Serial Killers: Confessions of a Cannibal (2 page)

The Budd family – Albert and his wife Delia, together with their children Edward, Albert Jr., George, Grace and Beatrice – lived in a cramped ground-floor apartment at 406 West 15
th
Street, in Manhattan’s Chelsea district. Albert worked as a porter for the Equitable Life Insurance Company. He was a slim man, slightly stooped, with one glass eye and the air of someone who had been solidly defeated by his hard life. Mrs. Budd, by contrast was a mountainous woman, with flapping jowls that gave her the appearance of a pugnacious bulldog. Of the children, Edward was the eldest, a strapping and athletically built 18-year-old. Grace was ten, sweet-tempered and strikingly pretty, with large brown eyes and brown hair styled in a fashionable bob.

Grace Budd

In May 1928, Edward Budd was working part time as a truck driver but was frustrated at being unable to find permanent employment. He had resolved to get out of the city for the summer, to find work out in the country for a few months. His mother had suggested that he place a classified advertisement in the New York World, and Edward had thought that that was a great idea. And so, on Friday, May 25, he’d taken the subway to the paper’s Manhattan offices and paid for a small ad in the Sunday edition. It read: “Young man, 18, wishes position in country. Edward Budd, 406 West 15
th
Street.”

Edward Budd wasn’t sure if his ad would deliver the job he wanted. In truth, he’d placed it more in hope than in expectation. But at least one person who read the ad that Sunday paid attention. He was, in fact, an avid reader of the classifieds, devouring them with as much interest as the stories occupying the rest of the paper. And Edward’s ad had definitely piqued his interest.

At around 3:30 p.m. on Monday 28, there was a knock at the door of the Budds’ apartment. Delia Budd went to answer it, and opened up on an elderly man, neatly dressed in a dark suit and black hat, with a newspaper tucked under his arm.

“May I help?” Mrs. Budd asked.

The old man removed the newspaper from under his arm. It was folded back to the classified section, which he now tapped. “Is this the Budd residence?” he asked. “I’m looking for Edward Budd.” Then, seeing the look of perplexity on Mrs. Budd’s face, he added. “It’s about his ad in yesterday’s World.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place then,” Mrs. Budd said, suddenly beaming. “I’m Edward’s mother.”

The old man tipped his hat and inclined his head slightly. “My name is Frank Howard, Mrs. Budd. I’m here with an offer that your boy might find interesting.”

Delia Budd regarded the kindly looking gentleman for a moment longer, then moved her huge bulk aside and gestured him into the apartment. “Look at my manners,” she said. “Please, Mr. Howard, come inside. Eddie’s over at a friend’s house, but I’ll sent my daughter to fetch him.” Then, as Howard shuffled into the apartment at an awkward gait, she called out to 5-year-old Beatrice and told her to fetch her brother from his friend Willie Korman’s apartment.

Howard’s eyes lit up when he saw the little girl. “Why you remind me of my own granddaughter,” he said, ruffling the child’s hair. Then he fished around in his pocket and came up with a nickel, which he placed in Beatrice’s palm. After muttering a shy “thank you,” Beatrice went dashing from the apartment to fetch her brother.

By the time Edward arrived minutes later, with Willie Korman in tow, Frank Howard was seated in an armchair sipping from a glass of lemonade. He ran an appraising eye over the boys and half-raised himself to shake hands as the introductions were made, wincing with the effort. Then he settled himself back into the chair and began to describe his situation.

According to Howard, he’d spent most of his working life as a painter and decorator in Washington D.C. He had been decorous with his earnings, so that when he was no longer able to keep up with the physical demands of his trade, he had enough squirreled away to buy a small farm in Farmingdale, Long Island. His investment though, had come at a price. His wife had hated country life and had deserted the family, leaving him to care for his six children alone. Still, it was a good life. He had chickens and milk cows that provided him with a steady income, allowing him to employ a cook and five farmhands. Now came the crux of his problem. One of his workers had decided to move on, and Howard was looking for someone to replace him.

“I won’t lie to you,” the old man said. “The work is hard. But you look like a strapping young man and I am sure that you will do just fine. I am prepared to pay $15 per week. What do you say?”

“I say yes,” Edward responded immediately. This sounded too good to be true. $15 a week was more than generous. “I was wondering though Mr. Howard, if you wouldn’t have another position available. My pal Willie here is also looking for a summer job.”

