Second Houston/Bouchard Novel (THE FISHERMAN) Under Contract

On April 22, 2014, I signed a contract with Skyhorse Publishing, Inc. to publish the second novel in my series featuring Mike Houston and Anne Bouchard. The novel, entitled THE FISHERMAN, follows Anne and Mike as they assist an elderly couple in the search for their missing grand daughter. The investigation leads them into Boston's dark world of prostitution and white slavery.

As in SNIPER, they enlist the assistance of crime lord Jimmy O and his organization. The chase takes them from the remnants of Boston's fames Combat Zone to the rocky coast of Maine, and ultimately into the seemingly endless acres of northern Maine woodlands.

I feel fortunate to be able to work with the same great team at Skyhorse Publishing. I am certain that were it not for the invaluable assistance of my editor, Constance Renfro, (she knew when to back off and let me have my way and when to stand her ground and make me see the light) the book would not have been as good as it turned out. That is my feelings based on the feedback I get from readers. It made me the second most famous person in Stockholm, Maine (population 270), Russell Currier made the U. S. Olympic Biathlon Team and for much of the winter held first place. Now that the 2014 Winter Olympics are history, I'm making a bit of a comeback.

It is a nice feeling knowing that the publication of THE FISHERMAN will remove the fear of being a one book wonder, although it didn't hurt Harper Lee. I'll be letting everyone know the particulars as we go through the editorial and prepublication process. Now that I think of it, blogging on that process may be of interest to some people.

When In New Sweden, Don't Drink The Coffee!

Gustaf Adolph Lutheran Church

Eleven years ago on May 2, 2003, Daniel Bondeson was found in his New Sweden, Maine farmhouse where he had committed suicide. Bondeson's death alone would have been news in this small community of 650 people, however it was else was found that really shocked the community. Nearby was a suicide note in which Bondeson confessed to putting liquid arsenic in the after service coffee at the Gustaf Adolph Evangelical Lutheran Church.

 Until the discovery of the note, Bondeson was not even a suspect in the case. On April 27, 2003, there were complaints about the coffee served at the church coffee hour being bitter. No one had a clue that, bu the end of that day, sixteen people would become violently sick and one (Walter Reid Morrill, 78, known locally as Reid) would perish in short time medical personnel at the nearby Cary Medical Center in Caribou, Maine blamed arsenic poisoning.

Detectives assigned to the case by the Maine State police believed there was more than one parishioner to blame for the poisonings and were focusing on six to ten members of the fifty-person congregation. The police, including FBI profilers arrived and church members, including the victims' relatives, were fingerprinted. They gave blood samples and filed out police questionnaires that went so far as to come right out ans ask them if they perpetrated the crime. The result of this was that people became suspicious of neighbors and relatives, many of whom they'd known for years. The began asking questions: Who skipped coffee hour? Who attended but did not drink coffee?

New Sweden and the surrounding communities (such as Stockholm, Westmanland, and Jemptland) is a shrinking remnant of the Swedish migration of the 1870s. Maine's farmers were leaving the area to settle in the mid-west where the fields were flat and rich and the winters less harsh than that of Aroostook County. There was also a dispute between the state and French Canadian settlers from Canada as to where the northern border was. To secure its claim on the area, a contingent from Maine ventured to Scandinavia and recruited settlers with the lure of free land. The Swedish settlers immediately founded the Gustaf Adolph Evangelical Lutheran Church, named after a 17th century Swedish king.

Daniel Bondeson

In recent years, the closing of Loring Air Force Base hit the local economy hard and the potato market was being dominated by states in the Pacific Northwest. Aroostook County, with focus on the communities that surrounded the base (Caribou, Limestone, Fort Fairfield, and the Swedish Colony) were decimated and there was a migration of the area's youth to places where they could more easily find employment.

Daniel Bondeson, a fifty-three year old bachelor, was a modest man who made a living farming, substitute teaching, and nursing. He was a dedicated runner who had competed in several Boston Marathons and an avid cross-country skier. He was well-known and like by many in the community. Even after the discovery of the suicide note many still find it difficult to believe that he would commit such a crime. In fact, many still don't believe he's guilty. One victim, Erich Margeson, was quoted by the Portland Press Herald as saying: "It does make you wonder whether I could have made a difference, to just go up and talk to him and be a better friend to him." Some believe that he may have given the arsenic unwittingly to someone else and when he learned what it had been used for killed him self in remorse. (Arsenic is in no short supply around Aroostook county, especially in liquid form as, in years past, farmers used it to kill the tops and stems of their potato plants before harvesting the crop.) Some think that if he did do it, he may have done it because of the deaths of a brother, a nephew, and his father in recent years.

