The Unbelievable Life of the 'John 3:16' Sports Guy

TheTribeofJudahTeach via YouTube
TheTribeofJudahTeach via YouTube

Sometimes, the man in the rainbow-colored wig would be able to purchase tickets at the stadium gate. Other times, scalpers near the entrance would provide access. Occasionally, television announcers would leave him complimentary admission at the will call window.

If it was a football game, he would try to find a seat behind the goalposts. For NBA and MLB games, behind the backboard or home plate was ideal. A portable, battery-operated television would tell him where the broadcast crew was pointing its cameras. If his preferred seat was being occupied by a child, he’d approach the parents and ask if he could just hold the kid. If they recognized him, they would often oblige.

Once he was settled in, Rollen Stewart would hoist a sign or sport a T-shirt emblazoned with a slightly cryptic message: “John 3:16.” Spiritual devotees recognized it as a Bible verse; others would look it up out of curiosity.

That’s exactly what Stewart wanted. The outlandish wig that earned him the nickname "Rainbow Man," the on-camera visibility, and the homemade message were all intended to spread the Gospel.

Throughout the 1980s, Stewart traveled 60,000 miles a year as a full-time spectator, living out of his car, getting stoned, and using television’s obsession with athletics as a vessel for promoting his faith. In doing so, he made the Bible passage a fixture of professional sporting events.

It was a noble effort—but one Stewart would end up undermining with some increasingly eccentric behavior. The signs gave way to stink bombs, and his cheerfully peculiar persona gradually morphed into a mania that, in 1992, led to an eight-hour standoff with a Los Angeles SWAT team.

By the time he was handed three consecutive life sentences in 1993, Rainbow Man had understandably lost much of his luster. Los Angeles Deputy District Attorney Sally Lipscomb described him as another “David Koresh waiting to happen.”

Stewart was born in Spokane, Washington in 1945. In interviews, he described his parents as alcoholics. His father passed away when he was 10; his mother died in a fire in 1968. When he was 23, his sister was strangled to death by her boyfriend.

A family inheritance kept him afloat until he found regular work as a drag racer and motorcycle shop owner. Later, Stewart operated a ranch that led to a marijuana farming business. When that ceased to be either profitable or interesting, Stewart decided to head for Hollywood to become an actor.

It was slow going. He netted a Budweiser commercial but was otherwise low on job prospects. Though he was able to pay the bills with what remained of his inheritance and proceeds from the sale of his ranch, Stewart decided that the best way to increase his profile was by drawing attention to himself at sporting events. Donning a rainbow wig and a fur loincloth while performing a dance routine, he made his broadcast television debut during the 1977 NBA Finals. He was dubbed Rainbow Man, or “Rock ‘N Rollen,” a crowd mascot of sorts who could be counted on to deliver a vibrant camera shot when directors felt like juicing their coverage of spectators.

After attending the 1979 Super Bowl in Miami (although some accounts place it during the 1980 game) Stewart went back to his hotel room and turned on the television. It was then, he said, that the epiphany struck. Stumbling on a program called Today in Bible Prophecy, Stewart realized his television exposure could be used in the service of spreading the gospel. So off came the fur loincloth and on went a T-shirt reading “Jesus Saves” in front and “Redeem” in the back. The "John 3:16" sign was the finishing touch. In the King James version of the Bible, it reads:

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Stewart liked that it was succinct, making it a perfect visual cue for delivering his sermon to the masses. Living out of his car to save on expenses, he shuttled himself from state to state, and sometimes even out of the country, popping up like the sporting world’s version of Waldo. He was spotted at the Kentucky Derby and the Olympics, and was at the Royal Wedding, where he was seen dancing just underneath the balcony where Princess Diana and Prince Charles stood.

Stewart averaged two events a week. Prime seating was crucial, so he relied on his portable television to show him where the cameras would be pointed. Donations from evangelical groups helped support his ticket and travel costs. As a presumably harmless presence, he could sometimes talk his way into a family block of seats by offering to squeeze in next to a baby.

