It started as a normal day. I went into work, made coffee, and started solving a murder from over a hundred years ago.
That hadn't been the plan. Initially, I'd intended to find out about women's voting rights. But then I got sidetracked into a murder from 1903.
Like that's never happened to you.
"What's up?" my co-worker Barb asked at the front desk. "You're not wearing your ghost-hunting uniform. Didn't you have to investigate a demon tonight?"
I looked at my T-shirt. It had an alien on it, and said Roswell, New Mexico: Green since 1947. "Yeah, they called. My demon cancelled out on me."
"I hate it when that happens."
'Barb," I said,"You still looking through the archive index? Let me know if you find out anything about suffrage. I'm looking for just about anything on women voters in the early 1900s."
"Okay," said Barb. "You working on an article?"
"If I can find out anything, yeah," I said. "It's been a bit lacking."
"I'll let you know if I find anything."
"Thanks. Meanwhile, I'm going to go through the microfilm at random, and hope to stumble on something by accident. It's worked for me before."
I sat down at the microfilm machine and began scrolling through the Clinton Democrat. I started in January of 1910 more or less at random, and began looking at front pages. I did find something by accident, which often happens, but not what I'd meant to find.
On March 10, 1910, there was a front-page story about a railroad robbery that delved into an old murder. One of the local police officers had made the statement that he'd known who committed a 1903 murder, but the killer was dead, so there was no point revealing it. It was a murder I'd written about before, but I hadn't heard this part, with the big clue seven years later.
There's luck and there's skill. Luck is when you stumble on something like this. Skill is knowing what to do with it.
That afternoon, Chris stopped by to do some research. Chris is a friend of mine who had interned under me several years ago. He was working on some research into Northumberland County, and I was describing to him what I'd found.
"The Clendennin murder," I said. "It happened in 1903. Telegraph operator in Wayne Township. He was found bludgeoned to death with a spike maul."
"A spike maul?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, it's a kind of sharp hammer that they used to----"
"Oh my god."
"Clubbed to death with the thing. They never solved it. Arrested one guy twice, but never found the actual killer. But I found a clue."
"I love when this happens to you. What's your clue?"
"In 1910, seven years after the murder, there was a similar crime. That one turned out to be faked, but it led to one of the cops discussing Clendennin. He said that an informant had told him about the guy who committed the murder, and he believed it to be true, but they never arrested him because there wasn't enough evidence. He said the killer died tragically."
"So how would you find out?"
I didn't even have to think about it. "I'd start by going through the Wayne Township cemetery index and finding people who died between 1903 and 1910. Have to be an adult, and probably male---Woman don't tend to beat people to death with spike mauls. When I had a list of people that fit, I'd check their obits---See which ones died young and tragically. Find all the people who fit the profile."
"That makes sense," said Chris.
I took a drink of coffee, and he laughed. "Nice mug." It was my mug that said Bigfoot saw me, but nobody believes him. "I've been trying to explain to my girlfriend how you do this stuff."
"Hell, I don't even know how I do it most of the time. I mean, I get what I do and why I'm good at it, but if I had to write out step-by-step instructions, I couldn't really do it. It's sort of internal, you know? Like Aquaman." I shrugged. "I mean, it's not like I'll be bringing anyone to justice, this whole thing having happened in 1903. But maybe I can get some answers."
Thursday night was slow. Sometimes I have programs and meetings on Thursdays, and sometimes nothing. I fill in by writing my columns, but I currently have them done up until mid-June. So there was no point in speculating on news-column futures. I dug into the 1903 murder, which, as a time-killer, is better than Solitaire.
A few years ago, the Clinton County Genealogical Society had compiled listings of every grave in the county. They'd worked hard at it, and published it in book form. This was crap for anyone who'd died after 2008, but for my purposes, it was really helpful. I got the Wayne Township book and looked through.
There were fewer than I'd thought, and by ruling out all the children, I could narrow it down considerably. I wound up with one guy who'd died in 1909.
His named was Arthur Mitcheltree.
I pulled his obit. He'd been forty-six, and died of tuberculosis. That fit. During the investigation, he'd actually been suspected, and had sued two different newspapers for mentioning him in connection with the murder. That fit, too. I found the articles in a 1904 Clinton County Times.
Slow, average Thursday night. I got a Facebook message from Jazmyn, and took a moment to reply. I missed the kid.
On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store and bumped in Ashlin, one of my friends from LHPS. She works over there. "Hey, Lou," she said. "How's it going?"
"Pretty good," I said. "Slow night. I just worked a couple hours trying to find a murderer form 1903."
"I wish I could find a murderer from 1903," she said. "I just spent a couple of hours trying to decide what kind of Triscuits to buy. You want a ride to the next meeting?"
"You do come up with some good ones," Savanah said. We were in my office at Piper, looking through the files. "A murder from 1903."
"Yeah, I've put in some time on that one," I agreed. "I didn't actually mean to spend that much time solving it; I just got real interested."
"But you think you've solved it?" Savanah is a rainbow-haired pixie who is one of my junior paranormal investigators. She was doing her senior project with me at Piper.
"I think maybe. Arthur Mitcheltree fits the description. He may have been the actual killer. He is almost definitely the guy the cop was talking about. Mitcheltree died at the right time, and more or less tragically. He was even connected with the murder at the time. He sued two newspapers for mentioning him in connection with the murder."
"Why would he have done it? Do you know?"
"It was always suspected that it had to do with a woman. Clendennin was known as a ladies' man. Mitcheltree was married at the time, but....He had daughters."
"Aaahhh."
"Yeah, it makes sense. They were even single at the time; I checked the marriage records. So there's motive."
"Wow," said Savanah, looking through the file drawers. "I hate people who say this city is boring."
"That's due on April tenth," I said, scanning the book. "Thanks a lot, and have a nice day."
Monday. It was busy at the library, and the weather was basically miserable. But the museum had gotten a new plane, so there's that. As I checked people out at the library, an older man approached the desk. "I liked the article you wrote about the bear that you saw during one of your tours."
"Grin And Bear It? Yeah, I got some comments on that one."
"Have you ever heard anything about a peddler that disappeared? It would have been over a hundred years ago, and there was a man named Hurwitz who may have been involved...."
"It rings a faint bell, but I can't place it."
"You may want to look into it. It sounds like something you might be interested in."
"I have to admit, it does."
I went to the index and checked the name Hurwitz. There was an obit, and I brought it up on the microfilm machine. The obit did, in fact, mention the disappearance of a peddler, and noted that horses wouldn't go past the spot where he was thought to be killed.
Another mysterious death from the past.
Well, huh.
Business as usual, then.
