by Sarah A. Peterson-Camacho

Tuesday, January 31, 1928, 8:45 a.m.

Somehow, she knew her husband was dead—and she knew just who had killed him.

The fog was otherworldly that morning, as if a ravenous ghost had swallowed the Central Valley whole. Blanketing California’s agricultural heartland in a spectral haze of bone-chilling mist, it swept over the dormant vegetation in swirling tendrils of unearthly murk.

Angry words were exchanged in Italian, then three rifle shots rent the frosty air like cracks of thunder, fast as lightning through the vaporous gloom. A brain-splitting burst of ruby mist as his head was blown open, permeating the dense tule fog in a wet crimson veil.

An eyeball shot from its socket, landing with a dull thud in the dead grass.

Yes, Santo Nocito was dead, indeed.

“Apparently shot from ambush by the man with whom he was going to fight a death duel at Grant and Central Avenues,” reported The Fresno Bee that evening, “Santo Nasito [sic] … was found dead today, lying on the ground behind a small touring car. … There was a rifle bullet hole through his head, and his lower jaw was torn away.

“The body lay on its back, the right arm thrown over a barreled shotgun, fully loaded.”

And by the time Nocito’s best friend and business partner Antonio Gaeta pulled to a stop at the intersection of Central and Grant, it was already too late. Nocito—a Fresno-area rancher and 43-year-old married stepfather of four—lay lifeless behind his automobile, about a hundred yards east of the crossroads, on Grant.

Only an hour or so before, around half past eight, the dead man had paid Gaeta a visit, to inform his friend of a duel that he himself was late for—to be held at 8:30 a.m. sharp, Grant crossed Central.

“He asked me to drive around to see if there were many people there,” Gaeta would tell The Fresno Morning Republican the next day. “He didn’t say who he was going to fight, and I did not ask him.

“I borrowed a car from my hired man … and started out. …When I got a short distance from where I found Santo, a Ford car came along,” he said. “It came from the direction in which I found the body. The driver buried his head behind the steering wheel, and [behind] his arms, when I passed, so I could not see him …

“…and when I got there, I found Santo behind the car. I could see he was dead, so I drove on and told his wife. She had the stepdaughter notify the authorities.”

“It was Tony Chiodo.”

Her voice was rich and warm as honey, so much like her mother’s, it was uncanny. But try as he might, Chief Deputy Albert Blasingame could not place the national origin of her accent, melodious as it was. And here she was, giving him the name of a killer for a murder not yet reported, much less discovered—or so far as he knew, at least.

But still, that name did ring a bell. Tony Chiodo, as in Antonio Chiodo, well-known local bootlegger—and co-owner/operator (with several other ne’er-do-wells) of the West Side Club speakeasy—who had previously served eight months in the slammer for violating the Volstead Act with his cronies awhile back.

By no stretch of Blasingame’s imagination could this character ever be considered incapable of committing a murder. So it was definitely within the realm of possibility—and definitely worth looking into.

And when Antonio Gaeta contacted the Fresno County Sheriff’s Office a short while later, the hunt for one Tony Chiodo was on—thanks to the dead man’s oldest stepdaughter, and to his devastated widow.

Theresa Trino Nocito, 17, and her mother Josephine, 40, had had enough trauma and heartbreak, between the two of them, to last a lifetime or three. And now that their hero and chief protector was dead and gone, the two women were on their own—with only their grief and their rage to keep them going.

“An inter-family row between the two men Monday night [January 30th], the officers were told by Nasito’s [sic] wife,” The Fresno Bee alleged the day after the fatal shooting, “was followed by a quarrel between Chiodo and Nasito, during which Nasito slapped Chiodo in the face.

“Chiodo then said to Nasito, ‘I’ll get you,’ it was reported to the officers by Mrs. Nasito. [Santo] Nasito answered, ‘Get me now,’ and Chiodo said, ‘No, I’ll get you tomorrow morning.’ It was then that the two men arranged to fight a duel.