But not everyone was charmed by Rainbow Man. Directors of sports broadcasts sometimes felt his fanatical presence ruined dramatic moments in games and cursed at him from production trucks. Arena security personnel would often ask him to leave, or block his entry from the start. But Stewart persevered, achieving his earlier goal of becoming a minor celebrity while enticing viewers with his cryptic sign.

At a point in the late 1980s, Stewart began to tire of his own persona. He slipped into a funk after he totaled his car, which limited his ability to travel; his fourth wife filed for divorce in 1990. (They met in 1984 at a Virginia church; she later claimed he tried to choke her at New York's Shea Stadium during the 1986 World Series for not standing in the right spot with her "John 3:16" sign, an allegation he denied.)

Stewart’s faith took a turn for the paranoid. He feared the end times were near, and started being a disruptive presence at events. He set off a remote-controlled air horn during the 1990 Masters golf tournament, just as Jack Nicklaus was about to swing. The following year, an arrest warrant was issued by the Santa Ana, California police after Stewart triggered electronic stink bombs at events in New Jersey and Connecticut and at an Orange County church. Authorities feared he had a firearm and was growing increasingly unhinged. They told the media he should be considered dangerous.

They were correct.

On September 22, 1991, Rollen Stewart was hammering nails into the front door of a room at the Hyatt Hotel near Los Angeles International Airport. A terrified maid had locked herself in the bathroom. Stewart was armed with a .45 revolver and several stink bombs, which he would periodically lob toward the law enforcement officers gathering outside his room.

By Stewart’s own account, his desire to warn the world of a pending apocalypse had gotten out of hand. Barricading himself in the hotel, he demanded that the SWAT unit deliver a news crew so he could address the audience directly; SWAT was more concerned with making sure Stewart didn’t begin taking errant shots at planes that were landing at the airport less than 2000 feet away.

The standoff went on for over eight hours, at which point a squad smashed the door in and tackled Stewart. Faced with 11 charges, Stewart had the proverbial book thrown at him. With the Los Angeles deputy district attorney arguing he was a “very sick and very dangerous man,” he was sentenced to three consecutive life terms and shuttled to Mule Creek State Prison on August 3, 1993, where he has remained ever since. As of 2008, three parole hearings have resulted in three denials.

While Stewart’s personal legacy may have come to an unfortunate climax, his message has not. “John 3:16” has been a regular sight at sporting events for over three decades now, and has even been adopted by several athletes. Tim Tebow famously wore strips under his eyes with the verse written out during a 2009 Florida Gators collegiate game; In-N-Out Burger has printed it on the bottom of drinking cups; Forever 21 shoppers have likely noticed it on their shopping bags. Men like Canada-based Bill King have carried on Stewart’s mission, traveling to games and raising the sign in the hopes that the enduring popularity of sports on television will remain a viable way of inviting people to join their faith.

For Stewart, who saw some of the biggest sporting moments of the 1980s, attendance was a necessary evil. Speaking with the Los Angeles Times in 2008 from prison, he admitted that his old life involved a little bit of pretending.

“I despised sports,” he said.

13 Secrets of Crime Scene Cleaners

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It’s a profession that few people realize exists—until tragedy strikes, and suddenly they have to deal with the unimaginable. That’s when they call a select group of iron-stomached, steel-nerved workers known as trauma scene restoration specialists, biohazard remediation technicians, or simply crime scene cleaners.

Until a few decades ago, the task of cleaning up after a loved one died fell to family and friends, potentially adding trauma on top of an already terrible event. In the 1990s, a small group of companies and entrepreneurs sprang up to tackle the problem, specializing in the removal of blood, fluids, human tissue, and hazardous substances. By 2012 (the last year for which reliable data is available), crime scene cleanup was a $350-million industry in the United States, and included more than 500 companies. Here’s what these hazmat-suited heroes want the world to know about their work.

