Ann Woodward: Socialite Murderess Pt. 2

Those who fly too close to the sun are bound to get burned. Many of those lingering within and on the outer edges of the snake pit that is high society can tell you that. They may also warn you of flying too high too soon. The fall from high graces can feel eternal to those experiencing it. No matter your name or standing, it can all be ripped away in less than a day in this world of privilege and narcissism. This is a grim fact of their kind of life. A fact that Else Woodward was all too familiar with, and one that Ann would find herself introduced to.

Throughout the 1940s and ‘50s Billy Woodward became known as a playboy within his tightly knit, much coveted circle. In 1946 he was reacquainted with Princess Marina Torlonia, a childhood acquaintance that he had lost touch with in more recent years. At the time the Princess was married to amateur tennis player Francis “Frank” Shields, who had already reached the apex of his athletic career in the ‘20s and ‘30s. Meanwhile, Ann Woodward was pregnant with the couple’s second child, James. The affair that blossomed between these childhood friends hit the pregnant young mother where it hurt the most.

Marina Torlonia shared two children with her husband, but the two seemed to share no love at all. After Frank Shields she would go on to marry four more times. The affair between her and Billy was not a very well-kept secret among their friends. Even the senior William Woodward and his wife, Elsie, were well aware of the romanticism budding between them. It was the hope of Billy’s parents as well as Marina’s friends that Ann would grant him a divorce so the pair could move forward with a future of their own. Elsie was even willing to risk the inevitable scandal that would stem from Billy and the Princess’s divorces and subsequent marriage. A small scandal was well worth avoiding whatever impropriety Ann would surely thrust upon their family.

Marina was the very type of woman that Elsie had wanted to see her son marry. She came from a similar background that didn’t need to be looked into by an investigator. She held status and pedigree that Ann sorely lacked. The graceful princess had grown up among the upper crust and thus fit in seamlessly. She was Elsie’s ideal daughter-in-law.

While Ann may have hoped that the birth of their second son would warm Billy to the idea of recommitting to his family, she was quickly proved wrong. Her husband had never truly committed himself to start with. All he was concerned with was himself and his beautiful Princess. Rather than commit to what he had already started, he was seeking to obtain a divorce.

That fall Marina packed up her life and left her husband on the West Coast. She moved all the way to New York to be closer to her love interest. This only sparked more arguments between Billy and Ann, which led to him hitting her worse than he ever had before. Billy had always been abusive with his wife, but now it was getting out of hand. Not even carefully applied layers of expensive make-up could cover the bruises he inflicted upon her. Ann’s doctor, Dr. John Putting, was the only person she had to turn to. With no friends or family to confide in, she went to the good doctor. With a quick swipe of his pen, he wrote her troubles away in a prescription.

Ann was suffering from migraines, insomnia, and depression by this point. The life she had sought after so hard had proved to be much more difficult to survive than she could’ve ever thought. Now at what seemed to be the precipice of her troubled marriage, she hired her own divorce attorney to offer legal advice in her case. Sol Rosenblatt was a well-known divorce attorney that typically took cases such as Ann’s. His clients were wealthy women that were looking to come out on top of their cheating husbands. He was a hard-hitter that played no games, often securing his clients much more than they expected. With many acquaintances on retainer that owed him favors, Rosenblatt had earned the nickname of “The Fixer.”

The couple separated in 1948. Immediately after Rosenblatt recommended that Ann not allow any of the Woodwards access to the children. Ann followed his advice to the letter. She would often meet with her lawyer at a New York restaurant called La Cote Basque. There they would talk for hours about their families, their travels, celebrity women, and horses. The wine flowed freely at their long lunches as they gabbed, almost avoiding the subject at hand. When the issue of the divorce finally surfaced, bobbing in expensive wine, Ann would inevitably begin to sob. Rosenblatt would offer a handkerchief as his client devolved into whimpers and tears.

Though Ann was unaware, Billy had changed his will with the determination to leave his wife as little as possible in the event of his death. Then in 1948 he asked her for a divorce. Sitting on the outside looking in was Marina Torlonia’s friends, waiting with bated breath to see how things worked out. William Sr. and Elsie were so anxious to see them come to an agreement that they offered their daughter-in-law $2 million to just sign the papers and walk away. Around this time Billy and Ann each hired private investigators to spy on each other. Ann’s detective caught Billy taking romantic walks through Central Park with his Princess while Billy’s detective tapped Ann’s phone. The affair that his phone taps revealed was enough to deny Ann the $2 million previously offered.

Ann had landed a very high profile lover and her husband couldn’t help but to be impressed. The fact that such a man was interested in what he already had and was trying to cast aside reignited his interest in her. Much as he had been when his mother revealed her previous affair with a famous actor, married to a famous actress, Billy was astonished and aroused. While he had been spending most of his time with Marina, he still visited with Ann. On these occasions the two would end up back in bed together, forcing Billy to realize just how attractive he still found his wife to be. Though her hold over him had slipped, she would always possess an allure over him that he could never shake. With this epiphany, he began to distance himself from Marina in favor of his wife.

Much to his parents’ horror, Billy halted the divorce proceedings. When he was asked by friends he would reply that Ann had asked for too much money. It was simply cheaper to stay married and have his fun on the side. This cover story would follow their tumultuous relationship for quite some time. Shockingly enough, he had actually made an agreement with her that if they remained married he would continue his affairs. This was an agreement that she made begrudgingly and would come to regret. She longed for the days when her husband was still young, naive, and easily controlled. Now it seemed like taming a wild horse just to get him to see her point of view.

Mannie Page, the Woodwards’ chauffeur, had been warned against working for the volatile couple. They were nothing but drama and they fought quite regularly. Most of these fights took place after a party. They were known for their explosive arguments upon returning from drunken gatherings. Unfortunately, working for the Woodwards meant living on the fifth floor of their fancifully decorated brownstone. It wasn’t uncommon at all for the staff to be awakened in the night to the nerve-wracking sounds of a loud, often-times violent fight.

Mannie didn’t care what people said. The Woodwards paid more than anyone else in the city. And he really needed a job when he took this one. For the money being offered he figured it was worth it. How bad could it really be?

Decemeber 1949 was roughly a year after Mannie had started working for the couple. That month was Ann’s 34th birthday and a big, glitzy cocktail party was thrown at the couple’s brownstone to celebrate. Around sixty people attended the swanky affair that didn’t end that their home. The party was carried on to the hottest, most exclusive, and expensive club in Manhattan, El Morocco.

Once the party adjourned for the club, the staff retired for the night. The fifth floor of the Woodward home was dark and still when the staff was shocked awake at two-thirty in the morning by screams and sirens. By the time Mannie opened his bedroom door and crept out into the hallway his coworkers had already gathered around the cracked doors leading from their floor. They were trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion, but the fight was taking place on the third floor. Mannie parted through the other staff members to investigate.

He could hear Ann’s screams growing louder as he descended the stairs. She called Billy ‘good-for-nothing,’ she slammed him with accusations, then she told him to go back to his ‘Italian whores.’ When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he got a front-row view of Ann clawing her husband’s face as he punched her and tore her dress in retaliation. Left with a black eye and a ruined dress, Ann retreated to her bedroom, where she stayed for three days. Billy stormed out of the house only to return and ask that Mannie pack a bag for him. Enough to get him by for a few days while he stewed over the latest of their skirmishes. When Ann finally emerged from her room, she ordered her staff not to allow the Woodwards to see the boys. Always caught in the middle of their warring employers, the ever-accommodating staff obeyed.

A week later they made up and the stormy waters calmed long enough for them to enjoy a luxurious vacation on the Caribbean Islands. Even for a short time after they returned it appeared to all that knew them that they had happily reconciled. This only lasted until the very next social event they hosted at their brownstone. The final guest had barely made his way to the sidewalk before they erupted in a loud, alcohol-fueled dispute. The fight escalated to physical violence on Ann’s part as Billy fled for refuge at the Brook Club. This fight had been no different than most of their battles. Drunken jealously led Billy to accuse Ann of leaning too far into the male guests as Ann shot back with accusations of him flirting with the women.

Later, Mannie would be asked if he had ever seen firearms on the Woodward properties. He said no. The chauffeur bluntly replied that the Woodwards needed no weapons to hurt each other. They seemed to hurt each other well enough with their hands alone. Ann would sling ashtrays, bottles, and shoes, and Billy would strike her in return.

On September 25, 1953, William Woodward Sr. passed away at the age of 77. His much cherished Belair Stud and Farm was willed to his only son. Though Billy had never taken much interest in horse-breeding or racing before, that changed after he became responsible for the farm’s operations. He discovered a deep interest in the sport and the farm that his father and uncle had loved so much. William Sr.’s only wish was that his son run it as modestly as they had. He also hoped that he would find as many happy days there as he had. This wish was certainly fulfilled.

Billy not only fell in love with the sport, he grew to love his father’s favorite horse, Nashua. This very successful racehorse went on to win six out of the eight races he took part in by 1954, placing second in the other two. A touch of the flu in 1955 caused him to lose the Kentucky Derby. Although, he did win the other two races in the Triple Crown. Billy and Ann both took joy and excitement out of his success.

For those sitting in the private boxes these races were all about the pageantry and Ann enjoyed every minute of it. She loved the races, the drinks, the outfits, and the opportunity to mingle in her otherwise lonely life. When the races were all done and over with, Ann and Billy would step into the winner’s circle to meet with the jockey and take part in the excitement of winning. Ann was now 40-years-old and finding her true passion and purpose in life. Horse racing and breeding. She was becoming more and more involved in the operations of Belair Stud and Farm, much to her mother-in-law’s horror. Elsie made it quite clear to her son that she wanted Ann pushed out of what she saw as her husband’s legacy.

It was all thanks to Nashua that Billy and Ann rose so high in society fame. Ann began to grace the best-dressed lists in the social sections of prominent New York papers. Like-minded couples drifted into their orbit, expanding their circle. The Woodwards were living a truly glamorous and envious life, studded with luxurious trips to London and Paris as well as exotic hunting trips to India. Ann was along for the ride, relishing every vacation, every shopping trip, every newspaper and magazine cover she saw her face on.

Things were going as well as they could possibly go in a marriage dripping with such toxins when Ann made a stunning decision. In a moment of vulnerability that she would immediately regret, Ann told her husband that she had met his father at Fefe’s Monte Carlo before meeting him. Of course Billy correctly assumed that she had an affair with his father before meeting and climbing into bed with him. Telling only a fraction of the truth, she assured him that they had only been friends. A fight ensued that lasted the better part of the night as Ann stuck firm to her story. They were just friends. Eventually he calmed down, claiming to believe her. It’s likely that he never truly did.

The fissures in their marriage were erupting into geysers of bitterness and resentment. Those on the outside looking in could clearly see the problems between them as they drank heavily and fought openly at gatherings. They had affairs just to spite each other, which inevitably led to huge fights that ended in make-up sex. While many of Billy’s high profile friends were sneaking into the Woodward’s Long Island manor to rendezvous with Ann, Billy was sneaking around at work and on the club scene.

For all his years of marriage and his playboy reputation, Billy still couldn’t shake the one rumor that had closely followed him all his life. There were still many in the circles his family and friends traveled in that thought he was gay. His wife, children, and many affairs with beautiful women were nothing more than a cover, they believed. These persisting rumors irked Ann to no end. During a very public spat at a party, Ann loudly declared for all to hear, “Why don’t you just bring a man into our bed! That’s what you want anyway!”

Their relationship was treacherous, volatile, and toxic. As taxing as it was, Ann tried to make it work. She couldn’t let her gravy train slip through her fingers again. Perhaps because of how close her husband had come to divorcing her for another woman, Ann became intensely jealous. When another woman came anywhere near him at a party, she seethed. She became known for her behavior not just in their circles, but in the society pages as well.

The heavy weight of her burden was beginning to show itself. Her anxiety and depression had begun to wear on her face. She stopped eating and quickly lost the delicate, porcelain complexion she had carried all her life. The sickly pallor that her skin took on resembled that of her mother’s just before death. Ann had become a ghost of her former self. A tortured specter haunting her own home.

With Billy continuing to run around, even having affairs in his office at work, Ann packed her bags for some time away. She traveled to England, where her status as a member of the prominent Woodward family was honored. She was only there for a matter of weeks, but in that time she began an affair with 44-year-old Lord William Astor. Some time away and a new love interest seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. Ann was rejuvenated , both mentally and physically. Lord Astor was a married man who owned a great deal of real estate in England as well as the U.S. He loved to shoot pistols and ride horses, both fascinations he shared with Ann. Ann learned to ride and shoot, which only served to impress her husband once again.

Though Billy wanted to be disgusted by his wife’s behavior, his amazement was winning out. The class of man she had managed to entangle herself with forced him to begrudgingly respect her. The fact that she had learned to ride horses and shoot pistols only served to ignite his excitement further. When Ann returned from abroad she was glowing with renewed self-confidence and happiness. The change was evident to all that saw her. Her beautiful complexion had returned along with her traffic-stopping smile. Ann Woodward had returned to her old self.

