77

The Brownout Strangler

In 1942 the population of Melbourne increased greatly with the influx of overseas servicemen, mainly from the United States, and refugees who had fled war-torn Europe. When three women were savagely strangled within 16 days, the finger of suspicion was pointed at the newcomers. The press dubbed the serial killer the ‘Brownout Stranger’, as the murders were carried out under cover of the ‘brownout’ – the partial blackout ordered for wartime security.

Late on the evening of 2 May 1942, 40-year-old domestic servant Ivy McLeod was waiting for a tram when she was selected by the killer as his first victim. Her body was found in a doorway the following morning. Her skull had been fractured, her body was extensively bruised, and her clothes had been ripped from her body. The only lead authorities had was that an American soldier was seen in the vicinity of the crime.

A week later, Melbourne stenographer and mother of two Pauline Thompson was found in a doorway not far from where she lived. Her face had been badly battered and her clothes had been savagely ripped from her body. Her neck was severely bruised – she had been killed by strangulation. The only lead police had was that she was seen talking to a couple of American servicemen on the evening of her death.

At 7.30 pm on 28 May 1942, the Brownout Strangler struck again, killing 40-year-old librarian Gladys Hosking as she made her way home. Her body was found the next day, covered in yellow clay, and not far from a US army camp. The clothes had been ripped from her body and she had been asphyxiated.

On the night of the third murder, the sentry of the nearby army camp, an Australian, was surprised when an American soldier came staggering through the gates with his uniform covered in yellow mud and clay. Flashing his torch at the soldier the sentry asked how he got in such a condition. The soldier was allowed to pass after explaining that he was drunk and had slipped in the mud. When authorities came to the camp the next day, the sentry told of his encounter. The entire camp was put on parade so the soldier could be identified.

Meanwhile, a woman had come forward and told police she had met a nice young American serviceman and invited him back to her apartment for tea. When she returned to the lounge room from the kitchen with the tea, the man was sitting in his chair wearing nothing but his singlet and socks. She expressed her disapproval and told him to leave. His demeanour changed instantly. He became very angry and said, ‘I’ll strangle you. I’ll take your voice from you.’ The woman threatened to call the police. The man calmed down and said, ‘Please don’t do that. I didn’t mean any harm. I only wanted your voice.’ He then put on his clothes and left.

The woman gave police a description of the man, who said his name was Eddie. Police went to the parade ground convinced that they were about to meet up with the elusive Brownout Strangler.

All the soldiers from the camp near where Gladys Hosking’s body was found were there. Accompanied by Melbourne detectives, the sentry passed each of them. The sentry stopped at Private First-Class Edward Joseph Leonski, looked him up and down and walked on, but then came back. Leonski turned to the soldier beside him and said, ‘This looks like the end of the line.’

With the exception of two soldiers, all were mystified as to why they had been called out. Leonski was one exception; the other was his tent mate. After each of the first two murders the unnamed soldier had seen Leonski depressed and remorseful. He had even confessed that he was the culprit, saying, ‘I killed! I killed! I’m a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.’ Leonski carried newspaper clippings about the murders in his pocket and had said to his tent mate, ‘Everybody is wondering about these murders. I’m not wondering. I know.’

When Leonski was confronted with the overwhelming evidence tying him to Gladys Hosking’s death he broke down and confessed, also admitting to the murders of Ivy McLeod and Pauline Thompson.

Leonski’s ambition had been to be a strong man in the circus. He worked out and became a competitive weightlifter. When he was drunk, one of his tricks was to lift a man onto the bar with one hand. Another was to walk on his hands for up to 30 minutes at a time.

His father was an alcoholic who bashed his wife and family before dropping dead in front of them after a week-long bender. His mother, a professional weightlifter, remarried – another alcoholic. Leonski had one brother who spent his life in and out of mental institutions and another who spent time in jail. A third brother was deemed to be heading in the same direction. Eddie seemed to be different. His wide grin, smooth voice, baby face and bright blue eyes endeared him to women. However, as a youth, he had been charged with – and eventually acquitted of – raping a young girl. He was generally regarded as an odd individual, pleasant enough and harmless, but a man to be avoided when he was drunk.

Running away to the circus must have seemed a wonderful alternative to young Eddie Leonski – an honours student at college who showed genuine interest in arts and music. But he was conscripted to the army, and never got the chance. Leonski was 24 when his unit was sent to Melbourne. He proved to be a handful there, alternating between fits of depression and drinking binges that caused him to become aggressive.

Detectives wanted to know why a young man like Eddie would strangle innocent women. ‘I like singing,’ he told them. ‘I like to sing softly and I like women with soft voices. That’s why I choked those ladies. It was to get their voices.’ Leonski then explained how he murdered the three women.

He’d had a few drinks but was not drunk when he met Ivy McLeod. He asked if he could walk with her. She agreed, and after they had gone a short distance, he stepped into a darkened doorway and grabbed her by the throat and started squeezing until she fell to the ground dead. He fell on top of her and started ripping her clothes off, but the belt wouldn’t rip and he became angry, ripping and pulling at it in a frenzy. He then heard footsteps and ran away.

Leonski met Pauline Thompson as she was sitting in a cafe. He complimented her on her beautiful voice and commented that she would probably be a good singer, to which she responded that she indeed had sung at concerts for servicemen. ‘Would you sing for me?’ he asked as he paid the bill and they left the cafe. ‘She sang in my ear as we approached a dark doorway.’ Leonski told police. ‘Her voice was sweet and soft and I could feel myself going mad about it. I reached for her and grabbed her and choked her. I told her that I just wanted her voice.’ With that he strangled her until she fell dead at his feet. Then, again in a frenzy, he ripped and tore at her clothes until he heard footsteps and fled.

On the night of the third murder Leonski said he was walking home towards the camp when he came upon Gladys Hosking sheltering from the rain underneath an umbrella. He politely asked if he could share it. She agreed and the pair strolled down the street chatting until they reached the guesthouse where she lived. Before she was inside the doorway he was upon her. ‘She had such a lovely voice,’ Leonski said. ‘I wanted that voice. So I choked her until she didn’t make a sound.’ Leonski dragged Gladys beneath a fence and ripped what clothing he could from her body. The dead woman was by then covered in thick mud. So was Leonski.

At his trial, Leonski pleaded not guilty because of insanity. But psychiatrists from America and Australia agreed that he was sane at the time of the killings. He quietly accepted the guilty verdict and the sentence of death by hanging.

The night before his execution he sang a popular song of the day over and over: ‘It’s a lovely day tomorrow – tomorrow is a lovely day.’ He was still singing it quietly to himself as he walked to the gallows on the morning of 9 November 1942.