True Crime Campfire - Farewell My Lovely: A Real-Life Detective Noir

Episode Date: May 20, 2022

It was a cold one out there the day she walked into his life—gray, like the color of her eyes. She showed up like a shiny silver dollar in the path of a starving man—exactly what he needed, at exactly the right time. Blonde. Young. Full of big ideas. She was a small-town dame in the big city, ready to take the place by storm. She was a perfect pearl. And he knew she’d believe whatever he told her. He was about to teach the girl a hard lesson: That in the big city, you can’t trust anyone. Sometimes, not even yourself. Join us for a true story that could have come straight out of the pages of a Raymond Chandler novel, a fascinating vintage story about a young woman who inadvertently became a tool in the hands of a clever kidnapper-killer. We bet you've never heard of this one! Sources:St. Clair McKelway, The New Yorker, 1953: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1953/08/08/the-perils-of-pearl-and-olgahttps://uselessinformation.org/pearl-lusk-x-ray-camera/Follow us, campers!Patreon (join to get all episodes ad-free, at least a day early, an extra episode a month, and a free sticker!): https://patreon.com/TrueCrimeCampfireFacebook: True Crime CampfireInstagram: https://gramha.net/profile/truecrimecampfire/19093397079Twitter: @TCCampfire https://twitter.com/TCCampfireEmail: [e-mail]! https://true-crime-campfire.myspreadshop.com/Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/true-crime-campfire--4251960/support.

Hello, campers. Grab your marshmallows and gather around the true crime campfire. We're your camp counselors. I'm Katie. And I'm Whitney. And we're here to tell you a true story that is way stranger than fiction. We're roasting murderers and marshmallows around the true crime campfire. It was a cold one out there the day she walked into his life, gray, like the color of her eyes. She showed up like a shiny silver. dollar in the path of a starving man exactly what he needed at exactly the right time blonde young full of big ideas she was a small town dame in a big city ready to take the place by storm she was a

perfect pearl and he knew she'd believe whatever he told her he was about to teach the girl a hard lesson that in the big city you can't trust anyone sometimes not even yourself this is farewell my lovely a real-life detective noir So campers, for this one, we're in New York, New York, the last day of the year, December 31st, 1946. It was an eye-wateringly cold day as two young women sat across from each other on the train, heading into Manhattan. They were both by themselves, independent working girls chasing their dreams in the the big city. They didn't know each other, and they didn't yet know that their lives were about to crash into each other, changing both of them forever. One of the women was 28 years old,

tall and pale with dark hair and eyes. The other was only 19, blonde and petite, and on her lap she was holding a large gift-wrapped box. If you looked really closely at it, you might notice something odd, a small opening on one end with what looked like a camera lens poking out of it. The blonde girl's name was Pearl Lusk, and she was already getting pretty jaded about life in New York. She'd arrived in the city just a few months ago in the fall. New York is so gorgeous in the fall, and I bet it was even prettier in the 40s, don't you? Pearl had grown up in Quaker Town, Pennsylvania, not far from Philly. But like so many girls before and after her, she couldn't wait to get out of there and see what life in New York was all about.

It was the holiday season, and it didn't take her long to find a job as a sales girl at a department store. She rented a little place, a furnished room and a building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. She hung up pink curtains and got a pretty light purple slip cover for the ratty old couch, and then she got to work on transforming herself into the kind of girl she'd always imagined being, once she made it out of Quaker Town and into the city. She started wearing mascara. She switched from the understated pink lipstick she used to wear to a bold cranberry red, and she started growing out her bangs.

It made her look older, more sophisticated. She liked her job at the department store. There were a lot of other girls there her age, and they folded her into their little friend group on pretty much day one. They went out to lunch and dinner together every day, a soda fountain for lunch and a cafeteria for dinner, Pearl-like pot pies and banana splits. She started going on a few dates here and there, too,

mostly with guys she worked with at the store. And when she was at home, her landlady was always calling her to the communal phone in the hallway, one of her new friends wanting to gossip or a guy calling to see what she was doing on Saturday. She was a fun girl, always laughing and easy to talk to, so it's no surprise she was popular. And when she wasn't talking on the phone, she'd lie on her purple couch and read dime store novels. She liked romances and detective stories. What Pearl's long-term plan was, I don't know. I mean, it was the 40s. For most young women, the plan was pretty much meet-slaish Mary Mr. Wright. You just kind of hung out in the meantime. Pearl didn't seem to be in a big hurry,

though. She had standards and she'd been brought up with a pretty defined set of rules about what a lady should and shouldn't do. One of the shouldn'ts was going out with a stranger. If you hadn't been formally introduced to her, Pearl wasn't going to give you the time of day. On Thanksgiving day though, as Pearl was taking the train to visit her mom, that resolve got put to the test by the handsomest man she'd ever seen outside of a movie or magazine. He introduced himself as Alan LaRue. Ooh la la. And as the train clattered on, he chatted her up. Pearl was intrigued. I mean, who wouldn't be? And she was a naturally friendly person, so it was nothing to her to sit and make conversation with the guy. He was well-dressed and smooth as silk,

