Who Murdered Pauline Storment?

My name is Lance J. Gosnell, and ever since I began the journey to unravel the mystery surrounding the unsolved 1971 murder of my maternal grandfather’s cousin, Pauline Francis Storment, I’ve uncovered more than I ever imagined. One thought continues to haunt me: if the internet had existed back then, I believe—with chilling certainty—that her murder wouldn’t remain unsolved more than fifty years later.

During my research, I learned that Pauline once lived in Memphis with a roommate named Miss Iris Fletcher. In a 1971 interview with investigators, Iris revealed something unsettling: Pauline was “deathly afraid” of her ex-husband. Naturally, I had to know who this man was. Just when I was about to give up the search, I found it—a marriage certificate. Pauline had married a man named Charles Joseph Pate, originally from California. The deeper I dug into his background, the more I suspected he could have been involved in her death.

But then came the 99-page case file I obtained through a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request from the Arkansas State Police. According to their records, Pate had been ruled out as a suspect—apparently because he attended her funeral. Assuming those records are accurate—and many documents have vanished or been lost—this was considered sufficient to clear him. It’s worth noting, however, that her maiden name was misspelled on their marriage certificate, a small but telling detail.

Eventually, I located him. Charles Joseph Pate died in Mountain Home, Arkansas, on June 11, 2016. He had served as a U.S. Marine during Vietnam, earning several honors: the National Defense Service Medal, a Meritorious Mast, a Good Conduct Medal, and a Marksmanship Badge in Rifle. He was also an avid outdoors-man who loved hunting and fishing.

When I found a photograph of him, something about his face struck me—it looked familiar. That’s when it hit me: it resembled the composite sketch of Pauline’s suspected killer. I’m not claiming he was the man who murdered her, but I am saying there were enough troubling connections that investigators should have taken a closer look.

Here’s where it gets even stranger. In the 1980s, a fisherman on the Illinois River northwest of Fayetteville discovered a box at the bottom of the river. Inside was a knife. One officer remarked it looked like the type of knife that could have killed Pauline. That detail gains new weight when paired with what was found shortly after the murder—a butcher knife stuck in the ground, handle up, which tested positive for human blood. And yet, that knife—and much of the case’s physical evidence—has since been lost or destroyed. Gone.

Now, if this were the plot of a Hollywood thriller, I’d suggest a fellow officer—perhaps one who knew Pate—disposed of the evidence by tossing the murder weapon in the river. What if both knives were actually the same? It’s speculation, of course. But it’s not without reason. You see, Pate had ties to law enforcement—possibly at the county level—and reportedly handled a canine unit. That means he had access, power, and plausible deniability.

But surely, law enforcement would never protect one of their own… would they?

I must emphasize: there is no hard evidence linking Charles Joseph Pate to Pauline’s murder—only circumstantial, and not especially strong, at that. Yet one document stood out: the divorce certificate I found in the Tennessee State Archives, listing the reason for separation as “Cruel and Inhuman Treatment.”

We may never know. But we do know that the nature of the attack strongly suggests her killer knew her. Witness Joe Clifton reported that at first, her scream was faint—as if she were laughing or enjoying herself. Maybe that’s because she recognized the person approaching.

We also know she turned to face her attacker. The stab wounds were in her chest, her arm—evidence of defensive wounds—and her stomach. That last detail haunts me. Was it an accidental strike during the struggle, or was it deliberate? A rage-filled thrust?

We may never know the answers.