Prime Crime: Solved Murders - Alone in Ossipee: Florence Small Pt. 1

Episode Date: March 22, 2023

Late one night in September 1916, a cottage in New Hampshire burst into flames. Florence Small’s body was eventually found in the cellar — but it was clear she’d suffered more than just burns. Less than 24 hours later, police had a suspect. There was only one problem: he had an alibi. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Due to the graphic nature of this murder case, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes dramatizations and discussions of domestic abuse, fire, murder, and mutilation. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. In September of 1916, a quiet cottage sat next to Ossapie Lake in New Hampshire. Inside, a woman named Florence Small practiced needlework by the fire. Florence was in her late 30s, and she was passing the time while her husband, 50-year-old Frederick small, was off somewhere, running errands or doing business. Florence didn't know, and she didn't care. Frederick had moved them into a cottage a few years back.

Despite the idyllic scenery, Ossapy Lake was a lonely place for Florence. Her husband was never home, and if he was, he was holed up in his workshop. tinkering with his little inventions. Florence was far away from her mother and sister, who lived in Massachusetts, and she had yet to make any friends in her new town. She had never been the shy type, but Frederick kept her isolated from the outside world. Her only visitor was the man who delivered their groceries. She had considered making a trip to Massachusetts,

but it was too far for her to go alone, and her husband would never take her. Her family hated him, and he hated them right back. As Florence ran her needle and thread back and forth through the fabric, her thoughts weighed heavily on her. Her eyes were heavy, too, but then an ember shot up from the fireplace. Florence jumped as the hot ash singed her arm. Suddenly, a realization turned her stomach. If something terrible happened to her, no one would be there.

to help. Welcome to Solved Murders, True Crime Mysteries, a Spotify original from Parcast. I'm your host, Carter Roy. And I'm your host Wendy McKenzie. Every Wednesday we step into the world of true crimes most fascinating murder cases and tell the tale of how real-life detectives close the case. You can find episodes of Solve Murders and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free, exclusively on Spotify. This is our first episode on the murder of Florence Small. This week, we'll cover

the nearly impossible state Florence's body was found in. And next week, we'll explore the nearly impossible feat of proving her killer's guilt. We have all that and more coming up. Stay with us. Own it all.

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Please gamble responsibly. Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. Late at night on September 28th, 1916, a peaceful cottage burst into full. flames. Neighbors in the rural lakeside town ran to the scene when they saw the fire light up the black sky. It's the smallest's cottage. Frederick and what's her name? Are they inside? I saw Frederick leave this afternoon. I believe he was on his way to Boston. Was Florence with him? A Florence. That's her name. I don't know. Well, somebody call up to Boston and let the poor man know. And phone the sheriff. One neighbor, a man named Elmer Loring, raced to a window to see if there was anyone inside. Through the thick smoke and flames, he saw a figure next to a bed.

Elmer called out, but his voice was lost in the roaring blaze. Elmer turned his face away. This fire was unnaturally hot. He wanted to get closer, but there was no way through the wall of flames. He ran around the building to the entrance to the cellar, but when he was, tried the door, it wouldn't budge. Soon, help arrived in the form of more neighbors and eventually firefighters. As volunteers hauled buckets of water from the lake, the firefighters couldn't help

but notice, this fire behaved differently. The blaze was incredibly difficult to put out, and it was much hotter than normal. But stranger still, it burned evenly across the whole house. rather than more intensely in the spot where it may have been started. It was like nothing they'd ever seen. As the firefighters kept working, neighbors figured out that Frederick Small was staying at a hotel in Boston. They phoned his room, but he didn't pick up.

So they left a message for him to return the call as soon as he could. When he did, Frederick learned that his house was burning to a crisp and his wife was nowhere to be found. Finally, after hours of work, the firefighters managed to stop the flames from spreading, but they couldn't save the house. The small's cottage had burned to the ground. It settled into a crumpled pile of ruin and ash. Of the entire two-story building, only the brick chimney was left standing.