What stands in the face of all these theories was the damning part of the note in which Bondeson states: "I acted alone. I acted alone. One dumb poor judgement ruins life but I did wrong," read the note, in which the first "I acted alone" was underlined. The note stated that he did not know that the chemical he put in the coffee pot before church members gathered socially after the Aug. 27, 2003, Sunday service was arsenic. "I thought it was something? I had no intent to hurt this way. Just to upset stomach, like the church goers did me."  It is thought that Bondeson had been upset with the church council over a new communion table that he and his brothers and sisters donated to the church in honor of their late mother and father.

Based on the information presented in the suicide note, on April 18, 2006, Maine Assistant Attorney General William R. Stokes, Chief of Criminal Division, and Colonel Craig Poulin, Chief of the Maine State Police, held a press conference in which they held that, as stated in his suicide note, Bondeson acted alone and “No further investigative efforts are planned in connection with this case.”

Many local residents to day feel that Danny Bondeson was not the perpetrator of this crime and that if not for the incriminating suicide note the case would have never been solved.

TERROR ON SMUTTY NOSE: The Isles of Shoals Murders

Smuttynose Island

The Islands of the Shoals lie six miles off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The island group consists of nine islands, five in Maine and four in New Hampshire, and were named by English explorer Capt. John Smith after sighting them in 1614. The first recorded landfall of an Englishman was that of explorer Capt. Christopher Levett, whose 300 fishermen in six ships discovered that the Isles of Shoals were largely abandoned in 1623.

Smuttynose Island, at 25 acres, is the third-largest island. It is known as the site of Blackbeard's honeymoon, later for the shipwreck of the Spanish ship Sagunto in 1813, and then for the notorious 1873 murders of two young women. The latter is recalled in the story, "A Memorable Murder", by Celia Thaxter, in the 1997 novel, The Weight of Water, by Anita Shreve (and in the film of the same name), and in the song, "The Ballad of Louis Wagner" by John Perrault.

The terrifying events outlined by Thaxter and Shreve took place in the early morning hours of March 6, 1873. The island was inhabited by a single couple, John Honvet and his wife Maren, who arrived there from Norway in 1868. John was a commercial fisherman and he would sail his schooner, the Clara Bella, to the fishing grounds, draw his trawl lines, and then set sail for home in late afternoon. His industriousness earned him respect from his friends and neighbors on other islands (whose population rarely surpassed fifty).

Louis Wagner was working solo, barely eking out a living fishing the waters off the Isles of Shoals when he met Honvet. For two years John and Maren took Wagner, a dark muscular Prussian with a thick accent, under their care, seeing that he was never in need of food or clothing and even went so far as to include him in John’s prosperous business. During the two plus years they were acquainted it is said that Wagner and the Hontvets became as close as brothers and sister.

Though content with their new lives, the Hontvets missed their families in Norway. Maren cherished her small cottage, but often her only companion during John’s absences while fishing was her small dog, Ringe. In May 1871, Maren’s sister, Karen Christensen, arrived from Norway and within a few weeks obtained a position as a live-in maid with a family on nearby Appledore Island (the largest of the Isle of The Shoals islands).

By June of 1872, John’s business had prospered to the point where he was able to hire Wagner, giving him a room within his home. However, in October of that year John found himself with more help than he needed. His brother, Matthew arrived from Norway with Maren’s brother, Ivan Christensen and his wife Anethe. All five family members lived together in the Hontven cottage and Ivan and Matthew went to work with John.

Wagner stayed on for five weeks after Ivan, Matthew, and Anethe arrived and then booked passage as a hand on the Addison Gilbert, a fishing schooner, in November. His luck took a turn for the worse. The Addison Gilbert was wrecked and he found himself reduced to working along the docks in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He barely made enough money to pay his board. By March of 1873 he was destitute, his shoes and clothes were worn and tattered, and he was behind in his rent.

John, Ivan, and Matthew had set sail early on the morning of March 5, 1873. They placed their trawl lines, intending to sell the catch in Portsmouth and buy bait there, they met a neighbor and asked him to stop by Smuttynose and inform the women that due to a change in the wind direction they would be sailing directly to the mainland.

The women, Maren, Anethe, and Karen (she had left her position on Appledore and taken one as a seamstress in Boston) who was visiting, got the word in the late afternoon.

When the Clara Bella docked in Portsmouth in early evening, Louis Wagner was on hand to help tie the vessel down. He inquired if John and his crew would be returning to Smuttynose that evening. He learned that it depended upon whether or not the bait they wanted to buy was delivered on time. If it was they would return, if not they would stay in port and return home in the morning.

