Authors: Jo Robertson
Chapter 1
December 1901
The disappearance of Ellen Carver had caused chaos in the
small town of Tuscarora City from the start. Panic showed itself in speculative
gossip, private investigations, and circumvention of the law at every turn. To
his endless frustration, Marshal Tucker Gage found that he had little control
over the case.
But two days after Christmas, everything changed.
Early this morning two fishermen found Nell's body floating
face down in the murky, dark waters of the Pasquotank River off the Carolina
coast. At first they weren't sure what bobbed in the water, they told Gage.
Maybe a log or broken piece of debris vomited up by the black river. They
dragged the body ashore and raced to tell the Carvers at Pine Grove what they'd
found.
The family first, not the police, Gage noted, unsurprised.
After Nell's disappearance in late November, Tuscarora
residents had searched frenetically for her. Divers had combed the river for
weeks. Volunteers had walked every foot of the river's shore for signs of her.
Local trackers had set their dogs loose. All in vain.
But now Nell's body had come home.
By the time Gage arrived at the river, the fully clothed
body lay on the bank. The men who'd fished her from the river hovered some
distance away. Patrolman Will Pruitt stood at hand, turning a peculiar shade of
green.
Gage eyed him warily, hoping his newest officer would not
empty the contents of his breakfast on his superior's freshly-polished shoes.
The lad had potential, but no stomach for the sight of the dead.
Gage felt the heavy weight of
detachment settle over him. "How did you come to find her?" he asked
after a moment.
Pruitt spat and stepped back
toward the body. "Well, sir, I, uh, I was taking a shortcut across the
field on my bicycle, coming off night duty." His cheeks reddened as he
pointed to his bicycle lying on its side at the edge of the road. "I
noticed what looked like a bundle of clothes."
He wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand. "I didn't think it was important, but I figured I should
check."
"Did you touch anything?"
"No, sir, I know better 'un that." The lad gripped
a lantern as if it would burn his fingers and jerked his head toward the
fishermen. "They found her out in the water, hauled her here in their
boat, and then ran up to tell her folks."
Not unkindly, Gage took the lamp from Pruitt's willing
fingers, then removed his Stetson and squatted down. Nell Carver lay on her
stomach, her skin wet and white as a fish's belly in the gray light. Matted
blonde strings of hair draped across her face as it tilted toward the river.
Gage waited for the wrench of queasiness in his gut, a
twinge of nausea or disgust. But, of course, it did not come. Such reactions to
death had long been purged out of him.
He sighed heavily and angled the light for a better look. A
stiff wind blew off the river, along with a chill from the heavy mist, and he
felt the crunch of his knees and the stab of his old wound as he crouched
there.
Bloody hell, he thought, thirty-seven days after Nell's
parents reported her missing, her dead body ended up in the very spot she'd
disappeared from. Gone all that time, and no one – not family or her several
gentlemen friends – not even her best friend Meghan Bailey – had any idea of
where she'd been.
Where she'd been all this time was likely at the bottom of
the Pasquotank River where the fish and scuttling animal life had done
remarkably little of their nasty work on her beautiful young face and form.
Would the cold water account for the relatively unmarked condition of the body,
he wondered?
He motioned for the fishermen to come closer. He couldn't
fault them for dragging the body from the river, but he resented their
informing the family before the authorities. He'd liked to have seen the
parents' reactions first hand.
Gage rose, dusting off the knees
of his trouser leg. He heard the hardness in his voice when he spoke to the two
fishermen. "Did you leave something to mark the spot in the river where
you found the body?"
The first man looked puzzled. "Uh, no, we needed the
oar to hurry back. Was afraid she'd – "
"Fall apart," the second man finished blithely. "Thought
she might just break up into little pieces." He looked pleased at his
insight into the workings of water on the human body.
"Next time you find something like this, gentlemen,
report to me first."
They looked from Gage to each other and back again. "Well,
sure, Marshal," the first said, "but the family, you know, they been
waitin' a long while."
"Yes." He knew that explaining the importance of
preserving evidence would fall on incomprehensible ears. "Keep this to
yourselves," he added, also knowing the futility of that request.
The news of their grisly find would spread like wildfire.
Folks had waited with macabre interest to learn what happened to Nell Carver.
Various rumors over the last month had her dragged off by kidnappers, sold into
white slavery, or murdered by blood-thirsty Indians and dumped in the Great
Dismal Swamp. Some said she lived a life of wealth and ease over in Raleigh.
False sightings had come from all along the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
Gage heard the crunch of boots and saw Dr. Henry Williams
making his way across the field.