“The cause of the quarrel lay in remarks which the two men made about each other’s wives, Mrs. Nasito said.” Except that Tony Chiodo was not married, nor had he ever been; the 35-year-old alleged murderer lived alone in a room he rented from Fresno rancher John A. Renna, at 1251 Collins Avenue.

Regardless, it did not turn out to be a fair fight, no matter how much heat Santo Nocito had been packing that fateful foggy morning. Armed with a 12-gauge, double-barreled shotgun, a .38-caliber pistol, two long-bladed knives, and plenty of ammunition, he had been, nevertheless, running late for the duel—giving his opponent ample time to hide and lie in wait.

“Nasito’s body was found behind his automobile,” continued the Bee. “His shotgun and revolver were fully loaded, his knives unsheathed. ‘He never had a chance,’ officers said. The killing was one-sided—in fact, not a duel. There is no question of self-defense [either], the district attorney’s office contends, believing that the killing was the result of an ambush executed with patient care.

“Trampled grass showed the officers where the slayer hid in the tule brush, awaiting his enemy. Near this grass were found the three empty [30-30] rifle shells which were ejected from the weapon …”

“Several ranchers in the district said they heard voices and three shots shortly after 8:30,” The Fresno Morning Republican revealed the following day. “They said they made no investigation as they thought it was hunters. The three empty 30-30 cartridge cases indicated that but three shots were fired.”

And Nocito’s bullet-riddled skull only served to highlight Tony Chiodo’s expert marksmanship: the first round had entered the right corner of the victim’s mouth, tearing away his lower right jaw; the second had penetrated the brain from behind the right ear, exiting in tandem with Nocito’s left eyeball; and the last bullet—fired after the poor man had already toppled to the ground—plowed through the left side of his neck, lodging behind his right shoulder blade.

Dr. George H. Sciaroni—performing the autopsy under the direction of Fresno County Coroner J. Herman Kennedy—concluded that any one of the three steel-jacketed, 30-30 rounds could have caused the death of one Santo Nocito.

Nocito’s widow Josephine could not be consoled—not by any of her four children, nor the clergy. And certainly not by the investigating officers in desperate need of her testimony for the coroner’s inquest in two days’ time.

After an initial interview in the immediate wake of her husband’s murder, she had locked herself away from the outside world, lost in the abyss of her grieving for the one man she would have given her own life for.

How could Josephine go on without him—her Santo, who had welcomed her and her four young children into his life with open arms, after her first husband’s desertion? Who had defended the honor of his four-year-old stepdaughter, attacking Josephine’s younger brother Frank in the aftermath of Frank’s sexual assault of the traumatized toddler? How could she possibly face the world without him?

But Joesphine Nocito’s rage burned brighter than her sorrow, and on the afternoon of Thursday, February 2nd, Santo’s widow took the stand at the coroner’s inquest, her four children looking on.

Denying any previous knowledge of a proposed duel or a family row—in direct contradiction of The Fresno Bee’s assertions only one day previous—the widow “laid the cause of the quarrel to bootleg liquor,” the Bee now divulged. “Sobbing as she told her story, Mrs. Nocito said that Monday night, her husband told her that he had a quarrel with Chiodo over liquor; that Chiodo had wanted to cache some liquor on his [Nocito’s] ranch, but he [Nocito] had refused.”

Then just who had informed the investigators of the family row and the proposed duel in the first place? Had it been Mrs. Nocito’s oldest daughter, Theresa? Or was it Antonio Gaeta, her husband’s business partner? Or perhaps, for whatever reason, the dead man’s wife had felt the need to change her story on the stand? We will never truly know.

