Free Deadly Descent by Charlotte Hinger Page A

surprise, after I’d reconciled myself to living alone the rest of my life. I’ve lost one wife. I’m telling you, woman, I can’t stand to lose another one.”
    It was the word “woman” that did it, though I knew it was an ancient country usage, for emphasis, not a slur.
    “I’ll be just fine. We’ll be just fine,” I yelled.
    “Like shit,” he said, and went up to bed.

Chapter Thirteen
    “Sam, are these old cases still open?”
    I had been eyeing the dusty, old file cabinet in the corner for the past three days but stuck to studying material on police procedures, knowing he wouldn’t trust a woman who headed for the fun stuff right off. Volunteers were manning the historical society this week while I learned the ropes for my new job.
    It was going well because I had sense enough to smile when he smoked. The material he had given me on interview techniques seemed familiar, as I used some of the same methods in recording oral history.
    “Depends,” he said. “No statute of limitations on murder. They’re open but hopeless. About five of those in the last seventy-five years have never been solved. Some have had murky outcomes. Like the old Swenson murders.”
    “Swenson murders?”
    “Swenson was the name of the family. Hideous thing. Old case. Happened when I was just a kid.”
    “Mind if I take a look?”
    “Nope. In fact, you really should look at all those files. It will give you a good idea of some of the procedures we use in this county. Or don’t use,” he added gloomily.
    “Can I work on them?”
    “There’s nothing to work on, Lottie. We’re talking ancient history here.”
    Immediately, the wheels started turning. I wanted to have an active role in investigating Zelda’s murder. So far, Sam was treating me like an intelligent, pampered, well-mannered guest. He clearly expected me to go away in a very short time. If I could find new information about an old, unsolved murder, my status would change.
    I went to the drawer and found the Swenson folder. I poured a cup of coffee, carried it back to the rickety desk Sam scrounged up for me, and began to read.
    Triple Murder in Gateway City
    by Valeria Comstock
    OCTOBER 29, 1949. Last Thursday, the Herman Swenson residence was the scene of a bizarre tragedy that is still under investigation by Sheriff Andrew Morrow. His office released the following account of the crime:
    Herman Swenson allegedly found his wife, Emily Swenson, murdered in her bed when he returned from a trip to Gateway City. He claims he was a day late getting home and spent Wednesday night by the side of the road after their Model A stalled in the dust storm ten miles from their house. He walked on in to his farmstead Thursday morning.
    Swenson claims that upon discovering his wife’s body, he rushed outside and began looking for his seven-year-old son, Johnny. When his son did not reply, Swenson went back inside the house and phoned Sheriff Morrow. According to Swenson, the earpiece to the phone was dangling when he got home, indicating that Mrs. Swenson had tried to call out at some time. Sheriff Morrow reports that no one on their party line could call out Wednesday due to downed lines. The line had been repaired early that morning. Sheriff Morrow went to the farm at once, accompanied by the county coroner, John Babbitt.
    Coroner Babbitt reported that although Mrs. Swenson died of strangulation, she was in childbirth.
    Sheriff Morrow found Johnny Swenson dead in a well in back of the house. The whereabouts of the baby’s body is unknown.
    Herman Swenson has been charged with the murder of all three. Dr. Henry McVey has said that Swenson has been in a state of deep shock from the time his son’s body was located by the authorities.
    “How could it have happened?” I blurted the words, not caring about sounding unprofessional. I looked at Sam.
    “We don’t know,” he said. “No one ever knew, and no one understood it, either. He had always seemed as normal as apple