by Anita Shreve
The chief bit of evidence for the prosecution, however, was the white button that was found in Wagner’s pocket when he was arrested. The button, the prosecution claimed, had been stolen, along with several coins, from a pocketbook belonging to Karen Christensen the night of the murders. The button matched those of Mary S. Hontvet’s nightdress — the one she produced in court.
I slip Maren Hontvedt’s document and its translation into a plastic bag and seal it. Into other plastic bags, I put my film and my cameras, my log, Thomas’s notebooks, other books, and the provisions Rich has asked for. Rich and Thomas are above; Billie is beside me. I keep her close, throwing my arm in front of her or behind her like a railroad barrier whenever I feel the boat tip or catch a gust of wind. Rich and Thomas have unfastened the boat from the mooring and have turned on the motor. I can hear the cough and kick of the engine, and then a reassuring hum. We leave the Isles of Shoals and head for open water.
“Mommy, is Adaline coming to live with us?”
Billie and I are folding charts and sliding them into Ziploc bags. My daughter likes running her fingers along the seal, the satisfaction of feeling it snap shut.
I crouch down in front of her and sit back on my heels.
“She’s not coming to live with us,” I say. It is meant to be an answer, but it sounds like a question.
“Oh,” Billie says. She looks down at the floor. I notice that water is sloshing over the teak planking.
“Why do you ask?” I put my finger under her chin and lift it just a fraction. There is a note that isn’t entirely parental in my voice, and I think she must hear it. She sticks her tongue out the gap made by her two missing front teeth and stares up at the ceiling.
“I forget,” she says.
“Billie.”
“Um.” She stretches her arms high above her head. Her toes are pointed inward. “Well…,” she says, drawing out the words. “I think Daddy said.”
“Said what?”
She flaps her arms at her sides. “I don’t know, do I?”
Shockingly, tears appear at the lower lids of her eyes.
“Billie, what’s the matter?” I pull her to me and hold her close. I can feel the oilskin, the damp curl of her hair, the plumpness of her legs.
“Why is the boat moving around like this?” she asks. “It doesn’t feel good.”
Louis Wagner’s defense consisted primarily of attempts to answer prosecution questions in order to convince the jury of a reasonable doubt. Why were his hands blistered and the knuckles bruised the day after the murders? He had helped a man lay crates on a fish cart. Where had he been all night? He had had a glass of ale, then had baited nine hundred hooks for a fisherman whose name he didn’t know and who could not be produced at the trial. After that, he had two more mugs of ale and then began to feel poorly. He was sick to his stomach in the street and fell down near a pump. He went back to the Johnsons’ at three o’clock to go to sleep, but went in the back door instead of the front, and did not go up to his bed, but slept in the lounge. Later in the morning, he decided to have his beard shaved, then heard the train whistle and thought to go to Boston. There he bought a new suit of clothes and went to stay at his old boardinghouse in North Street, a place he had lived at several times before. How did he happen to have blood on articles of clothing that he had on the night of the murders? It was fish blood, he said, and also he had stabbed himself with a fish-net needle several days earlier. How did he come by the money to go to Boston and to buy a suit of clothes? He had earned twelve dollars earlier in the week baiting trawls for a fisherman, whose name he did not remember, and the night of the murders had earned a further dollar.
Wagner took the stand in his own defense. Mr. Tapley, counsel for the defense, asked Louis Wagner what had happened to him when he was arrested in Boston.
“When I was standing in the door of the boarding master where I boarded five years,” Wagner answered, “he came along, shook hands with me and said, halloo, where did you come from. Before I had time to answer him, policeman stepped along to the door. He dropped me by the arm. I ask them what they want. They answered me they want me. I asked him what for. I told him to let me go up-stairs and put my boots on. They answered me the slippers are good enough. They then dragged me along the streets and asked me how long I had been in Boston. I was so scared I understand they asked me how long I had been in Boston altogether. I answered him five days, making a mistake to say five years.”
“Did you intend to say five years?”
“Yes, sir. Then they asked me if I could read the English newspapers. I told them no. Well, he says, if you could you would have seen what was in it. You would have been in New York at this time.”
“Would what?”
“I would have been in New York at this time if I knowed what was in the newspapers. I asked him what was in the newspapers. He asked me if I was not on the Isle of Shoals and killed two women; I answered him that I had not done such a thing. He brought me into station-house, Number One. I found there a man named Johnson, city marshal at Portsmouth.”
Mr. Tapley then asked him what happened to him when he was brought to the station house.
Wagner said that City Marshall Johnson had asked him the whereabouts of the tall hat he was supposed to have worn the night before on the Isles of Shoals.