And for their part, the officers who testified at the inquest never definitively cleared this matter up. “They expressed the belief that sometime Monday … he [Nocito] met Chiodi [sic] and … they became at outs over some sort of liquor deal—but no evidence to substantiate this could be found,” noted The Fresno Morning Republican. “Later, reported indicated, the pair rowed at the Nocito ranch, arguing about their respective families—and that as a result of this row, they arranged to fight a duel the following morning.”

Next to take the stand was Tony Chiodo’s landlord, John A. Renna, who testified that Chiodo had come by early that Tuesday morning to retrieve his (Chiodo’s) 30-30 rifle—which Renna handed over, assuming his tenant needed it to go hunting. And several hours later, around 10:30am, Chiodo returned to pack his bags, then took off in his little Ford, Renna told the coroner’s jury.

Antonio “Tony” Chiodo was formally charged with the murder of Santo Nocito by District Attorney Glenn M. Devore, though he was still at large. So City Justice Earle J. Church issued a warrant for the suspect’s arrest, and a statewide manhunt thus ensued.

And Josephine Nocito could only hope and pray that the bastard who slew her husband was caught sooner, rather than later…

Josephine Melfi was a born romantic, and her early life had all the trappings of a Gothic heroine in the making. Born in southern Italy in 1887, she was motherless from an early age, and barely old enough to remember the transatlantic voyage to America in the early 1890s—whisked across the tides with her younger brother Frank and older sister Caterina, by their widowed father George, who was ready for a fresh start in a new land after the tragic early death of his wife, Maria.

Settling in Pennsylvania with his three small children in tow, the widower Melfi was quick to marry again—and promptly sired four more offspring. And growing up in a bustling, blended household, Josephine found herself short on privacy, but long on dreams of love, marriage, and a home of her very own.

By the time she turned 18—the year her youngest half-brother was born—the second Melfi daughter was restless and ready to fly the coop. And in swept the dashing Rosario Trino, 20, from across the Atlantic, as if on cue; Josephine threw caution to the wind, allowing herself to be carried away …

But less than two years later—after a whirlwind romance, marriage, and the birth of her first son James in 1907—reality was beginning to set in for the 19-year-old Mrs. Trino. A second son, Joseph, followed in 1908, and her brooding Rosario had grown restless again. So off they all sailed back to the motherland of southern Italy, where Josephine’s first daughter Theresa was born in 1910.

And then, two years after that, it was back across the Atlantic to North America—only this time their destination was Canada, where a second daughter, Marion, came into the world in 1913. By this time, Josephine was exhausted—and yearning for a place to truly settle down, a place to truly call home.

But when her husband, ever the roving adventurer, grew antsy yet again, this time the enterprising mother of four would have it her way: the Trinos would settle in the milder climes of sunny Central California—so much closer in weather and in spirit to their agriculturally rich Mediterranean homeland, where her beloved younger brother Frank had settled. Enough with all this ice and snow!

So the family of six travelled south in the summer of 1914, the youngest, Marion, not quite a year old. It was a warm reunion with Frank, who worked in Stockton for a well-off Italian rancher named Santo Nocito.

The attraction between Josephine Trino and her brother’s employer was instant, their chemistry crackling. Not that the surly and distant Rosario paid any mind; he was too busy plotting his escape to San Francisco. Mere weeks had gone by when the deadbeat husband abandoned his wife and four small children for the heady rush of the bustling Bay Area.

Josephine was beyond distraught, and her brother and his boss quickly closed ranks around the now-fatherless Trino clan. Frank helped her care for the children as the generous, kind-hearted Nocito opened his home to them. Santo himself had left a wife behind in Italy a decade prior—for reasons he would never discuss—and though he had built a prosperous life for himself in California’s abundant heartland, he had grown lonely, with no one to share in his good fortune.

Nocito sent men to search for the derelict Rosario, who sowed his wild oats all over the San Francisco Bay as his youngest daughter turned a year old. But then, to Santo’s secret delight, the Trino patriarch took off for parts unknown—leaving the handsome young rancher to take his place.