1. THEY AREN'T LIMITED TO CRIME SCENES.

The phrase crime scene cleanup brings to mind police tape and furrow-browed detectives. In reality, only a fraction of the calls these companies receive—which can come from family members, property managers, hotel owners, or anyone with a dead body on their property—are the result of a major crime. Unattended natural death (i.e., a person who dies alone and isn’t discovered quickly) and suicide are the most common scenarios. Glenn Cox, general manager at Southern Bio-Recovery, which has four locations in the Southeast, says that only about 30 percent of the 60 to 100 death scenes his company handles every year are homicides.

To pay the bills, it's common for companies to supplement with other kinds of biohazard removal, whether that's removing tear gas from a property after it's been used by law enforcement or getting rid of meth labs. Cox says that Southern Bio-Recovery also cleans up hoarding situations and decontaminates homes after viral or bacterial incidents—think MRSA or hepatitis outbreaks.

2. MANY OF THEM ARE EX-MILITARY OR LAW ENFORCEMENT.

Former Marine John Krusenstjerna founded Des Moines-based Iowa CTS Cleaners after serving two tours in Iraq. “Just experiencing things out there left me kind of wondering what happened in these situations back in the United States, who takes care of it,” he tells Mental Floss. Peruse executive bios of many trauma restoration company websites and you’ll find similar military, law enforcement, or paramedic backgrounds. Exposure to death—and the chaos it wreaks on family members—also provides valuable experience in the emotional and physical challenges inherent in cleanup. "Being able to compartmentalize in your mind, to stay focused on the task, to have integrity … all of those are attributes I believe I learned from being a soldier," Cox explains.

3. THEIR TRAINING MIGHT INVOLVE PIG BLOOD.

A bucket of blood
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The certification requirements for crime scene cleaners range from nonexistent to uneven, so most training happens in-house. James Michel, CEO at Bio Recovery—which has 22 branches around the country—says all of his company's employees are taken to a special training facility at their headquarters in New York state. "We stage crime scenes there using organic and non-organic types of fake blood: stage blood, pig blood, all different types. We recreate crime scenes with sheet rock, toilets, tile, and [trainees are] able to break it down. We have decontamination stations that are permanently set up so they can walk in and out of and really grasp how to do this on a day-to-day basis." All in all, Michel says, four weeks of such training are required before their techs are even let out on a crime site.

4. THE DEATH SCENE CAN SPREAD BEYOND THE BODY.

“All of our scenes are chaotic, and there's multiple things to do,” says Nate Berg, founder and president of Scene Clean, based in Osseo, Minnesota. “For example, in a decomposition [when a body has been left undiscovered for a long period], you've got strong odors and you've got all their personal property, which now have absorbed the strong odors.” The work becomes a matter of peeling the layers of contamination—bedding and linens, furniture, carpeting, floorboards, subfloor or sheetrock. And what’s visible to the eye (say, a small bloodstain on a carpet) may actually indicate a large pool underneath.

“A bad day is when we get called to a really bad decomposition or unattended death,” Krusenstjerna says, “and find out they’ve not only decomposed in a kitchen or bathroom but it’s dripping into the basement. We had an apartment building where it went from the third floor to the first floor.”

5. THEIR CLEANING SUPPLIES ARE NEXT-LEVEL.

A gloved hand holding a handsaw
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As you might expect, cleaning up the blood, fluids, and tissue left in the wake of a violent death or long-undiscovered decomposition takes more than bleach and elbow grease. The first step is detection of every spot, splatter, or shard. “We use an indicator similar to hydrogen peroxide, but it’s a much, much stronger version,” Cox says. “When it [comes into] contact with bodily fluids, it foams up and turns a very bright white color. It’s also a very strong disinfectant.”

When dealing with brain matter—which tends to harden to a cement-like consistency—Berg prefers to use an enzyme cleaner that, when absorbed by the tissue, softens it just enough to allow it to be removed with a scraper. For stubborn brain tissue, or fluid that’s seeped into the cracks between floorboards, it might be time to break out the demolition tools: crowbars, weighted hammers, circular saws. It’s also not uncommon for techs to have to dismantle furniture, remove sheetrock, or rip up flooring to get at the contaminants that have seeped in or gotten stuck.

