The Twelve Nightmares of Christmas, Day Eight: Professor Gladstone and the Murderer
(This story comes from Spirits of Christmas: The Dark Side of the Holidays, available at www.bookshop.org and on Amazon.)
The small town of Beechy, Saskatchewan, didn’t see much excitement during the year. But the evening of December 10, 1932, was a special occasion. That night, people were braving the wintry weather and flocking to the small movie theater in town. There weren’t coming to see Bette Davis or Gary Cooper, or the antics of the Marx Brothers or the snide sarcasm of W.C. Fields. They were there to see a live performance by “Professor Gladstone, Mentalist”—a real live mind reader, or so he claimed.
The house lights dimmed, and the audience settled in for an evening of exciting entertainment. They had no idea of how much drama would shortly come from that small stage.
Professor Gladstone was tall, with a distinguished manner well-befitting a mind reader and showman. He put on a memorable performance as he worked the show for nearly an hour, astounding the audience with his uncanny powers of mentalism. Unbeknownst to the audience, the show was about to get a lot more interesting.
Gladstone stopped his dramatic pacing around the stage, and went eerily still for a few long moments. The audience began to murmur their uncertainty. What was wrong? Then Gladstone snapped to attention and stared out over the audience. He locked eyes with a local rancher named Bill Taylor.
“At this moment, you are thinking of your friend Scotty McLaughlan,” Gladstone intoned. As Taylor blinked in astonishment, the mind reader added, “Scotty McLaughlan was the victim of a foul, brutal murder.”
A ripple of shock rustled through the theater. Three years before, McLaughlan had farmed in the area with a partner, John Schumacher. He’d had plans to sell his share of the farm to Schumacher and move to British Columbia. He had intended to take the night train out of town on January 16, 1930. His friends had shown up at the station to see him off and wish him luck, but McLaughlan had never arrived to catch his train. The police had been notified, but the investigation had long gone cold.
Professor Gladstone wasn’t finished making electrifying announcements. He pointed to another man in the audience, and announced, “He will find the body—and I myself will be with him when he does!” It was another bombshell: the man Gladstone had pointed to was Constable Carey, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer for the town.
Constable Carey was, himself, shocked at Gladstone’s revelations. The next morning, he called RCMP headquarters in Saskatoon. He told Corporal Jack Woods about the previous night’s astounding scene at the theater. Woods did a quick background check on Professor Gladstone, and decided to reopen the case. Whether one believed in mind-reading powers or not, Gladstone’s act had reminded the community that one of their citizens had been missing for nearly three years. If nothing else, the police would do well to take advantage of the renewed interest in the situation.
When Corporal Woods arrived, Constable Carey contacted Professor Gladstone, and the three men began to canvass the town of Beechy and the outlying farming community. They spent the entire day talking to people, mostly getting a rehash of the same dead-end information that Carey had heard in January 1930. But they caught a break in the case late that afternoon.
A farmer who was impressed by Gladstone’s talents admitted that before McLaughlan had gone missing, John Schumacher had come to see him in a towering rage. The farmer had no idea why Schumacher was so worked up, but he did say that Schumacher had threatened to kill the “damned Scotsman”.
This new evidence was enough to send the policemen, with Gladstone in tow, out to Schumacher’s farm that same night. As the tires of the car crunched on Schumacher’s driveway, Gladstone insisted that McLaughlan’s body was somewhere on the property.
John Schumacher, however, stuck to the story he’d told when McLaughlan had gone missing. He’d kept the story simple: Scotty had wanted to leave for British Columbia, so he (Schumacher) had paid Scotty a few hundred dollars for his share of the land. He had never seen Scotty again, and had no idea where he was now.
The Mounties found Schumacher’s story a little too pat, and started asking more questions. Schumacher, sensing their suspicions, clammed up. Just as the police were about to give up in frustration, Professor Gladstone spoke. He painted a sordid picture of the crime. Scotty had indeed come to Schumacher seeking payment for his share of the farm. But Schumacher had started a fight. The two men had wandered, still arguing, close to the barn. The argument had turned violent. A blow fell, and another, and another … Schumacher had buried McLaughlan’s body near the barn.
John Schumacher’s stubborn silence said more than a desperate denial ever could. The next morning, the police officers and Gladstone returned, and they brought a group of other men from the community.
The men were all carrying picks and shovels.
The group looked to Professor Gladstone for instructions. The mind reader concentrated fiercely for a few brief moments. Then he pointed to a frozen pile of manure. “Dig there. You’ll find him.”
Two hours later, the men’s hands were beginning to go numb with the cold. John Schumacher stood nearby, still saying nothing. The group was still working, but they weren’t digging with the same frenzy as when they’d started. Could the professor have been wrong this whole time?
Suddenly, a shovel edge scraped against not hard-frozen dirt, but something more yielding—a woolen sock. There was something in the ground. Soon, the diggers had unearthed an entire skeleton. Shreds of rotting cloth lay limply on the bones. The men fell silent.
“That scarf … it’s … it’s Scotty’s,” one man said in a sick, strangled voice.
The skull, when pried from the frozen grave and brushed off, showed three distinct fractures. John Schumacher broke down and admitted to the murder. He was convicted and sentenced, and justice was finally served.
The case brought Professor Gladstone the kind of publicity money just can’t buy. His career flourished, and he continued to perform for many years. As good as he was, though, he never had another show as dramatic as the one he played in Beechy, Saskatchewan, on December 10, 1932.
If you enjoyed this true crime tidbit, I’ve got a treat for you. My latest book, Grave Deeds and Dead Plots Volume Two, has a companion podcast. You can find it at www.voyagemedia.fm . And speaking of podcasts, Darren Marlar, over at www.weirddarkness.com, has a great one. Go check it out! Shoo! Go on! (You’ll dig it, I promise.)
