The Crossbow Murder

Arlene Hoffman

“Death by crossbow” sounds like something you’d see in medieval records, or an episode of “Midsomer Murders,” not in a modern-day upscale Southern California neighborhood.  But as the following case will show, life is full of surprises.

Arlene Hoffman led a busy life in the background of California’s often-twisted, but admittedly rarely dull, political scene.  She began her involvement with politics  when she worked for the millionaire industrialist and art-collector Norton Simon, who made a failed Senate run in 1970.  She participated in Jesse Unruh’s unsuccessful 1973 campaign to become mayor of Los Angeles, and went on to become the secretary for Fred Harper, a well-known political consultant who disappeared off the coast of Baja California in 1974.

In 1976, Hoffman was called as a witness before the Orange County Grand Jury.  The hospital she was then working for was run by Dr. Louis Cella, who at the time was California’s largest campaign contributor.  Cella was being investigated for billing Medi-Cal for phantom patients, and then steering the money to numerous political campaigns.  Cella was eventually convicted of income-tax evasion, Medicare and Medi-Cal fraud, embezzlement, and conspiracy.  Investigators suspected that Hoffman was assisting Cella in his dodgy political schemes, and then lying about it to try to protect her employee, but apparently they could not prove any criminal activity on her part.  Probably the most notorious campaign Cella and Hoffman were involved in was when they helped to elect Robert Citron to the position of Orange County Treasurer-Tax Collector.  Citron subsequently pleaded guilty for his role in Orange County’s 1994 bankruptcy, which was, at the time, the largest municipal bankruptcy in American history.

One might be pardoned for thinking that Mrs. Hoffman was something of a political jinx.  However, despite her involvement in an impressive list of political misadventures, in December 1994, the 57-year-old Hoffman was hired as personal secretary to Jim Silva, who had just been elected to the Orange County Board of Supervisors.  Hoffman, who was recently widowed (her husband Joel died of cancer in March 1994,) appeared to be getting her life back on track.  The medical costs from Joel’s long illness forced the couple into bankruptcy, but those proceedings had recently concluded, and Arlene had just received a $500,000 life insurance payment.  Those who knew Arlene described her as a kind, eminently trustworthy and dependable person.  She was devoted to her only child, 25-year-old Charles, whom the Hoffmans had adopted when he was in his mid-teens.  (After serving four years in the Marine Corps, in 1994 Charles was a student at Fullerton College.)

On December 30, 1994, Hoffman unaccountably failed to show up for work.  Calls to her cell phone went unanswered.  When nightfall began to arrive with no word from Hoffman, Jim Silva became concerned enough to call Sheriff Brad Gates to have deputies visit Hoffman’s Laguna Niguel condo.  When the officers entered her residence, they found Hoffman’s body lying in the hallway, with a fatal wound in her chest caused by a “hunting-type arrow,” possibly fired by a crossbow.  (The arrow was never recovered.)  Sometime between 7:30 p.m. on December 29 and 7:30 the following morning, someone committed a very unusual murder.

Hoffman’s front door was found unlocked, and there was no sign of a break-in.  Nothing appeared to be missing from the condo.  Hoffman’s poodle was found wandering around the entryway, but a previous owner had arranged for the animal’s ability to bark to be surgically removed.  The dog was still wearing a leash, suggesting that Hoffman had been attacked immediately after taking her pet for a walk.  Police found partial fingerprints on a stairway that they believed belonged to the killer, but no match was ever made.

This proved to be one of those murders where the investigation hit an immediate brick wall.  Despite her proximity to some shady political dealings, police found no obvious link between them and her murder.  Everyone who had even the slightest contact with Hoffman was interviewed.  Every archery and sporting goods store in the area was investigated for possible leads.  At every turn, investigators came up empty-handed.  As far as anyone could tell, no one had a motive to kill Arlene Hoffman--except, someone did.

To date, the case remains one of those unsettling mysteries.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to this week's Link Dump, where our hosts will be the cats of Manx!

