By Shana Alexander
The New York Times–bestselling vintage true-crime tale of Frances Bradshaw Schreuder, the big apple socialite who persuaded the only murderer who could not refuse her—her teenage son—to kill her multimillionaire father
In August of 1983 Shana Alexander, acclaimed journalist and chronicler of the lives and legal trials of Jean Harris and Patty Hearst, wrote to long island urban ballet client Frances Schreuder at the eve of her homicide trial. Schreuder stood accused of unlawfully inflicting the loss of life of her father, Franklin Bradshaw, and of soliciting, encouraging, and assisting her prep school–student son within the murder within the desire of economic achieve. Alexander by no means bought a reaction, yet she flew to Salt Lake urban and met with Schreuder's mom, the matriarch of the Mormon dynasty—eighty-year-old Berenice Bradshaw.
Nutcracker is the real tale of this crime—the twisting four-year police investigation,...
Read or Download Nutcracker. Money, Madness, Murder: A Family Album PDF
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Additional info for Nutcracker. Money, Madness, Murder: A Family Album
Sample text
In the second row of the niche, behind the four bereaved women, sat the men—a son-in-law and three of the four grandsons. The man was Elaine’s husband, Mason Drukman, a slender, high-domed, good-looking Oregon professor of political science. He sat squeezed between his two hulking, bushy-haired sons, Sam and Max Drukman, ages twenty and sixteen. Marilyn’s husband, Robert Reagan, was not present. He was a lawyer employed by New York City to work on family court cases, and had felt compelled to remain behind in New York City.
He could not see her face, but from under her black cloud of veil, mascara flowed like lava down her ashen cheeks. 1985 … UTAH IS UNIQUE among the fifty states. It is literally a church-state, a theocracy inside a democracy, and Salt Lake City—heart of the church-state—is a holy city just as Mecca is. Understanding this is key to understanding what happened to Franklin Bradshaw, happened both before and after the old man was found lying dead on the floor of his warehouse with two bullet holes in his back.
There was no place he feared to go, no question he was too respectful to ask, no gambit he hesitated to use to find out whatever he thought he needed to know. He was totally unselfconscious about this extreme directness—I remember my own astonishment at hearing Tommy inquire of a billionaire we had just met precisely how much money he had. Yet Tommy’s manner, his charm, the utter sincerity of his wish and need to find the answer, and his persistence and energy and resourcefulness in digging for it had made him a reportorial force impossible to resist or long deceive.