Howard appeared to consider that for a moment, all the while eyeing Willie. “Alright,” he said eventually. “There’s plenty of work to keep the both of you out of mischief.”

A few minutes later Howard was on his way, having instructed the boys to pack their oldest clothes and to expect him on Saturday afternoon, when he’d arrive with a car to drive them to Farmingdale.

Frank Howard didn’t show up on the Saturday, like he was supposed to. Edward and Willie spent the day hanging impatiently around the Budds’ apartment, becoming more convinced with each passing hour that the old man had duped them. To what purpose though, was a mystery. Then, late in the afternoon, there was finally a knock at the door.

The boys rushed to answer it, fully expecting to see their new employer on the doorstep. To their disappointment, it was only a Western Union delivery boy. The note he handed over, was from Frank Howard. “Been in New Jersey,” it read. “Call in morning.”

Eddie and Willie were disappointed at the delay, but pleased that their initial suspicion, that the job offer had been some sort of hoax, had been unfounded. So they’d have to wait another day. It wasn’t the end of the world. They’d waited this long.

Over in his apartment on East 100
th
Street, the man who called himself Frank Howard was also frustrated at the delay. He’d had to push back his plans by a day in order to complete his preparations. There were tools to be bought and he found them at Sobel’s pawnshop on Second Avenue. There was also the question to be mulled. Could he go through with this? Edward Budd had not been what he’d expected. He was bigger and stronger. And now there was the added problem of the Korman boy. Could he handle both of them? Howard thought that he could. The element of surprise would be with him. Besides, he’d been doing this for a very long time.

At around mid-morning on Sunday, June 3, a gray muggy day in New York City, Frank Howard disembarked from the subway at 14
th
Street. He was dressed in his best suit, the same threadbare ensemble he’d worn on his first visit to the Budd residence. Today, he carried a package under his arm, wrapped in red-and-white striped canvas. The package felt comfortably weighty and emitted the occasional clink of metal-on-metal as he walked. In his other hand, Howard carried another recent purchase, a small, white enamel pail.

It was several blocks to the Budds’ apartment, but Howard didn’t mind that. He had a couple of purchases to make before he got there. The first of those was transacted at a German delicatessen, where he paid to have his pail filled with fresh pot cheese. Then, at a sidewalk stall, he bought a bushel of ripe strawberries. Finally, he stopped at a newsstand to buy a copy of the New York World. He had a favor to ask the stall owner. Would he be prepared to mind his package for an hour or so? The news seller took one look at the frail old man juggling his many packages and agreed to help. Howard handed over the striped parcel and then set off for the Budd’s apartment, just a block away. At around 11, he knocked at the door.

Delia Budd greeted her son’s new employer warmly, then accepted his gifts of cheese and strawberries with delight. “These are from my farm,” Howard explained. “I guarantee that you’ll never taste sweeter strawberries nor finer cheese.” Inside, Mrs. Budd introduced Howard to her husband, still dressed in his best suit, having attended church that morning.

“Edward’s over at Willie’s house again,” Mrs. Budd said, “But he’ll be in shortly for lunch. I trust that you’ll join us, Mr. Howard.”

“I’d be delighted,” Frank Howard said.

While Mrs. Budd busied herself preparing the meal, Howard sat down with her husband in the lounge. There he explained to Albert Budd that he’d been unable to come the previous day because he’d had to go to New Jersey to view some horses for sale. “I hope that Edward wasn’t too disappointed,” he said. “I trust that he got my message?” Budd said that he had and thanked Howard for sending it.

“You wouldn’t perhaps still have it?” Howard enquired.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Albert Budd said. “It’s over there, on the mantelpiece.”

Then, as Mrs. Budd entered the room to announce that lunch was ready, Frank Howard did a curious thing. He walked over to the mantelpiece, picked up the message and slipped it into his pocket.

Lunch was ham hocks and cabbage, the heated up remains of the previous evening’s dinner, with Mr. Howard’s plump strawberries offered as dessert. The Budds and their guest had just sat down at the kitchen table when they heard the front door open and close again. “That will be Gracie,” Mrs. Budd said. She called out to her daughter. A moment later, Grace appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Frank Howard, just about to stuff a forkful of cabbage into his mouth, stopped in mid-motion. The girl was beautiful, pale with lustrous mid-brown hair and large eyes that seemed to sparkle. She was still in her church outfit, a white silk dress with white stockings and matching pumps. A string of imitation pearls hung from her neck, making her look more mature than her ten years. She smiled shyly at the stranger sitting in her kitchen, then averted her eyes towards the floor.

