-known members of the Tweed Ring were depicted as fat vultures who'd picked the meat off the city's bones. The caption read, Let Us Pray, spelled P-R-E-Y. It was a vivid and unflattering illustration of how Tweed and his pals had been ripping the taxpayers off for years, and a rare sight in a city where Tweed held so much power. At first, Tweed and his cronies didn't pay attention to the critical doodles, but the cartoonist Thomas Nast kept drawing. He'd spent his life fighting for justice, and he wasn't going to stop now.

Thomas Nast was born in Landau, Germany in 1840, and moved to New York with his family six years later. From an early age, Nast excelled. as an artist, and his parents soon allowed him to drop out of school and take art classes instead. He honed his skills as a sketch artist and was hired as an illustrator for a local newspaper at just 15 years old. Nass'd quickly learned that pictures had power, especially in a city where many people couldn't read English. Through vivid, detailed drawings and caricatures, Nast was able to educate immigrant communities about important issues in the city. When he learned that a local dairy owner was selling toxic milk, Nast's illustrations of the filthy conditions at the dairy

farms resulted in a public outcry. City officials moved to shut the dairy down, and the tainted milk was pulled off the shelves. During the Civil War, Nast was hired at Harper's Weekly, where he drew cartoons in support of Abraham Lincoln, the Union, and the abolitionist cause. After the war ended, Nast, like any good journalist, went looking for the next big story. story. When he and his fellow reporters at Harper's started investigating Tammany Hall, they were shocked by the scale of their fraud. That's what motivated Nast to pick up his pencil and get to work. Nast drew a steady stream of unflattering caricatures that depicted Tweed as a greedy, uncaring crook. The cartoons showed how Tweed was robbing the city school system by throwing

out textbooks so they could order overpriced new ones from his print shop. He took aim at Tweed's election fraud in 1871 by drawing him leaning on a ballot box to control whose votes were counted. In one famous cartoon from the same year titled, Who Stole the People's Money? Nass drew Tweed and his Tammany Hall friends all standing in a ring pointing to one another to try and pass the blame. Tweed and his cronies had previously enjoyed a lot of support from the general public. But these cartoons were taking their toll. People were starting to ask tough questions about where their money was going, and a reform movement was brewing in the city's politics. By then, Tweed knew that Nast was a real threat. Once,

he reportedly exclaimed, stop those damned pictures. My constituents don't know how to read, but they can't help seeing those damned pictures. Tweed tried to stop him. First with threats, then with bribery, but Nast couldn't be bought. The pictures kept coming, and before long, Tweed ran into trouble with words, too. In the summer of 1871, a New York County Sheriff named James O'Brien was looking to make a quick buck. Previously, he'd been an ally to Tammany Hall, but now he'd soured on Tweed. Earlier in the year, he'd tried to blackmail him by threatening to expose Tammany Hall's widespread spread embezzlement. Tweed had blown him off. Apparently, he didn't realize that O'Brien had

several business ledgers that contained all the dirty details of Tammany Hall's corrupt dealings. Once it became clear that Tweed wasn't going to pony up the cash, O'Brien delivered the ledgers to the editor of the New York Times. When Tweed learned about the betrayal, he offered the paper $5 million not to run the story. But this was yet another problem that Boston, Tweed couldn't buy his way out of. Throughout July 1871, the Times ran multiple front-page stories about the contents of the ledgers. Those articles made it abundantly clear just how badly Tweed and Tammany Hall had been ripping the city off. The public, who was already wary of Tweed from Nass's cartoons, was shocked by the scale of the theft. By some estimates, the Tweed ring had stolen as much as

$200 million from New York City taxpayers, more than $5 billion in today's money. As the outrage spread, Tweed's empire rapidly crumbled. Powerful figures in the city's financial industry were worried that Tweed had stolen so much that the city might default on its debts. So they threw their support and their cash behind a slate of anti-corruption Democrats. This faction was led by gubernatorial candidates. Samuel Tilden, a fierce opponent of Tammany Hall. Meanwhile, members of the Tweed Ring began resigning from their positions in city government and fleeing the country, fearing that they'd be

arrested if they stayed. Their replacements, reformers aligned with Tilden's anti-corruption campaign, now had access to all the records detailing the full extent of Tweed's corruption. Despite all this, Tweed somehow managed to win one more election for the New York State Senate in November 1871, but his victory was short-lived. A month later, in December 1871, 48-year-old boss Tweed was finally arrested on fraud charges. But Tweed still had friends in the legal system. Over the next four years, his case ping-ponged between various courts where a sympathetic Appeals Court reduced a 12-year sentence to one year in jail and a $250 fine. Not long after receiving

this slap on the wrist, the state of New York took Tweed to civil court to try and recover $6 million worth of the money he'd stolen. By then, much of Tweed's fortune had been confiscated or spent on legal bills, and he was unable to pay what he owed. As a result, on June 23rd, 1875, Tweed was locked up in a debtor's prison called the Ludlow Street Jail. For the next five months, Tweed tried to make the best of things in his unglamorous surroundings. He decorated his cell with pictures of his family, and he made friends with the fellow inmates. One was a silk smuggler named Charles Lawrence, who told him about how some European countries didn't have extradition treaties with the U.S.

