Season 07 Episode 11: Through the Looking Glass

to do his favorite thing in the entire world. Walter loved movies, and every Saturday afternoon he went to see whatever was playing at the local theater. Sometimes his mum, Christine, would go with him, but that day Christine was tired. She was a single mother working long hours at a telephone company to support herself and her son, and she desperately needed a rest, so she gave Walter a dime

and sent him off to the pictures. She watched as he paddled off down the road just before noon in his cordroy suit with a shirt, polished black shoes, and a gray cap. Walter liked to dress up for the cinema. It was only a short bike ride from the house, and the area was safe and sleepy. Parents didn't think twice about letting their kids go out alone during the day, But when Walter hadn't returned by four p m. Christine

began to worry. She called round to the houses of Walter's friends to see if he'd made a detour on his way back from the cinema, but nobody had seen him back home. Christine paced back and forth in her living room, staring out the window as every worst thought raised through her head. After five hours, her son had still not turned up. Unable to bear it any longer, she called the police and reported her son Walter as missing. You're listening to Unexplained and I'm Richard mc lean Smith.

Walter Collins's disappearance would have been alarming for Christine under any circumstances, but that spring there was even more reason to be fearful. Just three months earlier, a young man walked into Mount Vernon Junior High School in Ali's Lafayette Square and introduced himself as mister Cooper. He claimed to be an employed joy of local banker Perry Parker, whose

twelve year old daughter, Marian, attended the school. His instructions, he said, were to collect Marian immediately and take her home, as her father had suffered a terrible accident. Only Perry Parker had suffered no such accident, and he had never heard of any mister Cooper. The following day, Parker and his wife received a series of ransom notes demanding money in exchange for the safe release of their daughter. A rendezvous was arranged for two days later, whereupon Perry went

to meet with the mysterious mister Cooper. When he got there, Perry was hugely relieved to find the man waiting for him in his car, while his daughter, Marian was clearly visible in the seat beside him, staring out at the window. Perry was happy to see she was still alive, but oddly, when he called out to her, she seemed not to

register him. Terrified that she'd been drugged, Perry hurriedly bundled the money over to the man, who grabbed it, then jumped straight back into his car and drove off, but not before shoving the young girl out of the vehicle. As he sped off, Perry rushed toward his daughter, only to be suddenly gripped by a paralyzing horror. Marian's body lay still on the road. Her eyes were open, but only because they'd been fixed that way with piano wire. She'd been dead for some time, and both her arms

and legs were missing. Her limbs were later found in a Lycian park, barely a ten minute drive from Walter Collins's home. However, Marion Parker's his murderer was caught a few days later and identified as nineteen year old William Hickman. After committing what the Los Angeles Times called the most horrible crime of the nineteen twenties, he was sentenced to hang.

But in February of nineteen twenty eight, just as Hickman's murder trial was beginning, La Sheriff's deputies found the headless body of a teenage boy in a bag left in a ditch in Laparuente. He'd been shot through the heart and then decapitated. His murderer was very much still on the loose. After Christine called nine one one and reported while to missing, police officers across the region were given

his description. A nationwide search was launched, along with an appeal to the public for any information over the next few weeks, the Los Angeles Police Department received countless tips and leads from across the state of California. One person claimed to have seen Walter at a gas station in Glendale, a suburb of LA. The description was eerie. They said that the boy was dead in the backseat of a car, wrapped in newspaper like a mummy, with only his head

peeking out. Others reported that they'd seen Walter in San Francisco, more than three hundred miles north of Los Angeles. Walter's father, who was serving time in Falsome Prison, wondered if his son had been kidnapped by a former inmate with a grudge against him. When one lead suggested he might have been drowned in LA's Lincoln Park Lake, just south of Walter's home, they dragged the whole of it but found nothing.

Time and again the police came up empty handed, and even as the case gathered attention across the US, the trail went colder and colder. One bright day in May nineteen twenty eight, twelve year old Lewis Winslow and his ten year old brother Nelson left their home in Pomona, California, just east of La to attend a meeting of a local model yacht club, but the boys never came back. For two weeks, the police followed all leads again to no avail. Then one morning, the boy's family received a

note in the post, supposedly from the two brothers. It was scribbled on a page of a book taken from their local library. It made no sense whatsoever. The message stated that the boys had apparently gone on a trip to Mexico to find gold. A handful of police officers were sent to the Mexican border to look out for the boys in the hope they might spot them coming back into the United States if indeed they were even in Mexico in the first place, but they failed to

