Read For the Thrill of It: Leopold, Loeb, and the Murder That Shocked Jazz Age Chicago for Free Online Page A

remarked, “he was just the kind of cocky little son-of-a-bitch that I would pick.” 20
    Richard’s adventure in leading the journalists to the drugstore had seemed innocuous, inconsequential, at the time. Richard knew, nevertheless, how dangerously he had flirted with the possibility of discovery—one slip, one revelation that he knew too much about Bobby’s death, and he might become a suspect. But, like the killing itself, his flirtation with the reporters excited and aroused him. He could not openly boast, of course, that he was the architect of one of the most sensational crimes in Chicago’s history. But his secret knowledge of the murder was congruent with his self-image as a master criminal. While Mayer and the rest blundered about in confusion and ignorance, he, Richard Loeb, had been able to unveil an important detail. Richard knew how close to the flame he hovered, but it was irresistible; it thrilled him to lead his friends along a dangerous path.

    L ATER THAT NIGHT N ATHAN WAITED in his car at the corner of 51st Street and Cottage Grove Avenue. It was almost two o’clock in the morning. The rain had stopped, but the night was cold and chill and a strong wind blew in from Lake Michigan. 21
    Nathan sat in the dark, waiting for Richard—they planned to dispose of the remaining evidence that night.
    He was worried that the police had discovered the corpse so soon. Nathan had expected the hydrochloric acid to have burned away Bobby’s face, but apparently it had not worked—the newspaper reports said only that the face was discolored—and the police had identified Bobby as the victim almost immediately.
    And the detectives had also found a pair of eyeglasses near the body! No doubt they had fallen out of his jacket. How could he have been so careless? He should have checked the jacket pockets before going out on Wednesday. If the police were to question him about the eyeglasses, he had an explanation for their discovery near the corpse—he would claim he had dropped them the previous weekend while bird-watching near Hyde Lake—but it was unsettling, nevertheless, to realize that the police now had a clue that could link him to the murder.
    Richard finally arrived. He was in a good mood. That afternoon, he recounted to Nathan, he had gone with three journalists—Howard Mayer of the Chicago American and Alvin Goldstein and James Mulroy of the Chicago Daily News —along 63rd Street, pretending to look for the drugstore and finding it at the last moment, just when they were about to abandon the search!
    It was exasperating, Nathan replied, that Richard would behave so foolishly; did he not understand the risk? Their perfect crime, Nathan warned, was already beginning to unravel. Why would Richard behave in such a provocative way? Nathan hit the steering wheel with his open palm for emphasis as he admonished Richard; Nathan reminded him that the police had discovered the eyeglasses near the corpse—had Richard thought how he could explain their presence by the culvert?
    Perhaps, Nathan wondered, they should prepare for the worst; perhaps they should create an alibi in case the police did question them in connection with the murder.
    Richard agreed—better to be on the safe side. They would say that they had gone out to Lincoln Park on Wednesday in Nathan’s car; that they had been drinking that afternoon; and that, in the evening, they had had dinner before meeting a couple of girls.
    This alibi would stick if each vouched for the other. So long as they both held fast to this alibi, they would be safe—but if either one buckled under police pressure, then the other also was doomed. In any case, they would need to use the alibi only if the police apprehended them within a week of the crime. No one could reasonably be expected to remember what he had done on a given day if one week had since gone by. 22
    They had talked for almost an hour; it was already three o’clock in the morning. Nathan lifted the