Wagner continued. “I told him I had not been on the Isle of Shoals; had not wore no tall hat in my life. He says the woman on the Isle of Shoals has seen you with a tall hat that night. I asked him what woman. He told me Mrs. Hontvet. He told me that he had the whiskers, that was shaved off my face, in his pocket, that it was shaved off in Portsmouth by such a barber. I told him to show me them whiskers. He told me that he had found the baker where I had been that night and bought bread; that I told the baker that I was going to the Isle of Shoals that night. I asked him to put me before the baker, or put the baker before me that said so. He answered that I soon would see him. When the new clothes was taken from my body I was taken into another room. The city marshal Johnson stripped me bare naked; asked me where I changed them underclothes. I told him that I had them underclothes on my body nearly eight days. He says you changed them this morning when you went to Boston; he says there was no gentleman in the city of Boston could wear underclothes for eight days so clean as them was. I told him I was poor, but I was a gentleman and I could wear clean underclothes just as well as any gentleman in the city of Boston. After my underclothes was overhauled they was put on me and I was brought into the cell; stayed in the cell until the next morning; when I was taken out again from two policemen, and dragged along the street.”
“Do you mean from two men?”
“They took me along the street; walked me along the street.”
“What do you mean by dragged?”
“They dragged me on my hands; took me into some kind of a house; don’t know what it was. I was put on a seat; was kept about ten minutes; all the people had to look at me; was taken then away out of that house where they took my picture; and was brought again to station-house.”
“After that, what took place?”
“After that I was closed up again. After a spell I was taken out and brought to the depot. When they took me down to the depot, I asked them where they were going to put me to. They answered me, they were sending me back to Portsmouth, asked me if I did not like to go there. I told them yes.”
“Who asked you that?”
“The policeman who took me down there.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Yes, one that was here.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I was brought to Portsmouth. I came to Portsmouth, the street was crowded with peoples, and was hallooing, ‘Kill him, kill him.’ I was put into station-house. I was closed in about three-quarters of an hour when Mr. Hontvet came there… . Mr. Hontvet came to side door and said, Oh! damn you murderer. I said, Johnny, you are mistaken. He says, damn you, you kill my wife’s sister and her brother’s wife.
I told John, I hope you will find the right man who done it. He says, I got him. He says, hanging is too good for you, and hell is too good for you. He says I ought to be cut to pieces and put on to fish-hooks. I told him, that the net that he had spread out for me to drop in he might drop in himself. He says, where is that tall hat that you had on that night when you was on the Shoals. I told him I had no tall hat. He says, what have you been doing with the fish that you bought last night from the schooner, or was going to buy. I told him that I had not bought any fish, and was not out of Portsmouth that night. He told me that the dory was seen that night, between twelve and two o’clock, going on board a vessel that was lying at anchor on Smutty Nose Island.”
“What do you mean by dory?”
“Dory pulled on board that schooner and asked that skipper if he had any fish to sell.”
“Did he say where the schooner was?”
“Yes, he said that she was lying at anchor on Smutty Nose Island. He said that this dory was seen crossing over to the westward of the island and had hailed another vessel there. I then told him, Johnny, better look after that man that has been pulling that night in the dory. Then he and his brother-in-law answered me, that I was the man. His brother-in-law told Mr. Hontvet to ask me if I could not get the money without killing the vimen.”
“Who do you mean by brother-in-law?”
“Evan Christensen. I told him that I never tried to steal money, but if I was a thief I thought I could get money without killing people. He says, you stole thirteen dollars. He says, you took ten-dollar bill out of that pocket-book.”
“Who said that?”
“Mr. Hontvet. His brother, Mattheas Hontvet, showed me another pocket-book and said I stole out five dollars out of that. I told him that he was mistaken. They then left me, and some more people was coming to see me.”
Blood evidence was introduced into the trial. Horace Chase, a physician who resided at 22 Newbury Street in Boston, testified that he had made a study of the analysis of blood and had examined the blood found on Louis Wagner’s clothing. Dr. Chase explained that the red corpuscles of fish blood differ in shape from those of human or mammalian blood. Moreover, he said, it was possible to distinguish human blood from horse blood because of the size of the blood corpuscles. “The average blood corpuscle of man measures 1-3200 of an inch; that is, 3200 laid down in a line would cover one side of a square inch; it would take about 4600 of the corpuscles of a horse; the difference is quite perceptible,” he said.
Various articles of clothing had been taken to Dr. Chase in Boston for blood analysis by Mr. Yeaton of the prosecution — overalls, a jacket, and a shirt. Dr. Chase testified that he found human blood on the overalls, human blood on the shirt, and simply mammalian blood on the jacket. During cross-examination, Dr. Chase said that he had not made more than “two or three” blood analysis examinations in criminal cases.
The defense introduced its own blood expert. James F. Babcock, a professor of chemistry at the Massachusetts College of Pharmacy in Boston, testified that it was not possible to distinguish with absolute certainty human blood from other mammalian blood, and that it was not possible to say, after blood had dried on an article of clothing, how old the stain was or whether it had appeared before or after another stain. Nor were there any tests available to determine whether the blood was male or female. Mr. Babcock said that he had examined blood stains in “several” capital cases.
