8127/frame/fm

Sidebar 3
Edward O. Heinrich — Murder 
on the Southern Pacific Express
On October 11, 1923, just outside the small town of Siskiyou, Oregon, in the mountains of the same
name, the Portland–San Francisco Express Train No. 13 approached Tunnel 13, not far from the
California border. Unbeknownst to the crew and passengers, two bandits hopped the mail car as it
slowly approached the north entrance to the tunnel, and a third waited on a hillside just outside the
south exit with his trigger finger on a bomb detonator. The train stopped unexpectedly just as the
engine and the first few cars emerged from the south side of the tunnel; the mail car was halfway out,
and the passenger and baggage cars remained in the tunnel. The bomb, planted in the mail car and
presumably meant only to breach its integrity, exploded and, much to the horror of the robbers, not
to mention the crew and passengers, ignited a fire. The mail clerk burned to death at his post, while
the engineer, fireman, and brakeman were shot to death on a nearby hillside. The bandits were forced
to abandon their loot, presumably the securities and sums of money carried in the mail car, and
disappeared into the surrounding hills. The conductor, who had been riding in a rear car, and therefore
escaping detection by the robbers, emerged and immediately called the authorities from an emergency
telephone located at the south end of the tunnel.
Soon deputy sheriffs and other officers from nearby towns converged on the scene. On the slope
just outside the southern end of the tunnel, they found the remains of a detonator with two batteries
attached and with wires running to the train tracks. Close to the detonator, they found a revolver, a
pair of greasy blue-denim overalls, and a pair of gunnysack shoes soaked in creosote, presumably to
keep tracking dogs from detecting the scent. A knapsack, a suit of underwear, a pair of socks, a canteen,
and a water bag were collected from a cabin close to the site. A local tramp reported seeing two men
jump aboard the mail car as the train approached the northern end of the tunnel.
Posses and canine searches led nowhere. It was suggested that the batteries from the detonator
might have come from a local shop. A group of men converged on the shop and, convinced that the
grime on the lone mechanic’s hands and face resembled that on the overalls found at the scene, forced
him to try them on. Convinced of a perfect fit, the men hauled the mechanic, over his protests of
innocence, off to the local jail. However, the police failed to connect him to the crime in any other way.
The blue overalls were sent to Edward O. Heinrich in Berkeley, along with a description of the
garage mechanic. After carefully examining the overalls, he issued the following report:
You are holding the wrong man.… The overalls you sent me were worn by a left-handed
lumberjack accustomed to working around fir trees. He is a white man between 21 and 25 years
of age, not over five feet ten inches tall and he weighs about 165 pounds. He has medium light
brown hair, a fair complexion, light brown eye-brows, small hands and feet, and he is rather
fastidious in his personal habits. Apparently he has lived and worked in the Pacific Northwest.
Look for such a man. You will be hearing more from me shortly.
The garage mechanic was release on the strength of Heinrich’s report.
How did Heinrich reach such astounding inferences? He concluded that, instead of oil and
grease, the apparent grime was tree pitch, more specifically, fir pitch. From the right-hand pocket, he
extracted a variety of grains, particles, and chips. From a microscopic examination, he determined
that the particulate matter comprised bits of Douglas fir needles, fir chips, and fingernail clippings.
He also recovered a strand of hair caught in a button. From the pocket contents, he surmised that
the wearer was a lumberjack who worked around fir trees; the color, cross-sectional shape, and width
of the hair apparently allowed him to determine that it came from the head of a Caucasian between
the ages of 21 and 25.
8127/frame/ch02 Page 59 Friday, July 21, 2000 11:51 AM

---

60
Principles and Practice of Criminalistics
Few working criminalists today would support the extrapolation of such
specific details about a person’s life and habits from the examination of phys-
ical evidence, let alone a single glove or pair of overalls. Such inferences were
probably overstatements even for the time, but with the increasingly mobile
and eclectic nature of our society, they become irresponsible at best, mislead-
ing at worst. Most forensic scientists practicing in the current climate shy away
from grand sweeping Holmesian deductions, instead limiting themselves to
Heinrich was convinced that the man was left-handed. This conclusion was based on the finding
of wood chips in the right pocket, where he said they would land while a left-handed person chopped
a tree (his right side would be facing the tree, and the wood chips would fly in), the wear on the left
side pockets, and his observation that the overall had been buttoned exclusively from the left side.
The neatness of the fingernail trimmings convinced him of the fastidious nature of the man. The
height, he calculated by measuring the overalls between the shoulder buckles and the bottoms of the
trouser legs. Heinrich maintained that the fact that the left buckle was 
3
/
4
inch higher than the right
was further proof of left-handedness. The creases on the bottom of each leg told him that they had
been tucked into shoe tops, “just as a lumberjack does.”
The most concrete finding, extricated from a deep narrow pencil pocket in the bib, was a
registered mail receipt for $50 sent by Roy D’Autrement from Eugene, Oregon to his brother in
Lakewood, New Mexico. This piece of information led police to Paul D’Autrement, father of three
sons, Roy and Ray (who were twins), and Hugh. The elder D’Autrement recounted that his sons had
vanished the day before the train was held up. His description of Roy appeared to coincide with
Heinrich’s description, and he was a left-handed lumberjack.
A number of personal items were collected from the D’Autrement house. Heinrich matched a hair
from a towel used by Roy to the one from the overall button. From the items in the cabin, he determined
that the knapsack contained fir needle fragments and was mended with the same coarse black thread
that had been used to mend the overalls — it was “identical.” From measurements of the underwear
and socks, he calculated the stature and physique of the wearer, and, deciding that the person was larger
than the owner of the overalls, concluded that such a person exactly matched the description of Ray
given by his father.
From the Colt automatic revolver, from which the external serial number had been partially
obliterated, he found a second, internal serial number. The gun was traced to a store in Seattle and
had been sold to, and signed for, by a William Elliott. Elliott’s signature was sent to Heinrich, who
established that it was — “identical” — to that of Roy D’Autrement. According to the gun dealer, the
gun buyer fitted the description of Roy. Finally, a canteen and water bag were reported to have been
sold from an army surplus store in Eugene to three men who had come in together. According to
Block, “Obviously, these were the three brothers, and they must have used the cabin as their rendezvous
before the robbery.”
Three years later, in March, 1927, Hugh D’Autrement was arrested after a former military
colleague recognized his photograph on a wanted poster. A month later, an elderly gentleman, rec-
ognized the twins’ photographs from an article in the Sunday paper. They were picked up from the
Ohio steel mill where they had been working under false names. Hugh was tried first, and convicted,
inspiring the twins to confess, as finally did Hugh himself. They were all sentenced to life imprisonment
in the Oregon State Penitentiary at Salem.
It is difficult to know from a historical account what part the forensic evidence actually played
in the investigation and conviction of the D’Autrement brothers. Most forensic scientists working today
would agree that Heinrich’s conclusions, the significance he accorded them, and the confidence with
which they were proffered, far exceeded the data on which they were based. However, no one can
disagree that Heinrich was instrumental in popularizing forensic science, and educating law enforce-
ment and the public about the potential contributions of physical evidence to the solution of crime.