​“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks.”
— Raymond Chandler, “Red Wind”
There must have been a Santa Ana wind blowing in San Francisco on Oct. 1, 1951, when the body of Allen B. Friedman, president of Atlas Paper Company, was found in the front hallway of his house at 597 17th Ave.
 
At first, police thought it was natural causes. Friedman was lying peacefully near the front door, and there was no sign of violence or disturbance in the house. It wasn’t until the pathologist found that Friedman had been shot through the eye with a .22 rifle that police took a closer look.
 
Detectives found the means and motive for the crime in the bullet hole in the door peephole and in the stories in Friedman’s diary. Friedman had written about an affair between his estranged wife, Blanche, and a man named Elbert “Ray” Belote, and his fear that they were trying to kill him. On a pad next to the phone, Friedman had written, “Belote called 9:42 p.m. Saturday.”  Friedman was killed shortly after that time.
 
Police went to Guerneville, where Friedman owned a cabin, and found Blanche floating in an alcoholic haze.“I don’t know anyone who might have killed Allen,” Blanche said, “but I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t enjoy killing him.”
Police later found Belote hiding under the bed and questioned him. Belote admitted he had a .22 rifle. He said he was using it to go deer hunting, even though it wasn’t deer-hunting season.
 
Where was his rifle? It was stolen when he stopped at the Willow Brook Inn for a drink, Belote explained. His alibi? Belote was up in Guerneville, 76 miles north of San Francisco, all weekend and wouldn’t have had the time to go to San Francisco, shoot Friedman and return.
Arthur Dias, who was at the Willow Brook Inn, told police a different story. The night of the murder, Belote told Dias that he was on his way back from San Francisco to Guerneville. Belote also wrote his name on a piece of paper and gave it to Dias, who showed it to police. With his alibi completely demolished, Belote confessed.
“I killed him because I loved his wife,” he admitted to police before leading them to the missing rifle.

​There was more than one logical explanations for Belote and Blanche Friedman’s illogical behavior on the weekend of the murder — there were 80 of them. That’s how many glasses of whiskey the couple consumed between the night of Sept. 28 and the morning of Oct. 1.
“It takes about a fifth to get me started,” explained Belote, “but I am not a drunkard.”
 
A TALE OF TWO ALLENS
Was Allen Friedman a raving alcoholic who brutalized his wife? Was he an invalid, terrified of Blanche and Belote’s plotting?
“For the last three-and-a-half years, my husband was alcoholically insane,” insisted Blanche. “He drank steadily, a quart or more a day.”
Lilian Cherney, Friedman’s sister, put the onus on Blanche.
“She kept plying him with liquor, week after week, to get an inheritance. Then, she drugged him,” Cherney said. “As long as 15 months ago, Allen told me that he wanted a bodyguard. He told me that Belote and Blanche were out to get him.”
 
The coroner’s jury’s decision was that Belote killed Friedman and that Blanche conspired in her husband’s killing. The police, however, did not have enough evidence to indict Blanche.
At the trial in March 1952, Belote changed his story and insisted the killing was done in self-defense. Belote said he was angry at the divorce settlement Friedman had offered Blanche.
“He offered her $1,000 and the house in Guerneville. She said this was not enough,” Belote testified.
Belote decided to come to San Francisco, see Friedman and get a better settlement for Blanche. Belote said he fired the gun only to frighten Friedman.
“It never occurred to me I had hit him when I fired through the door,” Belote testified. “I knew he had other enemies, and no one liked him. I thought someone else might have shot him.”
Needless to say, the jury convicted Belote of first-degree murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment. Under California law, Blanche received $38,000, half of her husband’s estate. She used $8,000 to pay for Belote’s lawyer.
In 1965, after 13 years in San Quentin, Ray Belote was released on parole. He died in 1994 at the age of 89.
 

​It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, Issac was happy, Issac was miserable, Issac loved his wife, Issac hated his wife, Issac was murdered, Issac killed himself.
 
