HIRTEEN
First thing in the morning, I headed over to the Health Department, waiting impatiently for them to unlock the doors at 9 A.M. When I had spoken to the employee who faxed me the list of elderly people in the county, I had also told her I needed all of the birth and death certificates from the Hendrickson family.
The clerk had said she would try to have everything ready by this morning. When I gave my name at the front desk, I was promptly handed an envelope containing the birth and death certificates of Joseph, Mary Jane, Ezra, Madeline, and Maryanne Hendrickson. Ezra was apparently Mary Jane’s infant son, who had died, but there was no death certificate for him.
Briefly glancing at them, I noticed that there was no birth certificate for a child of Maryanne Hendrickson, at least under that name. Yet Walter had claimed she’d had a child.
Back in my car, I flipped through the certificates before driving to the police department. I was stopped at a red light downtown when I suddenly had one of my staggering insights. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I sped into the nearest parking lot, cut the engine and grabbed the envelope. This was too important to wait until I got to my office.
I sorted through the certificates until I saw the one for Mary Jane Hendrickson. I looked at the date. Her birth certificate showed she had been born in 1855, not 1825 as her obituary had read. If the dates on the obituary were wrong, then Mary Jane Hendrickson would have only been forty- three years old when she died. This made more sense, as Madeline would have been born when Mary Jane was twenty-seven, not the superhuman age fifty-seven that I’d previously calculated.
Assuming the year in the obituary was not a misprint, why had Mary Jane been aged? Dying at forty- three wasn’t all that unusual back then, unless it had been the circumstances of her death that someone had tried to cover up.
I hurried back to my office and spread all the certificates on my desk in chronological order, birth to death. As I examined them more closely, I noticed that many of the dates seemed inaccurate. I wrote them all down on my notepad and listed them in order:
(infant son) Ezra Hendrickson—Born Sept. 1897, no d.c.
(father) Joseph Hendrickson—Died Nov. 1897, no b.c.
(mother) Mary Jane Hendrickson—Died March 1898, born Aug. 1855
(daughter) Madeline Hendrickson—Born April 1882, died March 1953
(Madeline’s daughter) Maryanne Hendrickson—Born Nov. 1898, died March 1985
Ezra had been born only two months before Joseph died and seven months before Mary Jane had died. I wondered if he hadn’t died shortly after birth. Madeline and Maryanne both had their maiden names on their death certificates, with no sign of a husband anywhere. Sixteen-year-old Madeline had given birth to her daughter the same year her mother had died. If I counted back, she would have conceived the same month her mother had died. And lastly, all three women had died in March. Coincidence? What was I missing here?
I sat back in my chair and stretched my arms. Walter had said that Maryanne Hendrickson was pregnant around World War II; that would’ve put her in her mid- to late forties. I remembered reading an article that said Mary Jane Hendrickson had relatives in Holmes County, two counties away. I spent the next hour calling all the surrounding counties and their surrounding counties, looking for any marriage certificates for Madeline and Maryanne Hendrickson. I knew it would take quite a bit of time, but I had plenty of that right now.
Next on my agenda was finding information on Ceely Rose. I scoured the Internet looking at newspaper archives and finally found a website devoted strictly to her. There wasn’t much more on it than what I already knew. I had a few more websites to check when I glanced at the date of the Ceely Rose murders. I felt every nerve in my body jolt into life and I gasped, “Oh, my God!” to my empty office as I stared at Mary Jane
First thing in the morning, I headed over to the Health Department, waiting impatiently for them to unlock the doors at 9 A.M. When I had spoken to the employee who faxed me the list of elderly people in the county, I had also told her I needed all of the birth and death certificates from the Hendrickson family.
The clerk had said she would try to have everything ready by this morning. When I gave my name at the front desk, I was promptly handed an envelope containing the birth and death certificates of Joseph, Mary Jane, Ezra, Madeline, and Maryanne Hendrickson. Ezra was apparently Mary Jane’s infant son, who had died, but there was no death certificate for him.
Briefly glancing at them, I noticed that there was no birth certificate for a child of Maryanne Hendrickson, at least under that name. Yet Walter had claimed she’d had a child.
Back in my car, I flipped through the certificates before driving to the police department. I was stopped at a red light downtown when I suddenly had one of my staggering insights. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I sped into the nearest parking lot, cut the engine and grabbed the envelope. This was too important to wait until I got to my office.
I sorted through the certificates until I saw the one for Mary Jane Hendrickson. I looked at the date. Her birth certificate showed she had been born in 1855, not 1825 as her obituary had read. If the dates on the obituary were wrong, then Mary Jane Hendrickson would have only been forty- three years old when she died. This made more sense, as Madeline would have been born when Mary Jane was twenty-seven, not the superhuman age fifty-seven that I’d previously calculated.
Assuming the year in the obituary was not a misprint, why had Mary Jane been aged? Dying at forty- three wasn’t all that unusual back then, unless it had been the circumstances of her death that someone had tried to cover up.
I hurried back to my office and spread all the certificates on my desk in chronological order, birth to death. As I examined them more closely, I noticed that many of the dates seemed inaccurate. I wrote them all down on my notepad and listed them in order:
(infant son) Ezra Hendrickson—Born Sept. 1897, no d.c.
(father) Joseph Hendrickson—Died Nov. 1897, no b.c.
(mother) Mary Jane Hendrickson—Died March 1898, born Aug. 1855
(daughter) Madeline Hendrickson—Born April 1882, died March 1953
(Madeline’s daughter) Maryanne Hendrickson—Born Nov. 1898, died March 1985
Ezra had been born only two months before Joseph died and seven months before Mary Jane had died. I wondered if he hadn’t died shortly after birth. Madeline and Maryanne both had their maiden names on their death certificates, with no sign of a husband anywhere. Sixteen-year-old Madeline had given birth to her daughter the same year her mother had died. If I counted back, she would have conceived the same month her mother had died. And lastly, all three women had died in March. Coincidence? What was I missing here?
I sat back in my chair and stretched my arms. Walter had said that Maryanne Hendrickson was pregnant around World War II; that would’ve put her in her mid- to late forties. I remembered reading an article that said Mary Jane Hendrickson had relatives in Holmes County, two counties away. I spent the next hour calling all the surrounding counties and their surrounding counties, looking for any marriage certificates for Madeline and Maryanne Hendrickson. I knew it would take quite a bit of time, but I had plenty of that right now.
Next on my agenda was finding information on Ceely Rose. I scoured the Internet looking at newspaper archives and finally found a website devoted strictly to her. There wasn’t much more on it than what I already knew. I had a few more websites to check when I glanced at the date of the Ceely Rose murders. I felt every nerve in my body jolt into life and I gasped, “Oh, my God!” to my empty office as I stared at Mary Jane
Similar Books