"Marshal Gage." The young coroner nodded
respectfully and then knelt down beside the body, turning it over with a
tenderness that belied his massive hands and hulking size.
After a cursory examination, the
doctor asked, "You believe it was an accident? A drowning?"
Gage fingered a patch of bristle he'd missed on his face
during his hurried grooming. "What do you think?"
"Not sure." Williams frowned and turned the head
from side to side. "I guess she could've hit her head and fallen into the
water."
"An accident then?" Gage thought a moment, gazing
off into the distance where the sun shone hazily over the water. "Was she ...
molested?"
"Her clothing's intact and her shoes are on." The
doctor lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal stockings and drawers all in their
proper places. "Underwear too."
"You'll do an internal examination to be sure?"
Sexual congress could mean the girl's death wasn't an
accident, but Nell was a girl known for having far too many suitors. One of
them might've hurt her. "If she's had recent intercourse, I need to know
if she was willing." Gage pierced the doctor with a stern look. "Can
you tell me that?"
"The water would've washed away any fluids,"
Williams answered. "I need to examine her right away." He looked
across the road. "The Carvers have an outbuilding they use as kitchen
quarters. There'll be a large table I can use."
Christ.
"Her parents' house?"
Williams lifted his beefy shoulders. "It's close. We'll
be quick. Don't know how long she was in the water and don't want to risk more
damage to the body."
"I can take her there, Marshal," offered Pruitt.
His fresh, young face looked pale, but he was steady on his feet.
Gage swiped a hand over his brow. "Find a board and
some sheets to carry her. Get the fishermen to help." He nodded toward the
field where he'd left his horse and buggy. "There's a blanket in the back
of my gig. Cover her up, Will, and for God's sake, don't let her family see
her."
#
After helping Dr. Williams transport Nell's body, Gage sent
the fishermen home and Pruitt to search the length of the Pasquotank in both
directions for evidence of recent activity along the river bank. While Williams
began his autopsy, the Marshal walked to the front of Pine Grove, the Carver
family home
Gage might've appointed someone else to the onerous task of
speaking with Harold and Mabel Carver about the discovery of their daughter's
body – Dr. Williams, or even Will Pruitt. God knew he wanted to. But he'd faced
death far more often than either of them, and the responsibility was his.
From their appearance he realized both parents had been
resting, but they answered the quiet knock at the door before Bessie, their
Negro servant, responded. Mrs. Carver's unbound hair fell in faded yellow
tangles around the shoulders of a hastily-donned wrap. Her feet were bare on
the unforgiving hardness of the oak floor.
Mr. Carver was dressed in shirt, tie, and vest, but his
broad face looked haggard and gray. He sagged against the door frame the moment
he recognized the Marshal standing on the porch, his hat in hand. Gage noted
the flash of anger, along with the sorrow, that shuddered through Carver's body
and knew the father saw only a cold, aloof man who bore bad news.
Harold Carver's beautiful, too passionate Nellie was dead.
This visit merely confirmed what the fishermen had already hurried with
salacious eagerness to tell him. Carver staggered back into the parlor and sank
into a wing chair.
Even though he'd thought himself long inured to such pain,
Gage felt Carver's grief like a knife heated in a roaring fire. He dispatched
his news with a quick precision that belied the old pangs of horror and memory
and guilt.
Gage took a seat opposite Mr. and Mrs. Carver in a delicate
chair that ill accommodated his size and length. "You may see her soon,
but you must allow Dr. Williams to complete his work first," he cautioned
after explaining where Nell's body lay.
He forced sternness into his expression that brooked no
argument. "We should have answers in a few hours. I must ask you to be
patient until then."
He hesitated and looked away from their bleak faces.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he added, just
remembering those were the correct words of condolence.
#
As soon as he was decently able to, Gage left the Carvers to
their private grief and returned to the police station to file his report. He
relieved the officer on duty, Sergeant Henderson, and dispatched him to
neighboring cities to begin the task of assembling a coroner's jury. Although
Nell Carver's body was now secured in the outbuilding, most of the day would
involve summoning the men who would determine how she'd died.
If, indeed, they could.
Henderson and six other officers besides Pruitt made up the
whole of the Tuscarora City police force. Eight men – nine, counting Gage. Would
this slender group be sufficient to investigate the death if it were determined
to involve a crime?
He thought briefly of informing Bailey of her friend's
death, but decided against it. Meghan could be like a bulldog in her
persistence and intensity, and he wanted to determine the cause of Nell's death
first.
Still, there'd be hell to pay. Fiercely loyal, Meghan loved
her friend and would be royally pissed that he hadn't rushed to inform her they'd
found Nell's body.
###