6. THEY CAN MITIGATE THE SMELL ... SORT OF.

A person dressed in personal protective equipment
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There’s nothing like the smell of death. And while some techs get used to the odor, “when a body’s been there for 60 days, in moist air, you walk in and breathe that smell, and you just go, ‘This is going to be a long day,’” Michel says. Every technician wears personal protective equipment (a.k.a. PPE; think lined suits, booties, layers of gloves and respirators) to guard against blood- and air-borne pathogens, but it can be hard to avoid a quick waft now and then. “I don’t care how good you are,” Michel says, “when you twist your head in a certain way and break that [respirator] seal, that smell is coming in the mask.” To cope, and to deodorize the home, techs employ HEPA filters, air scrubbers, ozone machines, and hydroxyl generators—which use concentrated UV light to target and destroy pollutants.

7. THEY HATE SEEING CATS ON-SITE.

A longhaired cat caught mid-yawn or snarl
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That's because cats could mean cat pee. “Cat pee is my fricking nemesis,” Berg says. “Most of the time we have to pull up floors or walls and make physical contact with the cat urine because it crystallizes.” Michel agrees: “When you leave a dog by himself and they [defecate] or urinate, you can clean that for the most part. Cat spray is the hardest odor to remove.”

8. THE TURNOVER RATE IS PRETTY HIGH.

Even the toughest clean-up doesn’t compare to the emotional stress of working with grieving families or glimpsing the violence people inflict upon each other. "We only go to the worst of the worst," Michel explains. He's seen professionals in his office and around the industry turn over at a rapid rate. “We’ve had hundreds of employees come in and out of these doors throughout the years and the psychological toll is extremely difficult. Some of the tough cases, where there’s children involved, there’s a somberness in the office for days.” He says that most employees, and even owners, only last about five or 10 years, max.

9. TECHS OFTEN FUNCTION AS COUNSELORS ...

A woman with glasses with her hand on the shoulder of a younger man
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Because everyone deals with grief differently, a crime scene cleanup tech has to be prepared for every kind of human interaction. Usually, it’s the owner or senior tech who deals with loved ones, and that might mean listening to detailed accounts of the deceased or protecting customers from seeing the worst. “Customers tend to want to tell us the whole story, starting two months back,” Cox says. “They need to vent. I have to talk with them, and sometimes I have to give them a hug and let them know that we’re here to help. We understand their situation and let them know that time heals. This is part of the healing process as well.”

10. ... BUT THEY SOMETIMES NEED HELP THEMSELVES.

Experienced techs and owners talk about the importance of separating their work and home lives. Still, not everyone is gifted with the ability to disengage (and even those who can may find the toll adds up over time). Several of the people we spoke to said their companies provide paid counseling for techs on a confidential, request-by-request basis. "All they have to do is submit a request. We take care of everything," Michel notes.

11. THEY MIGHT BLAST THE RADIO—OR WORK AS QUIETLY AS POSSIBLE.

A "quiet please" radio sign
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Techs have to find a way to work amid all that emotion. While on site, that might mean keeping things light among themselves. “We have radios in our truck,” Krusenstjerna says. “We bring the radio in the house, to help break up the time. We’ll talk amongst each other, joking about what we saw on TV the night before or what’s funny on Facebook. But the last thing we want, and where we draw the line, is if the family is in the house. Not to sound like we’re gross or gruesome but we’re not going to say, ‘Grab the tooth off the window ledge,’ because we don’t know if they’re sitting there with their ear to the bedroom door. So we’ll be quiet, and use body language and signs and stuff like that.”

