Concrete Saint

I only hire assistance when I'm entertaining. When it comes to all the odds and ends, I know what I like, but I don't know how to prepare and present it. So no tea. Then, of course there's tea. I had just assumed you wanted to relay the information and get back to life as usual. Might as usual? Is that how you think this works? I would hope that you would be able to separate yourself from the work long enough to enjoy life. Yes, you don't know anything about

my life, Hank. I think you've forgotten why I hired you. See t what's in the envelope? Why that's the second half of your payment? Mr Briggs. You didn't think I'd forgotten, did you. That's simple humph. It's all there, shouldn't it be, That's sure, but neither of us known if I actually solved anything. Solve That was always a pressure word for motivation. If you will, I said, you would be chasing information,

and chase information you have. I would never allow you to go without reward for all your efforts, unless you feel that you have been careless. That's another matter. Entirely. I wouldn't say careless, but I do have a few questions. I realized that I wasn't as thorough as I could have been when you first brought me into this. But that's the tricky thing about hindsight. Right by all means ask me anything, who do you think killed her? I really wouldn't know. No, I know, But if you had

to guess, who'd you lean towards? I call it a hunch. You know those instincts of mine you talked about, the ones that make me picasso. You must have some of those instincts, right. I don't consider myself a detective in the slightest Mr Briggs, not even one guess. Come on, humor me, all this chasing, all this work, don't you want to know if you were right? I did I had a hunch when I started hunting and scrauching. Come on, just play along and take a guess if it turns

out to be right fastest murder ever solved. This is a very strange exercise, mister Briggs. I haven't the faintest idea one guess. Was it the doctor? Damn good guess? But no, you know, people still believe he was responsible for it, even after he had been cleared. I was one of those people. Really, yes, twice. Very interesting. I'm curious as to why clean cuts precision would have taken years of experience to be able to cut her up like that. That's very astute view. But it couldn't have

been him. You're sure, without question, z Aliba checked out clean as a whistle. Uh. That's a relief, you see. That is a job well done on your part. Do you know, Adler Harrison. I can't say that I do why relief. Relief is a pretty strong word to use for someone you've never met. You don't have to know someone to have empathy for them. Mister Briggs, I think you've done a wonderful thing for this man. Once the press are able to properly exonerate him, he may be

able to piece his career back together. After all, press, who's going to care at this point? You don't think the public will want to know new Plus, he's busy with Leonard Shaw's dirty work, so I don't think he's gonna want too much attention. Leonard Shaw the king himself. The last place he expected to be was in the middle of all this, with a punk like me questioning him. You met with Leonard Shaw, I did, and he's every bit to prick. I've been told he was. He's sick.

You know, kidneys are failing that Poe Man. I wouldn't waste your empathy on old Leo Benny Luck. He'll go quick. I'm surprised at you, Mr Briggs. I wouldn't have expected you to be so frivolous in regards to another suffering. It's funny you should say that, Sam. Why is that? That was my impression of you too. She didn't suffer, Hank. Not at any point did Marline suffer, So you don't deny it, Hank. I think we've done enough dancing today,

don't you. Butler t hunch Adler dip Once you said it wasn't Adler, I was satisfied you wanted me to know it was you. Now, that's not true. I was perfectly content to part ways with you today as the charitable donor, despite your failures. But once you mentioned Leonard, I knew you'd gotten closer than you were ever supposed to. You may not be a detective, Hank, but you're certainly not an idiot. Follow me, Hank. Why don't you just follow me and you can have all your answers before

you walk out of here? M h s. All of this, this was what you were bored. Bored. Quite the contrary, I've been more invested in this than anything I've ever done. Did you meet her at shots? I did, and that vile gigglow of a doctor stalking or hoping to make her one of his conquests. She had no interest in him at first, but at each gathering, however subtle, I could see a flirtation growing. And then what mm hmm, I wanted to paint her. She understood that I wasn't

a threat to her. Right over there is where she sat for me, and often it was there that we developed our friendship. You killed her in here. I wanted to capture what light she afforded the world before it left her in the same way, it leaves all of the innocence. Did you kill her in here as she died in this room? Yes, But as I said, she didn't suffer. I don't understand why I have any of this. Why out of reverence for her reverence, you pride her

ribs apart and drain her. I removed her impurity once the barbiturates entered her she was no longer clean. Left her in a parking lot so that she would be more accessible to the common man, just like the construction worker who found her, just like you noticed. Doesn't make any sense, of course it does. You're just not listening. Listen. Anyone is capable of being renewed, anyone is capable of salvation. Where you opened her arms and you crossed her legs,