An ancient "party boat."

An important incident in George Washington's early military career.

The life of a British High Court Judge in India.

A WWI massacre at sea.

We all might be breathing wrong.

A medieval anchoress.

The dead signs of London.

A look at "telephone telepathy."

A 7,000 year old underwater wall.

In which old newspapers predict the future.

The madam and the ghostwriter.

A "living laboratory" in Norway.

Rejoice that we now know why Swiss cheese has holes.

The use of poison in hunting goes a long way back.

A strange footnote to the Great Fire of London.

A mystery beast in Michigan.

A 2,000 year old computer?

We might have found traces of Leonardo da Vinci's DNA.

Japan has a new cat stationmaster.

Island-hopping pigs.

The cave with the "eyes of God."

The versatile genius of Hans Holbein.

The fine art of 19th century embalming.

How a winter storm led to witchcraft trials.

A brief history of London's Bishopsgate.

An "unlawful diet."

A 20th century "feudal lord" comes to a bad end.

3I/Atlas may be gone, but it's still being weird.

How servants were recruited in the 18th century.

A man once built an anti-seasickness ship.  And then things went sideways.

The mystery of two disappearances.

The real story of Carthage.

A murder on Crosby Street.

An ancient structure in Ireland has just been discovered, and it's freaking huge.

An explosion in deep space is leaving astronomers befuddled.

The latest theory about the Voynich Manuscript.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at an unusual unsolved murder.  In the meantime, here's some Vivaldi.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Hey, when a boxing, beer-guzzling cat becomes the subject of litigation, I’m there.  The “San Francisco Examiner,” October 21, 1898:

Life has lost its roseate hue for former Senator W. J. Dunn since Bob disappeared. Dunn keeps a saloon on Third street, near Stevenson, and Bob is a big Russian cat with fur as black as Egyptian night except for his white-tipped paws. Bob was last seen about 10 o'clock Wednesday night in the company of Sidney Perry, who is now dodging a warrant held by the police.

Dunn charges Perry with stealing the cat. Bob came from St. Petersburg and was brought to San Francisco by a seafaring friend of Dunn. He is large and fat, but as gentle as a sofa pillow. On shipboard the sailor taught him to spar, and almost every night for a year past Bob has sat on the end of the bar and made uppercuts and jabs at the patrons of the place.

Perry was formerly in the commission business on Stevenson street and rented his office from Dunn. Incidentally he became well acquainted with Bob and taught him the new blows as they came out. Dunn thought the friendship harmless, but now he swears vengeance on the ungrateful. When last seen Bob was tucked snugly under Perry's right arm.

On that same date, the “San Francisco Chronicle” gave further details:

A black cat has crossed the friendship which formerly existed between ex-Senator William J. Dunn and S. Perry, his former business partner, bringing bad luck to the latter.

Dunn and Perry were associated in the ownership of a saloon and poolroom on the corner of Third and Stevenson streets up to a few days ago. They parted then, evidently with mutual amicable feelings, having satisfactorily divided the assets. Among the items which fell to Dunn was a big black Thomas cat, the pet of the saloon and all its patrons, owing to his strange preference for steam beer over skimmed milk. Dunn still owns the saloon, but the black cat is no longer its main attraction. In fact, Dunn alleges that Perry has stolen the feline beer bibber.

His charge took legal form yesterday in the Police Court, when he applied to Judge Mogan for a warrant for the arrest of Perry on the charge that he "embezzled one cat, value $25.” Judge Mogan instructed Dunn to see Assistant Prosecuting Attorney McGovern of Judge Low's court about the complaint. McGovern hesitated about issuing a complaint, on the ground that a cat could not be considered property. He applied for advice to Acting Prosecuting Attorney Mann of Judge Mogan's court, who drew his attention to a decision of the late Police Judge Campbell, which maintained in a somewhat similar case to that of Dunn and Perry that a house cat was ferae naturae--of wild nature--and could not be claimed as a personal belonging by anybody. Despite this authority the warrant against Perry was issued.