According to Janice Petrie, author of Perfection, a fault, a small murder in Ossapy, New Hampshire. When Sheriff Arthur Chandler arrived on the scene, he was confronted with utter destruction. Even well into the night, the fallen house was still hot. Workers had to wait for the embers to cool before they could clear the rubble and search the cellar. In the meantime, the neighbors shared what they knew with the authorities. Frederick Small was in Boston, and there was still no sign of Florence. Then, hours later, around 6.30 a.m., a man approached the sheriff. Excuse me, Sheriff. My name is Edwin Connor. I was with Frederick Small, the owner of the cottage

last night. You were in Boston? Yes, sir. We were supposed to go next week, but Frederick had decided at the last minute to depart yesterday instead. We've just arrived back. This is shocking. And where is Mr. Small? He's right over there. There's $6,000 worth of jewelry in that pile of ash. If you find it, it's yours. My way of saying thank you for the help.

You two are good friends, then? Friend is a loose term. We do business together. Aren't you a school principal? What business could you have in Boston? Mr. Small and I dabble in insurance safe. He's got connections. Right.

Well, unfortunately, there's still no word about his wife. Florence is a lovely woman, a bit quiet. I haven't really gotten to know her. We raced back as soon as we heard what happened. We would have been here sooner, but Mr. Small insisted we stopped for breakfast. Oh, my life. My life! At this point,

Edwin noticed small, doubled over, sobbing in the ash. So he excused himself to help Frederick into a car, which took the widower to the nearby central house inn, the same inn where he had breakfast before arriving at the scene. Edwin stayed behind to help with the search and cleanup effort. Eventually, he and the other volunteers cleared enough rubble to get to the cellar. It was mostly intact, except it was flooded. Edwin and the others assumed that a recent storm had caused the flood.

They likely questioned whether the smalls had noticed the pool of standing water. Edwin looked down into the cellar, wondering what atrocities from the fire might await them there. Before he could think about it further, he rolled up his sleeves and pant legs and made his descent. Edwin waded into the small's flooded cellar. As he searched around, he called up to the other volunteers about what he saw. I'm up to my ankles. Looks like a mattress and some bedding has fallen down here. I'll take a look.

My God. When Edwin made it to the bed, he found a lifeless corpse. It was still burning. There was fabric wrapped around the face. And though most of the body was severely burned, Edwin knew without a doubt that this is what remained of Florence Small. Coming up, Florence's body tells a horrifying tale. 60 years after the release of their first studio album,

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In the morning hours of September 29, 1916, Edwin Connor helped search his associate, Frederick Small's burnt-downe cottage. As he waded into the flooded cellar, Edwin found something he hoped to never see. The still-burning body of Frederick's wife, Florence. He called for help. Several men, including Sheriff Chandler, raced over. Together, they carried the body out of the cellar and outside. Set her down gently. Have we found our missing person?

Yes. It's her. It's Florence. Her arms and legs are burned, but her back is fine. That must have been the part that landed in the water. And why is her fabric around her face? And, huh, it's been secured with this. A rope.

That's a nice square not too. Whoever tied it knew what they were doing. Edwin pardoned himself and walked toward the lake shore. Chandler likely believed the sight of Florence's corpse was too much for him, but there was something else on Edwin's mind. He couldn't figure out why the rope around Florence's neck looked so familiar as he gazed around the shore, lost in thought. His eyes landed on the small's boathouse. Suddenly it dawned on him.

Frederick used that exact type of rope when they went sailing together. His heartbeat quickened. Frederick was always tinkering and inventing new devices. It was a hobby of his. He often had Edwin over to his workshop to demonstrate his creations. Frederick had used that same rope to rig a steering mechanism and invited Edwin out on the water to test it out. Edwin's stomach lurched as he realized that their trip to Boston

might have been Frederick's way of establishing an alibi. But how could he be sure Frederick's sailing rope was the same rope that was on Florence? There was only one way to find out for sure. Edwin approached the boathouse, hoping to find the rope where Frederick had left it after their test drive. But search as he might, it was gone. He knew right then. Frederick Small's rope very well could be tied around Florence's neck. Edwin didn't waste any time telling Sheriff Chandler about the discovery.

but though it raised the sheriff's suspicions, before anyone could jump to conclusions, the chief medical examiner needed to perform a preliminary autopsy. Soon, Dr. Frank Horn arrived at the scene. There wasn't much he could do until he could get the body to a proper lab, but he did officially identify it as Florence Small. He then phoned Frederick to break the horrific news. Small speaking.