A divorce was quickly obtained for the deserted Josephine, and she and Nocito were wed, his first wife forgotten back in the homeland. The second Mrs. Nocito settled into her fairy tale at last, with a man who truly loved and cherished her and her children. But there were storm clouds gathering on the horizon …

“One of the most atrocious crimes ever committed in this city was reported to the police yesterday afternoon”— screamed The Stockton Evening Mail of Thursday, June 10, 1915—“and as a result, Frank Melfi … was arrested and placed in jail … The victim of the fiendish assault, a four-year-old niece of the prisoner, is lying at the emergency hospital in a critical condition, and may succumb to her injuries.

“The alleged crime was committed in Union Square, where the man is said to have escorted the little tot from her home … Park employees, who heard the pitiful cries of the little girl coming from one of the outhouses, notified the authorities.”

Melfi fled the scene, and Josephine’s older daughter Theresa, not quite five, was escorted home. “The little girl identified her uncle as having committed the crime,” The Stockton Evening and Sunday Record revealed the next day, “and told her mother of the occurrence.

“Detective Walker … was called to the … home at 537 South Pilgrim Street, where a picture of the young uncle was given him for identification purposes. As Walker stepped outside the door, he met the uncle coming into the house. The father of the injured girl jumped upon Melfi, and—Detective Walker states—that Melfi would have been killed by the father, had he not separated them.”

Frank Melfi was arrested on the spot, and taken to the San Joaquin County Jail, where he was held under heavy bond. Theresa found herself whisked away to the hospital for emergency care.

Josephine Nocito found herself utterly devastated for the second time in under a year. How could her own brother perpetrate such a heinous act against his own flesh-and-blood? She sobbed into Santo’s shoulder that night, knowing full well her husband would have murdered Frank with his bare hands, had the detective not intervened.

Three months later, she would face down her brother in a court of law, and the Nocito clan would be forced to relive their worst nightmare. And the next day, Frank Melfi was found guilty of a crime against nature—and sentenced to twelve years at San Quentin.

He would serve less than six.

Sunday, February 12, 1928, 2 p.m.

Antonio Chiodo was a wanted man—and he knew it.

“Chiodo—well-known police character and bootlegger—is known to have taken flight from Fresno,” reported The Fresno Morning Republican the day of the inquest, “so authorities in other sections of the state have been asked to assist in locating him.

“Within two hours after the killing … Chiodo returned to … where he was rooming, packed some clothing, and fled. From there, it was learned by the investigating officers, he went to his bank, drew out his funds, and continued his flight.

“Extreme care in apprehending Chiodo has been urged upon all officers, for the suspected duelist—who slew from ambush—is thought to be heavily armed, and is known to be a crack shot.”

Fresno County Sheriff William F. Jones and Chief Deputy Blasingame had their hands full directing a statewide manhunt, in addition to seeking out further evidence and witness testimony. They felt conflicted by Josephine Nocito’s inconsistent statements regarding the possible motive.

Meanwhile, a blended family mourned its adopted patriarch, his four stepchildren having taken the Nocito name in the decade and a half since their own father’s desertion. And on Friday, February 3rd, Santo Nocito was laid to rest in Fresno’s Holy Cross Cemetery, following a funeral Mass at St. Alphonsus Catholic Church.

“Circulars bearing descriptions of the sought man—as well as his picture—were sent broadcast by the sheriff’s office,” the Republican continued, “they being prepared by Fingerprint Expert E.W. Verdeick. Expert Verdeick—who obtained photographs of the scene in the vicinity of the shooting, of the body, and of other details—secured the photograph of the supposed killer.”

And, indeed, Antonio Chiodo’s days as a free man were numbered. After over a week went by in relative silence, the afternoon of Sunday, February 12th, would prove to be a turning point in the case—and the irony at the heart of his capture would not go unnoticed.

