police chief say; two of his men were dead and he wasn’t investigating. The FBI could only wonder why.
The Bureau was on its own. No one said it aloud, but there were some among Hoover’s men who doubted they could carry off the complex investigation they now faced. The FBI had never attempted anything like it before. Gus Jones wondered what weaponless agents would do if confronted by the well-armed massacre assassins. When Hoover sent a wire demanding that he use every resource to apprehend the gunmen, Jones cabled back: “With what? Peashooters?” Suddenly, the FBI’s unofficial ban on guns was lifted. In Washington one of Hoover’s top men, Clyde Tolson, secured two machine guns to send to Kansas City.
Returning to the FBI office, Jones convened a meeting to go over leads. Some agents thought the massacre was a gangland hit directed at Frank Nash. Jones thought it more likely that it was a rescue attempt gone awry. Several suspects had already jumped to the fore. Their two best theories, in fact, were already being debated in the Kansas City newspapers. One posited that Pretty Boy Floyd was behind the killings. After his release, Sheriff Killingsworth had given several interviews, and stories about Floyd’s arrival in Kansas City were everywhere. The problem was, of the dozens of witnesses, only one, the Traveler’s Aid lady, Lottie West, identified Floyd. In fact, Mrs. West said she had seen Floyd sitting at her desk when she arrived for work. Though her story was prominently reported, none of the agents took it seriously.
The stronger theory rested on rumors that Nash had arranged the escape of Harvey Bailey and ten other convicts from the Kansas State Penitentiary on May 31. Jones theorized that Bailey’s group had attempted to rescue Nash and for some reason ended up killing him. This theory gained momentum when several eyewitnesses identified photographs of Bailey as one of the assassins. The best was a businessman named Samuel Link. Link said he had stepped out of his car that morning next to a Reo sedan just as a man he recognized as Bailey emerged from the Reo, knocking off Link’s hat. Link said he watched as Bailey and another man fired on the FBI car. Best of all, Link said he had been a deputy sheriff in Kansas City in 1926 and had once seen Bailey on the street. He pointed to a photo of one of Bailey’s co-escapees, a murderous Oklahoma yegg named Wilbur Underhill—the papers called him “The Tri-State Terror”—and identified him as the other assassin.
The best witnesses should have been the three agents who survived the shooting: Vetterli, Lackey, and Frank Smith. Their stories were disappointing. From his hospital bed, Lackey said he had seen two of the shooters but couldn’t identify them; the car windows were too dirty for a clear view. Smith had seen one man he couldn’t identify, then ducked his head when the shooting began. Only Vetterli made a concrete identification of a man he said he saw wielding a submachine gun: “Big” Bob Brady, an Oklahoma bank robber who had escaped with Bailey. By Sunday night Jones had focused the Bureau’s efforts on finding Bailey and the other escapees. Wanted posters were drawn up.
By Sunday night, thirty-six hours after the shootings, their best lead was a series of suspicious phone calls the Oklahoma City office traced from Hot Springs to Deafy Farmer’s house south of Joplin. This suggested that someone from Hot Springs had called on Farmer to rescue Nash; now agents needed to learn who Farmer had telephoned in Kansas City. Phone records were in St. Louis. Amazingly, Reed Vetterli decided to write the phone company a letter instead of just telephoning. It would take four days for the records to arrive, during which time Verne Miller and everyone else involved in the massacre conspiracy got away.
That Saturday night, fifteen hours after the Kansas City Massacre, William Hamm’s intermediary, Billy Dunn, left St. Paul in a Ford coupe
The Bureau was on its own. No one said it aloud, but there were some among Hoover’s men who doubted they could carry off the complex investigation they now faced. The FBI had never attempted anything like it before. Gus Jones wondered what weaponless agents would do if confronted by the well-armed massacre assassins. When Hoover sent a wire demanding that he use every resource to apprehend the gunmen, Jones cabled back: “With what? Peashooters?” Suddenly, the FBI’s unofficial ban on guns was lifted. In Washington one of Hoover’s top men, Clyde Tolson, secured two machine guns to send to Kansas City.
Returning to the FBI office, Jones convened a meeting to go over leads. Some agents thought the massacre was a gangland hit directed at Frank Nash. Jones thought it more likely that it was a rescue attempt gone awry. Several suspects had already jumped to the fore. Their two best theories, in fact, were already being debated in the Kansas City newspapers. One posited that Pretty Boy Floyd was behind the killings. After his release, Sheriff Killingsworth had given several interviews, and stories about Floyd’s arrival in Kansas City were everywhere. The problem was, of the dozens of witnesses, only one, the Traveler’s Aid lady, Lottie West, identified Floyd. In fact, Mrs. West said she had seen Floyd sitting at her desk when she arrived for work. Though her story was prominently reported, none of the agents took it seriously.
The stronger theory rested on rumors that Nash had arranged the escape of Harvey Bailey and ten other convicts from the Kansas State Penitentiary on May 31. Jones theorized that Bailey’s group had attempted to rescue Nash and for some reason ended up killing him. This theory gained momentum when several eyewitnesses identified photographs of Bailey as one of the assassins. The best was a businessman named Samuel Link. Link said he had stepped out of his car that morning next to a Reo sedan just as a man he recognized as Bailey emerged from the Reo, knocking off Link’s hat. Link said he watched as Bailey and another man fired on the FBI car. Best of all, Link said he had been a deputy sheriff in Kansas City in 1926 and had once seen Bailey on the street. He pointed to a photo of one of Bailey’s co-escapees, a murderous Oklahoma yegg named Wilbur Underhill—the papers called him “The Tri-State Terror”—and identified him as the other assassin.
The best witnesses should have been the three agents who survived the shooting: Vetterli, Lackey, and Frank Smith. Their stories were disappointing. From his hospital bed, Lackey said he had seen two of the shooters but couldn’t identify them; the car windows were too dirty for a clear view. Smith had seen one man he couldn’t identify, then ducked his head when the shooting began. Only Vetterli made a concrete identification of a man he said he saw wielding a submachine gun: “Big” Bob Brady, an Oklahoma bank robber who had escaped with Bailey. By Sunday night Jones had focused the Bureau’s efforts on finding Bailey and the other escapees. Wanted posters were drawn up.
By Sunday night, thirty-six hours after the shootings, their best lead was a series of suspicious phone calls the Oklahoma City office traced from Hot Springs to Deafy Farmer’s house south of Joplin. This suggested that someone from Hot Springs had called on Farmer to rescue Nash; now agents needed to learn who Farmer had telephoned in Kansas City. Phone records were in St. Louis. Amazingly, Reed Vetterli decided to write the phone company a letter instead of just telephoning. It would take four days for the records to arrive, during which time Verne Miller and everyone else involved in the massacre conspiracy got away.
That Saturday night, fifteen hours after the Kansas City Massacre, William Hamm’s intermediary, Billy Dunn, left St. Paul in a Ford coupe
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