Mr. Small, this is Dr. Horn, the medical examiner. I'm calling to tell you that a body was recovered from your cottage, and I'm sorry to report that we believe it is your wife, Florence. Wait, you... You found her? Yes, sir. And after we finish with the autopsy, we'd like to make arrangements so you could lay her to rest.

What would you like us to do with her body? There's enough of her body to bury? Yes, sir. Well, do it, she'd better have a casket. $35 ought to do it. Very well. I'll make the arrangements. Dr. Horn paused after hanging up the phone. A $35 casket and half a burial plot were fairly stingy choices,

but he wasn't about to judge a man in mourning. Besides, Horn knew he'd have to have an even more difficult conversation with Frederick once he confirmed the cause of death. Looking at the body, it was clear. Florence suffered more than just burns. In addition to being strangled by the rope, her head had been bludgeoned and her skull sustained what looked like a gunshot. Dr. Horn called Sheriff Chandler to inform him of Florence.

his wounds. The sheriff wasn't surprised. His deputies had found several items in the cottage cellar that raised red flags, a spark plug, bedclothes that reeked of kerosene and a revolver. But there was also an alarm clock and some hair pins. Between this and Edwin Conner's claims about the rope, Chandler felt certain there was foul play. and his gut told him Frederick Small was to blame. The sheriff phoned the county solicitor Walter E. Hill and the attorney general James P. Tuttle and urged them to prepare a case for murder. Then Chandler made his way to the Central House Inn. He found Frederick in the sitting room, eyes swollen with tears, lamenting to everyone else in the room.

He didn't stop when he noticed the sheriff. looming over him. Oh, Sheriff. I heard the news. You found my sweet Florence. I can't believe what horrible fate I suffered that I would lose my home and my beloved wife.

Fate has a funny way of working. Poor Florence must have been doing her needlework too close to the fire. She had a habit of doing that. Mr. Small, I don't think this fire was an accident. I think someone killed your wife, then burned down the house to cover it up. Dear God, who do you think did it? You. I'm here to place you under protective custody. I'd like to call a lawyer. Now 24 hours since the fire, Chandler placed Frederick Small under

protective custody at the inn. While the sheriff awaited official orders from the county solicitor, Frederick phoned two defense lawyers, Sidney Stevens and William Matthews. Stevens and Matthews eagerly took on Frederick's case. The two men were prominent lawyers, so word of the arrest spread quickly through ossipy. Meanwhile, Dr. Horne had transferred Florence's body to a lab where he and a team of doctors performed a more thorough autopsy on Florence. They found that her death was even more brutal than initially. imagined. See, here is where the bullet entered, which means... Ah, there it is. The bullet itself.

These wounds to the head, they look as though they've been caused by a fire poker or a... A coal slicer. How monstrous. As brutal as they are, none of these wounds would have been lethal. Not even the gunshot. My guess is the devil shot her, but she was still alive, so he bashed her skull. When that still didn't do it, he strangled her. Doctor, what is the substance on her skin?

I believe that's resin. Why would that be there? Resin is highly flammable. It is also not water-soluble, which explains why her body was still in flames when they found her. Whoever started this fire wanted to destroy her body completely. With this, suspicions of foul play were officially confirmed. The doctors knew that because of the wound she sustained, Florence's head may be needed as evidence.

So they made the decision to remove it from the rest of her body. The contents of Florence's stomach prior to her death also needed to be analyzed. doctors took out the organ and sent it to Dartmouth College for further examination. The following Monday, October 2nd, Dr. Horn and his team explained their findings at a coroner's inquest. They also compared the bullet found in Florence's skull with a gun that had been recovered from the scene. It was a match. Immediately following the inquest, Frederick's lawyers entered a not guilty plea. The hearing would continue later in the week.

Meanwhile, Frederick was forced to trade the Central House Inn for Ossipee's jail. Soon after, Sheriff Chandler met with Attorney General James Tuttle to discuss their evidence. While suspicious, most of what they had was circumstantial. They knew it would be difficult to prove how Frederick killed his wife and burned down their house when he was apparently in Boston. So rather than focusing on the details, they started big. Tuttle told Chandler to establish a timeline and motive. Meanwhile, the Attorney General would look more into Frederick Small's personal life.