Though Billy found himself thoroughly dazzled by Ann’s sudden change, Elsie was scandalized and horrified by her daughter-in-law’s behavior overseas. All the way in her Manhattan brownstone, Elsie had heard the rumblings of a steamy affair involving long horseback rides through the country and target practice between lovers. She was aghast at what she saw as shocking conduct. The old woman that was firmly set in her ways was every bit as appalled by her horseback riding and shooting as she was by the affair itself. The family’s matriarch wasted no time in letting Ann know how she felt about the whole thing. She felt that a woman’s place was in the home. While the men had license to take off on their exploits, it was the woman’s job to sit at home, waiting for a man that clearly didn’t want her. But Ann had other ideas about how to spend her downtime and she wasn’t going to let her sour mother-in-law tell her what to do.

October 29, 1955 was due to be a big day for the entire Woodward family. The boys had a picnic arranged by their riding instructor to attend that day, but that was hardly the most exciting part of their day. As Billy had recently bought an airplane to make his trips to the Belair Stud and Farm faster and more frequently, he had promised his sons that he would take them to see the plane that morning. If they could behave themselves on this trip they would even be treated to a short flight. Undoubtedly the children slept fitfully the night before out of pure excitement over what should have been a perfect fall day just before Halloween.

Billy and Ann also had big plans for that night, having a swanky party to attend at the home of close friends, George and Edith Baker. The party was to honor the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, also close personal friends of the Woodwards. The two couples had been well acquainted for more than a dozen years. The Duchess, formerly Wallis Simpson, had much in common with Ann. As she was often a target of the press and disliked by her in-laws, Ann and the Duchess grew very close the few times a year they saw each other, bonding over their shared situations. At least two to three times a year the two couples would get together either when the Woodwards traveled to England, or when the Duke and Duchess came to the U.S. Though the couples found themselves seated in two entirely different rooms in the sprawling seating arrangement, they still managed to catch up on Nashua’s success before the party’s end.

Just like the beginning of a dime store novel, it was a dark and stormy night when the Woodwards set out for the posh party at the Bakers’. Fog enveloped the roads as the couple got into yet another argument. Hardly a surprise for them, but tensions had been building between them once again. This time the tensions left Ann feeling as though her heart had lodged itself in her throat, creating a permanent lump. Their troubles stemmed from Billy’s plane this time. It wasn’t the purchase itself, it was the location that he chose to buy it from that set Ann on edge. Hearing that the best place to obtain the Helio Courier that he was looking for was Pittsburg, Kansas, Billy traveled to his wife’s birthplace to make his purchase. He even joked, “My wife was manufactured there, too!”

Ann had no problem with her husband shaving time off of his long trips from New York to his stud farm in Maryland. She only asked that he look anywhere else for his plane. It was likely this behavior that prompted him to start looking into her background personally while he was there. It’s unclear if Ann just wanted to keep distance between herself and the city her mother clawed so hard to escape, or if she wanted to keep Billy from learning the details of her past she’d lied about. Her begging and pleading fell on deaf ears as her husband packed a bag and boarded a plane for Kansas.

Billy may have experienced a bit of culture shock when he landed in Pittsburg, Kansas. The owner of the manufacturing company selling him the plane picked him up from the airport. As Vernon Marsh drove along, Billy took in the October sky of Kansas hanging over ramshackle farm houses, broken down fences, and abandoned farms. The cold, gray, depressing climate only made the sun-bleached houses with their peeling paint look all the more desperate. Rusted husks of cars and old bicycles sat out in front of some of the houses, creating an ambiance of abandonment. Looking around at this land of hopelessness, desperation, and deprivation, Billy found himself thinking of Ann.

He mentioned Ann’s surname, Crowell, to Vernon as they chatted. He immediately recognized the name. The farm Ann had spent her early childhood on was still standing, albeit in shambles, not far from the manufacturing plant producing Billy’s plane. He offered to take his customer on a little side trip to see his wife’s childhood home, but Billy declined. He was interested to learn that Ann still had family in the area, though. He wondered what else he may uncover if he asked around town.

Once he had decided on a plane, Billy asked to be dropped off at a drug store. Drug stores in the ‘50s weren’t anything like they are today. Back then drug stores also served fountain drinks and often food. Billy found an empty stool at the counter and ordered a drink. Striking up a conversation with the man waiting on him, he made sure to mention being married to a woman named Angeline, or Ann Eden Crowell. The name was quickly recognized again, but this man was hesitant to tell a perfect stranger anything. It didn’t take much urging for Billy to learn more about his wife sitting at that drug store counter than he had in all their years of marriage. When he finished his drink and rose from his seat, Billy was ready to find a hotel room and place a very important phone call back home.

While at the drug store, sipping his fountain drink, Billy learned all about Ann’s mother, Ethel, and her two failed marriages. He also heard much about her supposed affairs. This was information his mother’s private investigator had learned years ago, but the man at the counter revealed something not uncovered by Elsie’s snooping. Billy nearly choked on his drink when he heard that Jesse-Claude, Ann’s father, was still very much alive. He and everyone else in high society had been led to believe that Ann’s father had been a respected member of the Army who died in the war. Imagine Billy’s surprise to learn that he was really a retired streetcar conductor, living in poverty in Detroit after a lifetime of drinking. He could’ve been knocked from his stool with a feather at the realization that he’d been lied to from the very beginning about an important part of Ann’s life.

All at once he realized that his mother had been right when she pulled him to the side all those years ago. She warned him against this marriage the moment he announced his intentions with Ann, but out of pure rebellion, he didn’t listen. At the same time another realization snaked up into the back of his mind, taking over until it was all he could focus on. He now held the kind of information he needed to blackmail his wife into a speedy and quiet divorce. He also wouldn’t have to pay her a single penny. Billy was home free. He’d been looking for a clean way out for a while and he was practically giddy when he found it.

When the phone rang back in Manhattan, Ann wasted no time picking it up. Her heart had already moved into her throat when her husband boarded that plane to Kansas. Now the lump in her throat felt as though it were growing as she hesitantly asked him about his trip. Billy cheerfully replied that it had been quite enjoyable. The people were very friendly in Kansas. They remembered her and her mother, too. Somehow the lump in her throat continued to grow as her heart finally sank to the pit of her stomach. Just as Ann felt herself begin to spiral, Billy declared that before returning home he might just pay a visit to Jesse-Claude in Detroit.

He asked if she had been aware that her father was alive and living in Michigan. She admitted that she knew, but it was nothing more than a harmless white lie to help her better fit into her surroundings in high society. This was no different than the kinds of stories his friends concocted at parties. It was the same kind of embellishment that everyone else in their circles were guilty of too. Billy reminded himself of the life she had led before they met. She had been an actress. And evidently she had been a good one.

The triumphant Woodward delivered his most devastating blow when he declared how happy his lawyers were going to be with his trip to Kansas. By the time he was through, he informed her, she would never see the children or be allowed inside either of their homes ever again. With a feeling of invincibility, he told Ann that it was time to go back to Kansas, where she belonged. The phone call came as a gut punch. While Ann had expected him to learn something or another about her, she never imagined he would stoop quite so low with the information. He was going to leave her in ruins and return her to the Midwestern hell she and her mother both fought hard to escape. Ann had to think of something and move fast.

Fast forward back to the night of October 29th and the Woodwards find themselves in another argument about Billy’s recent trip to Kansas. Things had been tense ever since that phone call and they certainly weren’t getting better with time. The children had been strained underneath their parents’ faltering marriage as well. That weekend should have been a reprieve for everyone, most of all them. Instead the weekend proved to be nothing but stressful and their parents’ arguing didn’t even have much to do with it. The entire weekend started with nervous chatter around their Long Island home’s neighborhood about a prowler breaking into homes and garages in the area. Billy was informed by a shaken neighbor upon their arrival about the persisting issue. It cast a different shadow over the family as anxiety set in over the possibility of someone breaking in, or catching them coming home.

When Billy and Ann left for the party that night they had taken extra precautions. Billy pocketed a pistol, which he hid in his car’s glove box during the event. Ann hid her precious and expensive jewelry in her purse, opting to wait until they were on their way to put it on. The household staff were to take precautions as well. The maid, Annie Schroeder, saw the couple out and locked the front door behind them. She was also to wait up for the children and lock up behind them before retiring for the night. The warning of a prowler on the loose set Annie on edge as she finished her tasks for the night.

It was around 11:00 when she finally went to bed. At some point between wakefulness and sleep the maid thought she may have heard a phone ringing. Thinking it not her responsibility to answer it at such a late hour, she just turned over and went back to sleep. Hours later, though she wasn’t sure of the time, Annie thought that she heard the phone again. After that she heard two bangs, one louder than the other, but both distinguishable as gunshots. Then the house fell deathly silent. She heard no noises, human or otherwise for some time after. Scared stiff, she remained in her bed until a knock arrived at her door and she was escorted from her room.

The Woodwards found themselves among the first to arrive to the Bakers’ luxurious party. The first person they met with was the pianist hired to entertain the guests, Sid Freeman. As Ann excused herself to check her make-up, Billy told his friend all about the prowler rattling nerves all over North Shore. This wasn’t the only person he told. Billy told many that night that he was expecting “some excitement.” He was also quite open about the pistol stashed in his glove compartment for protection in case they ran into the burglar coming home. Trying to display his manhood for all to see, Billy told any willing to listen about his plans to shoot the intruder if he ran into him that night.

Billy wasn’t the only one preoccupied with the string of break-ins in their area. Ann was also telling all who she talked to about the prowler and her anxiousness about the situation. When asked later, many of the guests clearly remembered the couple’s preoccupation with the intruder running loose. They were so preoccupied in fact that they never argued during the gathering.

While it wasn’t hard to forget Ann’s constant rambling about the burglar, many also recalled the radiance in which she arrived. The blue-gray hue of her dress resembled the feathers of a dove as she moved about the grand house. The dress had been picked out by Billy, an idea introduced by his mother to keep Ann from dressing scandalously in public. Ann glumly relented to her husband’s wardrobe choices for her, relegating her flashy, low cut gowns to the back of her closet to collect dust. While she typically wore her blonde hair down around her shoulders, this night she tied it up into a bun at the back of her head, allowing a single tendril at the side to hang loose in a curl. An elegant necklace hung from her graceful neck, the pendant glittering against her chest, dusted with a shiny powder.

It wasn’t as though the couple’s worries were unfounded. In the early morning hours of that Saturday, the burglar had been on their property, leaving clear evidence of his presence. The unknown man had broken into their garage and slept there. Open cans of food were found scattered around the cabana as well as footprints near the home’s main entrance. When the police were called they informed Billy that a young German man had been suspected of the break-ins. Ann made sure to inform them that her dog had been barking at something in the night. Her poodle, Sloppy, never barked unprovoked.

There were some at the party that wondered how serious Ann’s concerns really were. She seemed to fly from one end of the spectrum of anxiety to the other rapidly as she went on. Meanwhile, Billy was busy flexing his muscles as he practically bragged about his plan to shoot the intruder. One guest coldly asked why he would risk staining his expensive floors and beautiful furniture. Why not just dissolve a handful of sleeping pills into a glass of milk and leave it out for the burglar? Or maybe he could dose some cheese and leave it for the hungry prowler. Instead of dirtying his hands and his home, he could just call the meat wagon to collect the North Shore’s problem. As Billy cracked a wide and indulgent smile, he said that he would consider the plan.

The Woodwards didn’t depart from the party until around 1:00 on the morning of October 30. Guests wondered if the pair had been saving a spat for the drive home. While they were well-known to fight in public, they also left many of their fights for the privacy of their home, or the car ride there. As many of them would’ve guessed, the argument they had been deeply embroiled in on the ride to the party quickly resumed on the way home. It was likely that Ann was feeling it all slipping through her fingers. Her much sought after life, her children, the money, the homes. It was all about to be ripped away as she was simultaneously cast from society as a pariah.

When the couple made it back to their manor, all fighting was put to the side as Billy drew his pistol from the glove compartment to check the house. Ann followed closely behind as they made their rounds of the house. They looked all over for signs of a break-in, even checking the refrigerator for missing food and the counter tops for anything left out. Everything was neatly in order as it should’ve been. Ann was happily greeted by her poodle, who she loved like the daughter she never had.

Once the house was cleared, Billy went to the basement and retrieved two shotguns. Upon returning he handed one to his wife, instructing her to keep it by her bedside in case anything were to happen in the night. Billy told her that he was doing just the same. Ann was hesitant about taking such precautions. Wouldn’t they end up in prison for shooting an intruder? Her husband calmly assured her that such an act would be considered self-defense. They should be more worried about the stranger breaking into homes than anything else. With that, she accepted the weapon and took it to her bedroom with her.

With the house inspected and a weapon at her side, Ann felt slightly safer than she had before. She was finally able to allow her shoulders to slack as she went about the relaxing tasks of getting ready for bed. With the North Shore manor being her favorite place in the world to be, she hated the idea of someone making her feel unsafe there. Their charming house on Berry Hill was considered to be one of the smaller properties in the neighborhood, but that didn’t matter to Ann. She fell in love with it the moment she saw it and named her dream home the Playhouse. The stately wood-and-stucco structure even had a large building attached to the north side of the house that previously served as a tennis court. Since neither of the Woodwards played tennis, they leased the building to Cinerama to use as a movie theater. Cinerama was also allowed a swath of property on the east side for their purposes.

