Chickenfeed (10 page)

‘I burnt it with her clothes.’

‘Why did you do that? Why did you keep her jewellery?’

Norman ground his knuckles into his eyes. ‘I moved all her things on to the bed when I cut her up . . . then forgot about them. She was completely naked . . . nothing on at all.’ He took a breath. ‘I found her stuff when I started to clean up . . . but I was too tired to dig any more holes by then. It was simpler to throw her clothes on the fire and hide her jewellery in the tool shed.’

‘You buried her suitcase.’

‘I didn’t want to burn the baby’s dress. It didn’t seem right.’

Gillan offered him a cigarette. ‘The post-mortem showed she wasn’t pregnant. You were telling the truth about that at least.’

‘I know.’

‘But you’re lying about everything else, Norman. She didn’t hang herself. There were no rope marks on her neck. And there’s no sign that a body ever swung from your beams. They’re made of soft pine. There should be a groove where the cord bit into the wood.’

‘I can only tell you what I found.’

‘Then explain how her watch and glasses came to be broken.’

‘Maybe she broke them herself. She was very het up.’

‘Not good enough.’

‘Maybe I broke them when I lay on the table. Maybe she stood on them after she took them off.’ Norman dropped his head into his hands. ‘She was blind as a bat . . . but she thought she looked better without them.’

‘Did she?’

‘No.’

Gillan ran his finger down a piece of paper in front of him. ‘The body was in good condition because the weather was cold and you buried it the same night. The post-mortem found bruises on Elsie’s face. Did you punch her?’

‘Of course not. I never hit Elsie.’

‘You had an argument with her.’

‘But I didn’t
hit
her, Mr Gillan. I wouldn’t have told you about the row if I had. She went down like a sack of potatoes when I cut the cord. I was standing on a chair, and there was no way I could support her weight. I think her head knocked against the chest of drawers. Would that have caused bruises?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not an expert.’ The Scotland Yard man moved his finger down a line. ‘According to this, she died two hours after eating a light meal.’

Norman leaned forward eagerly. ‘Then that proves I didn’t kill her. She was alive when I left the shack at nine-thirty.’

‘There’s only your word for that.’

‘Except we didn’t have supper till after eight-thirty. First, I went to the Coshams and then we had a row about Bessie before I started cooking.’

‘But there are no witnesses to any of this, Norman. The Coshams were out and you and Elsie were alone.’

‘How would I know the Coshams were out if I didn’t go there?’

Gillan shrugged. ‘It was a month before you made your statement. Anyone could have told you.’

Norman wiped his palms nervously down his trousers. ‘But if she didn’t hang herself . . . and I didn’t hit her . . . then how does the postmortem say I killed her?’

Gillan took his time about replying. This was the one bit that troubled him. ‘It says she died from shock.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Her nervous system failed. Her heart stopped and she collapsed.’

Norman stared at him. ‘Does that mean her nerves killed her? How could that happen? She was always giving in to them . . . but she never came close to dying before.’

‘It depends what you did to her. This report suggests you punched her several times in the face then left her to die. If you hadn’t . . . if you’d stayed with her and brought her some help . . . then I wouldn’t be charging you with murder.’

‘But I didn’t do anything, Mr Gillan. You have to believe that. It happened the way I said in my statement.’

Gillan pushed back his chair. ‘Then you shouldn’t have taken her head off. It’s easier to see rope marks when the neck’s intact.’ He stood up. ‘You treated that poor girl with no more respect than you show a dead chicken. And policemen don’t like that, Norman.’

His Majesty’s Prison, Lewes – March 3rd, 1925

A
S
N
ORMAN’S TRIAL APPROACHED
three months later, his defence team became worried about his state of mind. He was putting his faith in God and seemed unaware that the weight of the evidence was against him. Sir Bernard Spilsbury, England’s most famous pathologist, had carried out the post-mortem. And Spilsbury had come down firmly in favour of murder.

The chief medical expert for the defence was Dr Robert Brontë. He had performed a second post-mortem and was willing to say he’d found rope marks on Elsie’s neck. He would also argue that ‘death by shock’ should not result in a murder conviction. There was no evidence that Elsie’s death was intended. Nor that a collapse could have been predicted.

But Dr Brontë enjoyed none of Spilsbury’s fame and the jury was less likely to believe him. Spilsbury had been the crown expert witness on every famous murder trial since 1910. His word alone could swing a jury.

The defence team felt that only Norman’s father could make him understand how serious his position was. To this end, Mr Thorne was given leave to speak to his son in Lewes Prison the day before the trial. He was shown to a room on the ground floor of the remand wing.

‘Bearing up all right?’ he asked when Norman was brought in.

They shook hands. ‘Pretty much. It’s good to see you, Dad.’

He looked so young, thought Mr Thorne. Just a boy still. ‘Sit down, son. Your barrister, Mr Cassels, has asked me to talk to you about the trial. We’re all praying for a not guilty verdict, but—’ He broke off. How could he tell his only child that he might hang?