On October 26, the “Chronicle” gave an update on this saga:

Bob, the boxing, beer-bibbing black cat that disappeared about a week ago from the saloon of ex-Senator William J. Dunn, on Third street, has not yet come back to its owner. and Sidney Perry, Dunn's former business associate, must now face a trial in Police Judge Mogan's court on a charge of having embezzled the accomplished feline. His case was called yesterday, but owing to the subtle legal possibilities which it presented a continuance was ordered to October 31st.

Perry was arrested on Monday night for the alleged cat embezzlement. It is understood that his defense will be a contention that the cat in controversy is not Dunn's property, in fact, but a wild beast. All cats, according to the theory held by Perry's attorney, are wild beasts, subject to capture by whoever chooses to hunt for them. This line of legal reasoning is not unknown to Police Court jurisprudence. An opinion rendered by the late Judge Campbell in a case where a man poisoned three of his neighbor's cats because of their depredations in his spinach bed contained the ruling that the feline species, whether of the forest or house variety, were ferae natural and not amenable to domestication.

As against this argument Dunn will present expert testimony showing that his lost Bob was tamed to such a degree that he could drink steam beer like a brewery wagon driver and give Sharkey points with the gloves.

Frustratingly, I could not find out how this important and instructive moment in legal history was resolved.  What became of the lovely and talented Bob?!?

The Automobile From the Past: A Time-Slip Story

In the Spring 1988 issue of “Strange Magazine,” Ken Meaux described a very eerie event experienced by someone he had personally interviewed, a friend Meaux named only as “L.C.”  Meaux described it as a “time-slip” story, although it reads to me more like an encounter with a ghost.  (Admittedly, the line between those two types of paranormal phenomena is a very blurry one.)  As the story Meaux relates is not a first-hand account, and possibly falls into the “too good to be true” category, I make no claims about its authenticity.  However, it’s such an intriguing little tale, that I decided to pass it on.

According to “L.C.,” on October 20, 1969, he and a business associate, “Charlie,” had lunch in Abbeville, Louisiana, and then began driving north along Highway 167.  The highway was largely empty, until at about 1:30 p.m. they saw ahead of them an old “turtle-back-type” car.  The auto was moving very slowly, so they soon caught up to it.  Their attention was arrested by the fact that although the car seemed to be a make from decades past, it looked in pristine condition.  They were also puzzled by the fact that the car bore a large orange license plate with the year “1940” printed on it.  They could only surmise that the car was used in parades or other ceremonial occasions which allowed it to sport such an unusual plate.

As they passed the antique car to its left, L.C. noticed that the driver was a young woman wearing 1940s style clothing.  A small child was in the seat next to her.  The windows of the car were rolled up and both the woman and child were very warmly dressed.  L.C. was bemused by this, as it was a warm, pleasant day.   When the two men looked more closely at the woman, they were disturbed to see that the woman seemed panicky, even frightened.  She kept looking back and forth as if she feared danger of some sort.  L.C., who was in the passenger seat, called to the woman and asked if she needed help.  She nodded, “yes,” while looking at their car in a confused manner.  Although her rolled-up window made communication difficult, L.C. was able to motion to her to pull over on the side of the road.  As they saw her begin to do so, the men continued to pass her car so they could pull over ahead of her.  After they parked on the shoulder of the road, the men turned back to look at the vintage auto.  They were stunned to see it was no longer there.  Somehow, on this open highway with no side roads, the car and its passengers had instantly vanished.

As L.C, and Charlie sat there, trying to process what had just happened, a third car pulled over behind them.  The driver ran over to them, demanding to know what had happened to the car that had been ahead of him.  The man explained that he was driving north on Highway 167 when he saw ahead of him a new car (L.C. and Charlie’s) slowly pass a very old car and pull onto the shoulder.  The vintage car began to do the same, when it suddenly disappeared.  