In her favorite house, Ann’s preferred place to spend her time was her bedroom, which was all her own. Her and Billy had not shared a room in quite some time. At the Playhouse both Woodwards had bedrooms on the main floor. Ann enjoyed the larger of the rooms, while her husband’s was probably about half the size of her’s. It looked out onto the front of the property through two large rectangular windows. The connected bathroom had a large circular window to allow for plenty of natural light. Just to the right of their house and near Ann’s bedroom window stood a tall tree with branches extended over the roof. The slightest of breezes was enough to cause the branches to scratch at her window like long, gnarled claws.

Two nightstands sat in her bedroom, one larger than the other, but both overly burdened with the many items Ann felt she needed. A lamp, a radio, a water bottle, some cigarettes, and a flashlight sat on one. The other was weighed down with a phone, another water bottle with a glass, another radio, and a large metal pillbox. Sitting between the two rectangular windows was her dressing table, piled with cosmetics, perfumes, and all of her extra medications. One look around her bedroom was all the proof one needed to see that Dr. Putting was far too free with his prescription pad. Ann was taking pills for migraines, cramps, anxiety, and generalized pain. A small console near her bed held her most prized possession of all, her phonograph. On another small table sat a short stack of books and a warm blanket that served her better than her incredibly small library.

The closet was full to bursting with clothes for every occasion. Billy and Ann attended all kinds of different parties and events and her wardrobe held an outfit for everything. Flashy evening-wear, country attire, dressy day-time clothes, cocktail dresses, gowns. For every fashion-forward item in her closet there was a pair of shoes to match as well. These were the accommodations she’d grown used to, and the actress turned dancer that scraped her way up from nowhere with nothing was not about to let them go.

The couple whispered half-hearted good-nights to each other as they went their separate ways. Billy, to his small, but nicely decorated room with one window and a bathroom. Ann, to her large, lavishly adorned sanctuary. The Mrs. was tired, drunk, and anxious. On edge about the prospect of a burglar entering her home with her children present. Rattled by the notion of her husband filing for divorce and casting her out of the life she’d grown so used to. She was ready to remove her dress and make-up, take down her hair, and chase a handful of pills down with one to three beers, as was her nightly custom. Rendering herself comfortably numb, she wanted to crawl into bed, slip her sleeping mask over her face, and drift away from these tensions for the night.

Resting the twelve-bore double-barrel Churchill “Imperial” model sidelock ejector shotgun by her bedside, she did just that. This gun was not foreign to her at all. If you recall, Ann had learned to shoot pistols from a former lover in England, and she had taken hunting trips to India with Billy. Though she started out rough, Ann eventually learned how to handle such a weapon and even became a rather good shot with one. This particular gun she had bought herself in London for just over $2000. As many of the other women in her circles had no appreciation for guns, she told them that Billy had bought the weapon for her. The fact that it only weighed a tad bit over five pounds was her favorite feature. Relatively light for a shotgun, it was easy for her handle with her small frame.

Freeing herself from the constraints of her evening attire, Ann donned her nightgown and threw on her quilted bed jacket. After taking down her hair, she removed her make-up with the tricks she’d picked up as a traveling actress years ago. Wiping the layers of carefully applied cosmetics away revealed years of stress, age, and worry all at once. The fact that she was beginning to recognize this stranger in the mirror had startled her into preforming the exercises she’d done in her modeling days. She feared weight-gain and her changing appearance as she grew older likely didn’t aid in her dread. After her brief workout, she brushed her teeth and smeared some cream on her face before swallowing her Seconals and Thorazines. When she slipped underneath the warmth and safety of her covers she felt slightly better knowing that she and her husband were both armed.

Sleep eluded Ann many nights, thus the nightly cocktail of sleeping pills and beer. With her mask pulled down over her face, she tossed and turned as she searched for sleep that never seemed to come. When she could finally find rest fresh jolts of anxiety and dread seemed to wake her with a sheen of sweat and a pounding heart. Elsie had recommended their family doctor to her daughter-in-law, but Ann knew better. Dr. Ben Keane was loyal to the Woodward family and he would surely keep Elsie apprised on everything said between them. Ann much preferred to rely on her own doctor and his generous prescription pad. Plus, she knew she could trust Dr. Putting not to disclose anything to anyone. It was hard to find such a person in their world, as Ann had clearly learned for herself.

As his wife was drifting into what was sure to be fitful and anxious rest, Billy was getting ready to take a shower. In his own bathroom he prepared to wash the long day away and climb into bed. Though Ann had bought him many sets of expensive, fancy pajamas, Billy preferred to sleep in the nude. It wasn’t long after she had crawled into her bed that Ann heard a crash and her dog growling. Sloppy never barked or growled unless she had a reason to. Ann knew someone had to be in the house. The pills that she’d taken before bed had mingled with the alcohol she had at the party, making her groggy and hazy at first. When the prowler finally entered her drowsy mind, she panicked and leapt from her bed, still very much under the influence.

She tore away her sleeping mask as she reached for her trusty shotgun. In her sudden alarm all fears of being locked up for shooting an intruder had dissolved. She needed to defend her home and her family. Opening the door slowly, she peeked into the hallway, barely illuminated by a sliver of moonlight coming in through the hall’s gauzy curtains. The rustling of feet and the outline of a shadow caused her to panic and react. Without calling out to the figure in the hall, she just took aim and started firing until the weapon’s ammunition was spent. With the figure now most assuredly dead, she walked up to see the intruder’s face. Blood was pooling underneath the body as she crept up only to discover that she had just shot her husband to death.

This was the version of events offered to investigators by Ann Woodward, herself. Whether there was any truth to it whatsoever has been a topic of debate for quite some time. The story of this terrible tragedy also intrigued and inspired Truman Capote, who attempted to write a book based on Ann’s story as well as high society as a whole.

Almost immediately after shooting her husband, Ann ran down to the basement to throw her unused shotgun shells back into the gun cabinet. Her reason for doing this was so that she wouldn’t be tempted to take her own life. Running back upstairs, she grabbed the phone to call the police, but somehow found herself unable to dial the number. Two telephone operators working the Oyster Bay 6 Exchange part of the New York Telephone Company received her hysterical call at 2:07 that morning.

Gladys Francis and Gertrude Gallagher both listened intently, trying to make sense of the sobs coming through the phone. The only word that they could make out was “playhouse” as Ann screamed it at them. They correctly assumed that this call must be coming from the vicinity of the Cinerama Corporation. Gertrude kept the line open as she connected Ann with the Second Precinct of the local police department. The sergeant asked for the operator’s help in trying to discern this woman’s name and location through her sobs and screams.

It was at this same time that Gladys received a call from Cinerama employee, Steve Smith. While making his rounds, he could hear a woman screaming and believed the sound to be coming from the Woodward house. While Gertrude worked with Ann and the Second Precinct’s sergeant, Gladys talked with Steve and passed along information, seeing that these calls were clearly connected. It was thanks to information provided by Steve Smith that led the sergeant to deduce that the Oyster Bay Police would need to be dispatched for this call. Ann’s frantic and incoherent ramblings cost investigators precious response time.

Immediately after she hung up the phone, Ann picked it right back up and called her lawyer, Sol Rosenblatt. In her supposed panicked and hazy state, she still had the wherewithal to call the very man known to the city’s upper crust as “the Fixer.” With this last act it would seem that Mrs. Woodward would devolve into a traumatized and devastated state, completely unable to help investigators in her despair.

Police met Steve Smith at the front of the house when they arrived. He said that two “sharp noises” spaced only seconds apart prompted him to investigate. Knowing well about the burglar in the area, he figured that someone was attempting to break in. This was when he heard a woman screaming for help. “Something terrible has happened!” he heard coming from inside the main house. When he ran to the front door to help, Ann told him that she didn’t have the key to let him in and she was unable to open the door. He sprinted back to his office to call the police, placing his call at 2:10 that morning.

Something he told detectives later that struck them as odd was that there were lights on in the house when he ran to help. When police finally arrived all of the lights in the house had been turned off, though. Assistant District Attorney Edward Robinson told him that it was “very, very important” that he remember exactly what he saw. At first all he could remember was a light on in the hallway and a woman shrieking. As Robinson pressed him further, it started to come back to him. At first he couldn’t recall where the light had come from, but then he realized that he had seen two lights, not just one. When shown a picture of the house, he picked out exactly where he saw them coming from. The hallway and Billy Woodward’s bedroom.

Nassau County Police Officer, Thomas Costello had just been checking up on the grounds of the Pine Hallow Country Club on his one to eight AM beat. Detectives Moylan and Boyd had also been there doing just the same. The trio left in the separate cars when they found all to be quiet. It was only moments later that both cars received the same call to the Playhouse on Berry Hill. Oyster Bay Cove patrolman, Henri Cormier, was already there with Steve when they pulled up beyond the brush and bramble surrounding the manor. When attempts to kick in the glass door out front failed, Costello noticed that Ann’s bedroom window was slightly open. Just enough for the officer to open it the rest of the way without a problem. Strange for someone so concerned about a burglar.

He climbed through the window and into the dark bedroom, ignoring everything around him as he rushed for the door and into the hallway. Looking up the narrow space, he found Ann on top of her husband as she cried out, “My darling, my darling.” Costello’s first impression of the situation was that Mr. Woodward was seriously injured, but alive. The officer tried the door from inside, but found it no easier to open. Moylan crawled through the bedroom window, joining his colleague in the hallway for a briefing. Moylan stayed with the couple as Costello rushed around the house trying to find an entrance for authorities. He took note of the fact that no other person or animal was anywhere to be seen as he searched for an exit.

The officer found a phone before he found a door and took the opportunity to call for backup. This was a serious situation and as far as they knew there was still a shooter on the loose. While he was at it, Costello also called an ambulance for Billy, and Dr. Francis Moore, who worked for the coroner’s office, just in case.

It didn’t take long for the calvary to arrive and the door to be opened, allowing men to ride in on their white horses, looking for an intruder. When Dr. Moore got to the scene, he had the grim task of pronouncing Billy dead. Costello was sent back out on his patrol when Lieutenant E. Barry made it to the house. It was nearly 3:00 in the twilight of morning when the officer walked out the front door and noticed something he hadn’t before. The very same black Thunderbird he had seen twice that night on his patrol was parked right in front of the house.

He had first noticed the powerful car at the start of his patrol at 1:00 while driving down Pine Hallow Road. It was traveling south at a steady rate of speed. A man could clearly be seen driving, as could his female passenger. It was soon after this encounter that he saw the car again, passing right by it on the same road.

It was 2:15 that morning when Oyster Bay police chief Russ Haff received a call on his radio to rush over to the Playhouse as quickly as he could. By the time he arrived the estate was awash in lights and teeming with activity. Ann’s tormented and remorseful screams could still be heard emitting from the house. With police swarming the residence for an intruder, no one had seen either of the children or any of the staff yet. It would seem as though the entire house had slept through the terrible ordeal.

Billy’s naked body was splayed out on the floor with a large pool of blood underneath. The side and the back of his head had been blown off. His wife hovered over the remains, screaming and wailing with guilt and grief. Blood was streaked all over her face, hands, and nightgown like a morbid tapestry. Ann was the center of the chaos as officers fanned out around the house and property, weapons drawn as they expected to run into a gunman. She was at the eye of the storm threatening to upend her dream life. Policemen watched over her at the Lieutenant’s request as search efforts extended into the woods behind the property.

Haff leaned down to the newly widowed Woodward and asked if she had seen the intruder. At that moment all she could do was shake her head as she wailed, “No, no.” When he asked if she had seen or heard anything at all before the shot was fired, she replied in a hoarse whisper, “I fired the shot.” As the Lieutenant pulled a napkin from his pocket to quickly scrawl the confession, Ann launched into her story. She and Billy had both taken weapons to bed with them out of fear that the prowler would break in. When she heard a noise and saw a silhouette in her hallway, she reacted out of panic and started firing. She didn’t realize her mistake until it was far too late. With this new information, Haff halted that search and explained what he had just learned. With that the investigation into Billy’s Woodward’s sudden and tragic death began right there inside the Woodward home.

Haff first walked into Ann’s bedroom. Before no one had paid much mind to the dark room that initially allowed the officers access. Now it was the Lieutenant’s main focus. The blue-gray evening gown she shed after the party was still hanging up behind the closet door. The array of prescription bottles on her nightstand caught his attention. Opening the drawer, he found more pill bottles inside, taking inventory of each one.

As distraught and emotional as she was, Ann still needed to be examined by Dr. Francis Moore. He asked that the detective watching over her leave them so he could check her out. After taking her pulse the two talked for a few minutes before the doctor ventured to ask if he may collect her blood-stained clothes. Not wanting him to see the bruises from her many fights with Billy covering her body, she refused his request. Ann continued to scream, cry, and moan as everyone waited for her panic to subside into shock. Dr. Moore finally gave her ten milligrams of Thorazine to calm her nerves and quiet her screeches. He was later criticized for this decision. Many saw it as a female member of the elite receiving special treatment.

At 4:00 that morning a registered nurse named Claire Moore (no relation to the doctor) arrived to help. By this time the sedative had already taken effect, leaving Ann powerless as she lay in her bed. Claire took the newly widowed woman’s hand in her own. With a warm smile and a reassuring touch, she explained that she was only there to help. The kind nurse went about filling paper bags with prescriptions until she had filled three bags to their brims. With so many pills at her disposal it was feared that she may try to take an overdose in her state. Ann pitifully begged from her bed that her medications not be taken away. With Thorazine coursing through her system all she could manage were weak pleas for her pills to be returned.