12. A CLEAN-UP CAN COST $10,000.

Based on region, type of cleanup, and number of techs, the cost to customers varies wildly, from around $1000 to over $10,000. Generally, the more dispersed the fluids and tissue in the home, or the longer the decomp, the more manpower it will take and the longer the job will be—leading to higher costs. (While insurance and victim compensation will cover some of the cost, at least part of the bill still falls to the customers.) Depending on the number and type of jobs undertaken, owners of crime scene cleanup companies can clear hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not more, in profit every year. Techs themselves can make anywhere from $25 per hour to over $100 per hour. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the median annual compensation for a hazardous materials removal worker hovers around $41,500, but the top 10 percent earn more than $75,000.

13. THE FACT THAT THEY'RE HELPING PEOPLE MAKES IT WORTHWHILE.

A person in a pink sweater, sitting on a couch, holding the hands of an older person
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If there was a common thread in all the conversations we conducted with crime scene cleaners, it was the immense satisfaction they take from their jobs. Despite the smells, the gore, and the grief, these individuals find great reward in the help they’re able to provide to others in their hour of darkness. “When I have a family member who’s just lost a loved one give me that hug—because they could not have done this for themselves—there is no greater satisfaction in my life,” Michel says. “If I were to die tomorrow, that would be one of the greatest things I've ever been a part of. You can't describe in words. The only way I can say is, it's the beat of another human being's heart against yours, thanking you for helping them on the worst day of their lives."

The "Impossible" 1930s Murder That Still Fascinates Crime Writers

William Herbert Wallace
William Herbert Wallace
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On the evening of January 20, 1931, after a long trek through the Mossley Hill neighborhood of Liverpool, England, insurance agent William Herbert Wallace finally made it home. The house was dark, which seemed strange—his wife, Julia, should have been awake. He entered through the back door and went through the rooms calling her name, but received no answer.

When he arrived at his front parlor, he struck a match—his usual first step in lighting the room's gas lamps. The dim halo of light fell on the prone figure of a woman on the floor: Julia.

She was lying on her stomach, her feet pointed toward the gas fireplace, her head pointed toward the doorway in which Wallace stood, momentarily stunned. At first unsure of exactly what he was looking at, Wallace bent forward to examine his wife—and saw the blood pooled around her head. He quickly lit the gas light, which threw the brutal scene into stark relief.

Julia's head had been viciously bashed. The walls were covered in her blood, with some spatters up to 7 feet high. A partially burned raincoat lay underneath her. The quiet and retiring woman had met a terrible end.

The ensuing investigation and trial dominated headlines around the U.S. and UK and fascinated the public. Raymond Chandler called the case the "nonpareil of all murder mysteries," and "the impossible murder." The famed British crime writers Dorothy Sayers and P.D. James analyzed the evidence and put forward their own theories. Countless internet sleuths have scoured the web for damning details. And yet to this day—despite an arrest, a trial, a conviction, and a historic move by the Court of Appeal—mystery abounds: No one knows for certain who killed Julia Wallace.

THE FACTS OF THE CASE

A sign for Wolverton Street in Liverpool
Rept0n1x, Wikimedia // CC BY-SA 3.0

The mystery began the day before William Wallace made the gruesome discovery in his parlor. At around 7:15 p.m. on January 19, 1931, Wallace—a 52-year-old employee of the Prudential Assurance Company—left his house at 29 Wolverton Street in the Anfield section of Liverpool, England. He walked to a tram and took it to the City Cafe, where he was due to play in the Liverpool Central Chess Club's 2nd Class Championship. A mediocre but enthusiastic player, Wallace was an off-and-on-again attendee.

Around the same time, a phone rang at the City Cafe. The caller asked for Wallace, but was handed over to Samuel Beattie, captain of the chess club, since Wallace had yet to arrive. The caller, who Beattie would later note had a "strong" and rather "gruff" voice, asked for Wallace again. Beattie told the caller that he wasn't there, and to try back later.

The caller said he couldn't call back, as he was at his daughter's 21st birthday party, but he left a message asking Wallace to see him about a business matter at 25 Menlove Gardens East, Mossley Hill, at 7:30 the following evening. He gave his name as R.M. Qualtrough.

