He stopped her. “I’m here for you, Emily, and I pray to God it turns out in whatever way allows you to live beyond it. Will hanging do it? The state, even a mob, can’t make him suffer anything comparable to the terror and mayhem he created—”
“But someone, something, must!”
“We can’t know. We don’t see into any realm but this.”
“You’ll say next that this is all there is.”
“You know I don’t quite believe that.”
Snow, sharp with ice, flew at them in gusts.
She pulled him to her and turned in to the wind. “Come with me, then, and wait in your room until I type this and file. Then I will bring you the words, and read them like the modest prayer they will be.”
• • •
She wrote in a fury, with Mason at his worktable. She told him not to go out in the storm for the evening papers because it would all be over soon.
He looked at her, curious. “I can get them tomorrow.”
“Of course you can,” she said.
There was no line downstairs and she filed; possibly she would make the late edition. Copy in hand, she passed by Mr. Parrish at Reception.
“Quite a storm,” he said to her. “Everything is shut down. I don’t know that they’ll get the jury back to the Waldo in this. Listen to the wind.”
“Yes,” she said. “I must go.”
She walked up the stairs to William’s room and let herself in with her key. The lights were off. Snow, blown against the panes of the big windows, gleamed faintly; all seemed enveloped. She heard the water of the bath; fragrance and heat drew her on. The white-tiled bathroom was fogged with steam. He lay in the deep tub, water drawn to the very brim.
“Are you chilled?”
“No.” His wet hair was swept back. “I’m waiting for you.” He moved in the water and rested his long arms on the tub’s curled edge. Water sluiced to the floor. “Read to me.”
She sat in a small vanity chair he’d drawn up beside the tub. “This is my headline. If I write one, they know to use it.”
“What was that child’s name?”
“Jones’ grandson? Degler, Harry Degler.” She read by snow-light:
“Boy Bolsters State’s Case Against Alleged Child Killer
“Special to the Chicago Tribune, by Emily Thornhill
“December 9, 1931
“Harry Powers’ defense lawyer, J. Ed Law, today attributed five murders to two mysterious acquaintances of Powers, and supplied no witness to corroborate the defendant’s statement that he was in Hagerstown, Maryland, on July 31. A farm family today placed Powers, as Cornelius Pierson, on the road to Quiet Dell that night.
“Thirteen-year-old Harry Degler, of Florida, was visiting his grandfather, H. F. Jones, last summer. According to the child’s testimony today, a car traveling from Mount Clare to Quiet Dell, a distance of four miles on the Quiet Dell road, stopped on the dirt road below the farm at twilight.
“It was the night of a community corn roast. Farmer Jones rents a farm on the rural road and feared that revelers might raid his crop. He watched the fields behind his house while his grandson and his visiting 21-year-old daughter, Ada Thompson, watched the fields below. ‘We heard a car stop,’ testified Mrs. Thompson. ‘A man walked up through the corn and asked me my name . . . he said his was Pierson.’
“ ‘Pierson’ is known as an alias of alleged murderer Powers. ‘Pierson’ said he would pay the farmer well for his trouble: ‘You just send the boy down so he can bring the pliers back,’ he reportedly said.
“Harry Powers is accused of breaking 12-year-old Hart Eicher’s skull with a hammer. In fact, as young Harry Degler followed ‘Pierson’ back through the cornfield to his car, the young boy from Park Ridge, Illinois, was buried in a drainage ditch behind Powers’ Quiet Dell garage.
“ ‘Pierson’ changed a flat tire. ‘He did not have a flashlight,’ young Degler testified, ‘and this woman that was in the car with him, struck matches and held them for him to fix . . . the right tire on the back.’ Spectators at the trial went silent: the woman in the car was likely Dorothy Lemke, last seen leaving Clarksburg’s Gore Hotel with an unidentified man early on July 31.