What began as a weekend sightseeing trip up to Martinez for Mrs. Edna Davis and her husband Steele—a Fresno police court clerk and a Fresno PD sergeant, respectively—would end in the apprehension and arrest of the state’s most wanted man. And the irony of it was that they had both seen the fugitive on numerous occasions before—in court during his bootlegging days.

“Mrs. Davis, whose quiet gaze had seen [Tony] Chiodo stand before Police Judge James G. Chrichton a number of times,” proclaimed The Fresno Morning Republican on Monday, February 13th, “was taking a picture of Carquinez Bridge when her eyes wandered from the camera … She called softly to her husband and pointed.

“‘It’s Chiodo,’ she called, and Sergeant Davis … started his car and pursued Chiodo onto the Carquinez Bridge, where speed limits are necessarily slow.” Davis—also a bailiff for the same court as his wife—had no trouble pulling over Chiodo in his little Ford.

The fugitive readily admitted to his identity, and allowed himself to be arrested without a struggle, but he denied killing Santo Nocito. He remained silent on the drive back to Fresno, and—once in custody at the Fresno County Jail—Chiodo doubled down on his denial, claiming he had traveled to the Bay Area to look for work. He knew nothing of the manhunt he had triggered, he said.

All of Fresno County breathed a collective sigh of relief now that Tony Chiodo was behind bars at last … but the upcoming murder trial would prove an uphill battle for the prosecution. As “so far, only circumstantial evidence connects Chiodo with the slaying,” the Republican concluded somberly.

Valentine’s Day dawned cold and lonely for both the grieving widow and her husband’s alleged killer, who was locked up in solitary and still denying his participation in the botched duel and its bloody aftermath. It had been exactly two weeks since Santo Nocito had been slain.

“Innocent, He Maintains,” blasted The Fresno Morning Republican above a photo of the prisoner alongside Chief Deputy Blasingame: it showed a short, stocky young Italian man, looking much younger than his 35 years, with a strong jaw and finely chiseled features beneath the windswept raven luster of thick, unruly black hair. His dark-eyed gaze was haughty, petulant.

“Chiodo … denied in a two-hour questioning … [insisting] he had nothing to do with the slaying of Nocito,” the Republican noted. “He left Fresno hurriedly the morning of the slaying … because he wanted ‘to get away from bootlegging and have a chance to go straight.’

“This was the only reference in his answers to questions about the slaying. The rest of the story was the same as that of any other person who had taken a two weeks’ tour—with the exception that he remembered none of the names or addresses of the persons he spent his time with during the fortnight he was sought by the police.”

When faced with his landlord John Renna—who recounted his tenant’s whereabouts the morning of the murder, including his request for his 30-30 rifle, the hurried packing of his bags, the hasty withdrawals from his bank, and his flight north—the alleged murderer still denied everything. But regardless of the baby-faced fugitive’s protestations of innocence, the law would be keeping Antonio Chiodo behind bars, sans bail.

And as the knife-sharp chill of a Valley winter softened into the blossoming of spring, Josephine Nocito claimed her husband’s sizable estate as Tony Chiodo pleaded not guilty to the charge of gunning down her husband. His defense attorney, B.W. Gearheart, had succeeded in delaying his client’s trial by several weeks—but because “Chiodo’s plea came in the midst of an exceptionally short criminal calendar”––per the Morning Republican—“Fresno Superior Court Judge Denver S. Church wasted no time in fixing the trial date to the last week of May.”

Monday, May 28, 1928, 9 a.m.

Bursting onto the courtroom scene with metaphorical guns blazing, defense attorney Gearheart started out with the obvious: the dead man had been armed to the teeth.

“Santo Nocito was a ‘walking arsenal’ when he was shot down in death by a mystery assailant,” reported The Fresno Bee of the murder trial’s opening moments, “held by the state to have been Tony Chiodi [sic], a blood enemy and his opponent in a duel, which was to have been fought in a lonesome spot at dawn on January 31st.

