Terror in Spring Mill

Other residents of Spring Mill Estates, an affluent Indianapolis suburb, knew Marguarite Jackson as "the demon lady." Though known to be rich, the plump, white-haired widow, 66, lived modestly, seldom venturing beyond the chain-link fence that guarded her weed-choked, three-acre property. Delivery men were instructed to stop on the street, honk, then pass their parcels to her over the fence. Lights blazed in the beige stone house day and night. When Mrs. Jackson did appear, her talk was a litany of paranoia. She cussed out other residents for complaining about her trash on the roadside. The doorknobs in her house were wrapped in aluminum foil, she explained, because it "kept out the demons." When a shrub died in her yard, she referred to it as "the devil's bush." Said a neighbor: "She was terrified of everything."

Vulnerable Target. With reason, evidently. On the morning of May 7, firemen, summoned by a neighbor, broke into the Jackson house to put out a smoky blaze. They found Mrs. Jackson dead on the kitchen floor, a .22-cal. bullet wound in her stomach. Police, searching the house, soon found bizarre confirmation of the tales about her wealth. Stashed around the place, in toolboxes, drawers, a vacuum-cleaner bag and a garbage can, was some $5 million in crisp bank notes, mostly hundred-dollar bills. An investigation revealed that over a period of time, she had withdrawn at least $8 million in cash from her bank--meaning that some $3 million was missing. Some burglars, the cops concluded, had looted the house, killed Mrs. Jackson and set fire to the place in an effort to cover up the crime.

She had been a vulnerable target.

Even before her husband Chester, president of a 250-store grocery chain, died in 1970, Marjorie Jackson (as she was known) entertained rarely and never mixed hi local circles. After Chester's death, she became even more reclusive. Says a neighbor: "The shock of losing him really cracked her." She withdrew into "the Bible," as she put it. She set aside four days of the week as "holy days" for meditation and organ playing. One holiday, she set her dining table for twelve--though no guests were invited and no meal was prepared. Piled high in one room were bottles of perfume, washcloths and other odd items wrapped as gifts and labeled TO GOD FROM MARJORIE.

Mrs. Jackson distrusted banks and for several years had been withdrawing large amounts in cash. In February 1976 her bank, the Indiana National, became concerned about her safety and went to court in an attempt to get guardian rights. During the proceedings, Mrs. Jackson charged that her account was being looted. A vice president of the bank was subsequently convicted of embezzling nearly $700,000 of her funds. (He was later sentenced to ten years in prison.) The judge left Mrs. Jackson in charge of her millions, declaring that she was "eccentric, but not mentally incompetent."

Then she began to withdraw her money with a vengeance, sometimes carting as much as $500,000 in cash home from the bank. She gave $10 and $20 bills to local children for odd jobs and as gifts. When her aging Cadillac blew a water hose, she plunked down $27,000 in cash for two Sevilles, explaining that she never wanted to be caught again without a car to drive.

Word of the widow's loose millions soon got around. A year ago, burglars stole $817,000 from her house; though they were later summoned by a grand jury, she declined to prosecute, declaring the heist to be "the will of God." There was at least one other breakin, probably more, but Mrs. Jackson, distrustful of lawmen, never reported any of them.

Five days after the murder, police collared two suspects, Manuel Robinson, 29, and John Williams, 38, both laborers, on a tip from the lawyer of a car dealer from whom Williams had bought a new $11,900 Lincoln with hundred-dollar bills. They also arrested a girl companion, Annie Young, 22, and recovered $1.6 million from her home and Robinson's. At week's end they were still searching for two other suspects, as well as the rest of the money that had bought Mrs. Jackson nothing but a life of private terror.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.