Free Maritime Murder by Steve Vernon Page A

Kempton. “Why don’t you go and take Mary to see her sister? You know it will do her heart good. I will stay over at your house every night and keep Annie company. Don’t you worry about a single thing.” And just that simply, a chain of circumstances began to slowly play itself out.
    A week after the Kemptons sailed for New Brunswick, Tillie was asked to help out at the home of another friend, who was feeling poorly. By the time Tillie returned home, she was weary from a day of housecleaning.
    â€œWhy don’t you just deliver the milk to the Kemptons’?” Tillie asked Peter. “I’m bone tired and I need a rest. You tell Annie that I’ll be over later. You can wake me when you get home from delivering the milk.” Which is exactly what Peter did.
    â€œThere’s no need to worry about young Annie,” Peter told Tillie when he came home. “I told Annie that you’d be late, and she said that you needn’t bother yourself tonight.”
    â€œBut she’ll be alone,” Tillie said. “That isn’t right.”
    â€œShe will be safe,” Wheeler assured her. “One of the Kemptons’ neighbours—the Morine girl, Grace, from next door—is staying the night with Annie, so those two will be fine on their own.”
    The truth of the matter was, there was no neighbour staying over that night, and Peter Wheeler hadn’t said a word to Annie about Tillie being late. He had other plans.

Annie’s Murder
    After an exhausted Tillie had sunk gratefully back to sleep, Peter Wheeler made his move. He slipped out into the darkness and headed back to the Kempton house. He ran, purposely panting. He wanted to appear panicked and breathless when he got to Annie Kempton’s house.
    He pounded frantically on the front door. A worried Annie Kempton appeared at the door.
    â€œBe ready,” Peter Wheeler panted. “I saw a group of drunken sailors making their way down the road. If they find you here alone, there will be no one to protect you.”
    Annie looked nervously past Wheeler’s shoulder. “I don’t see anyone,” she said.
    Peter Wheeler pushed his way into the house. “They’re coming, I tell you,” he said. “I will bar the door and keep you from harm.” He looked so panicked that Annie believed what he was telling her. She was only fifteen, after all.
    â€œWe had quite a talk,” Wheeler later testified. “She told me how many tissue-paper roses she had made that day. She asked how many rabbits I had trapped. There was no harm done or said until that old monster Satan whispered into my ear and forced me to follow her into her bedroom.”
    Wheeler tried to grab the girl and force her into the bed. He was a small man, but very quick and strong; nonetheless, Annie’s terror gave her the vigour to pull free from his grasp. Their struggle led them into the sitting room. He again tried to force her down. She grabbed at a table in blind panic. A pitcher of milk smashed against the floor.
    Annie fell face down into the broken glass, slashing one side of her face against a shard. She cut her hand open when she tried to prop herself back up. A lamp fell and broke. Annie tried to get up again, but Wheeler would not let her. She reached for the windowsill. Perhaps she was hoping to throw the window open and escape. Perhaps she only hoped to call out for help.
    Wheeler snatched up a stick of stove wood, raised it high above his head, and brought it down against the girl’s skull. She shook as if in a spasm and then lay as still as stone.
    Wheeler panicked. All that he could think was what she would say to anyone who found her this way. “They’ll hang me for sure,” was what he thought. He found a knife, and opened the girl’s throat with the skill of an experienced trapper. He cut her throat from ear to ear, severing both the jugular and the carotid arteries, as well as