Charles Carl Webb – Man Of Many Faces
He has written many poems, most of them on the subject of death, which he claims to be his greatest desire.
He was very robust, very strong.
He was of a moody disposition.
He had a beautiful shape.
The Rubaiyat was found in a utility truck.
He would completely ignore people.
His body a real wedge shape.
He was quite often rude.
He was a man of considerable strength.
He refused to speak to me for hours on end.
He showed no signs of hard work.
The nails of his fingers and toes were clean and carefully attended to.
Small things led to quarrels.
He was evidently particular about his appearance.
His hands didn’t show any signs or callouses you would expect from handling tools.
I found him lying in a wet bed, gazing into space.
He was an electrical engineer / instrument maker.
If he lost at the races he would be sullen and rude to me or anyone else.
The garments in his suitcase were quite clean.
One night in the year of 1945 while playing with guests he threw his hand on the table and went to bed without saying a word.
The trousers in his suitcase were well-pressed.
One night in the year 1945 when he was losing he got his long bladed carving knife and threatened a guest who had won money from him.
His shoes looked they had just been polished.
He had no particular friends of his own.
His shoes looked like they had not been worn all day walking about.
He rarely wished to go out anywhere, but usually went to bed about 7 p,m,, often night after night.
He had broad shoulders.
From that time on he abused me constantly and seemed determined to drive me out of the flat.
He had narrow hips.
He would fly into a rage and abuse me, calling me a dirty rotten bitch.
He had well-formed legs.
He would call me a liar and scream at me “Shut your bloody mouth” or “Shut up and get out.”
He had the calves of a ballet dancer.
He finally came to the door and struck me.
The one thing that bugs me is that he had no spare socks.
He came into my room and struck me again, he knocked me across my bed and I struck my head on the wall.
There wasn’t a match on his body.
He flew into a rage and abused me, calling me a bloody bastard and a dirty bitch.
He was wearing a cardigan under his coat.
He tried to strike me with a kitchen fork.
He would have been of a better class than most.
Just as I cleared the doorstep he kicked me so hard that my spine was bruised for some time.
He was wearing a brown pullover under his coat.
Again in about July 1946 I called in Constable Carter of St. Kilda Road police, after being chased out of the flat and struck as I reached the front porch.
His feet were rather striking features.
Next night he tried to throw me out of the flat by force.
His feet suggested he had been in the habit of wearing high-heeled riding boots.
From then on he became more violent.
He appeared to be more of a clerk or officer class.
He could hardly speak and was rambling. I got him out of bed and found he was unable to walk.
He could hardly have been robbed as a dead man before 6:30am.
He was an instrument maker.
He was hardly likely to have spent exactly all the money he had.
One night he entered my room when I was in bed and stood over me threateningly.
Sixpence fell out of a pocket in the suitcase contents.
After a struggle I got him to tell me what else he had taken, namely 40 Phenobarbitel tablets.
His hands were not those expected in a hard manual worker or seaman.
In an easily overlooked small money pocket on the right side of the front of the trousers was a small piece of paper torn from its context with imprint in large letters ‘Tamam Shud’ in Turkish.
In about the month of June 1946 the Respondent again abused me and threatened to take my life.
His hair was rather long for a man.
I wanted to call a doctor, but he said if I did and he got better he would kill me.
Just get out while you’ve got your life to do so.
That’s what it turned out to be, all quite pedestrian.
Above quotes taken from Dorothy Webb’s divorce petition, Gerry Feltus’ The Unknown Man, PC Moss’ newspaper interview, Derek Abbott’s public utterances, Paul Lawson’s description of the body and inquest and pathology papers.