“This evidence—developed by the defense in an apparent effort to lay the foundation of a claim that the slaying was committed in self-defense—was given by Chief Deputy Sheriff Albert Blasingame, as the first witness called to the stand today in the trial of Chiodi, on a charge of murder.”

Never mind the fact that the defendant had flat-out denied committing the heinous act, let alone even knowing who Santo Nocito even was. Gearheart must have realized that denial was a losing strategy, but had he even broached the subject with his nonchalant client? “Chiodi … appeared to take but little interest in the proceedings which may send him to the scaffold,” the Bee noted.

“H.F. Briggs—chief deputy district attorney in charge of the prosecution—asked for the death penalty in his opening statement,” stated The Fresno Morning Republican that same day. “[It] also contained the statement that the prosecution expected to prove—by a series of circumstantial bits of evidence—that … Chiodo hid in ambush and shot Nocito as the latter arrived at the scheduled spot.

“Bullets fired from the gun of Tony Chiodo … killed Santo Nocito,” Captain Crossman, widely known firearms expert, testified … “bullets taken from the body of Nocito bore the markings … of the gun which the prosecution had previously identified as belonging to Chiodo.”

During cross-examination, as Crossman demonstrated how the 30-30 rifle was operated, an empty shell flew backward, landing within inches of the startled jury. It served as a fitting punctuation for a long and trying first day.

And almost as soon as the murder trial had begun, proceedings were unceremoniously halted in observance of Memorial Day. “But before adjournment was taken over the holiday,” The Fresno Bee concluded, “the news was buzzed around the courtroom that the state had found a ‘surprise’ witness who would throw much light on the altercation between Chiodi [sic] and Nocito—which is claimed to have led up to the slaying.”

Wednesday, May 30, 1928, 9 a.m.

The state’s “surprise” witness turned out to be none other than Antonio Gaeta, Santo Nocito’s best friend and business partner—who told the court of his friend’s visit before the duel, his drive out to Central and Grant, the suspicious driver he encountered, and his discovery of Nocito’s body.

But because the dead man had not given Gaeta the name of his dueling partner, the odds had inadvertently now reversed in the defense’s favor … except for the fact that Tony Chiodo had not yet changed his story to fit his counsel’s needs—namely, a plea of self-defense. And before the defendant took the stand himself, his defense attorney set out to maim the murdered man’s character one unfounded accusation at a time, much to Josephine Nocito’s abject horror.

“Gearheart revealed that Frank Carvelli of Stockton had been assaulted and cut by Nocito in an attempt at robbery,” declared the Bee.

“‘I want to show by this witness, and by other[s] … that Nocito was known as a bad man and a killer,’ Gearheart informed the court with the jury absent. ‘I will show that he openly boasted he fled from Italy to escape prosecution for murder; that he cut a Fresnan to death and escaped prosecution because of the fear he inspired; that he drew a knife some ten years ago on a grape picker; and that he fled Stockton after cutting Carvelli.’”

This last point packed the most punch for Santo Nocito’s widow; in reality, he had fled Stockton with his family in the wake of his four-year-old stepdaughter’s rape by her own uncle—in a desperate attempt to put some distance between them and the heinous incident. A chance to start fresh in Fresno.

How dare this attorney smear a good man’s name with such baseless incendiary claims?

Thursday, May 31, 1928, 9 a.m.

It is quite easy to slander the dead, for one deceased cannot defend oneself. And so it was that on the last of May 1928, one Antonio Chiodo—in a dramatic performance that turned out to be the trial’s true “surprise”—laid waste to Santo Nocito all over again … only this time verbally.

Defense attorney Gearheart set the scene as one would an elaborately staged Shakespearean drama, slathering on the theatrics. “Dramatically pointing to the defendant—sitting a few feet away … nervously playing with his hands—Gearheart declared: ‘That boy was out there in the dawn of a Winter morning,’” The Fresno Bee quoted, “‘fighting for his life, facing a man who was a killer—and he might have gone to the gallows because the prosecution suppressed evidence which sustained his story.’”