what did all that mean? Uh? The search for artistic meaning has become overbearing ly un original. Don't you think it was simply the position in which I felt that

her innocence would be best preserved. Meaning destroys purity. Meanings when my heart began to suffer the most an obsession with meaning, as contradictory as it may sound, I would rather that we as intellectuals, abandoned the need for meaning, all of us, for it is only in the absence of meaning that we are emotionally and psychologically free to experience. There was a woman. Well there's always a woman, isn't there as appropriately so, as that is how we all

come into this world. Her name was Genevieve, and she took such loving care of me, such care that my memories honored her more than anyone. Still too. See, I wasn't ready. My style was crude, certainly wasn't art. It was harried and clumsy, and I was ashamed. I wanted to be rid of my failure. But it being quite a different canvas. It's not as if she could be thrown out in the bins, although in retrospect I suppose I could have. But I was so young and petuous

and overcome with fear an adrenaline. My only thought was fire. It was the only way in which I could absolve myself of both the shame and the act. My initial experience when she was gone, Oh it was unbearable. I was nineteen years old. The pain that I felt what's excruciating, as if someone was standing on my chest. Peeling away what I felt for her an inch at a time, pure dane, raw emotional movement that only exists in nature.

I tried to find meaning in her death for years after I left Paris, and the more I uncovered about her sordid tale of prostitution and disease and drug addiction, the more I uncovered about my own prejudice. I could no longer recognize her. When I thought of her. My thoughts were clouded with judgment and expletives and contempt. So I thought or less, and so I felt less until

I felt nothing. Ironic, isn't it At the end of my quest for meaning, she no longer held any meaning, And so I wept not for her, not for me, but for the loss of feeling itself. I wanted that feeling again. I wanted that feeling of loss, of emptiness, the raw emotional movement. I didn't ask Marline any personal questions, not one. See. I didn't want any part of her past. I wanted to know her, experience her only as she was at that time of her life. I wanted to

ensure her a perfect future. I wanted to develop the love necessary to feel it ripped from me the moment she was gone, her parents set right out there. No that ar her parents here when the feelings began to fade. There's nothing more powerful and more innocent than a mother's love. And I'd hope that her parents recollections of her might stir something inside of me. But nothing, nothing, And so it will continue as it always has, and she, like the others, will remain in this room with me as

I search for inspiration once again. What do you mean, remain in this room. I'm not a butcher, Hank, I'm an artist. My love for them went into my art. They are in my art. They are all in my art. In doing so, I make them clean again. What is this? It's a rebirth on canvas. Let's pay now. That is very much Marline's blood, you know it? How many here against the wall? This one is Marline, She's Unfortunately she was never intended for this series. They should have only

have ever been twenty seven paintings. Marlene was my masterpiece. I was certain that she wouldn't that she couldn't be ignored. She should have been the focal point of our time, not the irresponsible and reckless death of a heart throb or foreign nuclear weapons testing certainly not backseat to the most handsome bachelor of the year on the cover of Life magazine. She should have been on the cover of Life,

if we're all being honest with ourselves. I didn't want her to disappear, and so I made her clean again. I hope in you was that whatever you found would resurrect her importance. She could once again be unique as a work of art, as sculpture of beauty, distorted in her human form, fragmented in body, but never in soul. I am questionable, concrete Saint M twenty seven others. She wasn't meant for this, hank, And I assure you she wasn't. Oh,

I hardly think that's necessary. And that's where it ended. The tape didn't run out. There was more tape, but it was all blank. I threw in two more random tapes, and it was an older hank. So I pressed up and I sat there, and I knew who had killed Marlene Marie Evans. I knew who had killed the Angel of mine. And there was the confession. And now what was I supposed to do with it? This was a little bit bigger than an internet search. So I called the Herald's contact within the l A p D who

connected me to the cold case unit. I arranged to meet with them in hand over the tapes pertinent to the Angel of Vine and the rest is the rest. Actually, I shouldn't say the rest is the rest. That's too flippant. I don't want to dishonor Marlene's memory that way. Marlene had no next of kin, no one connected to her is still alive. But I would like us to take a moment to acknowledge her makes your rest in peace.