Soon after the arrival of Costello, Moylan, Boyd, and Cormier, came the big guns. Assistant Chief of Police Jim Farrell, District Attorney Frank Gullotta, Chief Assistant District Attorney Edward Robinson, and Chief of Detectives Stuyvesant Pinnell wasted no time in responding to such a high profile crime. Jim Farrell was well-known around the community he served for hobnobbing with the elite that inhabited it. Some of his golf buddies were members of the Pratt family, an old-money family that Billy Woodward’s older sister, Libby, had married into. He was no stranger to the kinds of rumors that circled Ann, or the way she was perceived in high society.

Frank Gullotta ran in the very same circles that spoke often and negatively of Ann. He seemed to share the same opinion as those he played golf with as well as Billy’s mother. Ann Woodward was a gold-digging social climber that had managed to trick her way into the world of the elite through an ill-fated marriage. Before he even walked onto the scene that morning his mind was already made up. She was guilty. Now he just had to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt. With a suspect already firmly planted in his mind, Gullotta had officers fan out through the estate looking for any evidence at all of unrest in the marriage. He was determined to prove her guilty of premeditated murder and would believe until the end of his days that his instincts were dead-on.

Gullotta and Robinson wanted to talk to Ann straight away, but this wasn’t possible. By that time she was already well under the influence of sedatives as she sat expressionless on a couch in her bedroom. She was silent and stoic as she stared blankly at the wall ahead of her. The woman, clearly vacant of all senses, was no help to them. It was quickly decided that her interrogation would have to wait until the fog of Thorazine had finally worn off.

The shotgun that had taken off part of Billy Woodward’s head lay just to the right of his wife’s bedroom door. Round paper wads from the cartridges lay nearby. Billy’s bedroom door had taken some damage from the blasts, particularly around the doorknob. Authorities thought his body to be in a rather odd position. Neither inside or outside of his bedroom, he was sprawled out in the doorway, lying only halfway in his bedroom and halfway out of it.

Billy’s bedroom was not near as lavishly furnished as his partner’s. Two single beds sat with a bureau between them. Oddly one of the beds had been stripped of its bedding, but the other had not. Only a lamp and a stack of magazines sat on the bureau, while another small table contained another lamp, a water bottle, an ashtray, cigarettes, and a pair of glasses. An extension cord ran to an electric heater that sat in the floor. Near the room’s only window sat a chair just beside the bathroom door. Near the bathroom was Billy’s desk, with his .410 double barrel shotgun sitting on top. Also on the desk was another lamp, a flashlight, paper and pens, and a semiautomatic pistol inside of a black leather holster.

Far from the desk on another chair was Billy’s tuxedo, cream-colored shirt, and black tie from the party that night. Just below sat his moccasin-style shoes. Aside from the stripped bed and the damaged door, his room seemed to be otherwise in order. A quick look around made it obvious that he was readying for bed. Just another night, until it wasn’t.

From the very beginning police were plagued with questions. They first wondered if Billy had heard the same crash that Ann claimed had roused her and went to investigate. But then, why was he naked and unarmed? Had he come running straight from the shower? Or had there even been a crash at all? The idea that he had been wandering across the hall to engage his wife in sex was visited as well. Their biggest questions had to do with the twenty minute lapse between the shooting and Ann’s screams alerting Steve Smith to the scene. Was it possible that she had been screaming that entire time and not been heard, or had she waited until the scene had been set accordingly?

Billy Woodward’s nephew, Billy Bancroft, arrived to the house at 4:30 that morning to identify his uncle’s body. Walking into the house that he’d visited many times before, he was taken aback by the atmosphere. Officers and detectives were trampling all over the beautifully decorated estate in their muddy shoes, touching and moving all of Billy’s most prized possessions in their search for evidence against Ann. The younger Billy knew well how his uncle would’ve reacted to such an intrusion. Mr. Woodward wouldn’t have been so accommodating as he was prideful and protective of his belongings.

Billy Bancroft had always held a soft spot in his heart for his Aunt Ann. He pitied her for the way his family treated her. The boy was well aware of the abuse she suffered at his uncle’s hands. Though she covered the bruises with heavy layers of make-up and denied that anything was wrong, he knew better. Seeing her that morning as she sat on the edge of her bed, numbed from sedatives and drained from the traumatic experience, he felt more sympathy for her than he ever had before. Undoubtedly Billy Bancroft believed that if his aunt had shot his uncle it was likely in self-defense. Walking into her bedroom, it quickly became evident that there would be no talking to her that morning. There was the more pressing and immediate issue of gathering and informing the family before the press splashed the story all over Long Island and New York.

The first person he called was another of his aunts, Libby Pratt. He delivered the grave news and asked that she come out to the estate. Libby wasted no time in racing to the scene to gather her nephews and take them out of the chaotic circus that their once safe home had devolved into. She arrived in a rush to grab the boys and get them to their grandmother’s brownstone back in Manhattan. Investigators tried to speak with her, but in her dash to get her nephews to safety she had no time for their inquiries. There was little if any help that she would’ve been able to provide anyway. Being fifteen years her brother’s senior, the two traveled in very different circles. Libby didn’t know much about her younger brother, his wife, or anything going on between them.

As the sun rose over the finely polished mansions on North Shore the gossip was already spreading just as quickly as the rays of light that stretched out across the bay. Oyster Bay Cove was abuzz and there was no shortage of fodder for the rumor mill given the couple’s troubled marriage and public spats. No one in New York’s high society saw the marriage ending well, but no one could’ve guessed that the relationship would take the deadly turn that it did. All assumed that it would be a bitter and drawn out divorce that would break the tenuous binds between them. As though Billy Woodward’s death hadn’t stirred up enough gossip the preferential treatment his wife received from authorities sent the over-boiling pot of speculation sloshing over the brim. For a suspect in a murder investigation to be given sedatives was absolutely unheard of. The fact that she wasn’t immediately hauled off in handcuffs left many wondering if her elevated status hadn’t afforded her leniency.

The Woodward shooting was all anyone could talk about. The topic was so hot that an attendee of the Bakers’ party that night quickly assembled a luncheon the day after the incident, inviting everyone from the Bakers’ guest list. While most would arrange such a gathering just to be together in the wake of a friend’s death, Mrs. Lynn Slater was more interested in gossiping about the couple and their behavior in the hours before the shooting. When police learned of where to find everyone that last had contact with the couple in one convenient place they made plans to crash the event. Though everyone didn’t accept the macabre invitation, many of them did. Those who weren’t in attendance at Mrs. Slater’s luncheon were easily tracked down for statements soon after. Investigators quickly learned of the issues plaguing the couple’s relationship. It would seem that their fights as well as their affairs were pretty much public knowledge.

Though everyone else was well aware of the tensions between them, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were completely oblivious. News of Billy’s death shook them to their core, but the revelation that their marriage was fraught with serious troubles was equally bewildering. Only seeing the couple a few times a year, they only saw them at their best. The drunken screaming matches that they were known for in New York had been news to them. Elsa Maxwell, another attendee of the Bakers’ party, was stunned to hear that the Duke and Duchess had been so blind to what everyone else saw right on the surface. The Woodwards were ill-matched and ill-fated from the very beginning.

It was discovered that the pair had been known to hire private investigators to keep an eye on each other. Though Ann had employed several private eyes to spy on her husband, she tended to rely the most heavily upon Walter C. Keir, owner and operator of the Keir Investigating Bureau. Between the years of 1948 and 1955, Ann paid for his services dozens of times, mostly during the time that Billy was asking for a divorce. There were other occasions in which she sought out his help to learn more about what her husband was up to when she was out of the country, or to look into the women he was spending his time with. He had provided her with an invaluable piece of mind while she was on her travels, clipping an invisible leash onto Billy’s collar so she knew what he was up to at all times.

It was Keir’s statement that let investigators in on a little known fact about the couple. In May 1955, just months before the shooting, they had briefly separated. Billy moved out of their luxuriously comfortable brownstone in the city and into the Brook Club. During this time Ann asked that Keir keep tabs on him to ensure that he was spending his time as he claimed to be, alone. Keir said that he never turned up anything of note during this particular job, but he also admitted that he was sure Billy had become aware of his ever-lingering presence. Ann wondered many times if her husband hadn’t paid her private eye double to thwart the investigation. If he did, Keir never admitted to it.

A close friend of William Woodward Sr.’s, Alfred G. Vanderbilt Jr., was the next person authorities decided to speak with. When the old man was shown a guest list of the Bakers’ party he confirmed that these were the usual people Billy and Ann were known to associate with. As their kind of circles are very tight-knit and exclusive, these would’ve been some of the only people they ever associated with both in the city and out in the country. Vanderbilt was asked about his opinions on the couple’s relationship. He saw it as no different than any other marriage, where, as he put it, arguments tend to sneak up mid-conversation. Stating that Ann was not the easiest person to get along with, he ended his conversation with police without further comment. With nothing more to say, he sat there silently and waited for the detectives to leave.

Detectives thought it very interesting that Billy had spent much of the party that night sitting beside the era’s beauty queen, Brenda Frazier. The most photographed woman of the time, Brenda Frazier was a stone-cold knockout who dominated the gossip rags of the day. Known for being one of the most beautiful and prominent debutants of the era, she was something akin to Paris Hilton twenty years ago, minus all of the twat shots. Many wondered how she managed her social climb, but it had been easy for her given her looks. She simply showed up to all the right parties and balls on the arms of all the right men. She spent her evenings at the hottest nightclubs in the city with the richest men she could attract. The Bakers’ party had been just another night as she worked the room, rubbed elbows, flirted, and bantered her way through the event. Many figured that the Woodwards would surely fight that night after Brenda’s flirtations turned to Billy.

Though the speculation of a fight could hardly even be called hearsay, it did intrigue the detectives to learn of Billy and Brenda’s flirtations. Given everything they’d learned of their suspect, Ann wasn’t likely to let such a thing go so easily. She never had before.

As interviews were conducted it became more and more obvious that Ann’s story of being unable to make out her husband’s form in the dark hallway before she shot was preposterous. Everyone that had ever been invited to their Long Island home for a party knew well that even after dark there was always ambient light coming in through the hallway curtains. Everyone also found it odd that she wouldn’t recognize her husband’s shape after all their years of marriage. All that spoke to police couldn’t help but to be reminded a picture on the couple’s mantle when considering how quickly and efficiently she had dispatched the man she’d shared so much of her life with. It was a picture of Ann on a hunting trip in India. She was posed behind a tiger she had shot and killed herself, holding the rifle she had taken it down with. It was a still shot of a moment in her life she was particularly proud of. Little did she know how that picture would come back to haunt her after Billy’s death.

Billy’s plan to divorce his wife and leave her with nothing was not exactly a secret. Plenty in their circle were aware that his feet had grown itchy long ago. It was obvious to many that he was frantically looking for the door and hoping to walk out with as much of his money as possible. Investigators as well as the couple’s friends all shared the same thought. Ann had intentionally shot him, thinking it better to be a widow than an ex-wife. What she wouldn’t learn until a few days after his passing was that most of his money was tied up in a trust for their sons. Ann was not allowed access to the trust, likely in anticipation of her greedy ways. In reality, she probably would’ve walked away from a divorce with more than what she garnered from his death.

Though most that attended the party that night thought Ann to be guilty, there were some that believed in her innocence. A woman named Liz Fondows strongly believed that there had never been a prowler to start with. She thought that the whole story was nothing more than a cover. Another, Titi Baker Schaffer, believed that she was innocent, calling her a “shrewd woman” that knew her husband was worth more to her alive. Along with her were the many in the area that had been well aware of the prowler’s presence. As it turns out, Ann did not make that part up. There had been a prowler breaking into people’s homes and garages, and he had been on their property the night before the shooting.

Those that owned homes in the North Shore area were more than aware that a burglar had been ravaging the neighborhood as well as areas around it. Mrs. I. Townsend confirmed as much with detectives when she informed them that she had started locking her doors up tight every night. As this was 1955, most of the world, even those in the city, didn’t feel the need to keep their doors locked.

Of course because this was 1955 and women were viewed as weaker and more vulnerable there was a rather large handful of men that thought it impossible for Mrs. Woodward to have killed her husband. How could a woman possibly hold up a gun and pull the trigger? Ned Patterson, another guest from the party, commented that he didn’t believe her to be “tough or strong enough” to have done such a thing.

As reporters speculated, they printed stories about the fact that Billy had called police just days before he was killed. He had been concerned about a man he referred to as “a crackpot” who had lost a bet at the track. He was convinced that this man was seeking to exact his revenge over Nashua’s success.

The long list of interviews also included the Woodwards’ household staff. They even tracked down those no longer employed with the couple, resulting in much more candid statements. Their former cook, 48-year-old Ingeborg Sorensen, was tracked down to her new job as a housekeeper. Though her schedule was busy, she took the time to speak with the detectives and give them an inside look into the Woodward family dynamic. She quickly observed Billy’s treatment of his wife shortly after starting her job. She said that he treated her like “a person who was sick.” Though they fought often and loudly, Billy would also take to ignoring her altogether just to upset her further. This only angered Ann all the more.