After comparing notes, the three men fruitlessly examined the area for about an hour.  The third man wanted to contact the police to file a “missing person” report.  L.C. and Charlie, however, thought that would do no good.  They had no idea what happened to the woman and child, and trying to explain what had happened would likely just make them all look like lunatics.  The man finally agreed.  The three of them did exchange addresses and phone numbers.  For some time afterwards, the man would periodically contact them to discuss the incident, out of an apparent desire to reassure himself of his sanity.

Meaux concluded, “High strangeness points to ponder over: what if--she was from the past, and went forward in time, and she is now an old lady still living today, and what if on that same day it had been her instead of L.C. and Charlie behind the ‘old car,’ that same now old lady would have met herself. What if--the Earth itself has a super mentality and it creates as a cosmic joke all these anomalies of life on its surface just for its amusement or some other esoteric reason. What if--and this is the final and most depressing of the "what ifs"--she had come from the past, popped into the future and did not return to her past. The newspapers of 1940 would puzzle over a disappearance of a mother and her child one cold October day, foul play suspected, the search continues--while she and the child continue traveling in and out of various time zones forever.”

I suppose one can offer a simpler theory: Imagine a woman driving down a Louisiana highway one day in the 1940s, in a state of great fear for herself and her child, desperate to escape--to somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps, for a few moments, at least, she managed to do just that.

Weekend Link Dump

 

Welcome to the first Link Dump of 2026!

The U-2 incident.

Yet another rejected suitor turns to murder.

The theory that we started out as Martians.

The HMS Royal George disaster.

The earliest known adult cremation.

The kidnapping and murder of Maria Ridulph.

Some science-based myths.

Why a ball drops on New Year's Eve.

The legend of ancient Irish airships.

This is one of those year-end lists that make me despair for the human race.

Two centuries of New York City celebrating New Year's.

The mystery of a Pennsylvania skeleton.

A ghost pays a New Year's call.

Handel in London.

That's a wrap for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll talk time-slips!  In the meantime, here's a bit of post-Christmas music.

The Best of Strange Company 2025

 

Yes, indeed, another year has come to an end, which means it's time for my annual look at this blog's best--or, at least, most popular posts of 2025.  As always, there were a couple of surprises for me.

1. America and Lake Cow Bacon

I really didn't expect my #1 post to be the one about the time Americans nearly switched to a diet of hippo burgers, but I suppose this is just that sort of blog.

2. The Natives of the Red Dragon

This was one of my favorites of the year: a delightfully offbeat story about a mysterious disappearance and some weird stamps.

3. Murders, Disappearances, and Mystery:  A Family Affair

The sinister tale of one very disturbing family.

4. Weekend Link Dump, February 7

Can't have a Top Ten without a WLD!  In fact, some of my readers have occasionally hinted that my blog would be greatly improved if I would just shut up and do nothing but share links.

5. Newspaper Clipping of the Day, August 20

The sort of thing that happens when an undertaker enters into an on-the-job romance.

6. The Restaurant That Never Was

A wonderful time-slip account.

7. Newspaper Clipping of the Day, September 3

Disputes over burial sites can be so embarrassing.

8. "Something Utterly Malign"; Or, Why You Should Be Very Careful Where You Hike in Scotland

A casual walk in the countryside turns into a terrifying encounter with The Weird.

9. A Car Bombing in Texarkana

A seemingly inoffensive man's brutal and mysterious murder.

10. The Lorius/Heberer Mystery

Two couples disappear during a road trip.

And there you have it!  See you in 2026, when I hope to share more tales of murders, disappearances, paranormal activity, and humans being generally peculiar.  There probably won't be any more hippo burgers, but I suppose you never know.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This nifty little ghost story appeared in the “San Francisco Chronicle” on January 3, 1882:

John Hargan, a man who has heretofore been credited with an unusual amount of hard common sense, has been driven out of his house at Recene by a series of circumstances that have plunged that little town into a fever of superstitious awe and excitement.