“This is Mr. Howard,” her mother said. “Say hello.”

“Hello,” Gracie mumbled, eyes still downcast.

Howard had now placed his fork down on the plate and appeared to have lost any interest he might previously have had in his meal. “Come here, child,” he said patting his knee. Grace cast a nervous look towards her mother, who nodded encouragingly. Then she stepped across the room and stood beside Howard.

The old man’s attention was now entirely on the child. He peppered her with questions. What grade was she in at school? What were her favorite subjects? Who was her best friend? Grace answered shyly but politely. She flinched when the old man reached out a gnarled hand to stroke her hair, but allowed him to do it. He told her how pretty she was, and how charming. Finally, Howard slid his hand into his pocket. “Let’s see how good a counter you are,” he said and produced a thick bundle of bills, which he placed on the table. Mr. and Mrs. Budd exchanged a look. They had seldom seen so much money. “Go on” Howard urged Grace, “Count it.” 

Obediently, Grace counted out the notes, summing a total of $92. Then Howard reached into his pocket again and produced a handful of coins. Grace tallied those at 50¢. “What a clever girl you are!” Howard exclaimed, then scooped up the coins and placed them in Grace’s hand. “There you are. Go and buy some candy for you and your sister.” Again the girl looked nervously towards her mother who gave her a nod of consent.

“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” Grace beamed. Then she rushed towards the door clutching her bounty.

“If you see Eddie out there,” her mother called after her. “Tell him Mr. Howard’s here.”

Edward and Willie Korman showed up minutes later, Willie clutching his duffel bag and both of them looking eager to be on their way. But as it turned out, their new employer was about to disappoint them again. After apologizing for not picking them up the previous day, Howard said that he was not able to take them out to the farm right away. He explained that his sister was throwing a birthday party for his young niece that afternoon, and that he was obliged to attend. Seeing the disappointment on the young men’s faces he dug into his pocket and produced his bankroll again.

“Tell you what,” he said, peeling off a couple of bills. “Here’s two dollars. Why don’t you boys go to the pictures this afternoon? I’ll go to the party and I’ll pick you up later, on my way home.”

Eddie and Willie were happy to accept. After woofing down a quick lunch they were out of the door and on their way to a matinee. By then Grace had returned, carrying a bagful of candy for her and Beatrice. Howard meanwhile had finished off his lunch and was sipping noisily from a cup of coffee. He seemed misty-eyed, lost in thought. Finally, he put down his cup, consulted his pocket watch and announced that it was time to leave.

It was while thanking the Budds for their hospitality and assuring them that he’d be by later to collect Edward that an idea seemed to occur to him. He wondered whether the Budds would allow Gracie to accompany him to the birthday party. There’d be lots of girls her own age, he said, and he was sure that she’d have a great time. And he promised that he’d have her back by nine, the hour that he’d agreed to meet Edward and Willie. “What do you say, Mrs. Budd? Can she go?”

Delia Budd looked across at her husband. Her inclination was to thank Howard for his kind offer but to say no. After all, they hardly knew the old man. Then again, what harm was there. Frank Howard was, after all, a kindly and generous old gentleman. The last thing she wanted was to offend the old farmer who had so kindly offered her son employment.

It was Albert Budd who broke the impasse, brief though it was. “Let the poor kid go,” he said. “She don’t see much good times.”

And with that it was settled. Delia Budd had only one more question for Howard. Where, she asked, did his sister stay? “In a fine building at 137
th
and Columbus,” Howard offered, which seemed to satisfy Mrs. Budd. The old man then consulted his pocket watch again. “We’ll have to leave right away, however. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

Five minutes later, Albert and Delia Budd stood on the sidewalk and watched as their pretty, ten-year-old daughter walked away with Frank Howard. Grace was wearing her best coat and had a gray hat with blue streamers. In her hand she clutched a small leather handbag. She looked quite the little lady. Beside her, Howard hobbled along at his odd bow-legged gait. As the Budds continued watching, the odd couple turned the corner and was gone from view. Half a block on, Howard stopped at the newsstand to retrieve his canvas-wrapped package. Something inside made a metallic clink as he picked it up.