#winnieruth

In 2014, a letter that Winnie Ruth Judd had written to her attorney Howard G. Richardson in 1933 was discovered within the Arizona state archives. It had been there since 2002, when it was donated, along with other letters Winnie had written to her attorney’s wife, begging for the original letter back. Mrs. Richardson did not comply, but it seems the family decided to wait until Winnie Ruth’s death to donate the letters. This new confession letter matched up with police reports, trial transcripts, and recently discovered affidavits, but contradicted what many attorneys and historians had long believed about Mrs. Judd — that she killed her friends in self defense and had help dismembering one of the bodies. So sure was everyone that the petite, frail Mrs. Judd couldn’t have done this alone, the jury handed down a death sentence just to coax her into revealing her accomplices. She was ultimately declared insane and sent to a state mental hospital for nearly four decades, where she proceeded to escape seven times. Once, in 1962, she ran off to Northern California, called herself Marian Lane, and remained on the run for seven years. She was paroled in 1971, and became a hot topic for crime writers and historians.

On a Sunday evening in 1931, I walked into Phoenix’s Union Station and boarded the night train to Los Angeles. As I slept through the night, blood began to seep though my luggage trunks, pooling on the floor of the luggage car. I must admit, however, that despite the uncertainty of what was to come, I slept more soundly during that overnight journey than I had in months.

When you’re feeling lost, you will latch on to any strong voice that is willing to guide you — even if that voice is in your own head. And, oh, was I lost. My husband, who I loved dearly, was addicted to alcohol and morphine. And I had began to suspect that one of my dearest friends saw me as nothing more than a vessel to manipulate as she pleased. It wasn’t just me though — that was how Anne viewed the world: malleable, and willing (or perhaps just too unwilling to put up a fight) to be molded to her needs. And her taunts! Oh how I loathed her taunting and the way it kept me up at night. I longed for sleep. Just to finally get some rest. I was so terribly exhausted.

You see, my husband was a doctor with terrible addictions. He would frequently need to go off to a sanitarium to “dry out.” I truly loved him, but I met Jack when I was alone and in a dark place. He was good to me when I had no one else. He was the only man I had ever been with besides my husband, and I wasn’t proud of the affair. To the contrary, I was quite ashamed of myself, and Anne knew this. It was fodder for her taunts. She seemed to find great joy in taunting me and toying with my emotions, despite our close friendship.

Anne and I had been great friends. We worked together at a clinic, and frequently chatted and took lunch together. She was much more experienced than I — both with men and with the world in general. And because she wasn’t married, she could do as she pleased when it came to Jack. We never had a quarrel over Jack though. Anne lived with Sammy, and we had all been intimate with Jack, but people would talk as if we were all vying for his attention, competing with one another. Nothing could be further from the truth — we were all friends and none of us were prone to jealousy in the least.

Problems didn’t arise until after Anne returned from a trip to Oregon. Prior to the trip, her and Sammy had become ill. I moved in to take care of them until they got better. At this point my husband and I were already living next door, and Jack was a frequent visitor at both of our homes. To my horror, him and my husband became quite good friends. Despite my embarrassment, we were all quite close, and everyone happily lent Anne money to visit her family in Oregon. Jack actually gave her $300, with no stipulation that she pay him back. Sammy and I, while not as wealthy as Jack, were willing to go without basic necessities to help Anne out. She had spoke of using the money for surgeries and medical care, but she returned with debt and a brand new wardrobe.

This is when Anne’s taunting began. Knowing my affections for Jack, she would openly flirt and caress him in front of Sammy and I, looking right at me as she did it, trying to rile my nerves. Then she’d laugh when he left, saying she had no interest in him but for his money. I couldn’t compete with Anne. She was single and skilled with men. When Jack came over, she was always fresh from a soak, made up, and draped in chiffon. I was both married and just home from work when he called. I had never possessed a desire to compete with her, but she was constantly challenging me, making me feel inadequate.

Anne’s taunts rung through my head all night long, never permitting me to sleep. I would think of her when I laid down to rest, of her incessant taunting, and my mind would craft terrible scenarios to make her stop. If I was occupied — at the office or with some social matter, her words never crossed my mind, but at night I was tormented, taking more and more Luminal until I passed out in a drug-induced haze. I slept, but never rested. Dreams offered no relief from her taunts.