Quiet Dell: A Novel

by Jayne Anne Phillips

  The rustle and general movement of the audience went still.

  “I came back upstairs to the garage there and moved a trunk, and on the floor was a large clot of blood. It was a foot and a half square that the floor was very bloody . . .”

  Emily gripped her pen, writing. Powers brought Hart upstairs, before he killed him. Why? To make him watch—Grethe’s death, or Annabel’s. She started, for a baby began wailing in the gallery. So much blood, from his head, and then, when he was still—

  “We closed the door and nailed it up,” Duckworth was saying, “at about eleven o’clock that night. . . . The next morning we went back with the state police and I directed the sheriff to open up the ditch that led from the garage to the creek.”

  Morris never glanced up. “Chief Duckworth, I will ask you to state whether or not you then, or later, asked the defendant anything about the goods . . . as to where he got them, or whose they were.”

  Duckworth raised his noncommittal voice, as though to project to the galleries. “He said . . . the things found there belonged to Mrs. Eicher of Park Ridge, Illinois.”

  Law bounded to his feet. “I move to strike that out, Your Honor.”

  “The motion is overruled,” Southern said.

  “Ex-cep-tion,” Law returned.

  Morris spoke over him. “Chief Duckworth, you stated that he said he had been to the Eicher family at Park Ridge. Did he tell you when he had been there, or how often?”

  Law stood and raised his long arms in supplication. “Objection! I repeat: we are not trying the Eicher cases!”

  Morris, his patience exhausted, turned on Law as though instructing him. “These cases are inseparable in the finding of these goods and investigation leading to the discovery of the body for which he is being charged; and it is a part of the res gestae.”

  Southern was unperturbed. “It may go in.”

  “Exception!” Law raised a pointed finger in punctuation.

  Res gestae: “things done.” Secondhand statements could be admitted as evidence only if spontaneously repeated by a witness. Emily knew the case against Powers depended on such evidence; all was circumstantial. The witness must have participated directly in the witnessed event, and speak with no premeditation. Duckworth had certainly participated.

  Morris moved on, questioning Duckworth about the removal of the bodies from the ditch, four bodies, a woman and three children, and “one more body found, up nearer the garage, that was brought to the Romine undertaking establishment.”

  Morris faced the audience. “I will ask you to state whether or not you are acquainted with Mrs. Charles Fleming of Northborough, Massachusetts, and her husband.”

  “I am.” Duckworth spoke into a hush.

  Morris looked at the jury. “I will ask you to state whether they . . . identified the body last taken out of the ditch, at the Romine undertaking establishment.”

  Law stood. “Question objected to as suggestive and leading.”

  “He may answer.” Judge Southern scowled.

  Duckworth’s answer was specific. “Mrs. Fleming did.” His words evoked the body and the slab: one sister viewing another.

  Morris asked about the search of Powers’ property at Broad Oaks, Clarksburg, and stood unmoving as Duckworth described a large trunk in the Quincy Street garage, “filled with women’s and children’s clothing . . . on top was a Kodak. We . . . turned it over to Dr. Goff, and he had the film in it developed.”

  Morris asked Duckworth to identify the here produced photographs. When and where did Duckworth show Powers the photographs, and what did Powers state about them?

  “He said he could not deny it,” Duckworth answered. “One was his own picture, and the other . . . Mrs. Lemke, of Northborough, Massachusetts. And the Kodak . . . was Mrs. Lemke’s Kodak.”

  And what about the living quarters, above and behind the Quincy Street grocery? How did Duckworth gain entry?

  There was no warrant, Duckworth explained, because Mrs. Powers, the defendant’s wife, and her sister, Miss Strother, “own the property and gave me permit to go in it.”

  Morris asked, “What goods, if any, did you find there?”

  Duckworth was deliberate. “There were two women’s coats, heavy winter coats, a large number of dresses, all kinds of women’s wear, bedspreads, linens, tablecloths, pillow slips, a large number of them.”

  Pillow slips. Emily felt a dull pain in her head. Dorothy intended to keep house, and the bedrooms of her new husband’s several properties must be done up in her own family linens.