I would also like to acknowledge that, thanks to Hank Briggs, this is the oldest cold case ever to have been solved. But now we're faced with a new question. What the hell happened to Samuel Tench? Throughout his life and career. Samuel Tench was incredibly reclusive. No family, no close friends per se, only acquaintance is so he was free to travel to any destination anywhere on the planet at any moment in time, and he did. The only person in his life with whom he had consistent contact with was

his art dealer and occasional confident, Theodore Redmond. Redmond said that he had learned to live with the disappearing acts. It was part of Tench's creative process, he said, and whether it had been weeks or even months, when Tench would return from a pilgrimage, he would do so without

apology or explanation, as if he had never left. When Redmond couldn't get in touch with Tench around the fall of nineteen fifty seven, it was perfectly natural for him to think the Tench had left on another one of his excursions. By March of nineteen fifty nine, and still with no word from him, Redmond just assumed the Tench didn't want to be found, that he had decided to

leave the art world his way. In the summer of nineteen Redmond sold all of Samuel Tench's assets at auction, all except for the portraits that Redmond found in the studio behind the Garden. Those went back to New York with Redmond. Some were sold somewhere loan to museums and

other galleries. But that's all irrelevant now. As of today, you won't be able to find one of the twenty seven Samuel Tant water color portraits anywhere in the world, not in the Music Stockholm, the Tate, the Broad, Googgenheim, a private collector's home, and nowhere they've all been collected

as evidence because of Hanks tapes. Think about this tentious portraits painted in the blood of his twenty seven victims were hanging in some of the most famous spaces in the world for five decades, seen by billions of unaware patrons, some of whom probably got very close to the canvas,

as art observers tend to do. That's insane, and was even more insane is that there was an exhibition that took place at the Redmond Gallery in New York City, and of all twenty seven portraits, all twenty seven victims were in the same room at the same time, nobody knew, and when the exhibition was over, they were each ship back to wherever they came from until today. Now. Remember Tench said he only intended for there to be twenty seven Marlene made, but there are only twenty seven portraits.

Where is Marlene's watercolor portrait? It was never found. Redmond only brought twenty seven back to New York with him. So the mystery of the Angel of Vine is solved, only to become the mystery of Samuel Tench and the mystery of Hank Briggs for Tench? How many victims were there prior to him perfecting his art? And will we ever find out the names of the For Hank? Why didn't he tell anyone? I'll tell you what I think.

I think Hank Briggs killed Samuel Tench. I think he was face to face with a serial killer who he knew would kill again. Now there's absolutely zero proof that he killed Tench? So why hide the tapes? Guilt Shane? Why did Hank become the recluse that Samuel Tench has been? Is that the tradeoff once you've killed? I don't know, but that's what became of him. And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Hank just walked away that day, out of the garden, down the hall and into his car with ten tho

in cash. And maybe Tench did retire from the art world to spend the rest of his days in solitude overseas. It's possible, but I don't believe that, and Hank's family didn't either. You know how, when every engagement story one person gets awkward and clumsy and the other freaks out. This was that? Who is who? In this case? I freaked out? Really after we spoke, Okay, I was gonna say, you sounded perfectly calm on the phone, because my first

reaction was confusion, then shock, then freak out. I probably should have led with are you sitting down? All you said was he solved it? And then I have no idea what you said, but I did hear it was Tench. And that's when the adrenaline kicked in. When did she tell you? As soon as we got off the phone, she never calls the restaurant. Scared me half to death middle of the rush and Dale comes to the front and says, it's bet it's urgent. I don't I don't

even know what I said. You were yelling. I need the art for Oscar. I need the art for Oscar. I need to send the book in the art to Oscar. So I said, go again a tiger, right, No, that wasn't it. Oh right? The keys? Okay. What I said was why the hell are you calling me when you've got a set of keys, Go get them tiger. Then I told her about our call and Hank and Tench, and all I could think was get that artwork out of my house? Is all you said. All you said

was get that artwork out of my house. Just to clarify for our listeners, Um, what art are we talking about here? The art that we found in the ike, Yes, specifically three rolled canvases of Samuel Tench originals. I want to make it clear to our listeners that they are not three of the absolutely not. No. I have seen these works, I have handled them. They were definitely painted with the crilics. It was paint, thank god. Now you also mentioned a book, yes, Collected Poems of Robert's Service.

And what was the inscription? Hank to paint and canvas Samuel Hanks toast the day Tench hired him? So creepy. Um, let's let's shift subjects. What I really want to ask you about is Hank. Now, when I met you both almost a year ago, how many of the tapes did you listen to? None, just a sample? And now how many of you listened to all of them? All of them? What did your sister say? She has no memory of him at all, so it didn't really make a difference to her. She thought it was a good story, but

that was about it. What's the biggest difference for you? Now? I definitely think he killed tench mm hmm. Yeah, I'm kind of leaning that way too. What's the hesitation? I don't know. I I don't think there's any way to explain what it feels like to get to know your grandfather, get to like the man that you're getting to know, and then all of a sudden have to think of the possibility that this person who you really like may have murdered someone. It's does that make any sense? It's

it's difficult to understand. Yeah, I know, perfect sense, I get and see. For me, it's kind of the opposite. I liked him more for the idea that he was with a man he knew would kill again have given the chance, and he dealt with it. Interesting. I mean, I'm not advocating for vigilantism, but in this case, you know, greater good and all that. Did you wonder if maybe that's why he didn't come home when it was done.