And then Tony Chiodo—whose last name would forever be misspelled by the Bee—put on the show of his life. He painted his victim in shades of most vibrant ruby, recalling Santo Nocito as nothing more than a bloodthirsty monster who kept his enemies in line “through shootings, carvings, and threats.”

“For more than an hour, the story of the killing fell from his lips … He demonstrated from the stand how he shot—and declared that Nocito warned him to be on guard…

“Chiodi [sic] insisted he fired in self-defense, after he had made a vain attempt to call off the vendetta—starting over the defendant’s supposed hand in breaking the engagement of Nocito’s stepdaughter to an unnamed man.”

This was the first anyone had heard of a broken engagement being the alleged cause of the feud; all talk of bootlegging and family rivalries had flown the metaphorical coop. Could it be that the murderer’s words held a faint ring of truth?

Describing the scene immediately preceding the shooting, Chiodi said: “Pretty soon Nocito drove up slowly. He saw men and got out of the car. He began to curse me and said: ‘I will kill you and cut your pretty face so nobody will know it.’

“I told him, ‘Please don’t do that. We ain’t going to fight. We must quit this before both of us are sorry.’ I went there to try to talk him out of it. I saw no reason for running, for he said he would follow me all over the United States and kill me—and also any of my friends who might be with me. I was afraid of him.”

It was true that several ranchers in the area had heard voices before the three shots were fired, evidence that Santo Nocito had indeed exchanged words with Chiodo before the latter gunned him down. So had it really been a legitimate duel after all?

Sowing seeds of doubt was precisely what the defense had endeavored to do, and by concluding their arguments with Tony Chiodo’s dramatic performance, it would remain fresh in jurors’ minds as they retired to deliberate.

All that Santo Nocito’s family could do was wait and pray and hope that justice would prevail. His widow collapsed against her children as everyone filed out of the courtroom that last day of May, sorrow and rage coursing through her veins anew. Chiodo’s scathing testimony maligning the man she had loved more than life itself echoed through her mind.

But it was all in God’s hands now.

Friday, June 1, 1928, 10 p.m.

Tensions were running high on the first of June, as closing arguments commenced, lasting well into the afternoon. And then, at long last, the case was sent to the jury around 4pm.

But within an hour, the twelve had reached a stalemate. “At 5, the jury sent word to Superior Judge Denver S. Church that it was hopelessly deadlocked,” The Fresno Morning Republican revealed, “but did not indicate how the vote stood. Church ordered the jury to remain in deliberation, and made preparations for the body to go out to dinner.”

But Josephine Nocito could not eat; she had a bad feeling ahead of the verdict—the same feeling she’d had when she knew her husband had been taken from her. All she could do was grip her rosary beads with blanched knuckles, watching the seconds … then the minutes … and then the hours tick on by. And then …

“Tony Chiodo—accused of the ‘duel murder’ of Santo Nocito—was found not guilty by a jury in superior court … after six hours’ deliberation,” continued the Morning Republican. “The verdict came as a surprise, since earlier in the evening, the jury had come into court to report itself hopelessly deadlocked.

“The verdict … brought to a close one of the most sensational slaying cases in recent years.” Sensational … as if were nothing more than entertainment for mass public consumption.

Tony Chiodo was now a free man—his showstopping performance in his own defense had sealed the deal. The lack of concrete evidence had only served to aid and abet this utter sham of a verdict. The identification of her husband’s remorseless killer on the stand had meant nothing to the jury. To them, Mrs. Josephine Nocito was nothing more than a weepy, middle-aged widow.

Santo Nocito’s widow positively burned with white-hot rage as her teenaged daughters wept on either side of her. And as the family of five exited the courtroom a final time, Josephine Melfi Trino Nocito made a silent vow: she would avenge her husband Santo’s murder, her Catholic faith be damned.