This information must have been on Tweed's mind in the lead-up to the holiday. a dinner at his son's house on December 4th. On the night of December 4th, Tweed left his family and his guards at the dinner table and went upstairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Tweed slipped down a side stairway and out the back door of the house where he waited in the shadows. At precisely 8 p.m., a horse-drawn wagon pulled up at the curb and Tweed hopped inside. Back at the house, his son had reported him missing. The guards were tearing apart the building and surrounding neighborhood looking for him, but Boss Tweed's great escape was already a success, which was lucky for Tweed because he'd paid

$60,000 to various intermediaries to set the whole thing up. The wagon carried him to the edge of the Hudson River, where a boat was waiting to carry him to New Jersey. There, Tweed was loaded into another wagon and taken to an unassuming farmhouse in the New Jersey. palisades, just south of the city. He spent the next five months there lying low, playing cards, and reading articles about his escape. Police in New York had launched a citywide manhunt for the fugitive fraudster. The warden of the Ludlow Street Jail was under fire for letting such a high-profile inmate slip away, and the county sheriff put up a $10,000 reward for Tweed's capture. Finally, in May of 1876, Tweed and his allies decided that the heat had died down

enough to put the next phase of his escape into play. One night after dark, Tweed boarded another rowboat and was ferried out to a schooner in New York Harbor called the Frank Atwood. This was not ideal for Tweed. He hated boats and had always been prone to seasickness. But if he wanted to get out of New York a free man, there was no other way. Tweed rode the Frank Atwood down the coast of Florida, where he and one of his hired guides hopped aboard a fishing boat bound for Cuba. At the time, Cuba was a Spanish colony, and Spain was one of the European countries that didn't have an extradition treaty with the U.S. On June 12th, the boat dropped Tweed and his handler off on a beach outside of Santiago, Cuba on the eastern tip of the island. It was a 10-mile

hike through the jungle to get into town. It was a rough journey for Tweed, who was in his early 50s and overweight, and it only got worse from there. When they finally made it to the city, Tweed and his guide were promptly arrested by Spanish authorities for entering the country without a visa. Tweed said his name was John Sukor. Because no one in Cuba knew he was a high-profile American fugitive, the ruse worked. After a few weeks in custody, Tweed was able to bribe some Spanish officials to get them out of jail and onto a boat bound for Spain. It was important that Tweed put as much ocean between himself and his legal problems in the U.S. as possible. Unfortunately for him, that meant he'd have to cross the ocean.

Tweed set sail for Barcelona on July 22nd. It was a miserable journey. He had debilitating seasickness and nausea for the entire trip, unable to stomach any everything besides broth and a few soda crackers. By the time the ship finally dropped anchor off the coast of Spain, none of Tweed's clothes fit him anymore. With dry land in sight, Boss Tweed was overjoyed that his journey was finally at an end, but his relief was short-lived. As soon as they docked, a squad of Spanish soldiers boarded the boat and marched up to him. The lead soldier said, Mr. Tweed, put on your coat and shoes. We want you to go with us.

As it turned out, an American diplomat in Cuba had recognized Tweed during his time there and sent word back to his superiors. Tweed had already set sail when the orders came through to make an arrest, but the Americans knew where he was going. While Tweed was experiencing the worst seasickness of his life, officials from the U.S. State Department had been negotiating with the Spanish authorities. In the end, diplomats agreed that there would be no legal issues if Tweed was caught and handed over to the Americans before he could set foot on Spanish soil. The only hitch was that the Spanish customs officials didn't know what Tweed looked like, but the Americans had a solution for that. They just set along one of Thomas Nass's recent

political cartoons about Tweed's escape. When Tweed finally arrived, that was all the Spanish needed to recognize America's most wanted and most corrupt man. After a 38-day journey home aboard a U.S. Navy ship, Tweed returned to the Ludlow Street jail, a weak and broken man. Most of his family, humiliated that he'd used them to try to escape, cut off all contact with him. Desperate to get free again, Tweed struck a deal with the governor, Democrat Samuel Tilden, to testify about the inner workings of the Tweed ring in exchange for a pardon. During a government panel, Tweed confessed to his guilt and spoke at length about how he'd orchestrated the largest corruption scandal in New York City

history. Tweed had no idea that Tilden had taken a page out of his own playbook. After Tweed testified, Tilden decided not to hold up his end of the bargain and refuse to. to give Tweed a pardon. William Boss Tweed died of pneumonia in his cell on April 12th, 1878 at the age of 55. He'd cheated his way through his time on earth, but in the end, he couldn't cheat death. Looking back at this week in crime history, we can see that sometimes the best way to get attention is to disappear for a while. Agatha Christie's book sales skyrocketed after she vanished for 11 days. After he disappeared from custody, Boss Tweed returned to the front pages. Both of these stories go to show that the old

adage is true. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Vanessa Richardson, and this is True Crime this week, part of Crime House Daily. Crime House Daily is a crime house original, powered by Pave Studios. At Crime House, we want to express our gratitude to you, our community, for making this possible. Please support us by rating, reviewing, and following Crime House Daily, wherever you get your podcasts. Your feedback truly matters. And for ad-free and early access to Crime House Daily, plus exciting bonus content,

Subscribe to Crime House Plus on Apple Podcasts. We'll be back tomorrow. True Crime This Week is hosted by me, Vanessa Richardson, and is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the True Crime This Week team. Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benadon, Natalie Pritzowski, Lori Maranelli, Sarah Camp, Truman Capps, Beth Johnson, Spencer Howard, and Michael.

Lansner. Thank you for listening. Looking for your next crimehouse listen, don't miss Crimes of with Sabrina Deanna Roga and Corinne Vienne. Crimes of is a weekly series that explores a new theme each season from Crimes of the Paranormal, Unsolved Murders, Mysterious Disappearances, and more. Their first season is Crimes of Infamy, the true stories behind Hollywood's most iconic horror villains. And coming up next is Crimes of Paranormal, real-life cases where the line between the living and dead gets seriously blurry.

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