The defense then called Asa Bourne, a fisherman, who testified that he and his sons had been out fishing on the night of the murders, and that the wind was so strong they could not make any headway against it. In his opinion, said Bourne, Wagner could not have rowed to the islands and back.
Dr. John D. Parsons, the physician who had examined the body of Anethe at the undertaker’s room at Gerrish & Adams, was recalled to the stand by the defense. He was asked whether or not it was reasonable to suppose that the wounds upon Anethe, from their appearance, were made by a person not very muscular. He replied, “I think the flesh wounds might have been made by a person of not great muscular force.”
Finally, the defense made an attempt to dismiss the entire case. In the state of Maine, at that time, a person could not be convicted of murder in the first degree of another person if the victim was not accurately named and that name not accurately spelled in the indictment. When Evan Christensen first testified, he said, “Anethe Christensen was my wife.” The indictment, however, reports the victim as Anethe M. Christenson, with the slightly different spelling and the middle initial. Evan was recalled to the stand, whereupon Tapley questioned him.
“What time of day did you say that you went down to that house where your wife was dead?”
No response.
“What time was it?”
No response.
“Do you understand me?”
No response.
“What time of the clock was it, after you heard of your wife’s death, that you went to the house the first time, the first morning after the murder?”
No response.
“Did you go inside?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you go around in the different rooms?”
“I went into other rooms.”
“Didn’t you find a good deal of blood in those rooms?”
“Yes, sir.”
“On the floor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you asked, since you were here day before yesterday, what your wife’s name was?”
No response.
“Did anybody ask you before you came in this morning what your wife’s name was? Didn’t somebody ask you?”
No response.
“When did anybody say anything to you about your wife’s name since day before yesterday, do you understand?”
No response.
“Are you a Norwegian?”
No response.
“You do not understand, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you speak with any one about your wife?”
No response.
“Did you tell anybody your wife’s name, before you came here this morning?”
No response.
“What is Karen’s full name?”
“Karen Alma Christensen.”
“Was your wife’s name Matea Annette?”
“Anetha Matea Christensen.”
“Was she not sometimes called Matea Annette?”
No response.
“Do you understand my question?”
No response.
“When were you married?”
No response.
“When did you marry your wife?”
No response.
Tapley finally gave up this old appeal, and the court declared that Anethe M. Christenson, as written, was the victim in the case.
Billie is doubled over at the waist, as if she will be sick. She coughs several times. Her skin has gone a shadowy white, and there is perspiration on her forehead. She cries. She does not understand what is happening to her. “Mom,” she says. “Mom.”
The boat catches a gust, and it feels as though we have been hit by a train. We heel over, and I bang my head hard on the chart table. I hear the crash of dishes in the cabinets. A thermos on the counter slides the length of the Formica counter and topples onto its plastic cap. I kneel on the teak planking and hold Billie as best I can. I fight a sense of panic.
“Rich,” I call up the ladder. I wait for an answer. I call again. “There’s water on the floor,” I shout.
It is hard to hear his response. Before the storm, the sounds from the water were soothing. The gentle slap of waves upon the hull. But now there is a kind of churning roar that is not just the engine. It is as though the ocean has become more difficult to slice through, as though the sea were causing resistance. Above this noise, I hear Rich call to Thomas, but I cannot make out the words.
Thomas slides down the ladder. He is soaked despite his slicker. He seems not to have the metal clasps fa
stened correctly. He sees me with Billie, with Billie bent over and crying. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I think she’s seasick.”
He squats down beside us.
“She’s frightened,” I say. “She doesn’t understand.”
“Did you give her the half pill?”
“Yes. But it was probably too late.”
Thomas reaches for a dishtowel and uses it to wipe Billie’s forehead. Then he blots his own face. He is breathing hard, and there is an angry swelling to one side of his cheekbone.
“What happened?” I ask, pointing to the bump.
“It’s rough out there,” he says. He flips off the hood of the slicker, wipes the top of his head. His hair is mussed in an odd kind of sculpture that would make Billie laugh if she felt better.
He puts his hand down to the teak planking to balance himself. He is still breathing hard. Trying to catch his breath. Our faces aren’t a foot apart. I think, looking at him, He’s frightened, too.
Thomas yells up the companionway. “There’s water over the teak, Rich. I can’t tell how much.”
We can hear Rich’s voice, but again I cannot make out the words. Thomas stands up and leans against the ladder. “OK,” he says in answer to something Rich has asked.
I watch Thomas take a tool from a galley drawer and then remove a cushion from the dinette. In the bulkhead is a socket. Thomas puts the metal tool into the socket and begins to ratchet it back and forth. He is awkwardly bent on the bench, and the table is in his way. I have hardly ever seen Thomas perform manual labor before.