  Duckworth said the piano bench was piled full. Another back room “had been used more for plunder . . . and then there was a dress or two that was found in wardrobes of the house . . .”

  Luella and Eva Belle, helping themselves to what they wanted. Dorothy’s clothes in their closets. And the police would not arrest these women; they were “borrowing” what Powers “stored for a friend.” At least it was known. The town would ostracize them, Emily thought, the grocery would fail. They would live, peering from their windows, on their modest rental income.

  Morris paused. “I will ask you to state, Mr. Duckworth . . . if there was part of a charred or burned bankbook found in a brush pile near the Quiet Dell garage.”

  Law leapt to his feet. “Objected to, suggestive and leading . . .”

  “. . . overruled,” Judge Southern finished.

  “Exception!” Law tossed his head as Powers looked into the wings, where a stagehand was adjusting an electrical box.

  “Describe the bankbook,” Morris commanded.

  “Part of it had been burned, and it was very distinctly ‘Dorothy Pressler,’ the name on the book, and ‘Worcester, Massachusetts.’ ”

  And what had the defendant said, in jailhouse interviews that followed, concerning any association with Dorothy Lemke?

  Duckworth explained that Powers had signed a confession to all the murders on the night of the twenty-ninth, the day “the Lemke body” was found in the ditch.

  Forced to shout over the loud murmur of the crowd, Law thundered, “Objection! That confession is inadmissible as coerced and will not be introduced here!”

  “Sustained.” Judge Southern banged his gavel once. “Order!”

  Morris walked center stage and shouted to be heard. “I will ask you to state, Mr. Duckworth, whether the fifth body found in this ditch, buried there, was clothed in a dress when you saw it at the morgue of the Romine undertaking establishment.”

  “It was. I have it in my custody.”

  “Do you have it here, today?”

  “I do not.” But he had clothing taken from the exhumed body, and stood to open an evidence bag, pouring it out onto the table adjacent to the witness stand: her torn undergarments, stained with blood.

  The general murmur resounded. Photographers in the press section stood on their seats, jostling for view. Flashbulbs popped in concert. It was a moment played for effect, but nothing compared to the sight of Dorothy Lemke’s bound, engorged corpse, her domelike bald head shining in the underground morgue, bathed in hot white light. Eric’s photographs were police evidence, but perhaps the jury would see them. Emily sat watching Powers, who glanced vaguely at the bloody clothes and seemed much distracted by the swaying of the ropes offstage.

  Law would have his day: he charged on cross-exam that Powers was “the victim of third-degree techniques. . . . You were there on the night of Friday, August twenty-ninth,” Law stated, “at the jail, or about the jail?”

  “I was,” Duckworth said, “to ask if he had any statement to make.”

  “What kind of statement did you want?”

  “What he knew about these five people being murdered.”

  “And you were insisting on that, weren’t you, Duckworth?”

  “No, not exactly,” Duckworth said. “He made a statement.”

  “Who else was there?” Law demanded.

  “There was state police there; I don’t recall their names.”

 
Law peered across the footlights into the front row. “Could not recall their names, now, at all? Do your best now and see if you can. . . . Did you see Sheriff Grimm there, in and out?”

  “I don’t recall,” said Duckworth, obliging, contemplative.

  Law referred to September’s lynch mob. “You were present, Mr. Duckworth, on the night of September nineteenth, at the county jail?”

  “I was.”

  “You state there was no demonstration with an object to enter the jail, is that right?”

  “No, there was no one came anyways near the jail.”

  “They came near enough for the sheriff to seize them?”

  “They was seized on disorderly conduct more than anything.”

  Law paced the stage. “You say you have not learned of any threats of violence against said Powers . . . that he ought to be hung, drawn, and quartered . . . did not deserve trial . . . haven’t these expressions been common, and you have heard them frequently?”

  “No, I cannot say that I have.” Duckworth gazed before him, sharing patient consideration with twelve hundred spectators. It was a masterful performance.

  Emily glanced at a newspaper that had slipped to the floor by her feet. A legend a column wide, bordered in black, leapt out at her.