super charming. When he asked Pearl if she'd like to have a drink with him sometime and asked for her phone number, it took all her willpower to say no. Politely, of course, but damn, she hated to have to turn him down. And Alan LaRue continued to live rent-free in her head after that. She always kind of hoped maybe she'd run into him again. But Pearl was killing it in New York. I mean, she had a job, plenty of friends, lots of dates, and she was doing it all by herself. She was turning into the kind of adorable big city working girl. They'd start making sitcoms about 15 or 20 years later.

But of course, it couldn't last. On Christmas Eve, Pearl's manager laid her off, because apparently he's a Disney villain. She'd only been there for about three months, but the guy said, They'd only hired her for the holiday rush. And that was over. They didn't need her anymore. Wow. Merry fucking Christmas, right?

Thanks for the warning. God. And then to put a cherry on top of the shit Sunday, her landlady told her she was sick of being Pearl's damn secretary. Every time the phone rang, it was some gentleman call her for Pearl. And she was getting sick and tired of having to call her to the phone all the time. From now on, the landlady said she was only going to call her to the phone if it was, was her mom on the line. Her boyfriends would have to find some other way of getting in touch.

A little bit of 1940 slut shaming there, right? Stop getting so many phone calls you, hussy. And I love that she did this on Christmas Eve, too. Like, damn, lady. That landlady really needs a trio of ghosts to visit her in the middle of the night, I think. Show her what our Christmas future is going to look like if she keeps acting like such a damn harpy. Let the poor girl hoe around all she wants, landlady. You're only young once, and sluttyness gets a bad. bad rap if you ask me yeah send katherine the great in as the ghost of slutty christmas past may west as the ghost of slutty christmas present and megan the stallion as the ghost of slutty christmas future they'll learn her what's what have her throwing off her house dress and

doing a flawless twerk by the time the sun comes up like we we protect sluts in this podcast house do you damn skippy so in one fell swoop pearl went from having this vibrant full life to being shit out of luck. She lost her paycheck, her support system, her social life, because now she wasn't going to see her girlfriends at work every day anymore, and her landlady was putting the cabosh on her main way of setting up dates. So shit, poor kid. Yeah.

It was in the midst of this sad wreckage that Alan Leroux, the handsomest man in the world, came swooping back into her life. Just like the heroine in one of her romance novels, she ran into one of the train again. Again, the day after Christmas. Once again, he looked like he'd stepped right out of magazine. Dude was a snappy dresser. He seemed thrilled to see her again, and he laid on the charm. And this time, desperately in need of something to rescue her from the funk she'd been in the last two days,

Pearl agreed to grab a drink with him. He took her to a nice place in Times Square and ordered her a soda Scotch and 7-Up, and Pearl poured out all her troubles. The handsome Mr. LaRue listened carefully as she spilled out the whole story, the lost job and the landlady and the hall phone, and he seemed so concerned for her, so sympathetic. Later, Pearl would say that the more they talked, the more Alan Leroux's whole vibe seemed to shift.

At first, she'd assumed he was, as she put it, interested in me like any other man. But then, his interest. seemed to change. He was listening to her carefully, and he seemed to be considering something. And after a while, he asked her if she'd be interested in a job opportunity. Pearl was so surprised she didn't say anything at first. This wasn't where she expected the conversation to go, but Mr. Leroux pressed on. See, he was a private investigator, he told her, and he was working on a big case at the moment. He was working for an insurance company that specialized in

ensuring expensive jewelry and recovering stolen jewels for wealthy clients. I imagine Pearl's eyes were as big as dinner plates by this point. Stolen jewels? Wealthy clients? It was like something out of one of her dime store novels. And it got better. Alan was hunting a jewel thief, he told her, a very skilled one, very slippery. And they needed an assistant. Well, Pearl was thrilled a bit at this. one of her favorite book series was the one about the lawyer Perry Mason by Earl Stanley Gardner. Perry Mason had a secretary, Della Street, who often went on missions for him and got into all kinds of adventures. Sitting there with Alan Leroux talking about Jules' Ebes, Pearl felt like Della Street had nothing on her.

It didn't take her ten seconds to decide. She accepted the job offer before she even thought to ask how much it paid. And by the time they parted ways, she and Mr. Leroux were calling each other Alan and Pearl. Ellen and Pearl So, anywho, the next morning, Pearl was up at dawn and ready to take on her new adventure. Who needs a phone call from some white-bread soda counter guy when you've got a jewel thief in your day planner?

