Who killed Arthur Oker and Augusta Johnson?

7 decades later, the mystery remains:

By Brenda J. Buote, Globe Staff | October 30, 2005

Jagged fragments of bone, a pair of wire-rimmed bifocals scarred by fire, and a brittle lock of auburn hair. Nestled away in a dusty safe-deposit tin, these are the only surviving bits of evidence in a Rockport murder mystery that has captivated townspeople for more than 70 years.

Who killed Arthur Oker on May 21, 1932? And did the same villain attack Augusta Johnson on Halloween night 1933, just hours after she threatened to reveal the murderer's identity?

In the years since their bludgeoned bodies were discovered, violent death has twice visited this small town, most recently when 35-year-old Wendy Cox was killed in her boyfriend's home on the outskirts of town.

But even as news of Cox's death made headlines earlier this month, talk of murder in Rockport's quaint antiques shops and cozy fishing shacks remained stubbornly fixated on the gruesome crimes of the Depression era.

''I could tell you who killed them, but I won't," quipped the local barber, Walter Julian, 81, a tight smile spreading across his face.

Longtime residents like to beguile strangers with details of the crimes and police investigation, one of the state's largest and most peculiar. But after all these years, it is difficult to distinguish fact from fiction.

The case files disappeared long ago, destroyed it is said, during the Depression, under orders of the town's top police officer, who reportedly feared reputations would be ruined if the documents became public fodder.

''I doubt the murders will ever be solved, although a number of people in town swear they know who did it," said Police Chief J. Tom McCarthy. ''These are not crimes that we actively pursue. Unless the killer was a child, he or she is likely dead."

The first of the two brutal slayings occurred when Oker, the 57-year-old town tailor, was severely beaten in his Main Street shop in the spring of '32. The crime was committed in the heart of the village, on merchant's row at noon on a Saturday, the busiest shopping day of the week.

And yet, no one reported seeing anything, or anyone, suspicious. The weapon, at first believed to be Oker's shears, was never found. Some old-timers speculate that the weapon is still buried behind his shop.

''There used to be tunnels that led from the beach to those shops," said local historian and author Eleanor C. Parsons. ''Rum runners used them. I have always speculated that that's where the shears would be found, hidden in one of the old tunnels."

For years, Parsons had collected copies of old newspaper clippings about the crime in hopes of solving the murder. She wanted to write an authoritative whodunit, and reveal the identity of the murderer. But after careful consideration, she changed her mind.

''I was afraid someone would pop me off, too," Parsons said.

It was an understandable fear, considering what happened to poor Augusta Johnson. Seventeen months after Oker's murder, on Halloween night, Johnson reportedly got a bit tipsy at a church social and declared that she knew who had killed Oker. According to local newspaper reports, the 55-year-old widow threatened to go to police if the scoundrel did not confess.

She never got the chance.

Johnson, who lived alone in a secluded section of town known as Pigeon Cove, was bludgeoned to death in the early hours of Nov. 1, 1933. According to newspaper reports, a neighbor discovered her body shortly after 8 a.m., partly naked and tied to her bed, with the mattress in flames. Her spectacles were damaged by the intense heat and smoke, and half her body was burned beyond recognition. The neighbor had run into Johnson's house after seeing smoke billowing from the second floor.

The bifocals now stored in a dented safe deposit tin in the evidence room at the Police Department were Johnson's. So, too, are the brittle hair and bone fragments. The tin also contains a small cardboard box, which holds shards of her skull and bears the address of Ira B. Hull, then the medical examiner.

''It's a shame, what happened," said Julian, whose shop is just a few steps from the storefront that once housed Oker's haberdashery.

Julian has been a fixture on Main Street for decades. Like Parsons, he's held on to a number of newspaper articles about the crimes. Julian keeps the fragile pages, yellow with age and falling to pieces, in a large manila envelope in the back room of his shop. He allows visitors curious about the crimes to thumb through the envelope's delicate contents.

''Police Will Check Every House in Rockport," reads the Nov. 9 headline in the Gloucester Daily Times. The Boston Transcript decried the door-to-door search on its editorial page. ''Have your alibi ready," warns the headline.

Calls to police increased 20-fold as troopers interviewed all 2,000 Rockport residents. Sales of watchdogs picked up. Applications for pistol permits increased. The Board of Selectmen offered a $1,000 reward for information leading to the murderer's arrest. And a few amateur sleuths came to town, most notably three ''dream girls" who claimed to have seen either the murderer, his weapon, or his escape route, in their visions.

Twelve days after the Johnson murder, investigators had State Trooper Ernest A. Thorsell, ''with clerical robes covering his horizon blue uniform, his .45-caliber pistol and his handcuffs," make a special appeal during evening services at the Swedish Congregational Church. Thorsell, a former pastor from Foxborough, urged the congregants to ''come to Christ with your confession of sin."

Although hundreds of alleged ties between Oker and Johnson had been investigated, the Swedish Congregational Church was apparently the only concrete connection between the two murder victims. Oker was a respected member. Johnson didn't belong to the church, but often went to functions there -- including the Halloween party on the eve of her murder.

Thorsell's plea from the pulpit was a last-ditch attempt to uncover new leads.

But not a single soul came forward. Two days later, the State Police began leaving town. By the end of November, not a single trooper was left in Rockport.

The few old-timers who can recall the murders were under the age of 10 when the crimes were committed. Most have a favorite suspect, but none dare speak his name, even after all these years -- even though the man is dead.

''I wouldn't want to say," said Oker's grandson, Roger H. Martin, an artist and the town's first poet laureate. ''You have to understand. I still live in Rockport, and it is still a very small town."