Quiet Dell: A Novel (28 page)

“She wanted to leave,” Charles Fleming reminded them. “She went off happily, thinking the best.”

“She knew she’d always have a home with me,” said Aunt Rose. “Dorothy was like my own daughter.”

“She didn’t deserve this,” Charles Fleming said.

Gretchen Fleming accepted the handkerchief her aunt offered. “Oh, I hope she is with her boy?” It was a question, and she wept.

•   •   •

The jail was a series of warrens in the first floor of a large Victorian building. Outside, mounds of earth were thrown up; construction of the new courthouse had just begun. Townspeople milled around the one large tree, all of them men in work clothes, clearly aware that Powers was inside. Bond drove the group to a sheltered area, out of sight of the crowd. They entered through a hallway and found themselves in a front office. One of Dorothy’s trunks, brought from Quiet Dell, lay on the table behind the desk. Chief Duckworth held the lid open. The trunk, Emily saw, was lined in calico print paper.

“Do you recognize these articles?” Duckworth asked.

Behind him, Emily saw Eric, and beckoned him forward to stand with her, out of the jumble of officers and press. Duty was in her open valise, moving restlessly.

“Those are her slippers and underclothes,” said Aunt Rose.

“Those are her dresses. Her jewelry box is not here.” Gretchen Fleming stood with her aunt, and the two women began going through a pile taken from the trunk.

Then Bond brought Powers from his cell. Bond, who was not a tall man, was a head taller than Powers, who was unshaven, pudgy, soft.

Gretchen Fleming rushed forward. “I know you! You stayed at my house. Say you know me!”

Powers, silent, bit his lip.

Bond placed himself squarely between Powers and the assembled group and demanded, “Do you know these people?”

The women, with Charles Fleming behind them, advanced on Powers. “You killed my sister,” Gretchen Fleming screamed. “Why did you do it? Have you got a heart?” She pointed at him, ignoring the flash of Eric’s camera, and reached across once to hit his chest with her fist.

“No,” said Aunt Rose. “He is a beast.”

Powers blinked and turned stiffly to Bond. “Is that all?” he said.

“No, that is not all,” Bond answered sharply.

“What did you do with her money?” asked Aunt Rose.

“I have nothing to say,” Powers replied.

“She would have given you her money,” Charles Fleming shouted, “to spare her life.”

More people had suddenly poured in, and there were shouts of “Keep ’em back!” as though a mob had gathered. The group around Powers loosened, opening the way. Emily unleashed Duty and lowered the valise to the ground. The dog leapt the distance in two bounds and fastened his teeth in Powers’ ankle, snarling.

Powers jumped and began kicking out wildly. He was handcuffed and dragged Bond with him; Duty was latched on. The snarling was like the seizing of a small, efficient engine.

Emily stepped forward and addressed Powers in a loud voice. “This is the Eichers’ dog. I believe he knows you.”

The detectives and Lemke’s relatives stared; Eric put down his camera and shouted at Powers, “Hold still.” He grasped Duty’s
jaws from behind as Emily held the dog, and the terrier released his grip. Someone was coming up from behind in the hallway, yelling, “See here! See here!”

“That’s Law,” said Bond.

Powers was sputtering, “I don’t wish to be made a public spectacle. Take me back to my cell.”

Emily faced him, a foot away, holding the lunging dog. “This is Duty, Hart Eicher’s dog, and Annabel’s, and Grethe’s. You killed them. The dog knows you.”

“Who is this woman?” Powers said, backing away.

A tall white-haired gentleman with a small mustache was pushing toward them, calling over the heads of the detectives crowding his path. He addressed his client from a distance. “If you have nothing to say, keep quiet!”

“That is an unusually smart dog,” Aunt Rose remarked loudly.

Bond was marching Powers to his cell. “Tell Dr. Goff to bring some antiseptic,” he shouted to an officer.

“If only the dog had got his throat!” Gretchen Fleming called after them.

•   •   •

Emily was about to file her story in the Gore Hotel telegraph office when Grimm signaled her from the window that faced the lobby. She went to the tearoom to find him at the back table; it seemed now a kind of private office space devoted to their conversations, but she hadn’t long. She must file.

Grimm smiled as she approached. “Where’s your accomplice?”

