Represented by highly regarded defense attorney Arlen Specter, now the well-known U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania, Einhorn's bail was reduced from $100,000 to $40,000--his mother, Beatrice, put her house up as collateral for the paltry $4,000 he would actually have to post--and a January 1981 trial was set.
It was a date the defendant never intended to keep. On the eve of his pre-trial hearing, Einhorn fled the country.
The shattered Maddux family was left to deal with its grief and frustration. In 1988, Fred Maddux, the once proud and gregarious ex-member of the 82nd Airborne that had parachuted into Normandy on D-Day, took his own life. "He was depressed and angry," says daughter Buffy. "He just finally gave up. Through the last nine years of his life, he was racked with guilt, wondering if there was something he could have said or done to prevent Holly from going so far away from home. He never forgave himself."
Five months pregnant at the time of her father's death, Hall has gone through a routine of intense therapy in an effort to cope with the family tragedies and Einhorn's escape from justice. "For a long time," she says, "I didn't handle Holly's death at all well. I tried keeping it all inside and that was a disaster. Had I not had obligations to my own family, it would have been tough to even get out of bed."
Brother John, a former Marine and Vietnam veteran, retreated to a solitary life on a small farm on the outskirts of Alvarado. He never married. "Holly's death is something I've never been able to turn loose," he says. "Most people my age are now grandfathers. But I've felt for all these years that my life is just on hold. I've just gone through the motions."
The Maddux family's youngest, Mary, 38 and living in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, says she still fights an ongoing battle with the pain and anger she feels over Holly's death and the fact Einhorn still remains free.
Two years after Fred Maddux's suicide, his wife, Elizabeth, died. "Ira Einhorn not only killed our sister," Buffy Hall says. "He took our parents away as well."
"If it is necessary, I'll be old and in a wheelchair, still chasing him."
--Rich DiBenedetto, Philadelphia assistant District Attorney
Einhorn had fled to Ireland, which at the time had no extradition agreement with the U.S. There he settled into an apartment in Dublin. To his landlord, he was Ira Einhorn. To others in his new circle of friends and benefactors, he alternately introduced himself as a writer named "Ben Moore" and, on occasion, "Ian Morrison."
It would be three years before Philadelphia authorities learned of his whereabouts.
When the couple from whom he was renting his apartment announced they were planning a vacation trip to the U.S., the secretive Einhorn had specifically requested that they not mention his name to anyone during their American visit. Collette and Dennis Weaire--both troubled by the mood swings and secretive behavior they'd witnessed during his stay--chose to ignore the request and instead made plans to see what they could find out once they reached Chicago about the boarder living on the third floor of their brownstone.
Shortly after their arrival, in fact, a firecracker-like series of events transpired. Mrs. Weaire told a friend about their strange tenant. The friend contacted a reporter at the Chicago Sun-Times. In turn, that reporter got in touch with a fellow journalist working for the Philadelphia Inquirer who, naturally, knew the trunk murder story by heart.
Upon learning the facts of Einhorn's background, Dennis Weaire contacted the Irish Consulate in Chicago and was told to immediately get in touch with the FBI. Within a matter of days he was being shown a photograph of Einhorn and quickly identified it as a picture of the man living in his home.
In mid-October 1981, a Philadelphia police sergeant assigned to the case flew to Dublin with a two-fold purpose: He hoped to locate Einhorn and, more important, somehow convince the Irish authorities to allow him to be returned to the U.S. The trip proved to be a waste of time. Before the officer's arrival, the Unicorn had moved from the Weaires' apartment to parts unknown.
For the next few years, Richard DiBenedetto, an extraditions officer in the Philadelphia D.A.'s office, doggedly continued but without success the search for the accused murderer. His fugitive, it seemed, had simply vanished. Another five years would pass before DiBenedetto received word that his prey had again been sighted in Ireland, near the campus of Dublin's Trinity College, where, under an assumed name, he was teaching. Encouraged by the fact an extradition treaty with Ireland had recently been reinstated, authorities planned a trip abroad in hopes of arresting Einhorn. But, even before arrangements could be made in that summer of 1986, word came that Einhorn had abruptly decided to leave the country, his new destination unknown.