  REMEMBER:

  The Hundred Neediest Cases

  She stared, reading the words in present context. Grimm had spoken of dozens of inquiries from relatives of missing women. How many more had inspired no search? Might Powers have killed a hundred women? How many, then? She had to remind herself the words were a Christmas plea.

  Judge Southern called for the noon recess. The hall moved and shifted; floorboards groaned overhead. Emily closed her notebook. Police took little notice of willing disappearance. If Powers picked the right victim and bade her come to him, he might leave no trail at all. He traveled constantly, and must have done so for over a decade previous to the four years he’d lived in Clarksburg. The Eichers had no money; Powers was caught because he went back to Park Ridge for radios and rugs, determined to realize a profit.

  Law and Powers were nearly alone on the stage. Emily watched them, transfixed. Heads low, they conversed in earnest. She saw Powers nod, and once he smiled broadly.

  • • •

  She hurried to the telegraph office to file. Mason was already at the front of the line. Emily joined him now, resting her arm on his shoulder for a moment, and leaning down to stroke Duty’s short, alert ears.

  The proprietor remembered Emily and leaned over the counter to greet them, ignoring the lengthening line. “Money can’t buy the education you’re getting, young man,” he told Mason. “You see: in the right hands, the law of the land is sufficient to redress wrong.”

  Emily disagreed. She handed over her copy, a feature on the opera house typed up before the trial began. She would turn in her substantive feature this evening, including the afternoon’s revelations, building on the theme of justice as macabre performance. “Thank you, sir,” she said, and to Mason, “You look very well today. Have you had lunch?”

  “Yes, in the tearoom with Mr. Malone. He sent you this.” Mason gave her a small warm parcel.

  “Ah.” She followed his gaze to see William in a lobby armchair, nodding at them over his newspaper. They’d agreed he would leave the trial early to meet Mason. The parcel would be a sandwich for her lunch. “Sorry I wasn’t able to join you, Mason.”

  “There’s ever so many clippings now, with the trial,” Mason said, “but we’re going to the park first.”

  “Good. It’s a lovely clear day. Go along then.” William would walk with him, see him to the room, and come back to hear testimony. She watched them exit the hotel and knew she couldn’t eat, her mind was so occupied, but the sight of them was nourishment. Tonight she would have supper with Mason in their rooms, and describe a future she hoped he would accept. Early that morning, she’d met Grimm at the courthouse and signed the forms, volunteering herself as Mason’s legal guardian. It would take some time, and she could stop the process if Mason refused, but arrangements must be made.

  “I’d like to know how he gets on,” Grimm had said.

  She’d nodded. “I shall let you know. What would you have done, if I hadn’t taken him?”

  “I’d have taken him myself, provided you left us the dog.” He’d smiled and reached to shake her hand. “Much better that he go with you, of course. Congratulations, Miss Thornhill. I believe you’ve gained a ward.” He’d accepted her heartfelt thanks.

  Now she looked for Eric in the crowded telegraph office and went to stand near him. “Have this sandwich.” She put the bag in his pocket.

  Reporters poured in, lighting cigars and cigarettes, joking and laughing. “Mr. Exception,” they called Law. “Do Not Recall” Duckworth was the object of new respect.

  Eric was filing his feature on matrimonial agencies. “Fascinating reading, cousin. I lead with Powers’ own personal ad and finish with another just come to light. You might like to read it. Direct from ‘Cupid’s Columns,’ St. Paul, Minnesota. Date of December 30, 1927.”

  Emily read:

  517—Clarksburg, W. Va. Refined American lady of the highest class, desires correspondence for matrimony only. Age 44; Ht. 5–4; Wt. 110; brown hair, blue eyes, very intelligent, good cook and housekeeper and a good businesswoman. Have a piano and considerable means. Will marry as soon as suited. Bachelor preferred from ages 44 to 52.

  “Luella’s ad? But she and Powers were married in June of ’twenty-seven.”

  “No. It is Eva Belle Strother’s ad. Like Luella before her, she joined numerous clubs.”

  “I’m going outside to breathe,” Emily said, “and back to the opera house.”