She got all dolled up in her best daytime dress and her favorite hat, a gray one with a big white bow on top, and she put on her best coat, an imitation Persian lamb she was paying off in installments. My guess is she probably put on some of that bright red lippy too. I can just see her now, like some of some lawn dish in a Raymond Chandler's story. Trouble with a capital toots.

At least, that was probably the movie playing in her head. In reality, Pearl was still green enough to grow. She was like five minutes out of high school, and this was by far the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her in her life until now. Alan LaRue had told her to meet him at 42 West 39th Street at 9.30 a.m. When she got there, he was waiting for her around the corner. This building, he told her, was the headquarters of the

Croydon Hat Company. His investigations for the insurance company that hired him had led him to a woman named Olga who worked in that building. She was the personal secretary for the owner of the company, and she was his prime suspect in the jewel thefts. Her methods were ingenious, Alan said. After she stole the jewels, she pinned them carefully inside her clothes. That way, she could walk right out of the building without anyone suspecting a thing. If security searched her bag, it would be clean. Now, here was where Pearl came in. I can't call the police without proof, Alan told her, and I can't approach this woman myself because she knows me, and she knows I'm a PI. If she sees me, she might figure out that I'm on to her, dump the jewelry or stash it somewhere secret. Pearl was all in. She was

like, how can I help? Okay, Alan told her, I want you to go up to the offices of the Croydon Hack Company and ask for a Miss Sadie White. Now, there is no Sadie White working there, but that's not the point. The point is, while you're talking to the reception, you can get a good long look at Olga, so you'll be able to recognize her if you see her again. Here's a picture, Ever, Alan said, handing her a snapshot of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. Wow, she's pretty, Pearl thought. She sits at a desk right outside the door to the owner's private office, Alan said. Be sure to get a good look at her, so you'll know her next time you see her.

I want you to be confident you can spot her, even in a crowd, even, for example, in the train station. Because when she leaves for work later today, I want you to follow her around for me and report back about where she goes. Pearl was so excited she was practically peeing in her panty hose, and she did what her handsome new box asked. When she got back to Alan, she told him she'd gotten a great look at Olga. She'd know her anywhere, she said. She even memorized the clothes she was wearing and her coat and hat hanging on the rack near her desk. A-plus detective work. Alan was proud of her. That's great, he said. I'm going to quote directly here from St. Clair McHellway's 1953 New Yorker article about this case for this next part, because the vibe is so impeccably 1940s that I can

hardly stand it. Okay. Ellen said, quote, now I'll tell you how we're going to work this, and don't forget there's going to be a big reward in it for you when we get those jewels back. You take most of the day off, go to the movies or something, but don't tell anybody about this because there are leaks all over in this racket and it might get back to Olga. She leaves here every afternoon at five. You meet me at my apartment, 204 East 17th Street at half past three, and I'll show you exactly how we're going to prove she's carrying those jewels. I am obsessed with your 1940s movie voice. Like, why don't people talk like that anymore?

It's enrapturing. I know, right? It's so good. So, while she was waiting for Olga to finish work, Pearl went to the movies and saw a double feature, complete with popcorn and a Coke. She visited with some of her girlfriends from the department store afterward, too. But she was still right on time to meet Alan at his place.

I wonder if she felt weird about going to his apartment. Like, she doesn't strike me as the kind of girl to do that very much. But also, I mean, she was so caught up in the adventure. So maybe she didn't even think about it. I don't know. That just struck me as kind of interesting that she would do that. Like, don't P.I. have dingy offices with frosted glass windows on their doors. Like, just like their shitty apartment in New York.

But, yeah, it's really weird. Whatever, I digress. After inviting her in and taking her coat, Alan. with a little bit of dramatic flair, unveiled what he'd brought her there to see. It was a marvel of modern technology, he told her, an x-ray camera. Pearl was totally captivated.

It was a simple-looking contraption, a shoe box with a hole cut in the front, wrapped in brown paper. A piece of wire, ending in a loop, dangled from the bottom. Now this is easy, Ellen said. All she had to do was point the box at Olga, and pull the wire. The x-ray picture would show them if she had the jewels on her.

But don't snap the picture where she can see you do it, Alan said. Take it when she gets off the train in Brooklyn. That's where she lives. You want to be right behind her when you follow her out of the train so you can take it at close range. You want to be only two or three feet away from her when you snap the picture. After you take it, meet me where we had drinks last night and I'll take the camera and get the picture developed. Thanks again to the New Yorker for the direct quotes. Now, campers, when x-rays were first invented in 1895, they lit the public's imagination on fire. No one had ever seen their own bones before, like if they weren't like grievously injured.

People were obsessed with the idea of seeing through things. Plays were written about it. Advertisers sold X-ray-proof clothing in women's magazines. comic books advertised x-ray glasses that would let you see naked boobs. Sanadu. Yeah, they don't work. I tried some. Pervert.