But there was a problem. Frederick didn't seem to have many friends. However, soon Tuttle would have the opportunity to speak with those closest to Florence. Her funeral service was scheduled for the very next day, and Tuttle planned to have a word with her mother and sister who were traveling from Massachusetts. This was his chance to get their opinions on Frederick. But getting through to Florence's family

would be a lot harder than Tuttle expected. Coming up, the truth about Frederick small. And now, back to our story. On October 3, 1916, New Hampshire Attorney General James Tuttle attended the funeral service for Florence Small. Because Florence's body was key evidence in the trial, she couldn't be buried until after it was over. And so the modest crowd watched as an empty coffin was ceremoniously buried. Only one offering adorned the coffin, a floral wreath sent by Frederick with a ribbon. that simply read love.

As mourners tossed dirt into the grave, Tuttle spotted Florence's mother Elizabeth Curry and Florence's sister Norma. He wasted no time approaching them. Mrs. and Miss Curry, I take it? That's right. It's good to meet you both.

I only wish it was under better circumstances. As do we, and you are? I'm Attorney General James P. Tuttle. I wanted to offer my condolences. I'm also hoping to secure your cooperation in building the case against your late daughter's husband. Mr. Tuttle, I loved my daughter fiercely, and the only thing that matched that ferocity was my hatred for that man. Why is that? I'm sorry. It's just the things he did to her. Mrs. Curry, I need to know. She's dead. My sweet Florence is dead.

I'm so sorry, sir. You'll have to excuse us. Tuttle felt defeated as he left the funeral. That had been his chance to get Elizabeth and Norma's firsthand statements. But he wasn't the kind of man to harass grieving women. Fortunately, Sheriff Chandler was having more luck on his end. According to author Janice Petrie, the sheriff's security, the sheriff's security. cured the overnight bag that Frederick Small had taken to Boston. Inside were an inscribed Masonic lambskin apron, two old letters,

and an itemized list of everything in the small's home and their value. The pieces connected in Chandler's mind. Why would a man take an apron and two personal letters on a business trip? He wouldn't unless he valued them and didn't want them to be discharging. destroyed. And this itemized list, Edwin Connor said he and Small dabbled in insurance. Oh, you're a goner, Small. You're a goner. Now, with some wind in their sales, the prosecution headed into the hearing on October 5th, confident Frederick Small would be brought to trial. Judge Charles S. Miles, the same judge from the coroner's inquest, presided over the hearing.

He silenced the room, then let the prosecution begin calling witnesses. Among them were Edwin Connor, Frederick Small's driver, a man named George Kennett, and an insurance salesman who'd done business with Frederick. I picked up Mr. Small on September 28th for a trip to Boston, and I heard him say goodbye to his wife. No, I suppose I didn't see her. I was with Frederick Small the night of the fire. He was acting strangely the entire time we were in Boston. I'm certain that the rope around Florence's neck belonged to him.

And he had just told me about an insurance policy. Yes, Frederick Smallope in two policies recently. Three thousand for the home and one thousand for the possessions. And a life insurance policy. I remember he got a $20,000 life insurance policy. It's unclear how Frederick really, reacted to these testimonies, Edwins in particular. But on the following day, the defense, led by William Matthews, made their case.

All of the prosecution's arguments can be explained. Frederick Small took out insurance policies because he was a responsible and caring husband. He brought those keepsakes to Boston because he planned to open a safety deposit box. Matthews also pointed out that they were still awaiting medical results that would determine Florence's time of death. But Matthews was unable to sway the judge. Frederick Small was scheduled to appear before a grand jury in December. Though he was occasionally seen weeping during the hearing, Frederick was stoic when the decision was reached. After the hearing, Tuttle continued working on the case. Even though the general public was, on his side, he knew the defense was right. Their evidence was circumstantial.