  She stepped out, shielding her eyes. The snow was bright as knives. Powers would have watched the Midwest lists, and cities distant but reachable by car. Asta Eicher had placed a single ad with a Detroit agency. Emily walked quickly; the trial would soon continue. Scores stood in line at the opera house, under the marquee and out into the street, hoping for entrance to the afternoon session.

  Emily nodded to the officer in charge and stood by the marquee advertisement panels. The “N.R.A.T.” (No Room A’ Tall) signs were slid into the four large panels, and propped on a straight chair by the curb. “Sandwich men,” so called because they wore signs fixed over their shoulders, back and front, chest to knees, walked about like a perverse deck of cards emblazoned with headlines; they publicized songs, phonograph records, pamphlets about the “West Virginia Bluebeard.” Mature women in fashionable clothing, their reserved seats secure, came and went, dressed in dark colors but festooned with brooches, jet necklaces, fringed satin scarves. Perhaps they imagined themselves decked out for a show business funeral. “Isn’t he horrid looking?” said one, passing Emily. “Those blue eyes,” said another. “They say he’s a hypnotist.” A third shrugged. “He’s fairly good looking—no wonder all those women fell for him.” Emily wished for a cigarette, that she might blow smoke in their faces.

  Eric was beside her. “Come in. Goff is the next witness.”

  • • •

  The painted scenery had been moved closer during the recess, as though to focus the view. It looked as if the painted trees, stirred by a sudden wind, might fall on the heads of those onstage, and ropes dangling in the wings were more obvious. Emily thought of Charles O’Boyle’s widely published letter, offering West Virginia the gift of his rope.

  “Eric,” she said, “have you spoken to O’Boyle?”

  “Every day. He’s reading the coverage.”

  “Every day?” Emily said. “I’m glad, Eric.”

  “Yes.” He looked at her, pensive, as though he too pondered bounty arisen from devastation.

  Judge Southern rapped his gavel. “Court is in session.”

  Morris began. “You are Dr. Leroy C. Goff?”

  Goff sat upright in a fine dark suit, his shoulders squared, light reflecting off the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses.<
br />
  Did he, on the twenty-eighth day of August, view the bodies of a woman and three children at the Romine undertaking establishment?

  Law stood. “We object to that for the reason that we are not trying the Eicher cases.”

  “Overruled.” Southern glanced at him.

  “Exception!” Law sat, glaring as though insulted.

  Morris persisted. “Dr. Goff, I will ask you to state . . . examination of the woman found on that occasion, and what you ascertained as to the condition of the body.”

  Goff consulted his notes. “The body of the woman was badly decomposed, the odor was very offensive . . . bruises could not be identified positively . . . there was a constriction about the neck . . . the lungs were in collapse . . . no contents in the stomach, small intestines, or upper part of large bowel.”

  She’d not eaten for several days before she died. Emily heard her, gasping for water in the dark.

  “The hyoid bone was fractured and down to the cornu,” Goff said.

  “What is the hyoid bone?” Morris asked. “The cornu?”

  “It is a small bone . . . between the larynx and base of the tongue. The cornu is a horn on one end of the hyoid bone . . . there had been considerable violence exerted . . . in order to fracture this bone . . . the bruised tissues of the neck and this fractured bone led to conclusion that death was caused by strangulation.” Goff produced the handkerchief, and coughed.

  At Morris’ request, Goff read from the report concerning the girls: “The first girl was sixty-two inches tall. The second girl . . . fifty-three inches tall . . . much too decomposed to determine the color of her eyes.”

  Her eyes were hazel, Emily wrote in the margin of her notes.

  “Her hands were tied together behind her back with a sash weight cord . . . death caused by strangulation.” Goff looked up from his notes.

  The bodies had no names.

  Now they spoke of Hart.

  “The skull had been crushed . . . right on top . . . two holes, like he had been hit in the head with a hammer, or some instrument of that kind.” Goff touched his head, indicating the site of the wound. “The hammer just cut out a hole . . . and the other wound, the hammer did not hit square . . . crushing through the skull.” There was general murmuring and movement in the audience. Goff paused. “There was discoloration and constriction around his neck, very marked. He had a gag . . . something stuffed in his mouth, and the cloth looped or tied around his neck, a strangle cloth . . . and fracture to the bone, hyoid bone—”