WISHING THE B. C. POLICE MAGAZINE

EVERY SUCCESS

CANADIAN FISH &? COLD STORAGE |

CO), LTD.

PRINCE RUPER E, BoC:

examined the papers closely. Completed on
June 21st, 1907, with the signature of Joseph
A. Hindahl, they showed that two hundred
and forty-six dollars and seventy-five cents

had changed hands. Drawing Hindahl’s
photograph from his pocket he pushed it
across the desk. “Recognize this man?” he
asked.

The agent shook his head.

“This one then . . .” He displayed a
photo of the bold-eyed Oscar King.

~ Miller’s eyes lighted. “Sure, that’s him—
that’s Joe Hindahl.”

Nicholson shook his head. ““You’re wrong.
That’s Oscar King,” he said. “That sig-
nature’s a forgery.”

Next he located the store where Hindahl
had purchased clothing, blankets and sup-
plies ere leaving for Alberta. Remnants of
burned clothing and blankets, salvaged with
the skeleton at Clover Bar, were identified
by the storekeeper, who produced for the
detective copies of the sales slips. Mr.
Girard, a former neighbour, also identified
the gold watch, as well as the rusted knife
dug up with the skeleton, as Hindahl’s.

Satisfied that he’d forged a chain that would
put an end to the career of William Oscar
King, Nick hurried back to Edmonton.

On May 2nd the prisoner appeared in
the Alberta Supreme Court in Edmonton
to face Justice Scott and a jury of sun-
tanned westerners to answer the charge of
murder. Attired in convict clothes, he
seemed to enjoy the sensation his appear-
ance created, cast amused eyes about the
court and joked with his scarlet - coated
guard.

Cold- eyed and inscrutable, Constable
Nicholson proceeded to build up a damning
case against the prisoner. Producing the
grinning skull Nick placed the muskrat cap
grotesquely upon it and pointed to the
corresponding holes that had awakened his
suspicions. From the court came a gasp of
horror: from the dock a ribald burst of
laughter that turned to sullen defiance as
Nicholson produced Flood, the livery man,
Miller, the estate agent, and a long array
of witnesses whose testimony left no doubt
as to the prisoner’s guilt.

A solemn hush fell over the court as

Justice Scott donned the black cap and rose
to pronounce sentence. For five days King
had faced his ordeal with a grim indifference
to his fate, and a defiant cheerfulness which
had evoked from many of the spectators a
grudging admiration and a hope that he
would escape capital punishment. As the
grim words condemning King to hang fell
from the pale lips of the Judge the prisoner's
only reaction was a slight twitching of his
face and a grisly joke concerning his forth-
coming end.

On the night before King’s execution
Constable J.D. Nicholson took up the death
watch on the captive, who continued to
maintain his swashbuckling attitude, making
grisly jokes. Not till the first grey shafts
of dawn crept through the barred windows
did he yield to the insistent questioning of
the officer. “Sure,” he growled, “I killed
Fritz Hotz. I buried him near Clover Bar.”

As he boldly mounted the scaffold, and
the hangman placed the noose around his
neck, King’s last words were addressed to
Nicholson in a vain attempt to postpone
the final drama. “I know where Hotz’s

The Commodore Restaurant, Prince Rupert, was the scene of a pleasant get-toge
and men of the British Columbia Police—City of
Police, with their wives and sweethearts sat down to a turkey

ther on December 27th, 1942, when at the invitation of the N.C.O.’s

Prince Rupert—some 6) members of the R.C.M. Police, Canadian National Police and District

dinner. Also present were the City Police Magistrate, W. D. Vance and Mrs. Vance;

the Game Warden and Sergt Hall. Owing to a previous engagement, Inspector E. Gammon was unable to be present, but sent regrets. It was the
first time that the Civil Police and their families had met in this manner and the hope was expressed that it would be an annual event.

WINTER EDITION

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