Such is my curse. So now, Pearl had her first big Della Street mission, and she was over the moon. Taking the box with the x-ray camera inside, she went back to 39th Street just in time to see Olga leaving work. She followed her to the subway station and onto the train, making sure not to be too obvious about it. Olga got off the train at 55th Street Station in Brooklyn, and Pearl followed at a discreet distance. Slowly but surely, as Olga strolled toward home,

completely unaware of what was happening, Pearl closed the distance between them, until she was within two or three feet of her target. Then she pointed the box at Olga's back and pulled the wire. And then, feeling totally exhilarated, she rushed back to Times Square to meet Alan. He was all keyed up. Did you get it? he said.

How close did you get? How did you do it? He wanted to know every detail. I got less than three feet from her, Pearl told him. She was proud of herself. She didn't notice a thing. Alan looked pleased. He took the box from her. Okay, I'll get this developed tonight.

Great work today. I'll let you know how it goes. Pearl went home, floating on air. This was her first big mission, and she'd nailed it. Pearl Lusk, girl detected. A brand new future was blossoming out in front of her, something more colorful and interesting than anything she could have dreamed of back in Quaker Town. She couldn't wait to get started on the next job.

But the next morning, Alan had bad news. The photo wasn't good enough quality, he told her. He said, I think the camera's in trouble. I have to get a better one, and it may take me a day or two to do it. Call me here in three days, okay, and I'll let you know where we stand. So three nervous days passed, and when Pearl got back in touch with Alan, it was good news. I got a better camera, he said. Meet me at the automat in Union Square tomorrow morning, 8 a.m. Sharp.

Pearl was, as always, right on time. It was New Year's Eve Day, December 31st. I wish we still had automats. They seem so whimsical. Like, just pop a coin in and grab a sandwich. Although, now that I'm, like, saying that out loud, we technically do in, like, vending machines. But it's not the same. We literally do.

It's not the same. Ellen was waiting for her at the automat, holding a big gift. wrapped box, the new camera. It was festive-looking, covered in red and green, merry Christmases, and happy new years. Ellen handed it to her. Besides being quite a bit bigger and heavier, the new camera was very much the same as the first one, a hole in one end, a wire hanging out of the bottom. Ellen was all business as he gave Pearl her orders. Okay, get Olga on her way to work. Make sure to sit near her on the train. Take the picture exactly like you did before, he told her. Aim it low, at her waist. That's probably where she's carrying the jewels.

pinned inside her dress. Dang. Is Olga just carrying around these jewels all day, every day? Like, rule number one in the jewel thief handbook is like offload as soon as you can. It makes no sense, Alan. It really doesn't unless she's like supposed to be stealing them every day. Like it's a new batch of jewels. She's leaving her house.

She steals her mom's jewels leaving the house and pins on their dress. Every morning. It really doesn't make sense to them. So, as always, Pearl Five. followed his directions to the smallest detail. She actually ended up sitting right across from Olga on the train, trying not to stare at her target. And when the train pulled into the Times Square station,

she got up and followed Olga through the door. Once she was within two or three feet of her, she carefully aimed the box at Olga's waist and pulled the wire. Later, Pearl would remember the next few seconds almost in silent slow motion. As she pulled on the wire, there was a deafening, boom! and the box jerked, practically bucking out of her hands. And Olga, the woman she'd been trying to photograph,

fell to the ground, screaming and clutching at her left leg, which was in bloody tatters. Pearl herself was spattered with the poor woman's blood. It was surreal. A security guard ran up to Pearl then. What happened? he shouted. Still half stunned, her ears ringing, Pearl said, I...

I just took this woman's picture and somebody shot her. A man had knelt down next to Olga and was trying to give her first aid, tying a tourniquet around what was left of her leg, and a policeman, who had started sprinting toward the boom as soon as he heard it, finally reached them. He grabbed the box out of Pearl's hands and ripped it open, the pretty red and green wrapping paper falling to the ground. Pearl had a moment of confused horror as he got the box open,

and she saw what was inside. It wasn't a camera. It was a sought-off shotgun. Yeah. Just sit with that for a minute and think about what this moment must have been like for Pearl, as the significance of that sank in. As she realized what was happening, Pearl started crying, and with the policemen still holding on to her arm, she leaned down to Olga and said, I'm awfully sorry I shot you. There was this new job, see, and I thought I was taking your picture with an x-ray camera. This part always seems like so bizarre and it sticks out in my head. Because like, what else do you say to the woman you just unknowingly shot?

