Chapter 1: What happened to Mary?

I'm sure some of you think you've had a hard life and the fates have dealt you a rotten hand. Well, consider this. When I was seventeen years of age, I was falsely accused of murdering my girlfriend. There was no evidence to support the accusation, but I was tried nonetheless. It was beyond reason that I was found guilty and sentenced from 10 to 25 years in prison. It was only through the relentless work of my lawyer and the support of my mother and sister that the conviction was overturned and I was set free. As it was, I spent almost two years in prison before I was released.

My name is Ruel Carter and at the time I'm writing this, I am twenty-nine years old. I stand six foot two and weigh two hundred pounds, most of it muscle. I have dark-brown hair and blue eyes, just like my dad used to have. I have a few scars from both prison and the army, but otherwise I'm in pretty good shape. I work in a helicopter leasing and maintenance facility in Bremerton, Washington, and I make a pretty good living. I'm writing this story for a reason. I need to settle some old scores.

I admit, I was a loner. My father was killed in a farm accident when I was six and my mother, Freda Carter, had to go to work to provide for me and my younger sister, Juliet. We moved from the farm to the town of Hazard in southern Nebraska, about sixty miles east of our former home near Stapleton. We couldn't sell the farm for over two years, and even then we took a loss on it. We ended up in a rented house on the outskirts of town. It was nothing like as nice as our old home, but it was all Mom could afford.

From the time my dad died until I was put in prison, I had chores to do. My sister did as well, since Mom was always working. If she wasn't working at the Five 'n Dime, she was taking in washing and ironing for a little extra cash. I don't think my mom had more than a few hours to herself in any one week. We never did go hungry or want for anything important, but none of us had what you'd call a social life.

Right from the beginning, when we moved to Hazard, I was thought of as being different. I'm not sure why, but I guessed it was because I didn't hang out with the other boys and I didn't participate in sports. I couldn't because I had to help Mom with the chores. I'd have loved to play baseball or football, but I never did have the time. I didn't even have time to stay around and watch the other kids play. So that's why they hung the loner tag on me. When I got older, some of the kids started to spread rumors about me being gay, or maybe have some kind of mental disease. The fact that I was one of the smartest kids in class didn't do anything to drive out those stories.

Sis used to gripe about having to do all the work and not having any fun, but I couldn't do that. I saw how hard my mom was working just to keep us fed and clothed and it just didn't seem right to complain. It wasn't until I was sixteen that Mom got a better job and made more money and both Sis and I had some free time. That's when I met Mary Simpson.

Mary was a farm girl too, from west of town. Her parents were real Bible thumpers and kept a tight rein on her. She wasn't allowed to date anyone at all. I guess we were drawn together because we were so much alike in that we were loners. Mary rode the bus from her home to school and so the only time I saw her was in class or at lunch in the cafeteria. She was really shy and it took me a while to get her to talk to me and then sit with me at lunch. Neither of us were what you'd call handsome or beautiful, but as far as I was concerned, Mary looked just fine to me. I guess she felt the same about me.

Mom had Dad's old Ford F-150 that she drove, and it was a big deal when she told me I could take driving lessons at the school and get my license. Since Mary wasn't allowed to date, I would drive to a place not far from her home and wait for her to come and meet me. We would drive off and do something together. Usually, we just walked along the river bank and talked about what we were going to do when school was done and we could be free to have our own life. In Nebraska, you were considered an adult when you were nineteen or when you were married. We talked about that a lot. We were both almost eighteen and seniors in high school, so we didn't have long to wait before Mary could be free from her parents. We talked a lot about what we would do then.

Mary and I hardly kissed, much less got involved sexually. We were both virgins and expected to remain that way until we were married. I was pretty sure she was the one for me and I got the feeling she felt I was the one for her. It was a good feeling after being without friends for most of my life. We shared our secrets, even though we didn't have very many. We shared our dreams, as crazy as they were at the time. We could see ourselves travelling the world and seeing all the sights we read about in our history books. Mary's parents didn't have a TV. They said it was the devil's instrument.

Early one Sunday morning I awoke to someone pounding on the door of our house. I was first up, so I went to the door and answered it. It was Sheriff Biggs. He was a big, angry-looking man with a red face, short gray hair, and about forty pounds of gut hanging out over his belt.

"You Ruel Carter?"

"Y-yes," I answered nervously, wondering what this was about.