Wagner was last seen in Portsmouth at 7:30 that evening. He learned that the bait had not arrived and decided to burglarize the Hontvet’s home. He stole a dory and rowed into the harbor and out to sea. The feat of rowing twelve miles to the Isles of Shoals was difficult, but not impossible and Wagner was a skilled oarsman, driven by desperation.

The three woman had waited for the men and by 10 PM decided not to do so any longer. They changed into their night clothes and made a bed for Karen in the kitchen, where it was warmer. Maren and Anethe retired to an adjoining bedroom.

Rather than go ashore in the cove where John kept the Clara Bella, Wagner rowed to the far side of the island and disembarked on the rocky shore. He observed the cottage for several hours after the inside lights had gone out. Confident that the women were asleep he made his move. He quickly found the kitchen door unlocked and stepped inside. He jammed a piece of wood into the latch of the bedroom door. His movement aroused the dog and it barked, waking Karen. She asked, “John, is that you?”

Maren then awoke and called to her sister, “Karen? Is something wrong?”

“John scared me!” With that Wagner reached for a chair and struck a incapacitating blow. Karen screamed as he continued his assault.

Karen struggled to her feet and tugged at the bedroom door. Battered and bleeding, she freed the latch and fell at Maren’s feet. Wagner rushed again, now swinging at and hitting both women. Maren managed to pull Karen out of his reach and closed and barricaded the door.

Anethe watched the attack from a corner of the room. Maren implored her to run and hide. Anethe climbed out the bedroom window and stood barefoot in the snow, frozen with fright.

Wagner gave up his assault on the locked door and left the house. In the light of the quarter moon, Maren could see who their attack was. He closed with Anethe and grabbed an axe from its place on the woodpile and with a single motion drove the blade into Anethe’s head. Her lifeless body fell as he continued to strike her. During this horrific attack, Maren was so close that she could have reached through the window and touched him.

Realizing that she could do nothing to help Anethe, Maren turned her attention to saving her sister and herself. She begged Karen to run. Karen, however, was on the verge of fainting and was unable to do anything. By this time Wagner had returned to the house with the axe. Believing both she and her sister would be killed if she remained, Maren wrapped herself in a heavy skirt and, when she heard Wagner return to the house, climbed through the window and ran. She headed for the cove hoping to find Wagner’s boat there. When she did not see it, she ran along the shore to the far side of the island. As she passed the cottage she heard Karen shout in agony. She crawled between two rocks near the water’s edge where the surf obliterated all other sound.

Karen tried to escape through the window but was so weak that it was too much. Wagner finally broke into the room and swung the axe, missing her and hitting the sill, which broke the axe handle. He then twisted a handkerchief around her neck and strangled her until she was dead.

Bloody footprints showed his search for Maren and where he dragged Anethe by her feet into the kitchen. He was exhausted and brewed a pot of tea, leaving blood on the handle, and ate food he had brought using a plate, knife and fork from the Hontvet’s kitchen. He ransacked the house, finding only fifteen dollars and departed, leaving Anethe’s body on the floor beside a clock he had knocked off the mantle—its hands were stopped at seven minutes past one.

It was after eight in the morning when Maren got the attention of the children of Jorge Ingerbredsen, who were playing beside their home on Appledore Island. Jorge rowed across the quarter mile of sea to rescue her. He returned her to his home and with several other men they returned to Smuttynose.

Finding no one on Smuttynose, the men returned home and searched there. A few hours later the Clara Bella was sighted on the horizon and they signaled her. Matthew and Ivan rowed a skiff to Appledore and John sailed the schooner to her moor on Smuttynose. When the men found Maren at the Ingerbredsen house and heard the horrific tale they rushed to Smuttynose, arriving the same time as John. They found the bodies and searched the full contents of their destroyed home, before sailing the schooner to Appledore. That afternoon, John and others carried Maren’s tale of terror to the authorities in Portsmouth.

The stolen dory was found in Newcastle, where two men who knew Wagner reported they had seen him about six o’clock on the morning of March 7, near a place called the Devil’s Den. Wagner had returned to his boarding house, changed some of his clothes and took a 9 AM train to Boston. Wagner was arrested that evening at a boarding house where he had stopped to see some women that he knew. He offered no resistance.

The following day he was transferred from Boston (where a jeering crowd followed—the crime had been widely reported throughout the east coast) to Portsmouth (where a crowd of 10,000 narrowly missed tearing him apart).

Smuttynose falls under the jurisdiction of Maine so Wagner had to be tried there. Three days after arriving in Portsmouth, he was moved from the jail to the train where a lynch mob of over 200 fishermen were waiting. The police escort drew their revolvers and a company of bayonet-wielding Marines were called from the Navy base, but the mob was not easily subdued. The escort was showered with stones and bricks.

