Temperance, yet another farm, he saw another name. Horton Taylor. He was six. He had three sisters and a brother, and his father, John, had just one wife, Nancy. He scrolled back to look at Sarah's entry. Surely no coincidence? Perhaps Horton had lied about his age, too?
He checked the 1890 census. As he suspected, no Sarah, no Horton. It was all piecing together. By mid June they were in London. The Walker clan, like the rest of Temperance, seemed diminished and fractured. Orson Walker was there, though he lived in a new address with only one wife. Two of the other wives, including Annaleah, lived at separate addresses with a handful of children between them. The others had gone. He knew why: the Mormons officially renounced polygamy in 1890. The hierarchy had claimed God had spoken, though the US
government had also done so, threatening to outlaw the Church if it didn't abolish the practice outright. It appeared to have had a quick effect, Nigel noted dryly; the Walker clan was not the only one to have become more diffuse. Meanwhile, the Taylor clan had gone and Nigel was unable to trace them to another town.
He went outside, rolled himself a cigarette. He smoked thoughtfully, trying to work out where to go next. He had found them, he was sure. An Indian mother. The same first names, neither appearing on the 1890 census in any state, never mind Utah Territory. The ages did not tally, but they might have lied about those. He shook his head, marvelling at the ability of two teenagers to undertake such an epic journey.
He returned to the centre and continued working through the census. After 1890 there was no sign of Annaleah or any of her family, old or young, in Temperance, the whole of Utah or anywhere else in the United States. The same applied to 1910 and the two censuses thereafter -- the family had been erased from the records.
He entered both Sarah and Horton's names into the Family Search engine. As he expected, only their births were recorded.
He asked at the information counter if there were any other records. There was a database of Mormon pioneers, those who made the trek across the badlands to Utah between 1846 and 1868, or sailed from European shores to join this new faith. In the search field he entered the name of Orson Walker. There he was, born in Hartford, Washington, New York, in 1828. He clicked the name and was immediately presented with a page of biographical information. The son of Jared Walker and Charity Wheeler -- who died shortly after Orson's birth and was only baptized in 1963,13 5 years after her death - Orson became a Mormon at the same time as his father, in 1839, and was endowed -- a sort of initiation ceremony -- six years later in Nauvoo. The date of his death was left blank.
Nigel scrolled down the page. Each of Orson's seven wives were listed, the date of their marriage, together with the date they were 'sealed', united with each other and their children for eternity; unsealed marriages were dissolved at death.
Annaleah was there. She eventually had seven children.
Her date of birth was 1856. Her parents' names were listed as unknown, likewise her date of death. Sarah's date of birth was given and nothing else: 1876. There was more autobiographical information on her siblings, not least their date of death.
All but John, the eldest, were said to have died on the same day: 22 September 1890.
At first Nigel thought it might be a data input error, the wrong button pressed and the same date repeated. He scoured the details of the other 6 wives and 31 children of Orson Walker, the last of whom was born in 1889. Of the 42 members of the family, 18 of them were listed as dying on that autumn day. He asked but was assured the database was usually very accurate. What had happened?
He needed newspaper reports.
Every single issue of the Logan Leader (which became the Utah Journal, then the Logan Journal'and finally just The Journal in 1892) between 1879 and 1899 had been photographed and put online. Once again the energy and manpower the Latter-day Saints expended on making so much of history accessible staggered him. The nation's memory bank was being preserved and made available to all. Whatever their motives, Nigel could only applaud the results.
He went straight to 22 September 1890. By that time the newspaper was being published bi-weekly rather than weekly. He found the page and scrolled down through July and August. There was an edition on September 17th.
Another on the 20th.
The issue for Wednesday 24th was missing. The next edition also. He brought it to the attention of the staff.
Two or three gathered around and looked. Faces were pulled, heads scratched, an air of general bewilderment.
No one could come up with a reason. Nigel went outside, into the early winter gloaming, and called Donna Faugenot in Salt Lake City, a genealogist he'd never met but had often worked with, helping him out with snippets of research in the US and vice versa. He asked if she knew of any databases the Logan leadermight be on. She didn't.
Any chance she could pull the originals? Donna was a lone gun like himself but had a vast network of contacts and researchers she could call on across the USA. Leave it with me, she told him. Nigel went back in, scoured a few other indexes and databases without success. As he smoked another cigarette, by now plunged into darkness, he received a call from America.
Donna had a smoky voice and an unadorned turn of phrase he found highly appealing. From it, and the French surname, he had conjured an exotic image of her as a chain-smoking, straight-talking yet nonchalant blonde.
One day he might even find out.
'Jesus, Nigel,' she said, a whistle in her voice. What is in those damn newspaper reports?'
He laughed hesitantly. 'I have no idea. Why?'
Why? They're only locked away in probably the most secret, inaccessible place outside of Lincoln's tomb, that's why.'
'Really?'
You bet. From what you told me, I figured this was a Mormon thing. So I called the library in Salt Lake City.
They checked and got straight back to me. No, I can't see them. Then I phoned an inside contact at the library. He tells me the originals of those newspapers aren't in the usual place. They're in a vault where the Church keeps a lot of things that it doesn't want the outside world to see.'
Nigel was flummoxed. 'Is there anything I can do from here?'
Donna fell silent. 'I can send a guy up to Logan County to scout around. Ask some questions, I suppose. But as for getting those newspapers, unless you got some kind of official request you can present, and it better be pretty damn official, then you've as much chance of seeing those newspapers as I have of playing the Grand Ole Opry'
Well, I am working for the London Metropolitan Police and the newspapers could help save a fourteenyear-old girl's life and catch a killer.'
There was a pause. 'You're kidding, right?'
'No, actually, I'm being deadly serious.'
'Then you better get your sweet little Limey ass to Salt Lake City.' Another pause. 'And I better start practising the fiddle.'
7
Susie Danson sipped her coffee and looked through the papers spread out in front of her on Foster's desk. She had taken a few hours to look over the crime-scene photos and post mortem reports that Dave Alvin had forwarded on, while Foster had filled her in about the Mormon link.
'It appears I was wrong to believe this was all about sexual interest in Naomi,' she said, as she picked up the photos of the executed bodies of Martin Stamey and his son. 'There seems to be far more at play here.'
'It was the right call given the information we had then,'
Foster replied.