find them. The disappearance of the Winslows piled even more pressure onto the LAPD to find Walter Collins. All the while, the public were growing increasingly scared for the safety of their children. They needed answers. For months, the police continued in their efforts to unlock the mystery, until finally, in August, something extraordinary happened. It was one day in August, while walking her beat in DeKalb, Illinois, that local sheriff Helena Dolder picked up a young boy who seemed to be

living on the streets. The boy said little as she took him home and let him play with her children while she figured out what best to do with him. Then, finally the boy began to talk. He was Walter Collins, he said, and all he wanted was to go home to his mother in Los Angeles. Astonished, Sheriff Dolder quickly passed the information on to the LAPD. After months upon months of dead ends, it seemed finally the case was solved.

But better yet, Walter was alive. It's hard to imagine just how his mother, Christine must have felt when she received the calls that day. She drove faster than she ever had in her life to get to the police station to confirm Walter's identity. Sheriff Dolda's team in De Kalb had sent photos in advance of bringing the boy to the city so Christine could confirm it was indeed her son. It was just a formality as far as she was concerned, just one final hurdle to clear before

the nightmare could be over. Waiting to meet her at the station was Captain Joseph Jones, the head of the LAPD's juvenile division. He took her into his office and handed her the photographs, unable to suppress the triumphant smile that spread across his face. But when Christine looked down at the first picture, her face fell. It isn't Walter, she said. Sure. He had the same hair, the same dimples, and was a similar build, but as far as she

was concerned, it wasn't him. Captain Jones was stunned. Are you sure, he asked her, looking skeptical. Maybe all the stress of the last few months had clouded her memory of him, He said, Perhaps she should look again, and so she did. To lose a child is the worst thing that can ever happen to a parent. Christine wanted the boy to be Walter. She wanted it more than anything. Maybe I was wrong, she said, much to Captain Jones's relief. Congratulations,

he said to her, You've got your son back. Christine smiled weakly in return, Yes, she said, I have. It was a sweltering August morning when a crowd of reporters warmed the LAPD headquarters in downtown Los Angeles, jostling for position on the concrete steps. Only a select group of media outlets had been given access to go inside the building where Christine Collins would soon be reunited with her

missing son, Walter. Christine hadn't slept at all the night before, the image of the boy in the photograph loomed before her. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind raised, consumed by two completely contradictory thoughts. It wasn't him and it had to be him. Now, she stood stiffly in the police station hallway, trying not to visibly shake. Then, finally, she watched on as a small figure silhouetted in the distance,

walked towards her, flanked by two police detectives. As the boy drew closer, Christine felt dread curling in her stomach again. The physical resemblance was undeniable, but he didn't carry himself like Walter at all. His gait was stiff, almost formal, with none of the energy she associated with her son, and when he smiled at her, her chill ran down her spine. When she looked into his eyes, all she saw was a stranger. Christine looked round at the gathered journalists,

their pens poised impatiently over their notepads. She knew what they were expecting from her. Knew the role she was supposed to play, but she wasn't about to lie. She couldn't. She looked to Jones and said, loudly and clearly, I'm sorry, Captain, I do not think that is my son. Shocked murmurs broke out among the gathered reporters, who all began frantically writing, trying to take down every detail of this bizarre exchange. But Jones didn't seem fazed. He simply continued to smile

and told her that she was mistaken. The boy standing before her was Walter Collins. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. Christine was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, wrung out by months of terror and by the confusion of the past few days, and as she looked around at the police and the reporters, she saw only shocked and surprised faces. Were some even angry at her, She wondered, did they

think think she'd gone crazy? Not Able to recognize her own son, She looked down at the boy, who'd remained still and smiling up at her throughout. He held his hand out for her to take it. Could she be wrong, she thought, Captain Joan stepped forward, why don't you just take him home for a while, try him out, And with that, Christine took the boy's hand and led him away from the police station and into her car. For three weeks, Christine Collins did exactly as Captain Jones had asked.

The boy slept in Walter's bed, wore Walter's clothes, and played with Walter's toys. He was polite and pleasant, well behaved. He ate whatever she put in front of him, brushed his teeth, and went to bed when she told him to. And all that time Christine tried her hardest to believe it was Walter, But whenever she asked the boy anything about where he'd been or why he'd run away, he went quiet. It felt, for the most part that she was living in some kind of waking dream or a

parallel reality. Her house had been painfully empty for months in Walter's absence, but the presence of this child was even worse than the emptiness. It began to unnerve her. After some time, Christine invited a few of her most trusted friends into the house to see the boy for themselves. Much to her horror, they all agreed with her. The boy was not Walter. As much to prove it to herself as anything else, Christine procured copies of Walter's dental records.