Louis Wagner’s trial began in Alfred, Maine on June 9, 1873. It took nine days of testimony and 55 minutes of deliberation for the jury to find him guilty as charged. He broke out of jail within a week, but was recaptured in New Hampshire. On June 25, 1875, 27 months after the crime, Wagner was led into the yard of the state prison in Thomaston, Maine, and hanged. Wagner maintained his innocence to the very end.

Maren and John Hontvet were never to live in the Isles of Shoals again. They moved to Portsmouth, where John continued working as a fisherman. There are two small houses on the island. One of them, the Samuel Haley house, was once believed to be the oldest structure in the state of Maine. Smuttynose is not populated today.

More On Lizzie Borden

In a previous blog, I wrote about my 5th cousin, two times removed, Lizzie Borden. Lizzie's case has mystified people for over one hundred years and there are still questions about her guilt or innocence. I wrote an article on Lizzie for the New England Chapter of the MWA web site and another article was written by Sandra Lee for the same web site. Sandra, who graciously granted me permission to reprint her article here, takes an interesting look at how the use (or misuse) of crime scene evidence may have impacted The Trial of Lizzie Borden... By the way, for those of you who may have read my previous post on Lizzie, I made a mistake...she died in 1927, not 1947.

A Nineteenth Century Scene of a Crime – A Look Back in Time

by Sandra Lee

Crime scene evidence is that which serves to provide clues about the series of events surrounding the commission of a crime. While evidence recovered at crime scenes varies in nature, amounts and probative value, it is all essential to the practice of solving the mysteries at hand. Time has no bearing on the vitality of crime scene evidence, and it is that vitality which commands the use of great care during evidence identification, documentation, collection, analysis and preservation.

During the nineteenth century these functions were all performed locally, and crime scene evidence consisted of whatever the responding authorities decided it should.

Great advancements in sciences and technology during this era granted much efficiency to the processing of crime scenes and even expanded the scope of acceptable forms of evidence. While investigators and scientists in some states fully embraced these innovations, such as the new and evolving arts of fingerprinting and ABO blood-typing, others presented barriers of prejudice and bias, and continued practicing with methods “tried and true”.

Investigators and scientists throughout the Commonwealth of Massachusetts fell into the latter category, due in part to the state’s conservative nature. Other contributing factors toward the resistance of these individuals to be forward-thinking, open-minded and highly-motivated were found on local levels and included low-paying salaries and deficiencies in education and training.

All things considered, one might best define the methods of identifying and collecting crime scene evidence in Massachusetts cities and towns during the nineteenth century as primitive. The 1892 gruesome crime scene at the Borden home in Fall River might best exemplify how the application of aged practices might generate unfavorable results.

In the Borden case a skeleton crew of underpaid, poorly-skilled sleuths failed to immediately secure the scene and a head-to-toe search of the premises wasn’t conducted for days to follow. This ineptitude left much room for the contamination, destruction and/or removal of any evidence not yet collected.

Body temperatures, levels of food digestion and stages of blood drying and coagulation were used to determine the times of death of the victims. This data was gathered with the use of nothing more than human hands and the findings were applied to an ancient suggested set of standards. Clearly, a clinical thermometer would have provided more accurate readings of the body temperatures while the knowledge of, or willingness to recognize new literature available at the time would have altered other findings. The latest studies showed that each of these postmortem events would occur on different levels depending upon human individuality and upon circumstances. Also based on the results of these studies were newly introduced numbers proven to be the standard.

Performances in the lab at a local medical school demonstrated an even broader scope of deficiency in crime scene investigating. Among the evidence ultimately collected were the stomachs of the victims and a hatchet. The stomach linings were searched for scar tissue caused by poisoning because the victims were allegedly ill prior to the murders. Because the hatchet was believed to have caused the fractures in the victims’ skulls, it was studied for the presence of blood. The single instrument used to perform these searches, a magnifying glass, detected no scar tissue, nor did it determine whether a substance found on the hatchet was rust or blood. Some innovative technological and scientific alternatives might have provided more certainty about the evidentiary findings. The spectroscope would have offered significantly more magnification while the introduction of certain metals and minerals to the stomach contents may have detected the presence of poison. Similarly, the simple act of infusing water or fire with the matter on the hatchet would have proven the nature of the substance.

The discounted evidence in the Borden case arguably contained the most probative value. It consisted of the prime suspect, Lizzie’s own damning words. Spoken to a rookie investigator who failed to inform Lizzie of her rights before tuning in, the evidence was deemed inadmissible by the court based on constitutional grounds. Had a more seasoned, forward-thinking investigator interviewed Lizzie, she might have been informed of her rights.