Like, I'm awfully sorry is probably the best possible thing, right? But also, but at the same, what else you can say? Right. And then also, at the same time, this woman is bleeding out on the ground, so maybe hold off on the apologies until you're both not covered in blood. Yeah. Olga, who had just been giving her name and phone number to an arriving paramedic and who I have to say was holding it together amazingly well, despite having just had one of her

legs practically blown off, barely glanced at Pearl. She said, well, he got me this time. Now if he wants me, he can take me. I'm crippled. I wonder what happened to the police. He must have been too smart for them. As paramedics began easing Olga onto a stretcher to transport her to the hospital, the police officer said, ma'am, why did this woman shoot you? Olga shook her head at him. You fool, she said she didn't shoot me, my husband did. Later that night, at the hospital, surgeons would amputate her left leg. It was much too mangled to save. Rocco had told her story to the police many, many times before the shooting at the train station, and she'd continue to tell it as the case unraveled. Here is what she told them, both before the

shooting, trying desperately to convince somebody to protect her, and after it, trying just as hard to hold the police accountable for not doing so. She married Alphonse Rocko on May 14th, 1945. She met him at a dance in Brooklyn in 1944. He was handsome, charming. In the early days, he had a way of making her feel like the only woman in the room. They had a short whirlwind courtship. Once they got married, Olga began noticing some unsettling things about her new hubs. She knew he liked hunting and camping, and that sometimes he liked to disappear into the cat skills with nothing but a sleeping bag and a shotgun.

But sometimes, he'd vanish for weeks at a time, and when he came home, he'd be flush with cash. He never did tell her where he got it, but it gave her a bad feeling. Yeah, that's nothing good. You don't come home with a briefcase full of cash if you got it like teaching English lit classes at the community college. That's some shady shit, guaranteed. No legal jobs paying attaches of cash. Just a little TCC, FYI. Right.

Alphonse was a mysterious guy. That's pretty sexy when you're just dating, and it's all shiny and new. But once you're married and the secrecy keeps going, the bloom falls off the rose pretty quick. Starts making you nervous. Alphonse never really told anybody what he did for a living, and he never, ever talked about his past. Red flag. Yeah, that's a red flag. And before long, he started to show Olga a side of himself that terrified her.

This is an old story, campers. One that's unfortunately still really familiar today. where before he was charming and kind, now Alphan started to get controlling and jealous, always accusing her of flirting with other men. Pretty soon, whenever he got jealous, he got violent too. And he told Olga if she ever left him, he'd kill her. The look in his eyes when he said it. She knew it wasn't an idle threat.

He meant it. She felt trapped. But Olga was a brave girl, and she had to be. family who loved and supported her. And in April of 1946, a little less than a year after she married him, Olga got up the courage to leave Alphonse. She moved into her family's home with her parents and her sister's family. She was scared still, but she was glad to be away from him. She hoped Alphonse would just move on. You know, just die mad about it, guy. You blew it. And for a while, it seemed like maybe that's what he was doing.

Like, maybe he was letting her go. But then, on a sunny day in October, she was taking the train to work when she saw him. Olga was sick that day. She'd actually been thinking the whole train ride that she was probably too sick to go into work. She should probably go home, or she'd get the whole office sick.

When she got off the train, Alphonse approached her. And he was nice. Just like the old Alphonse, the guy she'd fallen for at the dance. He told her, she didn't look like she felt well. Was she doing okay? He seemed so worried about her, so solicitous. And campers, we really got to understand something here, okay?

Abusers are really, really good at this shit. People always say, oh, how could she go back to him after what he did to her? Why didn't she just leave him and stay gone? Well, I'm here to tell you, it's complicated, okay? And unless you've been in the middle of it, you really can't understand. Abusers are damn good at seducing you back in. getting you to let down your guard, and that's what happened here. Olga was sick, she was exhausted from whatever virus she had going on,

and Alphonse turned on the same charm that he used to get her to marry him in the first place. It had been months since she left him, and she hadn't seen him since, and I think she'd just let her guard down for a second. When he asked her if he could drive her back to her parents' house, she said yes, and followed him to his car. When the time came for him to exit off the highway and head toward her family's house, though, he missed the exit. When she asked him what he was doing, Alphonse's.

ignored her and kept driving. A sick feeling in her gut, Olga told him to pull the car over so she could get out, and then suddenly he was holding the edge of a switchplate against her throat. Scream and I'll kill you, he said. Olga believed him. He drove them all the way to Poughkeepsie and rented a cabin in the woods. Before they went into the rental office to get the keys,

Alphons told her, if you try to scream or cry or signal for help in any way, I'll kill you right there. She figured he'd kill the lady working behind the counter too. She kept quiet. In the car, he told her he was well-armed. In addition to the switchplate, he had a shotgun and a revolver. The next week of Olga's life was a study in terror as Alphonse held her hostage in this cabin in the woods. Other than him holding her captive and holding a gun to her head several times, there's really no information out there about what happened during those

seven days, probably because it was the 40s and you didn't print stuff like that back then. And I'm really kind of relieved we don't know. I'm sure whatever it was, it was awful. A man like Alphonse is all about power and control, and I'm sure he did whatever he could think of to show Olga he was in full control of the situation. And I'm sure she was wondering the whole time whether she'd make it out alive.