“Degler said ‘Pierson’ changed the tire, ‘fumbled over some bills in his wallet . . . most of them was twenty-dollar bills,’ said young Degler. ‘He gave me a one-dollar bill. . . . I bought me a pair of shoes the next day.’
“The car went on toward Quiet Dell, said the three witnesses, for it never came back the opposite way, past their farm.
“A practical child buys a pair of shoes, while another loses his shoes, his family, his life. Police found multiple pairs of shoes in Powers’ ‘murder garage.’ Hart Eicher’s muddy brogans were among them, stained with blood.
Emily continued looking at the words and could see no way past them.
“Emily,” William said, “come here.”
“I cannot. I must . . . just be still.”
“No, come here.”
She leaned forward and touched her forehead to the lip of the tub. The heat of the water glowed up and his warm wet hand was on her hair.
Verdict
December 9, 1931
The players were backstage for the morning session; Emily saw Grimm walking to his front-row seat. Quickly, she got up to approach him. Seeing her, he stepped back into the hallway adjacent to the orchestra rows and stood waiting.
Emily reached him, stepping through the velvet curtains that graced each entrance to the hall. She could smell his aftershave and see behind him the five or six steps leading upward to a door off the stage. “You spoke of inquiries, in the crush of mail to police, from relatives of missing women. I must ask if any of those letters mentions Rogers. If so, might I read and quote them?”
“There are no hard facts. It is not evidence.”
“I’m quite aware. I will not state facts, only the questions themselves, as represented. It must be in the public record, even if not examined in the trial. My source will be confidential, of course, and I must file today.”
Judge Southern was banging his gavel, opening the proceedings. Grimm looked over her shoulder at the lit stage. “There are two letters I can allow you to quote. I will phone the station and have them left for you at the Gore, this noon. You must return them to me personally.”
Emily, moving back, stumbled and fell full against him. “Excuse me,” she said.
“All right?” he asked, setting her on her feet.
“Sheriff Grimm, I did not intend—”
“I realize. You must wait here a moment though, before coming in. You look . . . your color is high.” He walked past her, into the hall.
She turned and began walking up the hallway, all the way round by the lobby, to shake off her embarrassment. Grimm required her guarded awareness, and not only because he was attractive. He loved manipulating his fiefdom, knowing secrets, pulling strings. Her vocation required matching wits with men like him. She paused in the lobby and saw William enter the opera house by the double doors, turning to walk quickly upstairs to the loge. She stopped herself calling out and merely looked after him. Even thinking of him calmed her. She crossed the lobby and walked down the far aisle to the front rows, deftly taking her seat.
“Did you go out?” Eric asked.
“Ladies’ room.” She opened her notebook and nodded toward the stage; she had no wish to converse.
Gretchen Fleming was back on the stand, wearing the same coat and hat, as though not to confuse the jury.
Morris was establishing that Gretchen had heard Powers’ testimony of yesterday afternoon, in which the defendant stated he first met her sister, Dorothy Lemke, in Clarksburg in the fall of 1930. Did her sister visit Clarksburg at that time?
“No, sir . . . she would have told me so.” Dorothy was working that year, Gretchen explained, all but weekends, as a nurse companion. And no, she had no friends or acquaintances at Clarksburg.
“Were you familiar with
your sister Dorothy’s handwriting?”
“Yes, sir.”
Morris described Powers’ “Exhibits No. 1 and 2,” purporting to be a note and letter “from your sister to Powers.” Would Mrs. Fleming look at the writing, and tell if the handwriting was that of her sister?
“Question objected to!” Law exclaimed. He asserted that Mrs. Fleming was not a qualified handwriting expert.
“Overruled!” Judge Southern replied.
Gretchen, the letters in her hands, looked up, emphatic. “It is not her handwriting! It is not!”
Law stated, “Exception.” He waited a moment, as though to adjust his tone, and rose for the cross. “Now, Mrs. Fleming,” he began, as though calming a skittish horse. He pointed out that Gretchen had identified her sister’s endorsement on the two Massachusetts bank checks, and held out the checks.