“Do you mean Eric?”

“No, the one with the teeth.”

“Oh. Duty is asleep upstairs. The whole thing exhausted him.”

“I don’t wonder. I would say the identification was positive.”

“It was positive for me,” Emily said. “I hope it wasn’t a problem.”

“Lots of confusion, luckily. Law was preoccupied with the crowd in front of the jail, and once he could hear the shouting, Powers was not so concerned with the bandaging and antiseptic
Goff administered. The city jail is too accessible; we’re moving the prisoner to the county jail tonight after dark.”

“You expect a lynch mob?”

He signaled the waiter, who approached with a loaded tray. Grimm had ordered lunch for them. “Relax, will you, Miss Thornhill? We are having lunch.” He looked at her, amused, until the waiter departed. “The fact we’re moving Powers is privileged information. If I wanted him lynched, I’d tell you to announce his departure, but that’s not my intent.”

“I see,” said Emily. “But you are concerned.”

“There’s growing outrage. Luella Strother leased the garage property at Quiet Dell, the murder scene, to some concern that tried to fence it off and charge admission. The farmers have torn the fence down twice, outraged that she’s trying to make a profit.” He’d ordered soup and sandwiches, and moved a plate toward her.

“Thank you,” she said. She saw that he enjoyed working with her, looking at her, and felt what she knew was a ridiculous impulse to protect him by distancing herself.

“I suppose it’s silly to be so pleased the dog tore into him.” Grimm smiled.

“I must file soon,” she told him. “Of course I won’t mention the dog at the jail today, nor will Eric. I don’t think other press even saw it; they were caught up in the mob at the front.”

“The relatives arranged for Lemke’s cremation, and went home. They’ll be back for the trial, of course. As will you, Miss Thornhill.”

“Of course.” She put one of the small sandwiches in her mouth in two bites, and saw Grimm watching her. She realized that his pained look the other night had been self-restraint.

“Look,” Grimm said. “Concerning the forged letters from Lemke—Powers may not have forged them; it may have been Luella. We brought her in for questioning. She spent the night in jail but we had to release her this morning. She provided a handwriting sample, and we have others, from Powers’ papers. An analyst is coming in from Washington, D.C., tomorrow.”

“Luella. I must get to her today, this afternoon.”

“That shouldn’t be hard. The sisters were stonewalling the press about Powers, but now they’re mounting a bit of a campaign. Public sympathy, lest they be run out of town. Or we arrest Luella, if we can prove anything.” Grimm loosened his tie and collar.

“What can you tell me about them? They run a grocery store?”

“Matching spinsters. Luella, born in ’eighty-eight. Eva, born in ’eighty-six, the older sister.”

“But Luella is married to Powers.”

“Doubt it was ever consummated.” He paused.

“Go on.”

“They met through a matrimonial agency; we have the letters. Powers was living in Ohio, and came here. It’s my bet Luella knows the same lies about him everyone else knows, but that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. The sisters dress poor and the grocery is modest, a neighborhood place, 111 Quincy, in Broad Oaks, but the mother owned property.”

“The mother’s dead?” She was eating the soup Grimm had slid toward her. Vegetable soup it was, with barley.

“Died, oh, four years ago, soon after Powers married Luella, within a month or two. The sisters inherited everything. Neighbors think he was involved.”

“How?”

“Vague. She was fine, a busybody, began to fail over a matter of weeks. Her hands were numb, she said. Collapsed on the sidewalk. Powers hosted the funeral like a grandee.”

“So—arsenic poisoning?”

“She was cremated, and no one filed any complaint. We have, from Powers’ seized papers, a 1928 will in which he leaves everything to Luella, and a power of attorney that would have given him rights to all his wife’s property, both dated the same day. But neither was ever recorded or signed.”

“Someone wouldn’t sign,” Emily said.

“Law has the right to review all evidence, and Powers authorized him to slip these to the press, to create sympathy for the
wife. Banner headlines this afternoon.” He gave her a tightly folded copy.

“What do the sisters know of the garage?” Emily put the paper in her valise for later perusal. She must file, she was thinking, she must file.

“Not all the victims’ possessions were in the garage. We found clothes and linens strewn around at the Quincy Street house where they live, back of the grocery on the first floor.”