Fucking shit-stain. Surprisingly, though, for some unknown reason, at the end of that week, he drove Olga back to Brooklyn and dropped her on the front steps of her niece's house. She collapsed on the front porch, sobbing as her niece ran out to get her. She was safe for the moment, but Alphonse wasn't finished with her yet. On November 1st, Olga was at home with her family, helping her mom set the dinner table.

It was a beautiful fall evening, and they had the window open. Olga had been trying for weeks to put the trauma of her week of captivity behind her. She was trying to enjoy this quiet, comfortable moment in the kitchen with her mom. But then, a popping sound and an excruciating, stinging pain searing through her right leg. She fell to her knees with the shock of it, and when she lived, lifted up her skirt to touch her leg, she could see it was bleeding. It was a gunshot wound. She'd been shot in the leg.

Olga's mother called the police and an ambulance. The shot was so bad she was in the hospital for ten days recovering. While she was there, she gave a statement to an assistant district attorney and a detective named O'Brien. She told them all about the kidnapping weeks earlier and described what happened with the shooting. She'd heard a pop and then felt the pain in her leg. The shot must succumbed through the open window. It was her husband, she told them it had to be. By December 9th, Olga started back to work.

Her sister went with her to the train station. She didn't want to let her go alone. And on her way there, on New Utrecht Avenue, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Alphonse was watching her, just standing there, partly hidden behind a pillar, staring at her and her sister. Freaked out to the core,

Olga went to the police station in Brooklyn and filed a report. report. I'm scared, she told them. My husband is following me. He's going to do something again. The officer who took her report told her not to worry. They were looking into it. They sent her on her way. Oh, wow, helpful. Good job, guys. Oh, it gets so much worse. Olga went on to work after that, and while she was there, she got a call. From who else? Good old Alphonse. Oh, my God. I'm watching you, he told her. I know everything you're doing. I know what time you leave for work, and I know what time you come home. He hadn't aimed right the first time, but he'd get it right the next time. Next time, he'd kill her. So Olga, as anybody would,

called the police again. This time she spoke to a guy named Lieutenant Giddings. Please, she said, could I have a police escort home? My husband is going to do something terrible to me. I know it. Lieutenant Gooding's told her not to worry. That's all I said. Just don't worry. What is this, the Twilight Zone? Are we in a fever dream? This is the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life. Like, at least say something. Like, we can't spare the manpower to give you a police escort.

Here's what we can do instead. Like, don't just shrug. Like, eh, don't worry about it. It's just bizarre with the capital Z. And it's a script that I think a lot of domestic violence survivors have heard. Like, don't worry. Oh, yeah. Not all men are possessive shitbags, you know, that follow you home.

God forbid I do my job. Have you considered getting back with him? You're a sweet girl. Maybe it's just a misunderstanding. What did you do to make him so angry? Why did you marry him in the first place? Yeah. Deep breaths.

Yeah. Mm-hmm. After that creepy phone call at work, Olga started seeing Alphonse a lot. Lurking in hallways, behind cars, at the train station, watching her. And there were more calls at work. He called almost every day to threaten her. And after every phone call, Ogle would hang up and call the 66th precinct again. She'd tell them what Alphonse had said this time and beg them again for an escort home. They'd always tell her not to worry. So helpful, and this is awful. One time she saw Dickhead waiting for her in the subway station

as she was heading home from work, and she got so scared, she ran over to a security guard. and said, my husband is following me. He's going to do something terrible. Can I wait here with you? And the friggin' guard wouldn't let her just stand there with him. That's all she was asking for. He was like, oh, no, there are people coming through the turnstile. I really got to leave plenty of room.

But you can stand over there. I'll keep an eye on you. Like, Jesus, it's just beyond belief. Yeah. The police in the story are about as useful as thumbs on a donkey. But finally, on December 20th, the 66th precinct, actually did send two detectives to Olga's work to drive her home. About fucking damn time.

On the drive home, she explained her situation. Quoting from a transcript of one of her court depositions, I told them all about the threatening calls. I told them what he had said to me on the telephone, that he was going to kill me, that I had better start saying my prayers. And I told them about the days that I had been away from home that he had kidnapped me,

and I related all the times that I used to see him on 55th Street. and the times that I saw him on 39th Street. And I related almost every little incident to them. And what did they do? Told her not to worry. You'd think they would go pick the guy up at this point. I mean, you have a complaining witness here, alleging she was kidnapped and held against her will for seven days in a cabin in the woods,

held a gun to her head, a knife to her throat, made threats against her life, and then a couple weeks later, she got shot in the leg and suspected it was the same guy. You'd think this would be enough to at least, arrest the dude on kidnapping charges, but nope. Based on all the sources we've seen, that never happened. I don't even know if they questioned him. Like, surely they did, right? Surely, but, you know, it was the 40s, and they were still legally married, and my guess is that's why Olga wasn't taken seriously. It's just mind-boggling. So, anyway, on December 30th, Olga and her brother-in-law went to

police headquarters yet again. Quoting from the court transcript, she said, told him that I had to go to work and that my husband called me every day and he had shot me and that I knew he was going to do something terrible to me and that he called me every day. And y'all, this is so sad. At this point, there's a note in the court transcript that Olga was practically hyperventilating. She was so upset. Like, she had to take a little break to get herself together. And then she went on.

