The Boogey Man

"I am a man of passion.  You don't know what that means unless you are my kind ... The fire chases you and catches you and then it's in your blood.  And after that, it's the fire that has control, not the man.  Blame the fire of passion for what I have done."

In Brooklyn on Friday February 11, 1927, Billy Gaffney was playing in the hallway of his tenement building with his three year old neighbor, Billy Beaton.  Johnny McNiff, a 12 year old boy who lived upstairs came down to join them for a while and then went back to his flat to check on his baby sister.  When he returned the two  were gone.  He told Mr. Beaton what happened, who after a frantic search found his son on the top floor sitting by a ladder leading to the roof.  When asked what happened to the other boy, Billy replied 'the boogey man took him'.  During the subsequent police investigation a trolley car conductor came forward and told of an old man and young boy who boarded his vehicle about two blocks from the Gaffney home.  The man has trying to hush the boy, who was crying for his mother. When disembarking the man asked where they could catch a ferry to Staten Island.  Ignoring the instructions given, the old man hurried off in the opposite direction 'half dragging, half carrying' the weeping youngster as they disappeared into the night.

Albert wrote his confession to the murder of Billy Gaffney in a letter to James Dempsey, his attorney during the Grace Budd murder trial.  Here are its contents in part:

There is a public dumping ground in Riker Ave., Astoria.  All kinds of junk has been thrown there for years. ... I will admit the motorman who positively identified me as getting off with a small boy was correct.  I can tell you at the time I was looking for a suitable place to do the job.  Not satisfied there, I brought him to the Riker Ave. dumps.  There is a house that stands alone, not far from where I took him. ... I took the G boy there. Stripped him naked and tied his hands and feet and gagged him with a piece of dirty rag I picked out of the dump. Then I burned his clothes. 

One of the many crank letters sent to  NYC papers after Billy's disappearance (included in the Crime Photo Exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

Threw his shoes in the dump. Then I walked back and took the trolley to 59 Street at 2 a.m. and walked from there home. Next day about 2 p.m., I took tools, a good heavy cat-o-nine tails. Home made. Short handle. Cut one of my belts in half, slit these halves in six strips about 8 inches long.
I whipped his bare behind till the blood ran from his legs. I cut off his ears, nose, slit his mouth from ear to ear. Gouged out his eyes. He was dead then. I stuck the knife in his belly and held my mouth to his body and drank his blood.
I picked up four old potato sacks and gathered a pile of stones. Then I cut him up. I had a grip with me. I put his nose, ears and a few slices of his belly in the grip. Then I cut him through the middle of his body. Just below the belly button. Then through his legs about 2 inches below his behind. I put this in my grip with a lot of paper. I cut off the head, feet, arms, hands and the legs below the knee.
This I put in sacks weighed with stones, tied the ends and threw them into the pools of slimy water you will see all along the road going to North Beach. I came home with my meat. I had the front of his body I liked best. His monkey and pee wees and a nice little fat behind to roast in the oven and eat. I made a stew out of his ears, nose, pieces of his face and belly. I put onions, carrots, turnips, celery, salt and pepper. It was good. Then I split the cheeks of his behind open, cut off his monkey and pee wees and washed them first.

I put strips of bacon on each cheek of his behind and put them in the oven. Then I picked 4 onions and when the meat had roasted about 1/4 hour, I poured about a pint of water over it for gravy and put in the onions. At frequent intervals I basted his behind with a wooden spoon. So the meat would be nice and juicy. In about 2 hours, it was nice and brown, cooked through. I never ate any roast turkey that tasted half as good as his sweet fat little behind did. I ate every bit of the meat in about four days. His little monkey was a sweet as a nut, but his pee-wees I could not chew. Threw them in the toilet.