Beattie caught up with Wallace not long after the latter arrived at the cafe. When he delivered the message, Wallace replied that he didn't know any Qualtrough, nor did he know where Menlove Gardens East was, but he figured he could probably find it. It was the Depression, after all, and Wallace wasn't keen to lose out on what he thought might be a new commission.

The next night, after having his tea, bidding his wife goodbye, and asking, per usual, that she bolt the back door of their home behind him, Wallace set off for Menlove Gardens East. He left his home shortly before 7 p.m., minutes after his wife was seen accepting their milk delivery, and around 7:06 was on a tram in the general direction of his destination. He made a point to ask the conductors on each leg of his trip if they knew how to get to Menlove Gardens East, and if they could tell him where to get off. Once he alighted at Menlove Gardens West, he began to search on foot, asking passersby, a policeman, and even the resident of 25 Menlove Gardens West if they knew where he could find the address. Everyone had the same answer—they had never heard of a Menlove Gardens East, or any Qualtrough, in the area. Finally, after checking a directory at a newsstand and striking out there, too, Wallace made his way home.

The next people Wallace interacted with were his neighbors, the Johnstons. They were leaving their house for an evening out at about 8:45 p.m. when they passed Wallace walking toward his back door. "Have you heard anything unusual tonight?" he asked Mrs. Johnston, his words shot through with anxiety. Their homes shared a wall, so there wasn't much that would have gone unnoticed by the parties on either side.

Mrs. Johnston said she hadn't noticed anything unusual. When she asked what the matter was, Wallace told her he'd tried his front door with his key, but it wouldn't open. The back door, too, wouldn't budge. Mr. Johnston suggested he try the back door one more time. Wallace approached the door, grasped the knob—and this time it opened easily.

Wallace disappeared into his home while the Johnstons waited outside. He lit gas lights in a couple of rooms before he arrived at the front parlor and the body of his wife, her head surrounded by a pool of blood. Wallace hurried back and called to the Johnstons, still waiting outside: "Come and see—she has been killed."

Julia Wallace's head was a battered mess, beaten so viciously that the brain was exposed on the left side. When the police arrived about 9 p.m., they discovered that four British pounds (about $350 today) was missing from Wallace's collection tin in the kitchen, which had been put back in its place with the lid on, but no other money—not from Julia's purse nor from the cache hidden in a vase in the bedroom upstairs—had been taken. Later, a cleaning woman would state that an iron bar and a poker used for the gas fireplace were both missing. No other weapon was ever identified.

Within a month, William Wallace was arrested and charged with the murder of his wife. A self-described stoic, he was unemotional in court, which led to some antipathy from a jury expecting to see a grieving widower. Some observers have speculated that it was that, more than anything else, that resulted in his conviction—all of the evidence against him was circumstantial at best.

Wallace was sentenced to hang, but in an historic move, the Court of Criminal Appeal in London overturned his verdict due to lack of evidence. It was the first time the appeals court had tossed out a verdict on those grounds.

Wallace was a free man, but he wouldn't live long to enjoy it. Within two years he succumbed to chronic health problems and died.

Did he get away with the perfect crime—or was he a victim as well?

THE THEORIES

A Liverpool street in the early 1930s
A Liverpool street in the early 1930s
Fox Photos/Getty Images

In a case like the Wallace mystery, the facts can often weigh equally toward guilt or innocence. Three main theories have emerged out of the body of evidence so far.

Theory 1: William Killed Julia

Police considered William Wallace the primary suspect. But the biggest question mark in this theory is his possible motive. In short, there isn't much of one. Julia had very little life insurance and the Wallaces weren't especially hard-up for cash. According to friends and acquaintances, their 18-year marriage was not fraught with conflict. Wallace's diaries from prior to the murder indicate a placid and unexciting but contented union, one in which he shared his interests in music, chemistry, and chess with his wife. His later entries, made months after his conviction was overturned, indicate a deep grief over the loss of Julia. While one friend of the couple told the police there was tension between the two, the Johnstons had never heard any fights or raised voices coming from the other side. There was no suggestion that either Wallace or Julia was having an affair.

