A Cast of Killers by Sidney Kirkpatrick Read Free Book Online Page B

one account, William took the physical but failed for poor eyesight. Regardless of how poor his eyes might be, this apparently didn’t prevent him from joining the British Army years later.
    Vidor and Giroux could only read between the lines. William may have found the idea of following in his father’s footsteps distasteful, and decided it was easier to fake an eye exam than to face his father’s wrath. But whatever happened, William soon disappeared from home a second time, and would never live with his extended again.
    Back in America he roamed the railroad yards in Kansas City, wrote for a magazine in Leavenworth, sold crude sketches in Milwaukee, shot craps in Chicago, and finally, through connections he had made in London years before, landed a job in the theatre in New York.
    There was little doubt that women on and off the stage were attracted to him. He was tall and good-looking, with a finely proportioned body and gentle eyes—the perfect accompaniment for a popular feminine star—and Fanny Davenport, the famous Broadway star, hired him to join her theatrical company.
    Neither Vidor nor Giroux had found any detailed information about the relationship between Tanner and Davenport. All they knew was that Davenport died in 1898, the troupe disbanded, and Tanner left for an uncertain future on the road in stock companies in Boston, Seattle, and Chicago. On the road, money became tight. Then Tanner heard of a gold strike in Alaska. A retired miner from the Klondike told reporters in 1922 of spending several days in a small mountain cabin with Bill Tanner, days during which Tanner had told him of a great love that had ended in a bitter affair and lasting sorrow. Could he have been talking about Fanny Davenport?
    In another account, from the president of Balboa Studios, Tanner had said that he had gone to prison in England for three years to protect a woman’s honor. Neither Vidor nor Giroux had found any official records to substantiate either of these claims. As with the later accounts concerning his murder, there were literally dozens of conflicting stories, all of which agreed only on Tanner’s return to the New York stage in 1901, when he met Ethel May Harrison, a member of the famous Floradora Sextette.
    Ethel was a vivacious beauty who acted, sang, and played the piano. There was no question that she appreciated the handsome, cultured, well-spoken Irishman. But Tanner, who had entree to theatrical circles all over the city, could have chosen any of dozens of stage beauties.
    “Why Ethel May Harrison?” Vidor asked.
    Giroux had some ideas. Tanner was now thirty-four years old, and virtually penniless. He knew firsthand that on the stage he couldn’t make the kind of money he wanted. And while the Floradora Sextette was famous, its individual members, and their families, were not—except Ethel. Ethel’s father, a wealthy stockbroker, was in a position to help get Tanner set up in business, and at the same time eager to see his daughter off the stage. So Tanner married Ethel May Harrison in 1901 at the Little Church Around the Corner, and became the new vice-president and part owner of the English Antique Shop at 246 Fifth Avenue, at a salary of nearly thirty thousand dollars a year. Ethel gave up the stage.
    As Vidor knew, Tanner and Ethel May settled in Larchmont. Tanner grew a mustache, bought and sold lovely furniture, played golf, and was generous to everyone he knew. In 1903 a daughter was born to the couple, whom they named Ethel Daisy Deane Tanner. For seven years Tanner was the dutiful husband; then abnormalities in his behavior began to bother Ethel. William had begun to drink. He acted restless at night, and took an intense interest in psychology and neurosis, often shutting himself up for hours to read. He was also alleged to have been in serious financial debt.
    At about noon on October 23, 1908, Tanner told associates in the antiques shop that he was going to the races and would not return that