Ingeborg had never noticed guns in either of their bedrooms before. The guns in the house were kept locked in a metal cabinet in the basement and Ann was the only one with the key. As though this fact weren’t interesting enough to the detectives, Ingeborg enlightened them on her former employer’s evening and morning routines. It was up to the cook to bring Ann her coffee every morning. She took it in her bedroom and always had to be roused from bed to receive it. Each and every morning Ingeborg witnessed her employer plucking ear plugs from her ears. She had also overheard Ann directing her personal secretary to refill her sleeping pills for her on more than one occasion. If Ann Woodward slept under the influence of medication and plugged her ears as well, then how was she roused from her sleep by the supposed crash in the hallway?

Investigators also learned from the former cook as well as other staff members about Ann’s habit of drinking with her medication before bed. Every night she chased her handful of pills down with two or three bottles of beer. With such a cocktail and a set of ear plugs it’s highly doubtful she would’ve woken up for any noise no matter how loud. When asked about her feelings towards her old employer, Ingeborg spared no words. She believed Ann to have been mentally ill, commenting that she was prone to losing her temper as well as all control over herself. It hadn’t surprised her in the least to hear that Billy had been shot by his wife.

Billy’s mother, Elsie, wasn’t awakened straight away with the news of her son’s death. At this point in her life she was 72-years-old and had recently suffered the loss of a sister. Still grieving her lost sibling, she was allowed to sleep until 9:00 that morning before she was sent for. The family knew that it could wait no longer. The longer they waited the more likely it was that she would find out from the press. Billy Bancroft and his grandmother’s butler gathered some relatives and close friends at her home on Eighty-Sixth Street to deliver the bad news. The moment she heard how her son met his end she was certain that his death was no accident. Until her dying day she would firmly believe that her daughter-in-law had acted intentionally.

The family’s matriarch found herself stuck between a rock and a hard place in this difficult situation. Her life had been dedicated to closely guarding the Woodward family’s closet full of skeletons. She knew first-hand what even small scandals could do to prominent families and she wasn’t about to flee the country in shame as her family had when she was a child. The investigation into her son’s murder would undoubtedly churn the dark and murky waters of their personal lives, unearthing God only knows what. As much as Elsie would’ve loved to see her daughter-in-law prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, that was the one luxury that she could not afford.

Hardly allowing herself a moment to grieve, Elsie immediately contacted her lawyer, Walter Gray Dunnington. She informed him of her son’s murder at the hands of his wife. Offering his deepest condolences, he asked what he could do for her during this difficult time. She said she wanted to ensure the safety of her grandchildren. He understood the assignment perfectly, making sure that the boys would no longer remain in their mother’s custody. The only thing giving Elsie any solace in that moment was knowing that they were already safely under her roof without a scratch on them.

A few more attempts were made at trying to question Ann, but she was still too deep in her drug-induced haze. In a small and weak voice she asked about the welfare of her children. Concerning her departed husband, she only moaned and cried, “My darling, my darling.”

She wasn’t much better as the large dose of Thorazine finally started to wear off. As the fog lifted and her mind began to clear, she became increasingly irritated by the officers tromping through her finely furnished home. She had taken great care in decorating and handpicking each and every antique and work of art in her sanctuary. Now her tables and bureaus were covered in dust after the officers dusted for prints. Her imported rugs were stained with the muddy footprints of the inconsiderate investigators. Watching her nice and orderly home being ransacked by strangers was more than she could handle in her state. The longer she sat there allowing herself to sober up the more irate she became at what she was starting to see as an intrusion.

The more distressed she became the more necessary Assistant District Attorney Robinson thought it was to assign someone to watch over her. Detective Albright was asked to sit with her while the search of her home continued. He wasn’t to ask any questions while he sat there, but if she started talking he wasn’t supposed to stop her, either. His duty that morning was merely that of a watchdog as he hoped beyond hope to glean something useful to the investigation.

As the grieving widow and the astute detective sat alone in her bedroom, sequestered from the investigation, Ann started to ramble. Albright’s ears pricked up as her version of events began to pour out through her tears and sobs. Lighting one cigarette after another, he sat there and quietly took in every word she said. Though she wished he hadn’t, she said that Billy had taken his pistol with him to the party in the car’s glove compartment. With the weapon close at hand he felt better going about his business with a burglar loose in their neighborhood. Though she couldn’t recall what time they left or returned from the get-together that night, she remembered well how concerned he had been about a break-in that night. It was this concern that led him to convince her to take a shotgun to bed.

The shotgun was left resting nearby as she crawled into the comfort of her warm, soft bed. It wasn’t long after she had surrendered to the call of her sheets that she heard her dog bark. Soon after she heard an unfamiliar sound that prompted her to grab the gun and climb from her bed. She told the detective that all the lights in the house were turned off, leaving the home in utter darkness. Seeing a figure move further down the hall, she reacted and fired in fear.

Ann’s doctor, Dr. Putting, walked into the smoke-filled room as she was speaking with the detective. He immediately requested that she be moved from her home to Doctors Hospital on the Upper East Side. He argued that she was in need of treatment given her very fragile state. Assuring Detective Albright that he was more than welcome to follow them in a departmental car, he also asked that he not interfere with her recovery. Albright didn’t think that this was the best idea, but it wasn’t up to him. Once his superiors were consulted it was decided that she would be moved according to her doctor’s recommendation.

When her lawyer, Sol Rosenblatt, arrived at the house he found a three-ring circus in full swing. Reporters were camped out in front of the manor leeching any small amount of printable information they could get their hands on. Due to the chaotic atmosphere the police had to secure the scene against the press. No one was allowed passage into the house. Rosenblatt had to threaten a law suit just to get in to see his client.

The moment her trusted lawyer walked in and laid his hands upon her shoulders she calmed as though his touch contained a soothing salve for the soul. With tears beginning to pool in her eyes again, she quietly explained what happened. Like a father comforting his daughter, he patted her hand gently as he recited to her the common-law of self-defense. She was well within her right to defend herself and her family against a predator she believed may cause them harm. It was all just an awful and tragic accident, he told her in a gentle, calming tone.

Rosenblatt instructed her not to volunteer any more information than she already had. From this point on, he would do the talking. Great detail went into the story he gave her to stick by if questioned by investigators or lawyers. Her husband’s family was not going to make this easy on her. She had been viewed by her in-laws as nothing more than a gold-digging opportunist from they moment they laid eyes on her. Undoubtedly they believed this to be premeditated murder given the decayed and crumbling state of their marriage.

Two hours after arriving at the crime scene Rosenblatt left with a plan fully devised and ready to set in motion. A call was placed to J. Russell Sprague, a local politician known for trading favors. Well-connected, Sprague would be able to convince the district attorney not to charge Ann or put her in jail right away. He would also be able to find her a criminal defense attorney capable of facing off with the Woodwards’ lawyers. As Rosenblatt was only a divorce lawyer, he wouldn’t be able to see his client through this case. He did what he could to ensure that she was in good hands and he did it quickly. It was all important to move as fast as possible considering the prominence and influence held by the Woodwards. A case involving such a family was certain to fly through the court system, with the Woodwards pushing it along every step of the way.

Ann was still in the hospital on October 31 when she was approached again for questioning. Assistant District Attorney Edward Robinson, District Attorney Frank Gullotta, and stenographer Nathan Birchall visited her hospital room for their statement. Her doctor also opted to sit in for the questioning to ensure that his patient wasn’t becoming overly upset. Their questions started out basic. Inquiries previously asked of her.

As their line of questioning continued they started to press for more detail. Had there been any lights on in Billy’s room? She didn’t remember any. Did she see Billy at all before she fired the fatal shot? She couldn’t see anything. She only heard a noise and fired in that direction. Her intention had never been to hit anything or anyone. Only to alert the intruder to the fact that the home’s residents were armed in the hope that he would flee.

Their investigation into the couple’s relationship uncovered one shared interest between them. Big game hunting. Initially Ann hadn’t shown much interest in the sport at all. A trip to India at the invitation of the maharaja of Jaipur in the fall of 1952 changed her perspective. Her and Billy joined Russell Havenstrite and his wife on the adventure. Russell had been a friend William Sr.’s, but had gotten to know Billy and Ann after their marriage. Taking the Havenstrite’s private DC-3, they departed for an ill-fated trip on which the Woodwards fought often and the Havenstrites left early.

By the time the two couples were invited back by the maharaja of Jaipur in the spring of 1953 Ann had taken a liking to the sport. She was eager to plan the trip and return to the wild. Likely due to the fact that Billy had contracted infectious hepatitis on their last hunting trip, he opted out of the next one, traveling to Florida on business instead. The Havenstrites were woefully unaware of this when they agreed to join, only to find that they would be spending their trip with Ann. By the spring of 1953 her shooting had not improved by much, but she practiced until she eventually became a sharpshooter.

Paul Wirths was a young German man that had only been in the country a year by the time of Billy Woodward’s death. Tall, thin, blonde, and green-eyed, he still referred to himself as a bricklayer though he hadn’t been employed as one since he was still living in Germany. At the time of the shooting it had been a few months since the last time Paul was in contact with his parole officer. A bulletin was put out for him by Detective Frank Steiner, who had previously arrested Paul for burglary.

The last official address available for Paul Wirths was at a rooming house in Hempstead, New York. When he could no longer afford his rent he began sleeping wherever he could. On park benches and city streets, in the garages he broke into, and in the cars that he stole. For money he simply pawned all of the things that he stole from the houses he burglarized. While he was inside these homes he would help himself to the contents of their kitchens to feed himself. Cold-meat sandwiches, beer, milk, and sweets seemed to be his favorites. He also had a fondness for strawberry and lemon meringue pie, a Long Island delicacy. Normally he traveled from one area to another on foot, but he would also use stolen cars to put some distance between himself and his burglaries a bit quicker.

He had supported himself by robbing homes in Hempstead, Garden City, Kings Park, Old Westbury, and several other towns just east of New York City before making his way to Oyster Bay. His sudden string of burglaries set the entire area on edge, but authorities were pretty sure they knew who they were dealing with. Once the bulletin for his apprehension was posted it didn’t take long at all to track him down. Within a day he was found at the Suffolk Grill in Huntington enjoying a burger and a milkshake. The fact that he had stolen so many guns from the various places he robbed made police anxious about apprehending him. For all they knew he was armed as he sat there eating his meal. It was this fear that prompted them to wait outside for him to finish his lunch and exit on his own. No one wanted to risk the safety of the civilians sitting inside.

When he left the grill the officers moved in to make their arrest, sending him fleeing as they called after him to stop. Paul made his move to jump into the stolen 1952 Ford convertible that had brought him to the restaurant, but a warning shot fired into the air stopped him dead in his tracks. He was quickly arrested and the car searched, turning up several items that certainly didn’t belong to him.

At the station he was greeted by his old friend, Detective Frank Steiner, who promptly informed him that his recent crime spree had driven a woman to shoot her husband. Later in his confession he would say that he knew he was being “accused of murder.” He admitted to being at the Woodwards’ home on the Friday night before the shooting. Watching Billy until he was fast asleep, Paul then broke into the pool house and snatched some canned food. This story matched perfectly with what the couple had told guests at the Bakers’ party Saturday night. Even still something about his story just wasn’t sitting right with detectives. It felt as though he were holding something back. Steiner urged him to be completely honest, telling him if he’d done nothing wrong then there was nothing to fear.

Paul was taken to a cell to mull over what Steiner had said. He wouldn’t be hurting anyone by telling the truth. If anything an honest outside account of that night would be helpful to everyone concerned. After a long night with nothing more to do than think, Paul called the detective back to his cell the next day. He had given the whole situation a great deal of consideration. Telling the truth would put him smack in the middle of something he wanted nothing to do with. On the other hand, he was bothered by the situation with the children. Having grown up without a mother himself, Paul hated the idea of these boys suffering that kind of hardship.

Paul had broken into the Pine Hallow Country Club at around 8:00 Saturday evening. Busting his way through a windowpane, he slunk over to the club’s snack area to grab some sandwiches and milk. He ate his food on a nearby park bench, but was quickly scared off when he noticed a police car coming up the drive. Grabbing the shotgun he was carrying with him, he ran for the neighboring property, which happened to be the Woodwards’. Tall shrubs and bushes hid him from sight as he watched two men leaving from Cinerama’s building. Likely the last two employees leaving work for the night. Noticing lights on inside the house, he let curiosity get the better of him as he crept up to the window for a better look. The maid could be seen walking through the rear of the home.

He couldn’t be sure exactly how long he remained on the property, but it was certainly for hours after his arrival. Midnight passed and he found himself cold, hungry, and tired. The night was chilly and damp and the temperature was only dropping as it drug along. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway prompted him to leap behind a cement pillar by the front entrance. He was just quick enough to hide himself from sight before being noticed. A man and a woman could be heard exiting the car and making their way to the door. As he peeked from around the pillar, Paul couldn’t help to notice Ann. She was dressed fancifully and looked breathtaking as she strode to the house.

The couple was quiet until they reached the door. There was some brief muttering about a key before they walked inside, leaving the chilly night air behind them. Once the maid had gone to bed for the night all of the lights in the house were turned off. Paul noticed a faint light turn on somewhere at the far end of the hall after Billy and Ann entered the house. About ten minutes later several lights went on almost all at once in rooms parallel to the front door. As Paul had spent the past two nights casing the property, he knew exactly which rooms these were. They were the separate bedrooms of Billy and Ann.