Setting the lack of obvious motive aside—perhaps William Wallace was unhappy with his wife in some way we'll never know—how would he have done it? Various authors and amateur sleuths have suggested some version of the following timeline: On January 19, Wallace left his house at 7:15 p.m., as stated to police. He called the cafe from a pay phone near his house, disguised his voice, gave a false name, and essentially created an alibi for himself for the night of the murder. (Police did establish that the call to the cafe came from a phone booth about 400 yards from Wallace's house, one that he would have passed on his way to the cafe at about the time the call was made. However, Beattie, who had known Wallace for years, testified that the caller didn't sound like his friend.)

The next day, Julia was seen between 6:35 p.m. and 6:45 p.m., very much alive, by the milk delivery boy and another witness. Wallace could have left his house no later than 6:50 p.m. to make the 7:06 tram toward Menlove Gardens, where he was seen by a conductor. If he killed his wife before leaving the house, he had only about 15 minutes to do so, then clean himself up, before going on his way. Let’s say he worked quickly.

Wallace then would have taken his trip to the fictional Menlove Gardens East, making sure to engage with plenty of people along the way: the resident at 25 Menlove Gardens West; a young man he met on the sidewalk; and a police officer. He asked them all for directions, and even checked the time with the policeman at 7:45 p.m. He then went to the post office and a newsstand, pretended to check the directory, engaged the clerk, and left shortly after.

He was next seen near his home on Wolverton Street at 8:45 p.m. by the Johnstons. It's also possible that he killed Julia after his return, but given the travel time back from Menlove Gardens, he probably only had 15 minutes to commit the deed, clean up, and make it outside before the Johnstons left their house.

Following this theory, regardless of when Wallace killed Julia, he needed witnesses to his "discovery" of the body. That's where the Johnstons come in. In this line of thinking, Wallace waited until he heard them coming out, made his way to the back of his house, and told them about his trouble getting in.

What about the mess in the parlor? Where were Wallace's blood-stained clothes? It is easier to stay clean if you wear nothing but a raincoat to murder your spouse, and then leave it under her blood-drenched body and change into your suit—which is exactly the theory the prosecution put forward. It should be noted no blood was ever found on Wallace's suit, nor was there evidence of anyone washing up in the house; aside from a small clot of blood on the toilet in the bathroom, and a smear on one of the pound notes in the bedroom, no other blood was found outside of the front parlor. (Wallace had touched the pound notes when he went through the house with the police shortly after Julia's body was discovered, although it's unclear if the blood on the money was his own.)

Dr. John MacFall, a professor of forensic medicine who served as medical examiner that night, put Julia's time of death at around 8 p.m. Problem was, he based his conclusion solely on rigor mortis, which is often considered an imprecise measurement. He'd later change his estimate to sometime closer to 6 p.m. Neither estimate pointed to a strong case for Wallace's guilt. For one, Julia was seen alive after 6 p.m. And at 8 p.m. Wallace was still traipsing around Mossley Hill.

Ultimately, the lack of time he had to commit the murder has exonerated Wallace in the eyes of many. Combined with the sketchy report on time of death and the lack of motive, it's hard to imagine Wallace himself committing the crime.

Theory 2: A Hired Assassin Killed Julia

A black-and-white photo of a person making a telephone call on a UK street
Three Lions/Getty Images

One popular theory of the crime follows the first fairly closely, except that instead of getting his own hands dirty, Wallace hired someone else to kill Julia. The hired man made the "Qualtrough" call, and the next day let himself into the house with a key provided by Wallace. He then killed Julia, and shortly afterward Wallace returned home, waited for witnesses, and then performed the discovery scene. This theory clears up the timeline, as well as other details problematic for the prosecution, such as the lack of blood on Wallace's clothes.

The theory is strengthened by the fact that during the trial a young typist testified that she saw Wallace talking to another man near Wolverton Street at about 8:35 or 8:40 p.m. the night of the murder. Wallace, meanwhile, had told police he spoke to no one on the way home. Is it possible that the typist caught Wallace speaking to his hired man?