I told him that I had to go to work because I had old parents and I was very afraid to write on a train and that there was nobody to help me, that I came to him to please help me and do something for me. Now, this Inspector Reynolds apparently had a functioning human conscience, because after he listened to Olga's story, he called up Lieutenant Giddings. Remember him? The dude she'd always spoken to before. All those times when she called up and begged for police protection.

And Reynolds was like, this lady is in my office crying and pleading with me to help her. What have y'all been doing down there, waiting for a homicide to happen? And then he hung up and told Olga that he'd have some detectives waiting for her when she got home. And these guys actually seem to give a shit. They listened to her story, and before they left, they were like, okay, listen, we're on this. We're going to protect you.

You don't need to be scared anymore. Yeah, we've heard that before, gents. What are you going to do specifically? They didn't say, but at least she sort of kind of felt like somebody was listening now. It was the next morning, December 31st, when Olga noticed the young blonde woman sitting across from her on the train, carrying that strangely large, gift-wrapped box with something sticking out of a hole in one end.

And, of course, we know what happened next. Later, in a court deposition, Olga described the moment she was shot. I did not feel my leg. It just didn't feel like it was there, and I was practically swimming in blood. Later that day, lying in her hospital bed, her left leg freshly amputated,

Olga knew it was Alphonse, Perl-Lusk or no-purlusk. Alphonse was behind this. So, back to Pearl. After the shooting, the police took her to the nearest station to question her. They showed her a picture of Olga and Alphonse Rocco at a nightclub before they got married, leaning their heads together and smiling. Pearl blinked.

The man they were calling Alphonse was her handsome boss, Alan LaRue. He was even wearing the same pinstripe suit and flowery tie he'd been wearing the first time she had drinks with him. The investigators quickly realized that Pearl really hadn't known there was a gun in the box. She genuinely believed she was just taking the woman's picture. Pearl's role in this was basically the puppet. Alphonse Rocco was the one pulling the strings. The police had no idea how to find Alphonse. He had no job, no background, no family to speak of, but eventually they did unearth a few details. In 1938, Rocco was stealing cars in Manhattan and reselling them in the Bronx. He was arrested and served some time in jail for that, but other than that,

didn't have a record. His probation officer noted that he was an orphan, that his parents died when he was a kid and he grew up in various orphanages. This is a quote from one of the probation officer's reports on him. He denies the use of narcotics and does not drink to excess. He admits to sexual promiscuity. He's not a member of any organized social group and states that he has few friends. I wonder why. He is inclined to be self-condematory and thinks he received a poor break in life. He attributes his actions to the lack of helpful guidance from his elders. He was pleasant and agreeable and showed no unusual reactions or ideas. He appears to be of dull, normal intelligence. A report from the infamous Bellevue Hospital said that Alphonse was not insane and not mentally

defective, average intelligence, no delusions or hallucinations, emotionally cheerful. Oh, good to know he's cheerful, right? He was stealing those cars with a great attitude, probably whistling while he worked. Honestly, that's all you need from a good employee, right? A can do attitude and no, no, no, the crazies. Other than Olga's allegations about kidnapping, shooting, and stalking her, that was all the police could dig up on our boy. But fortunately, on January 6th, they managed to pick up his trail in the Catskills.

One of his favorite spots for hunting and camping, as Olga had told them. Playing to his strengths, I guess, Alphonse had stolen. a car, and then held several farmers at gunpoint for food. So at that point, the manhunt was on. 50 state police and two New York detectives were combing the cat skills for the guy. And finally, they found his car parked on a remote mountain road. Later that night, they came across the man himself, zipped up in a sleeping bag despite the 10 inches of snow on the ground under a tree. They ordered him to come out of there with his hands up. And when Alphans didn't move, they fired a warning shot into the air to show him they weren't

kidding around. Very 1940s did, like, cop move. Alphonse, clearly not the brightest bulb in the box, decided to return fire. He managed to get off four shots, but fortunately, none of them managed to hit anybody. He was using stormtrooper bullets, apparently. Yep, that's very true. The police bullets were apparently more accurate because... was the last thing Alphonse Rocco ever did. There's, like, this gnarly photo of him lying in the snow, blood all over his face. Like, and it was printed in the newspapers, so for all they won't... Yeah, and it was really gory, too.