It confirmed her worst fears. Walter had had several fillings over the years, whereas this boy had none. In fact, judging by the state of his teeth, he'd never visited a dentist in his life, and so three weeks after bringing the boy home, Christine took him back to the LAPD and brought Walter's dental records with her. In addition, Christine took a handful of sworn statements from various people in her life who knew Walter, testifying that the boy

was not him. Once again, Captain Joseph Jones was there to meet her, but this time without the smile. As he led her into an interrogation room, she felt like a criminal. As she laid out her evidence piece by piece, Captain Jones's face hardened and the muscles in his neck tensed. He wouldn't even look at her as she spoke. When she finished, he stayed silent for a long time, then

finally asked quietly, what are you trying to do? Christine didn't understand the question, are you trying to make fools out of all of us, he hissed, Or are you trying to shirk your duty as a mother and have the state provide for your son? You are the most cruel hearted woman I've ever known. Christine was stunned into silence.

Perhaps Captain Joseph Jones genuinely believed what he was saying, or perhaps he was so committed to the idea of himself as the heroic cop who'd successfully brought Walter Collins home that he just wasn't willing to give that away. Either way, his mind was made up. You're under arrest, he said. Christine blinked, had she heard that correctly? You're insane, said Jones, and you belong in the madhouse. Then he promptly handcuffed her and told his officers to prepare a car.

Captain Jones had Christine committed to the Los Angeles County General Hospital, where she underwent a battery of cognitive and neurological tests. She was given no indication of when or if she would ever be released. Based on what Jones told them, psychiatric staff at the hospital probably suspected that Christine had a psychological condition called capgrass syndrome, which is

also called the delusion of doubles. The syndrome is an extremely rare delusion in which a person believes that a loved one has been replaced by a doppel ganger, a change link, if you like. It can be a symptom of psychiatric illnesses like schizophrenia or schizo effective disorder, and can also be caused by brain damage or by neurological conditions like Alzheimer's disease. Christine had none of these. With Walter Collins's mother out of the way, Captain Jones had

hoped the issue would quickly disappear. He could maintain that she was the problem. But with the supposed Walter now back in police custody, things soon began to unravel when its colleagues questioned him. At first, he seemed shy, maybe nervous, unwilling to answer their questions, But when one officer demanded to know directly if his name was Walter, the boy finally cracked. No. He said his name was Arthur Hutchins and he was from Iowa. He'd made it all up

like something from a grim's fairy tale. Twelve year old Arthur Hutchins had a lot to run away from. After his mother's death the year before, he'd been sent to live with his emotionally distant father and his stepmother. Their house was in an isolated part of Iowa, where Arthur had felt cut off from the rest of the world. He was miserable and lonely and couldn't see any future for himself. So in June of ninetheen twenty eight, he fled.

He hitched a ride out of the state, ending up in Illinois, where he tried to scrape a living through odd jobs. It was tough. He worried constantly that his father and stepmother would catch him and force him to come home. What he needed was a whole new identity. One day, when Arthur was at a roadside Dinah, a couple stopped him. They asked if he was from California. Confused, he said no. The couples shook their heads in astonishment. He looked so much like him that boy who went

missing in La Walter Collins. Arthur was intrigued. Back at his father's in Iowa. One of the only things that brought him comfort had been watching cowboy movies. He'd sometimes fantasized about going to Los Angeles and meeting his favorite Western star Tom Mix. Now an opportunity had been dropped in his lap, and he knew he had to seize it.

He didn't hesitate, didn't stop to think. So when he bumped into Sheriff Elenor Donder, he told her that he was Walter Collins, and so the erard began hearing all this. Captain Joseph Jones finally had to admit to himself that Christine Collins had been right all along. Not only had his department failed to bring home her missing son, they had treated her like a criminal and put her through

psychological hell. When she was finally released from the psychiatric ward after five days, Christine, still without any news on the fate of her real son, was furious. She filed a false imprisonment complaint against Jones, his police chief James Davis, and the city of Los Angeles. With his career and reputation on the brink, Captain Jones was now hell bent on finding something, anything, to redeem the bungled Walter Collins investigation.