“Yes, sir, and that is her handwriting.”
Law gave the audience an exasperated look, and moved on. Now, did Mrs. Fleming have personal knowledge as to whether Mrs. Lemke was in Clarksburg . . . in the fall of 1930? The truth was, hadn’t Mrs. Lemke done a good deal of traveling?
Yes, she traveled about with the lady, part of her job as companion. But no, Mrs. Lemke would not go away for a long trip; the lady needed her. For the trip with Pierson, she gave the lady two weeks’ notice.
Law drew near to Gretchen. “You state she never told you about having known a man by the name of Rogers . . . or a man by the name of Cecil Johnson . . . though she might have known them both and not mentioned it to you.”
Gretchen paused and said clearly, “I doubt that.”
Yet, Law pointed out, Mrs. Lemke had corresponded with Cornelius Pierson beginning in January 1931, and did not mention him to her sister until late June. “Then,” he concluded, “she did not tell you everything that she was doing, did she?”
“Everything, almost everything!” Gretchen shouted the words, defiant, tears in her eyes.
Dismissed, Gretchen moved toward the wings. Emily saw her expression assume a beseeching sadness.
Law called Powers back to the stand. “Mr. Powers, I will ask you to state if you did kill Mrs. Lemke at any time or place, as charged against you in this indictment.”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever see her in Harrison County, West Virginia, at any other time except in the fall of 1930, when you met her, as you say, on the street?”
Powers blinked. “That was the only time I saw Mrs. Lemke in this county.”
Would this be the lunch recess? No, for the state called a Mr. Hufford, owner of a gas station, who testified that Powers had purchased gasoline from him at Wilsonburg, evening of July 31. On the paved part of the road, Hufford asserted, that leads to Mount Clare and Quiet Dell. Another witness to refute Powers’ flimsy alibi, but Emily must go to the Gore. The letters from Grimm would be there at noon. The witness was saying he noticed the Chevy coupe, a nice one. Powers bought chewing gum and cigarettes, Hufford said. A heavyset woman was in the passenger seat.
• • •
It was very cold, nine degrees according to the ornate thermometer by the hotel entrance. Emily went directly to Reception. “Mr. Parrish, good day. Is there a package for me?”
“Miss Thornhill, let me see. No, doesn’t appear so.” He saw her concern and turned to search again. “Ah, yes, in the wrong place, but safely delivered.” He gave her an envelope marked, “Emily, Room 127.”
She sighed with relief, went to the elevator, and let herself into her room. The dog barked his breathy noise in greeting, and she threw off her coat, looking through to see Mason, cutting clippings at his table. “There you are. So much to file, yes?”
“An awful lot.” He came to her room and sat on the bed. “Is it the noon break?”
“No, but I must quickly write something crucial, to file this afternoon.” At her desk, she spilled two letters from the envelope and put her hand upon them. She turned to him. “Sorry I’ve been here so little. Hope you haven’t been lonely.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I ordered lunch, and I’ll get it when they knock.” He gave a shy wave and went back to his room.
“Thank you, Mason.” She must be more astute: deprivation of her presence was nothing to sleeping behind a hotel. Grief opened one to the true meaning of loneliness. She felt it in the letters: both from Iowa fathers whose daughters had disappeared. Had Powers, in his travels to Chicago, foraged through Iowa, not so far from Oran and Sumner, from Wilko Drenth? Only one letter mentioned Charlie Rogers.
She fell to writing, but would file at the close of today’s session, when there might be more to include on the topic of Rogers.
• • •
She returned to the trial, the completed story in her valise. Powers was on the stand, to refute Hufford.
Eric leaned toward her, to catch her up. “Powers purchased no gasoline from Hufford, and no chewing gum. Surprised?”
Law paced the stage, affecting irritation. “He states also that you purchased some cigarettes from him at that time.”