It's really awful. I came across it on an accident, but... In his pocket, investigators found that nightclub snapshot of him and Olga. Clearly, this guy was just obsessed. Olga told one reporter that she could finally sleep now that her ex-husband was dead. And this, I love so much I can hardly stand it. After the dust settled, Olga and Pearl actually bonded. They became good friends. And it makes sense if you think about it.

I mean, they were both victims of Alphonse Rocco. He nearly destroyed both their lives. Olga, who lost her left leg in the attack, sued the NYPD for $200,000 for negligence, a case that went all the way to the New York State Supreme Court. She alleged that she'd begged for help and protection and got little more than condescending bullshit in response. All 100% true.

But, and this makes me so mad I could set something on fire, the Supreme Court dismissed Olga's case. In their minds, they couldn't hold the city accountable because, I shit you not, I'm not making this up, Alphonse wasn't the one who shot her. One of the justices said, quote, There was absolutely no legal duty on the part of the city to this plaintiff to afford her any protection from Pearl Lusk,

an unidentified, unknown individual concerning whom no one knew anything, concerning whom it is not even attempted to be claimed here by the plaintiff that the police department had any notice. She was unknown even to this plaintiff. The only person apparently that she was known to was Rocco himself, under an assumed name.

She did not even know the relationship between Rocco and this plaintiff. There was absolutely no duty upon the part of the city to provide protection to this plaintiff against any such unknown and unsuspected individual. holy balls like is that the oiliest shit you have ever heard in your life man i hope they didn't crack any vertebrae bending themselves into the intellectual pretzel they had to get into to make this shit stick well the police didn't have a duty to protect her from pearl just one specific guy they that's all they had to protect her from forget that they weren't even there when she was fucking mutilated by a sought-off shotgun god i hate this so fucking much and it's not like i know some of you are thinking like oh

oh, this is just an old-timey judgment about police underreach. Like, no, it's not. This happens. Like, in 1999, a woman named Jessica Linahan Gonzalez had taken a restraining order out against her abusive ex-husband with having a custody agreement with their three children. Later that same month, he kidnapped the couple's three daughters after she informed the police that he was a danger to the family and had violated their restraining order and their visitation agreement. The police who said that because she had let him take the kids at other times, outside of their agreement, did nothing. And he later murdered all three children. Oh, my God.

When Jessica sued the city of Castle Rock, Colorado, and it went all the way to the Supreme Court. Again. Yeah, this is the national Supreme Court. The Supreme Court ruled that the police have no duty to uphold a restraining order. Okay. Which, what the, what's the fucking point? The opinion, what's the point of it then? Yeah.

The opinion of the court of TCC is literally go fuck yourself. Yeah, I can actually give you a more recent one than that, unfortunately. I wish I could remember the names involved, but there was a very recent case of a young student. She was like a track star, really bright, shiny, wonderful girl who was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend and had informed the university police at her university. and had filed multiple reports about this guy. He was threatening her. They didn't do jack shit, and he ended up murdering her. And it was horrible. It was on Dateline recently. I can't remember any of the names involved, but this happens, unfortunately. So apparently just zero recognition whatsoever in this case of the fact that Alfonz Rocco was the mastermind behind this attack.

Pearl shot her, so case closed. It's unreal. But Olga, bless her heart, she went on with her life, Eking out a living, selling costume jewelry. And she, by the way, she is gorgeous. We ran across a picture of her that looks like maybe it was from about 20 years later. Just absolutely stunning woman. As for Pearl, she moved on too. She fell in love and got married, raised a family. I assume they've probably both passed on by now,

but we couldn't find any obituaries or articles following up on their lives, which was unfortunate. It's a hell of a story. Alfonz Rocco slash Alan LaRue a man so obsessed with his wife that he must have spent God knows how many hours lurking around the train station looking for the perfect candidate for the Hitchcockian plan he had in mind

and I really hate to say it but it really was kind of an ingenious plan and I suspect he wanted to kill her not just maim her but yeah and like a lot of psychopaths he had an uncanny ability to read people figure out exactly how to get what he wanted out of them and Pearl still in her teens

brand new to the city and newly on employed and desperate, was the perfect patsy. Poor Pearl. She needed a miracle on 34th Street, and she got double indemnity instead. Yeah, exactly. So that was one hell of a wild one, right, campers? You know, we'll have another one for you next week. But for now, lock your doors, light your lights, and stay safe until we get together again around the true crime campfire. And as always, we want to send a grateful shout out to a few of our lovely patrons. Thank you so much to congratulations on your marriage, Jordan from Knowledge Fight, which is a hell of a handle. Aaron, Messenger Bird, Chris, Beth, Michelle, Sophie, and yet another Erin.

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