Wandering between windows, he noticed that the bathroom lights had been turned on in each bedroom. As he watched each light slowly dim he made his decision to break in that night. The Woodwards looked to have plenty of money and Paul was looking for a fresh start in Florida. He waited almost an hour after watching the lights dim for the residents to fall asleep. Then, with his shotgun still in hand, he began to scale the tree right in front of the house. When one of the branches snapped underneath his weight and fell to the ground it almost took him with it. He tightly held his grip as he quietly watched and listened for a sign that he had been heard. No lights came on, nor could anything be heard coming from the house.

Continuing his ascent, he reached a flat portion of the roof near the front of the house. There he found a glass door leading directly onto the second floor. He found the door to be unlocked, but when he walked in his foot got caught in the drapes as they blew in his face. Attempting to free himself, he slammed the butt of the gun into the window, breaking a piece of it. Once again he stilled himself as he waited to hear stirring residents. No one seemed to have heard him.

A look around the room told him that he had entered into a guest bedroom. Enough natural light came spilling inside that he could see a double bed with no sheets or covers. The bedding was folded neatly in a nearby chair. As he surveyed his surroundings a loud gunshot rang out through the house. Hearing the echo, he knew that the shot had come from inside somewhere, though he couldn’t be sure where. Without wasting a moment, he fled back through the glass door, certain that the shots had been a warning for him. Rather than scale back down the tree with his shotgun, he jumped from the roof instead. He ran towards the woods and across Route 25A as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Heading west, Paul continued on his trek until he came upon a farm. An empty barn on the property provided the perfect place to hide and rest. The first light of dawn was already peeking through the darkness of night and he was exhausted. Laying his head down, he fell asleep until nearly noon. When he woke up, he decided to walk around the barn’s perimeter to see if there was any activity outside its walls. Shot gun in tow, he carefully walked around the barn until he stumbled, causing the gun to go off. Fearing the loud blast would summon people from nearby, he fled back into the safety of the barn, hiding there until nightfall.

That night a stolen 1955 Ford station wagon provided him a getaway. He lifted the car from a nearby garage once he felt it safe enough to emerge from hiding. For the next few days he went about his business as usual. Breaking into garages, stealing cars, clothes, food, money, and anything else that wasn’t nailed down.

When asked why he wasn’t initially more forthcoming, he replied that he really didn’t want tangled any further into this case than he already was. Once he had fully confessed everything he knew, he was taken back to the Woodward estate so he could show detectives his movements precisely. A gaggle of reporters followed them to the house and Paul greeted them with a smile missing several teeth upon their arrival. The consequence of being caught in someone else’s home. Once he’d given the police all they needed, Detective Steiner returned him to his cell at the station, telling him that he’d done well.

When Paul’s confession hit the papers many were reasonably skeptical. Some wondered if Steiner had paid him for a false confession. The idea that Steiner had been paid to ensure that he would talk was also tossed about. The most prevalent rumor of all circled Elsie like a hungry shark in bloody water. Many figured that she had paid the prowler for what they thought had been a false confession. These rumors swirled about like a tornado until Steiner finally had to go record saying that neither him or Paul Wirths had accepted any money from anyone. Those who had already latched onto the theory were not so ready to just let it go, though.

Elsie had all the motive in the world to pay this man off. The hatred she harbored for her daughter-in-law was no secret. Neither was her aversion to scandal. Elsie had protected the Woodwards’ filthiest secrets like a junk yard dog for decades. Her son’s closet full of skeletons being pulled open was likely her biggest fear. She was well aware of the fact that he’d been abusive to his wife. His affairs and proclivities were also common knowledge to her. The prostitutes he hired, the men he brought into his bed, and the porn he’d taken to watching during sex, she knew it all.

There likely wasn’t a sum of money that she considered too large when it came to guarding her family from the kind of scandal Billy’s secrets would’ve caused. The longer his case remained in the press the more likely it became that something would be exposed. It was in the family’s best interest that this incident be resolved quickly and quietly.

While Paul Wirths was giving his statement to police, Ann was still abed at Doctors Hospital. Fearing his patient on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Dr. Putting injected her with another massive dose of sedatives. In the few moments of lucidity she displayed she would speak of her husband as though he weren’t dead at all. In her drug addled state she had managed to convince herself that he was still very much alive and conducting one of his many affairs while she lay in the hospital. She also believed that Billy had picked up a man resembling his good friend, Bean Baker, in an attempt to hurt her. But then reality would come crashing back down upon her like a tidal wave of despair when she realized that her husband was gone and she had shot him. During her more lucid moments she would beg to see her children, but Elsie refused to send them to her.

When Dr. Putting was unavailable to tend to Ann his wife, Dr. Jane Aldenn, would take over in his stead. Dr. Aldenn firmly believed that the shooting had been purely accidental. Later in her many interviews with reporters she would say as much.

Billy Woodward’s funeral was held on November 2 with no expense spared. The Saint James’ Church in New York City hosted the service. Afterward he was taken to the Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx for burial. Ann wasn’t in attendance at her husband’s funeral, still lying in a hospital bed under the influence of heavy sedatives. Billy and Ann’s staff was given the day off to attend the funeral alongside the masses of others pouring in to pay their respects. The clubs that Billy had belonged to, the Union Club, the Jockey Club, and the Brook, all flew their flags at half mass on the day of his service. In the midst of all this tragedy one question remained. Did Billy Woodward’s wife fire the fatal shot intentionally?

Even from her hospital bed Ann still felt the need to memorialize her husband in some way. Even if she couldn’t be present for his final send-off, she could at least send a flower arrangement. She arranged for a blanket of white chrysanthemums interspersed with red carnations, in honor of the Belair Stud and Farm’s colors, to adorn his casket. These colors seemed the natural choice as the Stud and Farm had been his most prized possession in life. Though Elsie was appalled by her daughter-in-law’s choice of flowers, she still allowed for the arrangement to be placed on her son’s coffin. After all it would seem awfully strange for his wife to not have done at least that much for his funeral. As she was forced to look at the flowers that she thought to be in poor taste, Elsie bit her tongue and tried to get through the hardest day of her life.

The Woodward’s stoic matriarch found her situation becoming increasingly difficult to handle. She was informed by her lawyers that the case against Ann was weaker than a wet paper bag. If it went to trial all of Elsie’s worst fears would come true. Attorneys would relentlessly dig into the couple’s marriage until they unearthed the abuse he inflicted upon her and the affairs she suffered through. There was also the strong likelihood that his predilections for men would be confirmed in the public’s mind. The thought of such truths coming to light was more than Elsie could stomach. In a society where it was actually illegal to be gay the last thing a person wanted was to be thought of as such.

Just two days after Billy was laid to rest Police Chief Pinnell announced that the district attorney would be submitting the evidence to a grand jury. From there it would be up to the grand jury to decide whether this had been a terrible accident, or premeditated murder. If they dismissed the shooting as accidental then no charges would be pressed and Ann would walk away. If she went to trial then her husband would come out looking like a scoundrel while she came out smelling like a bed of roses. The jury would convene on November 25 in Nassau County.

This news led Elsie to visit her daughter-in-law in the hospital for the first time in the ten days since her son had passed. Ann was sitting in a chair in her room when she walked in wearing her black mourning veil. Elsie didn’t bother to take a seat or even lift her veil to speak. In a flat and even tone, she explained that the papers, many of their friends, and most of the community believed her to be guilty. Ann tried weakly to whimper a response, but she was quickly cut off by her mother-in-law raising a hand in silence. Elsie continued, informing her that the scandal afoot was a big one, but her family had the power to make it all go away. All Ann had to do was give up custody of her two children. The only thing in the world she had left.

Elsie had no desire to raise the boys. She hadn’t even raised her own children, leaving that business to the hired help. Her only true desire was to hurt Ann in the only way that she could. It wasn’t until that very moment that Ann realized the contempt that Elsie held towards her. She had always known that her mother-in-law hated her for the hold she had managed to place over her son. It was very likely that Elsie was even jealous of her for it. But she had never imagined a scenario where she would stoop so low. Her sons had become nothing more to their grandmother than pawns in her game to hurt their mother.

As Ann sat reeling from Elsie’s ultimatum, she was confronted with another shocking revelation. Billy had changed his will during the time of his affair with the Princess Marina Torlonia. During the time that Billy and Ann had separated he had changed the will to ensure that Ann would only receive the minimum amount legally owed to her by the state, and nothing more. When the couple reconciled, Elsie had warned him against changing it back. She was thrilled to find that she had heeded this warning if he hadn’t listened to anything else she said. In her opinion, Billy had been far too generous in even offering as much as he did. She didn’t think Ann deserved a single red cent for infiltrating their family and digging her claws into their fortune along with her only son.

Ann still owned both of their homes in Manhattan and Oyster Bay Cove. She also owned all the furniture adorning both homes, all of her jewelry, a yearly allowance, and plenty of cash to live comfortably on. Even with all of this, Billy was still worth more to her alive. Whether or not she was aware of that before Elsie informed her as much isn’t clear.

Before Elsie took her leave she delivered one final blow. She had already contacted a very prestigious boarding school in Switzerland about taking the boys as soon as possible. Ann found herself backed into a corner by her elderly, wealthy, and powerful mother-in-law. She was left with no choice but to agree to her terms if she expected to get by after everything finally settled down. The decision that those women came to sitting in that hospital room that day would never be fully explained to the poor children sent into exile shortly after their father’s funeral. Though they were the most innocent in all of this, somehow the boys found themselves punished. The trauma they faced in the wake of their father’s death would follow them for the rest of their short lives.

It wasn’t until November 21 that Ann finally arrived at police headquarters for questioning. Throngs of reporters had been camped outside, waiting for the opportunity to catch a glimpse, and hopefully a statement from the grieving widow. She covered her face with a dark shawl as her lawyer parted the sea of eager journalists all vying for a scoop. Gone were the days that she stopped and posed for pictures that were sure to appear in society’s best-dressed columns. Now she just wanted them all to go away and leave her to her grief.

Three weeks had passed since the shooting by the time she was finally able to be interviewed. Though still under her doctor’s care, Robinson was hopeful that she could finally give them something to work with. Her lawyers had agreed to the meeting. Hopefully that was a good sign.

Right off the bat she was asked about the state of their marriage. With a shrug, she described it as average. If their relationship was so normal then why was she having him followed by private detectives so shortly after getting married? Was she suspicious of something? Ann said that she had only been curious. Had there been a rumor of some kind that had sparked her curiosity? Only that Billy had been stopping to have a drink and see a girl. She had been curious to find out if this was true.

Did she know this girl that her husband was supposed to have been seeing? She wasn’t sure, but she had an idea of someone in particular that she didn’t know personally. Robinson asked her about all the other times she had hired private eyes to check up on her husband, as well as having him followed during his affair with Marina Torlonia. Becoming more evasive, she began asking for more time to recall past events, or stated that her detectives uncovered nothing of interest. As Robinson continued to dig, Ann became more reluctant to talk.

When asked about a fight she and Billy got into while on a trip to Miami in February of that year, she seemed unwilling to disclose much. It had been a Saturday night and the couple had gone out together. By the time they made it back to their room an altercation had exploded into violence. Though Ann claimed to not remember the cause of the fight, she vividly recalled her husband choking her. She was scared for her life with such a strong man gripping her throat as he loomed overhead. With the first breath of air she managed to catch she screamed in the hopes she would be heard. Someone heard loud and clear and called the police.

Robinson asked if at some point during their altercation she’d thrown an ashtray at Billy. She replied that this was a possibility as it is a woman’s instinct to throw things. Had the police come to their room? She remembered them being there. When asked if any action had been taken her response was indignant. There hadn’t been any action to take, she replied. Had Billy been drinking that night? It was Saturday and they had been out together, so it was highly likely.

Had she been drinking that night? She may have been. When asked if she was a drinker, she lied, stating that she drank “very little.” Had there been any further effect from the fight? No. As a matter of fact they were in attendance at a large lunch party the very next day, mingling with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. They had even been photographed for Time magazine at the party, looking deliriously happy together as they donned their masks and did their best imitation of a perfect marriage. This fight, she claimed, like all the others, meant nothing to them.

Talk of the altercation in Miami seemed to have fired Ann up some, and Robinson tried to take advantage. Switching gears, he asked her if she had heard anything about the prowler before the night of the shooting. No. She hadn’t found out until that morning when it was discovered that their garage had been broken into. How long had they been sleeping downstairs? Unable to confirm an exact date, she replied that the move from upstairs had occurred just before that summer. The upstairs bedrooms were to be made up for guests. When confronted with Paul’s account of bedding folded on a chair near an unmade bed upstairs, she commented that she would have to reprimand her maids for this oversight.

That Saturday morning before the party Ann slept in late. She was woken by Billy and her sons excitedly coming home from their ride in Billy’s new plane. Her husband sat on the edge of her bed, smiling down at her and telling her how happy he was that she was awake. Her son enthusiastically told her every detail of his exhilarating morning. Billy waited until the boys happily skittered away to tell her about the break-in that occurred in the night. Someone had gotten into their garage and broken into their car, only getting as far as the glove compartment. He also told her about the footprints discovered around the grounds and the cabana that had also been broken into. This was the first she recalled hearing of a prowler in the area.