Norman reached across the table and gently stroked his father’s hand. ‘But the jury might believe this Spilsbury fellow?’

Mr Thorne nodded.

‘Mr Cassels says they have to prove I
meant
to kill Elsie. But how can they do that if she died of shock? You can’t
frighten
someone to death.’

‘Spilsbury will argue that the bruises on her face show you hit her . . . and that her watch and glasses were broken during the attack. If she was in a bad way when you left her to meet Bessie, then the jury might feel you meant her to die.’

‘What about the rope marks that Dr Brontë found?’

Mr Thorne sighed. ‘It’s only his opinion, Norman. Spilsbury will say there were no rope marks.’

‘But there
were
, Dad. I saw them when I cut the cord away from Elsie’s neck. I just don’t understand why they can’t tell she died from hanging. Doesn’t it show in your lungs if you can’t breathe?’

‘She may never have intended to kill herself. According to Dr Brontë, just drawing a noose round your neck can cause shock.’

‘That’s what Mr Cassels said. But I don’t understand why.’

‘It’s something called the vagal reflex. Some people are extremely sensitive to pressure on their necks. There’s a case of a woman who died within three seconds of her lover’s hand caressing her throat.’

‘But I found Elsie hanging, Dad. She
meant
to do it.’

‘Perhaps not. Perhaps it was a little piece of drama that went wrong.’

Norman shook his head. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘Dr Brontë thinks she was planning to frighten you. If she had the noose ready for when you came home . . . then stood on the chair when she heard the gate open—’ Mr Thorne broke off on another sigh. ‘Death by vagal reflex would have caused her to fall forward. That’s why you found her hanging.’

Norman stared. ‘Are you saying it was an accident?’

His father nodded. ‘It could have been. Which is why there were no marks on the beam. She wasn’t there long enough. Not if you cut her down as soon as you found her.’

‘I did,’ Norman said with sudden excitement. ‘Will the jury believe me? Will they believe Dr Brontë?’

‘Maybe . . . if we can prove she used threats of suicide to get her own way. We can certainly prove she was no stranger to play-acting. She told everyone she was pregnant. Even bought a baby’s dress to keep up the pretence.’

‘I
told
you she was lying, Dad. Her parents should have put her in a hospital. She wasn’t right in the head. She needed help.’

‘Two of her co-workers will say that in court, but whether anyone will believe them—’ Mr Thorne lapsed into a brief silence. ‘You should have gone to the police when you found her, Norman. Why didn’t you?’

His son’s eyes grew bleak. ‘Because they wouldn’t have believed me. They don’t believe me now.’

‘They might have done. It was cutting her up that makes people think you’re a murderer. Elsie deserved better, Norman.’

A shudder ran through the boy’s frame.

‘What made you do it?’

Tears wet Norman’s lashes. ‘It didn’t seem so bad. She was just another dead thing. I reckon you shut down your feelings when you have to kill chickens all the time. Will the jury understand that, Dad?’

‘No, son,’ said Mr Thorne sadly. ‘I don’t think they will.’

Chickenfeed
is based on the true story of the ‘Chicken Farm Murder’, which took place in Blackness Road, Crowborough, East Sussex, in December 1924.

N
ORMAN
T
HORNE WAS FOUND
guilty of the murder of Elsie Cameron on March 16th, 1925. He was sentenced to death by hanging. The date of his execution was fixed for April 22nd. By strange chance, this would have been Elsie’s twenty-seventh birthday had she lived.

Public concern was expressed about the verdict. There were many who felt the trial had failed to prove ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ that Norman had caused, or meant to cause, Elsie’s death. Even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – the creator of Sherlock Holmes – was moved to ask questions.

It came to nothing. Norman’s appeal against his conviction and sentence was rejected. The night before his hanging, he wrote to his father. It was a letter full of hope.

There will be a flash and all will be finished. No, not finished, just starting for I go to God. I’ll wait for you just as others are waiting for me. I am free from sin. With all my love . . .

I
T INTERESTS ME THAT
Norman Thorne never confessed to killing Elsie Cameron. Not even on the gallows. To the end, he swore he found her hanging in his shack. This doesn’t prove he was innocent. But for a young man who believed in God, it was a dangerous gamble to take if he was guilty. Norman knew that a sinner must repent if he wanted to go to heaven.

I believe the truth is what I’ve suggested in this story. Elsie planned to frighten Norman when he came home by standing on a chair with a noose round her neck. But her cry for attention went wrong. Perhaps the cold made her clumsy. Perhaps she pulled the noose too tight by accident.

In some people, the vagal or carotid reflex kills rapidly. Compressing the nerves and arteries in the neck causes the brain to shut down and the heart to stop. This form of ‘accidental’ death can occur during solo sex acts when a noose is used to enhance orgasm. Victims – usually men – tend to be recorded as ‘suicides’ to avoid upsetting their families. However, the best-known use of reflex blackout is when Mr Spock presses his fingers to a person’s neck in
Star Trek
. Even though
Star Trek
is fictional, the principle is the same.