“You think they knew about the women, the letters?”

He shrugged. “They knew he didn’t work, that he traveled all the time. He must have been contributing money, and they didn’t mind how he got it. We’re tracing the letters he was caught with. And there’s the matter of the checks, from Lemke’s funds. Powers cashed them under an alias in Pennsylvania, put the cash in his account, then wrote checks to Luella. We intercepted this letter from Powers last night. I want you to release it, tomorrow, quoted word for word.”

She felt his hand at her knee, under the table, and realized he was passing her the letter. “To agree, I must read it now, before you.”

He folded his hands and nodded. “It’s your scoop, Miss Thornhill.”

It was a typescript copy of the original, and went on at some length. She read, quickly:

My beloved dears,

We are facing a bitter fight and should we fight together, we will win . . .

They will say that the check I gave you the other day was part of the estate of Mrs. Lemke. . . . testify that you gave me $4,000 for the purpose of building a house at Quiet Dell. You gave me $2000 one day and $2000 a few days later.

The check that I gave you was merely the return of your money as I had been unable to proceed with any plans due to this trouble. I paid you back the biggest share by check and partly by cash.

If you will testify to this, they will have no case against us and then we will keep the money. . . .

Testify to this, dear. Do not say a word to anyone previous to the trial, but testify to it at the time. . . . The second development is about the alleged clothing they got at the house. Listen dear, it is useless for you to get them to believe that you did not know the clothes were in the house—

Here is what you must do. Now Dear, when they question you again, let on that you are strong against me, and hate me for what I have done, and then tell them I brought the clothes from Quiet Dell, that they were from a friend, who said he would call for them.

This is all you absolutely know. This will clear us and will be in keeping with my present plans. . . . I ask you to write back three words to assure me you are with me.

Do not be fooled by officers’ easy talk. We must work together, remember dear. I will defend you at the cost of my own life.

Don’t worry and be advised.

Love and kisses, from Harry

Emily felt ill, as though the taste of something bad had gone clear through her. She raised her eyes to Grimm’s.

“Well?” Grimm said.

“What a clever letter. He admits to nothing specific and directs them in every detail: they’re to say a nameless someone would call for the clothes.”

“Yes. He’s deluded, and sly.”

“Has Luella read this?”

“She will read it in the newspaper. The
Exponent
and the
Telegram
will reprint it from the
Tribune
.”

“And you hope to cast guilt on them with this?”

“Most certainly, or at least counter their claim they knew nothing. If they say that they gave Powers cash, we may not be able to prove it’s the Lemke money. There is also the court of public opinion. They may, in fact, keep the money, but they will be shunned in this town. They can’t pretend to be Powers’ innocent victims.”

“ ‘Present plans,’ ” Emily mused. “And odd that he begins the letter to them both, and ends by addressing only one.”

“Yes. See what you make of them. Guilty or not, they don’t know who he is. But we must, Miss Thornhill, to make further progress.”

She stood and collected her things. “Yes, and I must file, Sheriff Grimm, and say good-bye. I will be in touch, of course, but I will be leaving Clarksburg tomorrow, with the Eichers’ bodies, to Pittsburgh, and then by train, to Park Ridge.”

He stood. “I know. I wish you a safe journey. You’ve represented them admirably, and I look forward to working with you through the trial.” He dropped his eyes, sincerely, it seemed. “I hope you don’t judge us too harshly for what has happened here.”

•   •   •

She drove with Eric to Broad Oaks, to join press no doubt flocking to the storefront. “It should be this way,” she said, consulting the map Parrish had provided.

The town unscrolled like a newsreel as they passed. She reflected on the very intuitive Grimm. He knew of William Malone, had spoken to him in the matter of sending detectives from Park Ridge at the start, and in arranging for the Eichers’ removal. He’d advised William on reserving her rooms at the Gore. Perhaps he’d assumed Emily was some chippy, and revised his opinion on observation. Nevertheless, she would make her own reservations in future, before departing, in fact. She wanted, for the trial, the exact two rooms she now occupied; Parrish would hold them for her, regardless of the trial date, which was yet to be determined. It would be late autumn, even winter, and she would be here some weeks. William would visit her, discreetly; he must see this place, and know what she knew. He could book at the Gore. They would be together, on this and many trips.