In order to fully understand the case that is at present agitating the denizens of Ten Mile, it becomes necessary to go somewhat into the past. The Hargan family, which consists of Mr. and Mrs. Hargan and two children, occupied a little house close to the foot of Ten Mile avenue before the devastating breath of the recent fire swept over it, and across the avenue tracks. Living with the family temporarily was a prospector whom Mr. Hargan was grub staking. These are the dramatis personae of the affair. 

The house consisted of four rooms, the two middle ones being used as sleeping apartments, and one occupied by the Hargans and the other by the prospector. 

About two weeks ago the first of a chain of remarkable manifestations took place. The family were one evening seated in the front room when one of the little children sprang up and cried out, “Who is that looking in the window?" and ran tremblingly to her mother's side.

At the same instant there was a loud knock on the glass. Hargin and his friend both ran to the door and threw it open. The moon was shining quite brightly outside and no one in sight anywhere--nothing but a broad expanse of freshly fallen untracked snow within 100 feet of the house. Puzzled and alarmed they returned and questioned the child. All she knew was that a man with a very white face had been looking in through the window, and when she screamed he suddenly disappeared. Mr. Hargan, who is not troubled with any superstitious fancies, tried to laugh off the matter and attribute the ghostly visitation simply to some hungry tramp attracted by the warmth and light within. 

An hour or two passed and the matter was well-nigh forgotten, when the family were thrown into consternation by a second rap, however, and sharper than before. Again a rush was made for the door, and again nothing but the untrodden snow greeted their eyes.

By this time, thoroughly alarmed, Mr. Hargan took a seat close to the window. and within a foot or two of the door, and patiently waited. In the course of twenty minutes there were two loud raps at the door, but their echo had scarcely died away when Hargan was on the threshold.

There was not a trace of any one outside, and completely unnerved, he re-entered the room and turned the lock. There were no other manifestations that evening, nor the next, but the day after that, at about noon, while Mrs. Hargan was engaged at some household work, there were three or four impatient raps at one of the middle doors of the house. She turned to it, supposing it to be one of the neighbors, when the door was suddenly pushed open in her face.

No one was there, the room was absolutely empty, and, half fainting with fright, she ran to get her husband. Ever since that time these manifestations have continued, and scarcely an evening passed that the raps were not heard on the doors or windows. 

The most startling of them, however, have taken place within the past few days. One night in the latter part of last week the prospector, who was quietly sleeping in the center room, was awakened by feeling something jump upon his feet and crouch there. His mind filled with the uncanny events of the two weeks past, he did not dare to move, and scarcely breathing, lay quite still.

An instant later the thing upon the bed crowded toward him, and he felt the clutch of a hand upon his shoulder. He had pulled the cover up over his head. but could stand it no longer, and gave a loud, long shriek of terror. Tho sound broke the spell, and he felt his legs instantly relieved of the weight, as at the same moment Hargan rushed, revolver in hand, into the room.  The story was told in a few words, and they hastily decided to say nothing about it to Mrs. Hargan, who was in a pitiable state of nervous prostration. 

Next night the husband made some excuse to sleep with the prospector, and with his revolver in convenient reach, they retired. Late at night, when everything was enveloped in pitchy darkness, Hargan was awakened by someone passing their hands over his side. His first impulse was to reach for his gun, but an uncontrollable terror seized him and he was unable to move. Half fainting, he felt something creep over him and then jump to the floor with an audible concussion. For an instant he lay mute and motionless, and then was aroused by the screams of his wife. The room in which she slept had a window opening to the old town of Kokomo, and when her husband rushed in she said she had awakened to see the black profile of someone between this and her. As she stared at it the head slowly turned, and by a faint phosphorescent glow that surrounded it she made out the figure of a man.

Then for the first time she found her voice, and as she cried out the figure faded and disappeared. This experience was sufficient, and the family sat up during the remainder of the night. As soon as possible the next day they moved out, and since then the house has stood vacant and empty. No one can be induced to even spend a night in it, and the owner is anxious to give it rent free to any tenant who will brave its unknown terrors.