every day, had a difficult time recalling much about him. In addition, he’d heard nothing inside the compartment to suggest an attack of such brutal intensity. Surely the girl had screamed at some point, but no one reported having heard anything.
Still, it was apparent that the unfortunate victim had been familiar with her killer, possibly was even his lover, although from reports soon offered by her shocked family, it was clear she was not his wife. Janina was not married at all. She had merely pretended to be, which signaled familiarity with this man, as well as a willingness to travel with him in relative privacy and keep the liaison secret. Thus her parents could offer no name or description of anyone Janina knew who might be responsible for her death. They had not even known that she was involved with anyone. However, they did reveal one key piece of information that moved the investigation closer to resolution.
As detectives questioned Janina’s parents, they learned that her sister, fourteen-year-old Aniela, had also been murdered. Two years earlier in Warsaw, Aniela was attacked in a similar manner. These grieving parents had lost both daughters to murder, and it seemed impossible that the killings were unrelated. The police knew they would have to check out all family acquaintances, because the circumstances pointed to someone who had known both girls. They also indicated that this person had not been as careful as initially surmised. Victimizing sisters would have left a trail and possible witnesses that could narrow the pool of suspects.
Red Ink
Major Ciznek, the lead investigator of the Warsaw Homicide Squad, believed that the girls had been acquainted with the same maniacal killer and that he had ingratiated himself somehow with both, one at a time, with the intent of slaughtering them. He was too careful to be considered psychotic. Ciznek questioned the parents in the hope of finding a viable suspect among the acquaintances of both girls, but they could think of no one. Of course, their neighbors would have to be checked out, along with any known sex offenders from the area who might have spotted the girls. But there was one item that offered hope: the red-lettered note found on the train.
The police had seen such notes before, written and delivered on the eve of major holidays, around the time of the murders of other young women. The “Red Spider,” as the press had dubbed him, seemed to have struck again, just as he’d boasted in the note. But this time, the police had some leverage. They believed he had made a crucial error and they reviewed the cases that seemed to be linked.
The first message in red ink had arrived on July 4, 1964, at the office of Marion Starzynski, editor of the Warsaw newspaper Prezeglad Polityczny . “There is no happiness without tears,” it said, “no life without death.” But it was the last line of this note that sent a chill of alarm through those who read it. “Beware! I am going to make you cry.”
There was no return address, no signature, and no way to know who had sent it. But it was written in longhand, using bright red ink. The letters were thin and uneven, suggesting that it had been written in blood, although it had not dried to the dark brown color or consistency of actual blood. This killer wanted to create a dramatic effect.
Starzynski wondered if the threat was directed at him. Given the visibility of a newspaper editor, one never knew. Sometimes a person just sought publicity and looked to the newspapers; other times a reader might be angry at an item or comment in the paper and hold the editor accountable. Since these correspondents were not personal enemies, it was difficult to identify them, and Starzynski could think of no one who might have sent such a missive, even as a joke. It worried him. Instead of ignoring the ominous message, he took it to the police. They recorded the incident, but were just as helpless as the editor in determining the
Still, it was apparent that the unfortunate victim had been familiar with her killer, possibly was even his lover, although from reports soon offered by her shocked family, it was clear she was not his wife. Janina was not married at all. She had merely pretended to be, which signaled familiarity with this man, as well as a willingness to travel with him in relative privacy and keep the liaison secret. Thus her parents could offer no name or description of anyone Janina knew who might be responsible for her death. They had not even known that she was involved with anyone. However, they did reveal one key piece of information that moved the investigation closer to resolution.
As detectives questioned Janina’s parents, they learned that her sister, fourteen-year-old Aniela, had also been murdered. Two years earlier in Warsaw, Aniela was attacked in a similar manner. These grieving parents had lost both daughters to murder, and it seemed impossible that the killings were unrelated. The police knew they would have to check out all family acquaintances, because the circumstances pointed to someone who had known both girls. They also indicated that this person had not been as careful as initially surmised. Victimizing sisters would have left a trail and possible witnesses that could narrow the pool of suspects.
Red Ink
Major Ciznek, the lead investigator of the Warsaw Homicide Squad, believed that the girls had been acquainted with the same maniacal killer and that he had ingratiated himself somehow with both, one at a time, with the intent of slaughtering them. He was too careful to be considered psychotic. Ciznek questioned the parents in the hope of finding a viable suspect among the acquaintances of both girls, but they could think of no one. Of course, their neighbors would have to be checked out, along with any known sex offenders from the area who might have spotted the girls. But there was one item that offered hope: the red-lettered note found on the train.
The police had seen such notes before, written and delivered on the eve of major holidays, around the time of the murders of other young women. The “Red Spider,” as the press had dubbed him, seemed to have struck again, just as he’d boasted in the note. But this time, the police had some leverage. They believed he had made a crucial error and they reviewed the cases that seemed to be linked.
The first message in red ink had arrived on July 4, 1964, at the office of Marion Starzynski, editor of the Warsaw newspaper Prezeglad Polityczny . “There is no happiness without tears,” it said, “no life without death.” But it was the last line of this note that sent a chill of alarm through those who read it. “Beware! I am going to make you cry.”
There was no return address, no signature, and no way to know who had sent it. But it was written in longhand, using bright red ink. The letters were thin and uneven, suggesting that it had been written in blood, although it had not dried to the dark brown color or consistency of actual blood. This killer wanted to create a dramatic effect.
Starzynski wondered if the threat was directed at him. Given the visibility of a newspaper editor, one never knew. Sometimes a person just sought publicity and looked to the newspapers; other times a reader might be angry at an item or comment in the paper and hold the editor accountable. Since these correspondents were not personal enemies, it was difficult to identify them, and Starzynski could think of no one who might have sent such a missive, even as a joke. It worried him. Instead of ignoring the ominous message, he took it to the police. They recorded the incident, but were just as helpless as the editor in determining the
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