Additionally, the court excluded a local druggist’s statement that Lizzie attempted to buy poison in his store on the day before the murders occurred. Lizzie’s counsel argued that the idea of poisoning was unrelated to the nature of the crimes actually committed. Had the scientist at the lab possessed the knowledge of and willingness to rely upon modern techniques, the druggist’s statement may have been utilized, and Lizzie’s intentions revealed.

Lizzie Borden was acquitted of the murders of her father and stepmother in June of 1893 after just over an hour of deliberation by a twelve-man jury.

Lizzie was exonerated of the crimes based on the evidence both presented and not presented at trial. All evidence in this case was a product of contemporary practices which consisted of widely varying and inconsistent crime scene investigation methods. Many believe a lack of application of common standards based on the best of accepted practices at the time in the gathering and processing of crime scene evidence may have contributed to a guilty person getting away with murder.

 

SNIPER AVAILABLE ONLINE AND IN BOOK STORES

As of tomorrow, February 4, 2014, my novel, SNIPER, will be available at most book retailers and online. It's hard to express how much this means to me, it is my first publication in a book format (I have previously published short fiction and one early novel in eBook format). I started the novel in the late fall of 2002 and got side tracked on several other projects placing it on a back burner (forgive the cliché!). But there were some people without whom this day would not have happened:

First and foremost was my late wife, Connie. She supported me through those early years when I thought I knew how to write. I resisted some of her comments early on, but that's usually the first symptom of "I know what I'm doing-itis". I've always said that the difference between being intelligent and being ignorant, is intelligent people know what they don't know--ignorant people don't have a clue and don't care enough to see the light! I would bring my latest chapter or short story to Connie, wanting praise, instead I got her honest opinion. She would say something along the line of: "There's too much profanity." I of course, being ignorant, only heard the praise. I was like Mark Twain, who once said (don't take this as being an accurate quote, but the gist of the quote is accurate): "When I was 17, I didn't think my father knew anything; when I was 27, I was astounded by how much the old man had learned..." As I progressed as a writer, Connie just got smarter and smarter.

Second on this list of Geniuses, was Paula Munier, my friend and now my agent. Paula and I met in the summer of 2002 at a meeting of the New England Chapter of Mystery Writers of America. Later that year, she created the first writer group I had ever been a part of. I took the first chapter of one of the novels I was working on to that first meeting, expecting to hear how wonderful it was. That evening I met Skye Alexander and Susan Oleskiew, both published authors and editors (did I mention that Paula was also a professional editor?) They listened to my wonderful work (by now I assume you know where I'm going with this...) and then politely and I may add, professionally, ripped it apart! I left that first meeting limping from the chewing I'd been subjected to, swearing that I would never return. (They too assumed they would never see nor hear of me again). I got home and bent the ear of my primary support person. Connie smiled and said, "Maybe they're right." I was shocked, how could she say such a thing...my bride of 32 years nailed me with, "You think you take criticism well, but you don't. These women have all been published and are to a greater degree than you, succeeded at doing what you want to do. If you don't want to listen to their opinions or take their advice, don't. I mean, look at how successful you've been doing it your way." I limped down to my office feeling as if the little bit of my ego that the writer group had left me had just been taken by my wife. I dropped what was left of my fanny into the chair and took every bit of feedback they'd given me and rewrote the chapter. When I was done, I read it aloud and half-way through paused to say: "Hey...this is good!" I tell this story to every new or aspiring writer I meet. Yet every once in a while when Paula does an edit (even though she's my agent she is still an editor) and tells me to rewrite something or to cut something, I get my hackles up. Nevertheless, I do it...because that's how I got a book publishing contract.

In 2006 cancer took my beloved Connie and two years later I lost my full-time job to the most recent recession. I still mourn losing Connie, but not the job. I looked at my situation and realized that I could no longer afford to live in southern New Hampshire. I relocated to Maine...far northern Maine. A five minute drive past my house and you reach the end of civilization as we know it! Now I have time to write full time. The only impediment is me...I can put off procrastination! So, I did what I knew I had to do, I sought out and found a new writer group. The members may not have the resumes similar to those of my first group, but they still make me sit down and write and they still tell me what I need to hear; not what I want to hear.

Connie is gone now and I have a new first reader, my domestic partner Jane. She's not as critical as Connie and the others, but thank God she's getting there!

So, in closing...thanks to Connie, Paula, Skye, Susan, the Breathe writer group and Jane. And all of you who buy my book and enjoy it.

THANK YOU....