And he couldn't get his mind off of what Florence's mother, Elizabeth Curry, had said. The things he did to her. Tuttle knew he needed to speak to Elizabeth and hear her peace. So he picked up the phone and dialed her home in Massachusetts. Perhaps the results of the hearing galvanized her because this time Elizabeth was ready to talk. Tuttle hopped on to the next train and met her and Florence's sister, Norma, at an undisclosed location.

I appreciate you meeting with me, ladies. You have no idea how important it is for me to understand Florence's marriage. Marriage. It was no marriage at all, more like ownership. I blame myself, really. If I hadn't hired him as a handyman,

this never would have happened. Elizabeth went on to tell Tuttle all about how her daughter met Frederick Small. Florence was born in Nova Scotia and her father worked as a sea captain. However, over the years, his health began to fail him. He retired early, but thanks to his work, he'd been able to afford a farm in Southborough, Massachusetts. But Mr. Curry's health worsened. By the time Florence was an adult, her father was sent to and assisted living home in New York.

After that, she, Norma, and their mother lived alone on the farm with no source of income. That is until Elizabeth made the decision to convert the farmstead into a convalescent home, a short-term care facility for the sick. The Curry women took good care of their patients, but as their work expanded, they needed an extra set of hands.

Elizabeth Curry placed an ad for a maintenance man, and Frederick Small answered. Oh, Drat. Oh, let me help you with that, Florence. Thank you, Mr. Small. I don't know what we'd do without you. Ah, you'd get on, I'm sure, but not nearly as well. How did you get into this line of work anyway?

A little bird told me you used to work in stocks. I have many talents, but I've always been a tinkerer, taking things apart, learning how they work, building things. Impressive. And what about you, Florence? How is it that a woman like you ends up working so hard, never married? We've got to keep the lights on, and I don't need a ton of eligible bachelors in this line of work. Maybe that's where you're wrong.

Less than six weeks after meeting, Florence married Frederick Small, much to the chagrin of her mother. Despite Elizabeth's disapproval, the couple seemed happy. Tuttle wasn't sure that Elizabeth's story explained the inner workings of a killer, but then Norma spoke up. One day, not long after their wedding, one of our nurses told me she had to call the family physician for a cut on Florence's head. The doctor arrived and found Florence sitting down, blood covering her face. Mr. Small was with her. When he saw the doctor, he started yelling that he wasn't needed. He picked up a piece of wood and charged at the doctor,

but luckily, Mr. Small is so, well, small. The doctor stopped him, then managed to treat Florence. Mr. Small eventually admitted to hitting her. This was exactly what Tuttle had been looking for, something to support the idea that Frederick Small was capable of murdering his wife. Once he got back to Ossipe He questioned neighbors in hopes of getting corroborating statements And he did

I often heard Florence screaming from inside the cottage I once saw him raise an oar and threatened to beat her I heard him say to her if you open your mouth I'll kill you Armed with these statements Tuttle now felt secure in his case Not only that he decided to push for the death penalty There was still a lot of work to be done, but soon he would find that his greatest weapon lay in the ashes of the burned-down cottage and in Frederick Small's awful past.

Thanks again for tuning in to Solved Murders. We'll be back next Wednesday with Part 2 of the Murder of Florence Small, where the courtroom will determine the fate of the case. For more information on Florence Small, Amongst the many sources we used, we found perfection to a fault, a small murder in Ossipee, New Hampshire, 1916, by Janice S.C. Petri, extremely helpful to our research. You can find all episodes of Solved Murders and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free on Spotify.

We'll see you next time. Solve Murder's True Crime Mysteries is a Spotify original from Parcast. Executive produced by Max Cutler. head of programming is Julian Bual Rowe. Our supervising sound designer is Russell Nash, with Nick Johnson as our head of production and quality control by Lisa Marie Gallegos. Stacey Nemick is our supervising editor, and Derek Jennings is our writing lead. This episode of Sol of Murders was written by Joseph Bricker, edited by Sarah Batchelor and Alexandra Garland, fact-checked by Bennett Logan, researched by Mickey Taylor,

Produced by Aaron Larson, Joshua Kern, and Juan Borda, and sound design by Brian Gullab. It stars Marcy Edwards, Joe Hernandez, Julian Smith, Rebecca Thomas, and Leith Walsh Lager. Our hosts are Wendy McKenzie and me, Carter Roy.