The Insurance Fugitive's Last Laugh
After orchestrating a bizarre life insurance fraud involving a fake cremation, William Radloff writes a rambling, taunting letter to the Seattle police from his secret hiding place.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Three letters were received in the city yesterday from William Radloff, the instigator of the scheme to swindle the insurance companies. One of the letters was received by William Behring, the livery stable man; the second was for Mrs. Radloff, and the third was addressed to Chief of Police Jackson. In his letter to Behring, Radloff said that by the time the budget reached Seattle he would be far away. He requested Behring as a friend not to 'give him away,' and ended by saying: 'You will no doubt see the inclosed letters in print, for they will establish the innocence of my wife in connection with this scheme.' Behring dropped the letter addressed to the chief of police in the post office. The letter to Chief Jackson read as follows: 'I take the liberty of addressing you. Please accept my thanks for any favors as chief of police you may be able to show my wife. I understand that ruffian Kustrauch willfully and falsely testified that Mrs. Radloff was the originator of the life insurance scheme. Now, here is the way I first arrived at the idea of the insurance scheme. A third party managed some time ago, by a devilish intrigue, to undermine our former marital happiness. This made me despondent. I thought life was not worth living any more. I was thinking of committing suicide, then the thought came to my mind I might just as well insure my life first that my family might be well provided for. I knew that suicide forfeited a life insurance policy, but soon found a way to overcome this difficulty. I was to take morphine, then lay down on a previously prepared pile of bark and wood to which one of those patent candles was fastened. Thus being cremated would effectually prevent any poison being found in my stomach. Finally, the idea struck me that instead of myself some skeleton might be substituted. As far as myself is concerned, Mr. Edward Cudihee or any other detective will have a hard time in catching me. I have found a true friend and my hiding place is absolutely safe. Now, even if you would capture me, what would you gain? I would be sentenced to the penitentiary then branded forever, and by my release be an outcast, shunned by honest people. It would naturally drive me to other crimes, but for all that I shall never enter a penitentiary alive.'
“I knew that suicide forfeited a life insurance policy, but soon found a way to overcome this difficulty. I was to take morphine, then lay down on a previously prepared pile of bark and wood to which one of those patent candles was fastened.”
Insurance fraud remains a staple of dramatic criminal intrigue, but Radloff's plan—an elaborate, morbid attempt to 'stage' his own death—speaks to the desperation found in late 19th-century boomtowns, where identity and financial survival were fluid concepts. Today, the digital trail would make his 'untraceable' escape an impossibility, marking this as a distinctly pre-modern crime of ingenuity.
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