They needed a breakthrough and fast. Around the same time, when Albert Hutchins ruse was discovered, nineteen year old Jesse Clark traveled from her home in Canada to a small farm holding in Riverside County, California, about fifty miles east of la The land belonged to a mister Northcott, who two years previously had bought it up for his then

nineteen year old son, Gordon. Under the pretext of needing help to build a house and a chicken coop, Gordon invited his nephew, the then eleven year old Sandford Clerk, Jesse's brother, to come and stay with him. Having not heard from her brother for a few years, Jesse decided to travel down to Riverside County to see if he

was okay. What Jesse found there shocked her. Her brother, Sandford was no longer the bright young boy who'd left Canada four years before, and he was clearly terrified of Gordon. Late one night, he revealed that Gordon was keeping him a prisoner at the ranch and that he'd done unspeakable things to him and had also murdered at least four

boys during his time there. A terrified Jesse returned home the following week and immediately contacted US Immigration services were sent to the Northcott branch to question Gordon, but When he saw them approaching, he fled. He and his mother, Sarah Luise, were eventually picked up in Vernon in Western Canada.

As it transpired, it was all true. Gordon, with the help of his mother, had murdered and molested those boys, along with possibly sixteen others, including the Winslow brothers and the boy whose decapitated body was found in a bag in Lapoente, and according to Sanford Clark, he had murdered Walter Collins too. Six months on from Walter's disappearance, the LAPD finally had a suspect. Now the truth was finally out and people understood the full extent of what Christine

Collins had been put through. The story spread like wildfire, drawing outrage across the country. The Police Commission held a hearing but ultimately refused to discipline Captain Jones. However, the city's Health and Welfare Committee didn't let him off so easily. With Christine there to give testimony, backed up by her dentist, the committee felt they had no choice but to recommend the removal of both Captain Jones and his chief James Davis.

Both were suspended from the department and Captain Jones was ordered to pay eleven thousand dollars in damages to Christine, close to two hundred thousand dollars in today's money. But what Christine wanted more than anything else was answers. She wanted to know what had happened to her son. When the police searched the north Cott's chicken farm, they found

at least two graves containing human remains. They also found clothing and possessions belonging to several of Northcott's victims, strongly suggesting that the remains were theirs, but they found no trace of Walter Collins. In December nineteen twenty eight, Gordon Northcott was charged with four counts of murder in a spree that became known as the Wineville Chicken Coop murders.

Walter Collins was among the named victims, but Gordon's mother and accomplice, Sarah Louise Northcott, was first to stand trial. Much to the surprise of everyone present, she confessed to murdering Walter herself with an axe. She claimed that the murder took place on March sixteen, six days after Walter

had gone missing. Everybody was stunned by this admission, not least of all Gordon Northcott himself, who called his mother crazy when he heard the news, but her confession was good enough for the judge who sentenced her to life in prison. Two months later, Gordon Northcott was found guilty of killing three of the four victims, all except Walter. Given the lack of physical evidence and the fact that Sarah Luise had already confessed to killing Walter, this didn't

come as a surprise to anyone. On paper, Walter's killer had been captured and convicted, but the lack of clarity surrounding the Northcott's confessions left a lingering sense of confusion. Christine, who'd endured close to a year of agony, was still desperate for concrete answers, and so when she received a telegram from Gordon Northcott in the fall of nineteen thirty, she clung onto every word. Northcott was on death row

at the time, and his execution was days away. He told Christine that if she came to visit him in person on the eve of his execution, he would tell her the truth about what happened to Walter. Christine didn't hesitate. On October twod she arrived at San Quentin Prison and was escorted in to see north Cot, but when they came face to face, Northcott seemed to lose his nerve. I don't want to see I don't know anything about it.

I'm innocent, he pleaded pathetically before being led away. Chris Rostein hoped to use the ten thousand dollars that Captain Jones was ordered to pay her to continue her search for Walter, but he never paid it. Every time he was called back to court to explain himself, he simply claimed to be broke. To add insult to injury. He was soon after reinstated at the LAPD, as was his

superior chief, James Davis. But some things did change. As a resolve to Christine's relentless pursuit of justice after her wrongful imprisonment claim, California lawmakers passed a bill that drastically limited the police's ability to commit people against their will. Much ambiguity and unanswered questions still surrounded the Wineville Chicken Coop murders. Five years after Gordon Northcott was hanged, one of the boys he was accused of killing turned out

to be alive. Sadly for Christine, it wasn't Walter. Buoyed by this development, However, she never gave up hope that her son was alive. She continued to search for him write up until the day she died in December nineteen sixty four. To this day, no physical trace of Walter has ever been found. This episode was written by Emma Dibden and produced by me Richard McLain smith Unexplained as an Avy Club Productions podcast created by Richard McClain Smith.

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