We may even have the identity of the assassin, thanks to an investigation by journalist Roger Wilkes. In the early 1980s, Wilkes interviewed one John Parkes, who was a mechanic at a garage in Allerton, about seven miles from Wolverton Street, in 1931. At 1 a.m. on the night of the murder, Parkes was visited by Richard Gordon Parry, a local amateur actor and one-time colleague of Wallace at Prudential. Parry was also a known troublemaker who'd had multiple run-ins with the law for crimes of theft and sexual assault.

That night, an agitated Parry reportedly demanded Parkes wash his car with the high-powered hose. When Parkes opened the car door and saw a bloody glove inside, Parry said, "If the police got that, they would hang me!" He then recounted a strange and disjointed story about dumping an iron bar down a drain.

Parkes kept the story to himself until Parry died in 1980, after which he told his story to Wilkes as part of a radio documentary. Of course, the fact that half a century passed between the crime and the witness statement detracts from the credibility (Parkes claimed he kept the story to himself because he was fearful of retaliation by Parry). But Wilkes was not the first person to mention Parry in connection with the murder of Julia Wallace.

Theory 3: Someone Else Killed Julia

A stack of vintage diaries
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Shortly after his conviction was overturned, a series of articles purportedly by Wallace appeared in the press. In one of those articles was the shocking (or, depending on your point of view, not-so-shocking) revelation that Wallace knew who the murderer was. The man was never named in the articles. However, Jonathan Goodman's examination and publication of excerpts from Wallace’s diaries in The Killing of Julia Wallace reveals who Wallace thought the murderer was.

During his initial police interviews, Wallace named a few people as suspects, and one of them was Richard Gordon Parry. He and Parry had worked together at Prudential. Parry would occasionally make Wallace's collections when Wallace, who suffered from chronic kidney problems, was too ill, and he'd been to 29 Wolverton Street and met Julia several times. He was also known to have visited the same cafe where Wallace's chess club took place. A notice on the board at the entrance of that club listed the dates each member was due to compete, so Parry (or anyone else) could have seen Wallace's name down for January 19. All it would have taken was some discreet surveillance of Wolverton Street that night to spot Wallace leaving home and heading toward the tram.

Parry was in fact investigated at the time of the murder, and had an alibi provided by his then-fiancée Lily Lloyd, who said the pair had been together that night. According to Goodman, when Parry broke their engagement in the summer of 1933, Lloyd told one of Wallace’s lawyers that the alibi was made up—she hadn't been with Parry that evening. However, no one followed up on her claim (and modern scholarship has suggested that Parry's alibi did not rely on Lloyd's story alone).

Alibi or not, there is evidence that two years prior to the murder Parry made an agreement with management to leave Prudential after it was discovered that he’d been siphoning money from his collections. Some authors have said that Wallace actually noticed the missing funds from the collections that Parry ran for him, and informed his superintendent; whether or not Wallace informed on him, Parry's parents were forced to step in and repay what he'd taken, and Parry left the company. Did Parry know, or think, that Wallace had informed? Was this a revenge killing?

Or maybe it was just a case of robbery gone awry. Parry was known for his love of cars and his tendency to live beyond his means. Perhaps he assumed Wallace would have more than four pounds in collections at his home, and that if he got him out of the house, he could swipe the money out from under Julia. Maybe she saw him take the money and threatened to call the police. Or maybe murder was on his mind the entire time? Though far from perfect theories, the idea that Parry killed Julia—whether motivated by money or revenge—does provide the "why" that prosecutors of Wallace never could.

The fact is, barring a signed confession unearthed from some Liverpudlian attic, we'll probably never know exactly what happened at 29 Wolverton Street on the night of January 20, 1931. Eight decades from now, amateur gumshoes may still be debating this irresistible whodunnit. And with questions as maddening as these still unanswered, who could blame them?

Additional sources: The Trial of William Herbert Wallace

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