Only this was certain; Issac was dead.  On June 1st 1897, at 6:45 pm, a night watchman found Issac Hoffman, a partner in Hoffman, Rothschild, & Co. lying on the floor of his office with three bullet wounds in his head. Another bullet hole was in the wall.

The autopsy report reported,  “one bullet entered the skull at the top of the head, upon the left side.  It split from contact with the bony structure part passing under the scalp, emerging from the cheek at a point half way between the eye and ear, producing the second wound.  The remainder of the bullet passed straight down and tore through the skull, passing between sections of the brain.  The second bullet entered the left cheek upon a line with the other two wounds.” 
 
Circumstances pointed to Theodore Figel, Hoffman’s bookkeeper.  Figel was seen with Hoffman thirty minutes before his body was discovered, and it was Figel’s gun that shot Hoffman. Police Chief Isaiah Lees, San Francisco’s legendary detective, questioned Figel.
 
Two days later, to everyone’s surprise, Lees declared that Hoffman had committed suicide.  But why? Hoffman’s business was prosperous and he seemed to be in the best of spirits.  The answer was a subject near and dear to 1950s comedians: his mother in-law.  There was great discord in the Hoffman household. Hoffman’s mother-in-law, was the widow of his former business partner. She felt cheated by the amount that Issac had paid her for her husband’s share and was suing him. His wife sided with her mother and complained bitterly about her husband’s stinginess.   Letters Issac had taken from his wife suggested a tempestuous relationship between them.  Just minutes before his death Hoffman told a friend, ”How can I be happy when I have such a mother-in-law?”
 
At the inquest Mrs. Hoffman painted a different picture, that of a close knit family.  The letters were a minor misunderstanding. Each night his family waited for his entering footsteps before starting dinner. Hoffman hated guns and never owned one.
 The coroner testified against the suicide theory, pointing out that Hoffman had been shot three times on the left side of his head, even though he was right handed.
A number of doctors, and Isaiah Lees, still believed that suicide was a possibility. The police department was split between Lees’ suicide theory and his detectives who believed the death was murder.

Soon troubling information about Figel came to light. Figel was a gambler and had lost thousands of dollars at the racetrack. There was also a discrepancy of over $10,000 in the Hoffman company books.  But it wasn’t an open and shut case. Figel had a number of alibi witnesses who placed him away from the office when the shooting occurred. And his father Joseph, a retired businessman spent his fortune on the legal defense of his son.
Figel was arraigned on embezzlement and murder charges.  The murder case was tried first. At the trial Figel explained away the embezzlement by saying that Hoffman had given him the money to bet at the track. He also blamed the financial irregularities on his assistant. Figel produced witness after witness who testified that they saw him at a saloon and on a trolley heading for the Tiburon Ferry at the time the shooting would have taken place.  Two doctors testified that Hoffman’s wounds were self-inflicted.
​
On March 7, 1898 a jury found Figel not guilty of the homicide but the jury also rejected the idea that Hoffman had committed suicide.
The embezzlement and forgery charges were later dismissed as well on a motion of the District Attorney. Figel’s father had spent all his money defending his son and he was forced to go back to work. In 1904 he left the business to his son. Three months later Theodore Figel was arrested for forging a check for $965 at Wells Fargo Bank to replace money he lost at the track.  After paying bail Figel disappeared, leaving his wife and children penniless.

Postscript:  I sent the autopsy description and illustrations of the bullet’s path to Ken Moses, former head of San Francisco Police Department CSI. Ken is a nationally recognized leader in the field Crime Scene Investigation and has testified in over nine hundred trials.  To my amazement Moses said that a finding of suicide was not only possible but likely.  “Some suicides use their non-dominant hands to shoot the gun. This makes the hand shaky and you often get downward and unusual paths of the bullet.  From the description, it doesn’t seem that much brain tissue was destroyed. Of course I’d have to see much more information to make a definite call.”