Antonio Chiodo’s days as a free man were numbered—she would make certain of that …

Photos provided by author.

Works Cited
“Ricerca Di Persona.” L’Italia (San Francisco, CA), Sunday, Sept. 13, 1914, p. 4.
“Baby is Victim of Fiendish Attack.” The Stockton Evening Mail, Thursday, June 10, 1915, p. 10
“Heinous Crime Against Niece.” The Stockton Evening and Sunday Record, Thursday, June 10, 1915, p. 6.
“Frank Melfi Held Under Heavy Bond.” The Stockton Evening Mail, Saturday, June 19, 1915, p. 10.
“First Criminal Case is Called.” The Stockton Evening and Sunday Record, Monday, Sept. 13, 1915, p. 10.
“Proposed Duelist in Fresno Slain by Shot from Ambush.” The Fresno Bee, Tuesday, Jan. 31, 1928, p. 1.
“Fresnan On Way to Duel, Shot from Ambush.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, Feb. 1, 1928, p. 1.
“Fresno Man, Late for Duel Date, Slain in Ambush.” The Fresno Bee, Wednesday, Feb. 1, 1928, p. 9.
“Chiodo Accused of Murder in Formal Charge.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Thursday, Feb. 2, 1928, p. 9.
“Coroner’s Jury to Hear About Ambush Slaying.” The Fresno Bee, Thursday, Feb. 2, 1928, p. 7.
“Bootleg Booze is Blamed for Ambush Death.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Friday, Feb. 3, 1928, p. 9.
“Chiodo Named as Ambush Slayer by Coroner’s Jury.” The Fresno Bee, Friday, Feb. 3, 1928, p. 13.
“Murder Suspect is Found at Martinez by Court Attache.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Monday, Feb. 13, 1928, p. 1.
“Innocence, He Maintains.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Tuesday, Feb. 14, 1928, p. 9.
“Chiodo Denies He’s Slayer of Santa Nocito.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Tuesday, Feb. 14, 1928, p. 9.
“Widow Claims Estate of Man Killed in Duel.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, April 11, 1928, p. 7.
“Accused Feud Slayer Obtains Another Delay.” The Fresno Bee, Friday, April 27, 1928, p. 9.
“Trial Set for Accused Ambush Slayer in Duel.” The Fresno Bee, Friday, May 4, 1928, p. 13.
“Tony Chiodo Enters Plea of Not Guilty of Murder.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Saturday, May 5, 1928, p. 6.
“Death Penalty to be Asked in Chiodo Case.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Tuesday, May 29, 1928, p. 9.
“Weapons Carried by Nocito Cited as Defense Plea.” The Fresno Bee, Tuesday, May 29, 1928, p. 9.
“Tony Chiodo on Trial Charged with Murder.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Wednesday, May 30, 1928, p. 12.
“Trial to Resume After Holiday.” The Fresno Bee, Wednesday, May 30, 1928, p. 3.
“Prosecution in Chiodo Case to Close Today.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Thursday, May 31, 1928, p. 15.
“Chiodi Lawyers Hold Nocito was Killed in Duel.” The Fresno Bee, Thursday, May 31, 1928, p. 13.
“Chiodi Lawyer Holds Evidence was Suppressed.” The Fresno Bee, Friday, June 1, 1928, p. 11.
“Chiodo Found Not Guilty of ‘Duel Murder’.” The Fresno Morning Republican, Saturday, June 2, 1928, p. 11.
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Sarah A. Peterson-Camachois a library assistant with Fresno County Library, with a Bachelor’s in English and a Bachelor’s in Journalism from California State University, Fresno. In her free time, she makes soap and jewelry that she sells at Fresno-area craft fairs. She has written for The Clovis Roundup and the Central California Paranormal Investigators (CCPI) Newsletter.