Immediately after she rose from her bed, Billy and Ann checked the property together. They were informed by the groundskeeper, who had discovered the disturbance, that he was pretty sure it had been the same man breaking into homes and garages all over the neighborhood. Their cabana had been entered through a window and a chaise lounge had been dragged outside. It appeared as though the burglar had slept on it. The contents of a small refrigerator in the cabana had been strewn all over the floor. Fearing that the burglar may still be hiding out somewhere on their property, Ann began speaking French with her husband so not to be understood.

As they walked the property they continued to find empty beer cans, scraps of food, and half-eaten candy littering the grounds. Inside the garage they found a rock that had quite obviously been used in an attempt to break into the ammunition box. This caused the couple to fear that this man was armed and dangerous.

Robinson asked if Billy’s prized “Studelac” had been the car that was broken into. Ann confirmed as much, stating that she was terrified to find the very car they had just arrived in late that evening had been the one chosen. Imaging the long walk from their garage to the main house sent her into tears. With so little time passing between their arrival and the time they bedded down for the night they could’ve run right into this man. He could’ve been waiting on their property as they parked the car and walked to the house. Hiding somewhere in the bramble, unseen and unknown as he watched them. Dabbing tears from her eyes, she told Robinson that it was while assessing the damage that Billy first suggested arming themselves against the robber. A brief discussion about hiring someone to guard the house didn’t seem to make either of them feel better

Ann explained that they had come to the country with plans that weekend and they weren’t about to let those plans get put off just because of this man. The boys would still be going to the picnic their riding instructor had organized while Billy and Ann went to the Bakers’ to rub elbows. Before leaving the house, Ann made sure to show the maids how to lock the doors. She also instructed them to wait up for the boys and lock up behind them. Normally they wouldn’t have even thought about locking the heavy double door that served as their main entrance, but now it seemed important to take every precaution.

When leaving for the party that night Billy had decided to take his Ford Thunderbird. This was the car he preferred to drive while in Long Island because he liked the way it handled on the roads. Ann stated that the party wasn’t scheduled to start until 8:30, so the couple ended up driving around for a bit so not to arrive too early. They looked at the fun, creepy, and creative Halloween decorations that adorned the homes they passed. She said that it wasn’t until they were safely inside the car and on their way that she decided to put on her jewelry. Afraid the prowler may be hiding nearby, she didn’t want to entice him into her robbing her of her beautiful pearls. A small pouch hid her necklace and earrings until she felt safe enough to put them on.

Ann told the detective about the nine millimeter pistol that her husband retrieved from their gun cabinet. Stowing the gun inside his glove compartment, he felt almost invincible given the statements he’s known to have made that night. When asked who she’d spoken about the prowler with, Ann replied everyone. Billy had talked a great deal on the subject as well.

The main driveway lights had been left on while all of the other driveways leading to the house were left dark. This was typical. For fear that they would run into trouble on the long walk between the garage and the house, Billy opted to park right out in front. He brought the pistol out of the glove compartment and pocketed it. Ann began rifling through her bag as they walked to the door, unable to find her key or her pearls. Afraid the prowler may be close enough to hear, she dared not say a word about her missing jewelry. She only told Billy that she couldn’t find the house key.

Ann claimed that her husband chose to enter the house through her bedroom window. This caught the detective’s attention. He asked her to really think about what she was saying. Had he really gone in through the window, or was it possible that they only discussed it? He explained that Billy would’ve had to climb over the heavy wisteria vine in front of her window, leaving evidence of his entrance on his suit. There was no evidence that he came anywhere near the vine on his clothes. Robinson urged her to think a little harder about her statement. If it wasn’t true then she really wanted to retract it.

She was thoughtful for a moment before making the decision to change her answer. They may have entered through the front door after all. Which one of them had opened the door? After a little thought she suddenly realized that a deeper search of her purse produced the key. She opened the door. Upon entering the house Billy started checking for any signs of a break-in, while Ann checked on the children. Standing outside their bedrooms, Ann listened to the muffled sound of their breathing through the doors. Billy joined her before the two returned downstairs to the sitting room for a brief time.

While in the sitting room, Billy suggested that they retrieve their shotguns from the gun cabinet in the basement. If the burglar decided to come back they would want to be well armed. When they grabbed the guns, Ann also grabbed the extra shotgun shells that she returned to the cabinet after shooting her husband, storing them in her bra. When the two parted ways for the night Ann set her shotgun down on a slipper chair beside her bed.

The next thing she knew, “something, or someone” as she put it, had made a noise. Not sure what was beyond her bedroom door, she leapt from bed and grabbed her gun. The whole thing happened so fast, she told the detective. He asked her if she recalled any lights in the hallway when she fired the shot. She said that it was dark when she exited her room. But how could she have seen a shadow in the dark? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had seen “something, or someone” moving on the stairs.

Maybe she turned on the light, but she didn’t know. What about her bedroom light? Had she turned it on? She shook her head, saying that there was no light. Did she call out to the figure moving in the darkness? No. She just “jumped up and ran over and shot.”

A sense of panic had fueled her reaction, and that was the tragedy of it all. Had the thought crossed her mind that it could’ve been one of her maids on the stairs? No. She never for a second thought of anyone else in the house. That, she said, was the most horrible part. She didn’t think at all. He asked again, she didn’t call out at all before shooting? Running out her door and firing her weapon, she never bothered to call out first.

Was she positively sure that she fired the gun in complete darkness? She nodded her head silently. Robinson took this time to inform her that this was a lie. A light had been found left on at the far end of his bedroom. With the door remaining open, that light should’ve been spilling out into the hallway. Had she been aware that the light was on? After a moment of thought, she replied that she may have turned it on.

Did she enter her husband’s room after the shooting? She said that she ran to him, taking his wounded, bloody body into her arms. Robinson already knew this. What he wanted to know now was whether she had gone into his room at any point after the shooting. She couldn’t recall.

Where was the hallway’s light switch located? Ann replied that it could be found right as you would come through the door. Could she remember turning that light on after the incident? She couldn’t recall, but she may have. Robinson was curious to know if she had realized her terrible mistake before or after turning on the lights. If the room was still as dark as she claimed then how could she have realized what she’d done? If she couldn’t tell who he was from a distance in the dark before she fired, then how did she know it was Billy before running to him? In a whisper, she said that she must have turned the light on.

She claimed that all she could remember was seeing her husband lying naked, cold, and riddled with bullet holes on the floor. It wasn’t until the moment she saw him that she realized the awful thing she had done. Robinson gave no reply and asked no more questions. He concluded the interview there, feeling that he had gotten all he was going to get.

When the grand jury convened on November 25, 1955, Edward Robinson was supervising with District Attorney Frank Gullotta also present. Gullotta believed that the jury should be taken to the crime scene for a better understanding of where everything occurred and how. However they did not agree and didn’t take the extra time to journey to Oyster Bay Cove. Even without the field trip to the Woodwards’ Playhouse there was still much to get through between witness and expert testimonies, gun authorities, and the tall pile of pictures to examine. Then there would be the testimony of Ann Woodward, herself.

When Ann sat down it was in front of an all-male jury. Recounting the events of that night on the stand, she went into greater detail than she had previously. For a total of thirty-one minutes she remained on the stand as Robinson cross-examined her. Through her emotional outbursts of grief and despair she proved herself a compelling witness to members of the jury. Robinson would allow her moments to dab at her crocodile tears with a monogrammed handkerchief as she recomposed herself throughout her testimony. She tried to impress upon the jury her panic and the fear she felt for herself and her family in that fatal moment. When she discovered her lethal error she devolved into an entirely different kind of panic.

Though the jury may have found her compelling, many reporters in the courtroom seized on her prior acting career as an explanation for that. For a trained actress the grieving widow routine was simply child’s play. Friends of Billy’s shared the same opinion, thinking her testimony nothing more than a gripping, theatrical performance. Recalling her anxiousness over the prowler at the Bakers’ party that night, they all wondered aloud if it was all part of her plan to murder her husband in cold blood.

The hearing stretched on for nine hours as witnesses were heard and a mountain of evidence was combed through. Thirty witnesses including Ann swayed the jury in her favor. They voted unanimously not to indict her on charges of murder. Their foreman, Alfred T. Allen, spoke for the entire grand jury when he commented that her actions had been that of a wife and mother trying to protect her family. What occurred that night in their eyes was an unbearably dreadful accident. Gullotta was not happy with the verdict, but there was nothing he could do. The grand jury had their say, and they said she was innocent.

Dressed in black, Ann guarded her red, puffy eyes with a pair of sunglasses as she exited the courthouse. Journalists descended on her as she walked out a free woman. How was she feeling after this vindication, they asked. Her only reply was that she would never recover.

Ann Woodward may have been cleared in the eyes of the law, but her verdict meant nothing to the elitists that she’d tried so hard to win over and fit in with. The rumor mill was churning at full capacity as the rich and privileged of New York gossiped over every luncheon, cocktail party, squash game, horse race, and dinner. The opinion was the same at every gathering. Ann was guilty and her anxiety over the burglar infiltrating their area was nothing more than pretext meant to relieve her of culpability. She had hardly been tolerated when she married Billy, but she found herself completely ostracized after his death. The very society that she had fought so hard to claw her way into froze her out, in turn making her their main topic of conversation.

Shuttled from one home and one school to another throughout her childhood, Ann had grown up alone. Marrying her way up from a traveling actress and dancer to a socialite had also proved to be a lonely life as she was labeled a gold digger and social climber. Though she had grown used to a lonely sort of life, Ann was never more alone than she found herself after her husband’s death. No one wanted to be associated with the infamous figure she’d become. Dubbed by the papers as the “self-made widow,” journalists showed little mercy as they helped to twist the pitchfork.

The Woodward children weren’t the only ones who ended up exiled from the States just after their father’s funeral. Elsie made the suggestion to Ann that she mourn her husband’s death elsewhere, like Europe, for no less than four years. It would seem that she escaped indictment by the court only to be sentenced by her mother-in-law. Ann was left with no choice in the matter. It was either flee the country, or be removed from her children’s trust fund. Left with two choices; either pack her bags or live in poverty for the rest of her life, Ann chose to pack and retreat. Within just a matter of weeks her family unit had been split into pieces and scattered across Europe.

If she had hoped for a reprieve during her exile then she was quickly disappointed. Before she had been labeled a manipulative, opportunistic murderer she had once enjoyed international travel. Her status as a member of the wealthy Woodwards was honored as she was doted upon overseas. Within a day of her arrival it was made painfully obvious that the international papers had picked up the scoop as well. No matter where she went, she was infamous.

The first morning of her exile she awoke in England and decided to go out, likely expecting a peaceful, quiet day. Hiding behind dark sunglasses and beneath an umbrella, she was recognized anyway. She found out in the worst of ways that her picture as well as her story had already splashed headlines all over the world. Any hopes she may have sheltered about finding companionship of any kind was shattered as she discovered that opinions didn’t seem to shift across the Atlantic. Thousands of miles from home, she was still looked at as a blood-thirsty, money-hungry killer.

Her fall from the top of the world was long and hard. Ann went from international adventures, cocktail party invites, and best-dressed columns to the most avoided person in the world. Once her company had been sought after in Europe. She missed those days as she grew increasingly lonely and depressed. Where before she had filled her days by helping with the Stud and Farm, hiring and firing help, and managing her children and homes, now she had nothing to occupy her time. Still living in modest luxury, she was completely alone as she leaned more and more on drugs and alcohol to fill the emptiness in her life and numb the pain that threatened to kill her. She still managed to hold onto a very small handful of acquaintances back in the States, but they likely also believed her to be getting roughly what she deserved. The permanent isolation that she received from high society was likely a worse punishment than prison ever could’ve been for her.

Ann was allowed visits back to New York during her banishment. Each and every visit was like another blow to the gut when she rediscovered that the scandal surrounding her had yet to fade. The elite have long memories and they never forgot or stopped gossiping about her worst mistake, premeditated or not.

Elsie continued to host her weekly luncheons, where whispers were traded about her ousted daughter-in-law. Sitting in her home, surrounded by pictures of Billy, it was hard not to think of and talk about his “self-made widow.” In every room his face adorned almost every wall, reminding everyone of his death as well as how he had passed. The alcohol-fueled lunches always led to gossip, which inevitably led to pointed barbs about Ann.

By 1975 it would seem that the Woodward scandal was finally starting to fade from memory. If Ann thought that she was finally going to grab a chance at moving on and living her life then she was about to be horribly disappointed yet again. Truman Capote had been inspired by her case the moment it hit the papers twenty years earlier. On and off since that time he’d been working on a fictional book based off of it. This book that he intended to title Answered Prayers was not only to be heavily based on the Woodward case, but it would also take a very bold and graphic look at the elite of New York City at that time. In 1975, Capote decided to publish a chapter of the book that he had built up as his magnum opus, much to the horror of many, especially Ann.

Truman Capote had found success so wild it was practically untamed when he published his first book, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It soon went on to the silver screen, where Audrey Hepburn took the starring role. His next major success, In Cold Blood, is hailed today by the true crime community as the first book of the true crime genre. He had been working on Answered Prayers before the Kansas case of a family murdered inspired him to travel there for in-depth research. After riding the high that In Cold Blood’s success awarded him, he returned to his magnum opus once again.