I didn't. Actually, what I thought about the most was that my mother had absolutely no idea that any of this was going on, and I wish she could have known. I think it would have answered a lot of questions for her. Didn't answer questions, you arette, Yeah, I mean sure, I have a better understanding of who he was, and that would make sense. And so if that's why he disappeared, did it change how you felt about him? You know,

I don't know yet. I definitely felt sorry for him, but how I feel about him, Uh, it's a it's a good question. I'll have to get back to you, you know, all you do that right, please don't well. I think I can safely speak for an entire community of people when I say thank you, and personally, I would like to thank you both very very much for

trusting me with this man's life. Thank you for reaching out to me in the first place, and thank you for letting me into your home and your family history, and for being so open to all of my questions. Thank you, seriously, thank you for taking it on this responsibility. That was my pleasure, and I'm fairly confident that this experience will remain highlight I think that does it, Oh my plight. When I started this project, I didn't think

there would be a definitive answer to my questions. I thought we would learn more details in the Angel Vine case, more facts that would elaborate on what we already knew. But I really didn't think there would be an actual ending. There were so many tapes There are so many tapes, and they spanned from the last tape that I played you well into Hank's old age, And like Beth and Phillis, I listened to everything that Hank Briggs had to say.

Here was a family man with a great sense of humor, assault of the earth, do the right things, stand up, guy who didn't have a mean bone in his body, yet to catch a killer, he may have had to become one. What does that do to a person like Hank, For someone who was a good cop and wanted more than anything to be a great detective. Whatever went on in that studio after he stopped the tape, that is another mystery altogether. But if Hank the cop vanished that day,

then why not destroy the tapes? Why not destroy the art in the book of poetry? Unless that's all that was left to remind him of who he was and what he had sacrificed it all for Hank Briggs with a damn good detective, even if he didn't have a badge to show for it. I for one hope that he knew that, and that he left all of this for us so that we would too. There was a lot of information here, and I tried to compile it as efficiently and as effectively as possible in order to

bring you this story. It was an important story. Hank was onto something when he started recording the world around him, and by taking the time to stop and listen, he didn't have to miss a thing. As I leave you with Hank's final words, I would like to say, thank you, thank you for listening. I'm Oscar Simmons and this was the Angel of Vine. Jeesy to cry that you're beaten and die, jeezy to crawfish and crawl, but to fight, and to fight when hoops out of sight, Well that's

the best game of them all. And though you come out of each grueling, bout, broken, battered and scarred, just have one more try. It stead easy to die. It's the keeping on living that's hard. H I one time, come, oh way is my a joel E excuse me while I did SUPPI thank you for listening to the Angel of Vine. If you'd like to support us, please leave us a review and tell your friends to subscribe. The Angel of Vine is available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher,

and all major podcast apps. If you want more of the Angel of Vine, please check out our bonus episodes and extended episodes available exclusively on Stitcher Premium, including cast interviews, behind the scenes stories, journeys through Old Hollywood, and much more.

This season's performances by Joe Manganello, Constant Zimmer, Camilla Luddington, Oliver Vakhre, Alan Tuteck, Mike Colter, Misha Collins, Alfred Molina, Kary Peyton, Nolan North, Cree, Summer, Rebecca Field, Eric Bowsa, Matthew Mercer, Travis Willingham, Cary Walgren, Courtney Taylor, Steve Bloom, Mary Elizabeth McGlenn, Coco Lamaru, Tom Sibley, Ali Ruddy, Amari Williams, William DeMeritt Delaney, Hilen Patrick, Eazel, Philip Mershamon The Angel

Levine was written by Oliver Vacare, directed by E. Ryan Martz, Story by E. Ryan Martz, Jason sum Walton, Oliver Vacare. Lead sound designer was Joel Robbie. Additional sound design by Kevin du Ziblon, Matt Tamarello and Andrew Vernon. Recording engineer was Colin Rodgers. Produced by Vox Popular Incorporated in association with Forever Dog Podcast Network Associate producers William chip Beaman and Julia Bianco of the Holp Network. Recorded at Roundabout Entertainment, Burbank, California.

Angel I's performed by Desy Dennis Dyllan, Piano arrangement by James Harper, composed by Matt Dennis, Lyrics by Earl Brent, Cover art by Studio Lissara. This has been season one of the Angel Levine. Thank you for listening.