“I do not use cigarettes,” Powers said.
Dorothy did, then, in private. Confident, relaxed, she smoked in Powers’ car, riding along country roads where no one would see.
Morris began the cross and stood just below Powers, as though to engage in conversation. “How much money did you have on your person when you left Clarksburg to go up to see Mrs. Lemke and bring her back?”
“I had something like one thousand, eight hundred and seventy-five dollars. . . . I had that money . . . I had saved that money from my work.”
“What was your business or occupation at the time, Mr. Powers?”
“I was working at home.”
“And you were carrying that money in cash about your person. . . . I presume you must have been afraid of the bank?”
“I certainly was,” Powers said.
Then why, Morris questioned, had Powers deposited two thousand dollars cash on August 11, and seventeen hundred sixty dollars on August 21, a total of three thousand, seven hundred and sixty dollars?
“Well, we intended to use that money . . . that was only to be there temporarily, just for a few days.”
Morris looked at the jury. “And it was there until you were arrested, wasn’t it?”
“That is true.”
“And then what was left in that account you turned over by check to your wife?”
“I did.”
Morris persisted. “And that was a check for three thousand, six hundred and fifty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents?”
Emily rounded the figures: five hundred plus of Dorothy’s money for their expenses, Northborough to Clarksburg, including her last night at the Gore; one hundred or so to Law, for his services did not come cheap, and the rest, over thirty-six hundred, windfall for Luella and Eva Belle.
“I reckon that is correct,” Powers was agreeing. “I haven’t the cents, the amounts.”
“The fact of the matter is, Mr. Powers, you have gone under the name of Rogers.”
Emily sat forward. The entire press section was still.
“Never have,” Powers said.
“Do you remember when they had the Boyd Robinson trial out at West Union, some time ago?” Morris looked up at him.
“No, I don’t recall that.”
“Did you attend the trial of Boyd Robinson?”
“No.”
“Wait a minute.” Morris held up a hand, as though to caution him. “In the circuit court of Doddridge County, at West Union?”
“I have never been in that courthouse in all my life,” said Powers.
He was fond of that phrase, Emily noted.
Morris seemed to abruptly change course. He restated Powers’ testimony concerning the contents of Mrs. Lemke’s trunk, scattered around his Quiet Dell garage on August 20 or 21. “I presume you thought some person had unlawfully entered the garage and done that?”
Powers said, oddly, “I did not know what to think of it
for a little while.”
Morris walked to center stage. He faced Powers only to deliver questions, turning to the jury as Powers answered. “It was not done with your permission?”
“No, I did not give any permission for that.”
“You did not change the lock on the garage?”
“No, I had my opinion as to who done it and that was all.”
“Who did you think had done that?”
“I think either Rogers or Johnson.”
“Johnson did not know where the garage was, as far as you know?”
“No, but that was my opinion.”
“And Rogers was the only one that had a key to the garage?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you did not notify officers that someone had burglarized your garage?”
“I did not know that it had been done,” Powers said. “Rogers had a key to it and he could get in any time he wanted . . . he had some things to store.”
“Who stored the Eicher things in there?” Morris moved close to him. “The fact of the matter is, you took them out there.”
“I did not,” said Powers, like a child.
Morris leaned in, nearly shouting. “Did you meet Rogers or anyone else, or give them permission to store them there?”
“He could store anything he wanted,” Powers said.
“Did you have an agreement of some kind with this man, Rogers?”
“Just a verbal understanding was all.”
Morris turned away, speaking rapidly. “I asked you earlier if you attended the Boyd Robinson trial in Doddridge County. I ask you now if you attended the trial of the case of State versus Boyd Robinson at the March term, 1930, of the criminal court of Doddridge County in the old courthouse building?”
“I don’t recall that I did . . .”
“Well, answer yes or no if you can.”
Quiet Dell: A Novel Page 40