Capote’s own mother had spent many years clawing her way into high society much the same way that Ann had. After his accomplishments in writing, Capote found himself truly accepted into that same society with arms wide open. Even as an openly gay man of that very closed-minded era, he found affirmation in their elevated circles through his personality. He was easy to talk to, fun to gossip with, and full of wit. The women of New York’s upper crust fell in love with him and took him tightly into their folds. Many of them shared their confidences and dark secrets with him. None of them thought for a minute that he could be making mental notes of every scandal, fight, affair, and rumor in their world. But in fact he was tucking each and every juicy morsel into his belt for his biggest work of all. The mirror that he planned to stick in all their faces when he published Answered Prayers.

Capote was not only fascinated, but inspired by these fancy people and the dramatic lives that they led. He was particularly interested in Ann’s case, likely because of the many parallels between her and Truman’s own mother. Throughout his childhood he had been neglected and ignored by his mother in favor of her social climb. As she sought out money, glamour, and a savory piece of the upper crust, young Truman was shuttled back and forth between relatives and fancy schools. Seeing Ann as no better than the woman who had chose not to raise him, it would seem that Capote had an ax to grind while writing his book. By extension, he also chose to reach out and damage a large swath of elitists while seeking his revenge on everything his mother represented to him. As he used friends with connections to the Woodwards for his research into the case, he also mentally stored away everything they told him about their own lives and those of their acquaintances.

In the twenty years since the shooting in Oyster Bay Cove the story had faded some, but remained fodder for gossip rags. There were still many out there that wanted to know what really happened that night after they returned home from their friends’ party. Truman Capote seemed to be more enthused about learning these details than anyone else. He figured anything he couldn’t learn more about, he would just make up in the writing process. Known for his very Southern style of storytelling, embellishments and fabrications were a staple of his.

Learning that his dear friend, C.Z. Guest, wife of polo great, Winston Guest, had attended the Bakers’ party that night, he couldn’t help but to take advantage of her knowledge. She gave him some details of the party, but the main reason Capote wanted her insight was because she was one of very few who had remained in contact with Ann after she was cast out. Learning all he could from her, he also worked with a friend from the Nassau County Police Department to uncover as full of a picture as possible. It had been his career-long goal to write something that would rival Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. In his zeal to create a work better than that of a classic, he agonized endlessly over Answered Prayers. The title he had chosen from a quote. Saint Teresa of Avila said “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.”

Immediately after publishing In Cold Blood, Capote went right back to work on Answered Prayers. He figured since the story was already in his head and he’d already done so much work towards finishing it that it would be no problem to get done. He couldn’t have been more wrong to assume that. It wasn’t that his story was lacking for intrigue or excitement. There was sex, scandal, money, and murder and all of it was set in the middle of high society. His issue was perfection. A good story can easily be ruined if it’s not told correctly.

If Truman ever tried to tell anyone that he had no motivation to write this book then he lied flat-out. Whether Ann remembered the encounter or not, she had met with him once just after her case was settled, declaring the shooting accidental. At a cozy little restaurant in Saint Moritz called La Cote Basque the two happened to run into each other. Capote was surrounded by his clucking hens, or as he referred to them, his swans. They were drinking and gossiping as they always were when he happened to notice Ann sitting across the room.

It turned out that both of them were regulars. As Ann would often eat and drink alone, Capote would surround himself with his swans while they cruelly talked about anyone that wasn’t present at their table. After Ann started making headlines as a murderess much of their gossip tended to involve her. One can only imagine Capote’s delight at seeing the very woman they had just been talking about over drinks. Letting his mischievous side get the better of him, he decided to walk on over and poke the bear, knowing well that if he didn’t outright piss her off, he would certainly rattle her cage.

Immediately, she jumped from her seat when he approached her table. Angry that her meal was being interrupted for childish games, a short exchange occurred between them, during which she referred to Capote as “ a little fag” and “a little toad.” These barbs at his stature as well as his sexuality would leave wounds that festered into hatred. If he hadn’t already been determined to write this story, their exchange lit a fire underneath him. He wouldn’t only out her for what she really was, he would see her broken and destroyed.

On January 5, 1966, Capote signed a contract with the same publishing house that had released In Cold Blood. They were excited about working with him on this new project after the smash hit the prior book had been. There was an understanding among those at the publishing house that he was still physically and mentally drained after the toll writing a true crime story had taken on him. Joseph Fox, his editor for In Cold Blood and Answered Prayers, was especially sympathetic to his needs. His work on the true crime book had spanned six long years and the research had been expansive and eye-opening. When his contract wasn’t fulfilled and eventually scrapped for another in 1969, no one was really surprised. The next offer was even better than the first, though. A three-book deal with the first slated to release in January 1973.

January 1973 came and went, and a manuscript was never produced. The date was postponed again until January 1974, but still his editor received nothing. They pushed the date up to September 1974, but he still never produced a book. During the years he worked on it, Capote would use it as a threat to his elitist friends. Watch what you tell Truman, he may just publish it. The bombshells contained within really shouldn’t have surprised anyone when his first chapter hit magazines to tease readers for the book.

Capote spoke with his editor towards the end of 1974 about publishing some chapters he had selected from his book in various magazines. The chapters; “La Cote Basque,” “Mojave,” “Kate McCloud,” and “Unspoiled Monsters” were meant to leave his readers thirsting for more of his book. Fox didn’t think much of this idea. He thought that Truman was giving too much of the story away before the book was even finished. Capote would hear none of it though, and decided to publish anyway.

Esquire published “Unspoiled Monsters” in May 1974. The chapter, which was long enough to be considered a novella, introduced the world to the book’s narrator, P.B. Jones. Clearly based on himself, P.B. Jones was a bisexual hustler who was renting a room at the YMCA while attempting to finish writing his book, Answered Prayers. Capote denied that the character was based on himself, saying that P.B. Jones wasn’t him, but he wasn’t not him, either. Capote appeared on Esquire’s cover that month, posed like an assassin.

The publishing of this chapter would rightfully earn him the title of “the Tiny Terror.” This moniker would stick throughout the rest of his life and his own behavior would only help. He referred to his book as a sort of pistol that he could easily aim at any one of his elite friends and fire. On one occasion he told a friend that some people use swords, but “some people kill with words.” There are many that believed this is exactly what he intended to do with his book. Comparing it to a gun in an interview with People, he said “it’s going to come out with speed and power like you’ve never seen.”

Ann was set to make a longer visit to the States than usual and Capote had gotten wind through his network of socialites. He thought this to be the perfect time to approach Ladies’ Home Journal about publishing what was supposed to be chapter seven of Answered Prayers, “La Cote Basque, 1965.” This chapter was of course set at the restaurant that they both frequented and loved. It would also introduce the story’s protagonist, Ann Hopkins, who was very clearly based on Ann Woodward. Ladies’ Home Journal found the chapter too provocative for their use, but Esquire was more than happy to feature yet another installation of Capote’s newest work.

Ann Hopkins was painted as morally flexible and known throughout France as “Madame Marmalade.” The name was said to be earned from a “trick she did using her tongue and jam.” The trigger-happy leech he described killed her husband after he asked for a divorce. Using a popular rumor that had circulated since the shooting, Capote wrote that her husband had traveled to her hometown to discover a previous marriage that had never been annulled. Calling her a “white-trash slut” and describing her as being brought up in a “country-slum way,” he ruthlessly tore into her in the most public way possible.

Ann had no idea why she had received such a public battering. With little memory of her only contact with Capote from years earlier, she was at a loss for his attack. As she wondered why this man hated her so much, he was still clutching tightly to her practically ancient insults. It would seem that Capote was not one to let go of a grudge, no matter how old.

The book’s next chapter was already sending tremors throughout high society, even before its publication. Many in places of privilege were privy to an advance copy and the reactions were a mix of horror, shock, and intrigue depending on the reader. No one had to guess where his inspiration had come from. The story was pretty much a retelling of the Woodward case, with some very minor tweaks and changes made. Ann was hardly the only member of New York’s upper class to make a slightly altered appearance in the chapter. Celebrities, tycoons, and the wives of important business leaders all made their way into his convoluted story. All of the gossip and closely guarded secrets they had shared with him over drunken lunches were brought to light in stark black and white. Those who once called themselves a friend of Truman Capote spent the rest of their lives regretting the day they ever met the little man with the big personality.

Ann was among those who had become aware of the next chapter’s publication. With each passing day before it was set to release she grew increasingly more anxious and frenzied. Knowing the exact date that it would hit the newsstands, she surprisingly made no effort to run and hide her head in European sand. Though she had told her very few acquaintances that she needed to be “far away” when it all hit the fan, she didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She hysterically read through the papers while seeking any information she could find from those in her life. She leaned entirely on her medications as she began to dread the mere thought of getting out of bed in the morning.

In October 1974, Ann put on her favorite dress before doing her make-up. A thick layer of base with mascara and lipstick. Swallowing a fistful of Seconal, she laid down and let it all fade away. Ironically this was the very same drug that had taken the life of Truman Capote’s mother. He felt no guilt over her death and took no responsibility for it. There were many accusations that he had directly caused her suicide, but he dismissed every single one. Even Elsie Woodward commented, “She shot my son, and Truman just murdered her.”

Now that Ann Woodward was dead and buried there were some that wondered if their scandal would finally be laid to rest alongside them. At the very least would the Woodward children, who suffered the most through all of this, be able to move on and lead normal, fulfilling lives? That question was answered loud and clear soon after Ann’s death.

Billy and Ann’s younger son, James Woodward, enlisted in the Army during the Vietnam War. Like many others that made it home from that hellscape, James was horribly traumatized by the things he saw over there. He was likely also still wrestling with trauma left over from his father’s passing and his grandmother’s handling of the situation. When he came home, James became addicted to drugs in his struggle to cope with everything he’d been through. Before Ann committed suicide, she had been her son’s biggest, and probably only supporter, trying to get him help in both the U.S. and Europe.

Just two years before his mother died, James had unsuccessfully tried to take his own life. He jumped from a balcony in 1972, but much to his mother’s relief, he survived the fall. However, two years after Ann’s death, in 1976, James completed suicide, following his mother and father to the cemetery.

William Woodward, the older of the Woodward children, had turned out to be nothing short of a success story in comparison to his younger brother. It seemed as though he had survived his childhood trauma with little to no scarring as he went on to become a journalist, and even ran for public office in the 1960s. He also followed the Woodward baking tradition in his own way, serving as New York State’s deputy superintendent of banks. William got married and had a daughter from this union, cementing his perfect life.

When William’s marriage fell apart, so did he. It was as though his family had been the only thing keeping the ghosts of Oyster Bay Cove silent. When those ghosts came back, it was with a vengeance. Those that knew him best said that he became deeply depressed and despondent. When he leapt fourteen stories from the kitchen window of his apartment in 1999, no one was really surprised. His family history and the crippling depression he’d been experiencing was blamed for his suicide. For all their money and power, it would seem as though the Woodward family had been cursed.

When “La Cote Basque, 1965” hit the newsstands it made an impact, but likely not the one Capote had intended. Those who made appearances in his chapter were not flattered with the way they were depicted. The scandalous, salacious secrets that appeared in bold print for the world to read sent waves of panic and anger throughout high society. The army of swans that Capote had amassed all dropped him the moment his chapter was released. Only one remained, and even she publicly admitted to the fact that she had never really trusted him to start with. Capote had always presented himself as is, never pretending to be anything else. He was a reporter and a writer. The way his last remaining friend saw it, everyone should have seen the chapter coming from the moment he entered their lives.

That loaded pistol Capote pointed at New York’s rich and privileged backfired on him. He turned out to be correct about the speed and power with which his metaphorical bullet would release. He just didn’t see it turning back in his direction with such swiftness. Overnight he saw himself iced out of the circles that his writing had accessed him. Capote would live for another nine years in near isolation but for his one last swan.

He sank into a deep depression after being cast out of society. It would seem that in his zeal to ostracize Ann for a decades-old slight he only served to repudiate himself. The sad and brief remainder of his life was spent in a drug and alcohol induced stupor. After all of the years he spent writing and bragging about Answered Prayers, he never finished the book. He didn’t even publish any more of the chapters he selected with Esquire after the reception of his book’s seventh chapter. Never publishing another word, he spent the rest of his life just the way he intended for Ann Woodward to. Alone as his health declined from heavy use of drugs and alcohol. The irony was absolutely poetic.

Truman Capote passed away on August 25, 1984, having never published or even scribbled another word. The few left in his life at the time of his passing combed his house for the manuscript of the magnum opus that never was. Not a single page was ever found. There were some that theorized that Truman had never actually written it to start with. It never existed but in the fantastic tales that he would tell of it. Others claimed to have not only witnessed Truman working on the manuscript, but to have seen or read it for themselves. The most probable theory is that after he blew up his entire life with his final chapter, he burned the rest of the book either in discouragement or self-preservation.

If the secrets that only one chapter contained had such dramatic and permanent effects then imagine what the entire book could’ve exposed. No one will ever know what other confidences might have been spilled into public knowledge. Truman took it all to the grave with him.

The fall of the house of Woodward is a story worthy of the silver screen. It really is no wonder that Truman Capote felt so compelled to base a book off of it. A ready-made epic just waiting to be told, it was as though it had called to him even before his run-in with Ann.

The entirety of my research into this story came from Roseanne Montillo’s amazingly thorough book, Deliberate Cruelty, Truman Capote, the Millionaire’s Wife, and the Murder of the Century. If you’re looking for more information about this case or Truman Capote and his life, this is a good reference.