"You know a Mary Simpson?" he snarled.

"Yes ... I know her. We're in the same class."

"Where were you on Friday night?" He wasn't wasting any effort trying to be pleasant.

"Uh ... I was out."

"Out where?"

"Uh ... down near Pleasanton. I was walking with Mary along the river."

"What time was that?"

"Uh ... about seven o'clock to maybe eight. Mary had to be in by eight."

"Did her parents know you were with her?"

"Uh ... no. Mary isn't supposed to be with any boys."

"So you decided that her parents' rules didn't apply to you, huh?"

"No ... I mean ... we just went for a walk. It's something Mary does all the time."

"When was the last time you saw her?" he demanded, edging his way into the house.

By this time, my mother and sister had awoken and were aware of the sheriff's presence.

"What's this about?" my mother asked.

"It's about a girl who's gone missing," the sheriff spat, not toning down his voice at all. "Your son was the last person to see her. I want some answers about what happened to her."

"Nothing happened to her," I said. "I left her by the river and went back to my truck and headed home. I swear, she was fine and waved goodbye to me just like she did every time."

"You better come with me, boy. You got some explaining to do."

"Are you arresting him?" my mother asked with a horrified look.

"Not yet, but he's wanted for questioning in the disappearance of Mary Simpson on Friday night."

"But ... he already told you, she was fine when he left her," my mother pleaded.

"Don't mean nothin'," he said. "Most killers don't confess right away."

"HE'S NOT A KILLER!" my mother screamed, signs of panic now setting in.

"We'll see about that. Right now, he's our prime suspect. You better get yourself a lawyer."

At that, the sheriff grabbed my arm and roughly twisted it behind my back. The next thing I knew, I was handcuffed and marched out to his patrol car and shoved into the back seat. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. I was innocent. Mary was happy and smiling when she walked toward her home on Friday night. What could have happened to her?

That was the beginning of a two year nightmare. On the advice of a family friend, Mom hired Calvin McDermott to defend me. He went over my story many times, but it never changed. It didn't need to. It was the truth. I was sure Calvin believed me, but he was worried about both the sheriff and the state prosecutor. Randall Bufflin was an ambitious and hard-nosed type from Lincoln, who was out to make a name for himself. He was a state prosecutor rather than the Sherman County prosecutor. Mr. McDermott explained that major crimes occurring in Nebraska were assigned to the state prosecutor, since anyone convicted would be sent to state prison.

"Based on disclosure," Calvin told me just before my trial started, "they have no evidence that you did anything. The witnesses they've called are various townsfolk and I want you to go over the names and tell me what you know about them."

He showed me the list of names and I didn't recognize many of them.

"I don't know if these people even live in Hazard. If they're from outside, I won't know any of them."

Calvin nodded. "One of them is the storekeeper where you used to park your truck when you went walking with Mary. What can he tell the court?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. We were real careful not to do anything that might get back to Mary's parents."

"Another is the lady who runs the post office. Do you know her?"

"Only when we pick up our mail or have to post something," I answered.

Mr. McDermott sat back and looked puzzled at the list of witnesses. He knew a couple of them by name and from an occasional contact, but none of them personally.

The trial was a nightmare within a nightmare. People came forth and said they'd seen Mary and me swimming naked in the river. That was a lie! Others said we used to sneak off for hours at a time. Another lie! Why were they lying? I could see Calvin was getting very frustrated. He was beginning to wonder what was going on. If I was telling the truth, why were these people lying about me?

When the prosecutor made his closing statement to the jury, he all but made me out to be a homicidal maniac. He said the evidence given in court was enough to convict me of murder, even though no body had been found. I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach listening to him talk about me like I was the lowest form of life on the planet.

Calvin did his best. He pointed out that there was no evidence to support the charges, and he had serious doubts about the veracity of some of the witnesses, since a couple of our defense witnesses could account for my whereabouts later Friday night and Saturday. He didn't raise his voice and he didn't make me out to be a saint. He simply told them that in a court of law, it was evidence that should be the determining factor in deciding guilt, and in the absence of evidence I should be found not guilty.

The judge gave his instructions to the jury. I could not be found guilty of first degree murder since there was no motive, no body nor any weapon produced at trial. I could not be found guilty of manslaughter for the same reason. Therefore, I could only be found guilty or not guilty of second degree murder. No other decision could be rendered.