Chickenfeed (9 page)

The inspector felt sorry for the lad. He had no liking for the press either. ‘It’s not easy. What are these stains?’ he asked, pointing to the table.

‘Blood and guts,’ said Norman. ‘It’s where I pluck and pull my hens. Sometimes I joint them and take their heads off. It depends what the customer wants. There’s a fair amount of mess if I do a batch at a time.’

‘Where do you hang the birds?’

‘From a beam in one of the empty sheds.’ He looked up. ‘Sometimes from this beam.’

The inspector followed his gaze. ‘The one you keep your hats on?’

‘Yes. I move them to make room.’

‘How do you reach it?’

‘Stand on a chair.’

‘May I?’

Norman pushed a seat towards him. ‘Be my guest.’

The inspector hoisted himself up and looked along the beam. ‘It’s very clean. The upper beam’s dusty . . . but not this one.’

‘It’s harder to reach the top. If I stored anything up there, I wouldn’t be able to get it down.’

‘But why are there are no feathers, Mr Thorne? You seem to have done a splendid job of cleaning this place.’

‘I do my best. A chap shouldn’t let his standards go just because he lives alone.’

The inspector stepped down and replaced the chair under the table. ‘But you don’t feel the same about the outside? Your chicken runs look as if you’ve taken a plough to them.’

‘It’s the hens. They scratch for worms.’

The lad had an answer for everything, the inspector thought. He watched Norman closely as he asked his next question. ‘Why was Elsie walking along Blackness Road the day she went missing, Mr Thorne?’

Norman’s eyes widened slightly. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Two witnesses saw her at five-ten. They said she was heading here.’

‘It can’t have been Elsie.’

‘They recognized her from the photograph you gave us.’

‘Well, she never arrived,’ Norman said flatly. ‘I’ll swear on any Bible you like that I have not seen Elsie Cameron since the end of November.’

Blackness Road

December 31st

My darling Bessie,

It’s been so long since I saw you. I really hoped we could spend Christmas together. But things are getting better now. The reporters have gone and the police accept that Elsie never came here. I now wonder if she killed herself in secret somewhere. She always said she’d do it if I let her down.

She had a strange nature and not very kind parents. They forced her on me because they were bored with her moods. I should have listened to my father. But like you say, I was too young to know what I was doing.

Honour bright, darling, I have never felt for any girl as I do for you. I was drawn to Elsie out of loneliness. I’m drawn to you out of love. Dearest of pals, you keep me going through the dark hours. I hope it won’t be long before this nightmare is over and we can be together again.

Your own dear,

Groombridge Road

Crowborough

January 13th

Dear Norman,

Sorry not to have replied before but we’ve been busy at work. I don’t think we should see each other for a while. Dad doesn’t want me walking out with you until the police go away. People might gossip. I’ll write again when I can. Mum and Dad aren’t too keen, though.

With love,

Wesley Poultry Farm, Blackness Road – January 14th, 1925

A
SHADOW DARKENED THE
doorway of the shack. Norman looked up from Bessie’s letter to see a stranger standing there. Hastily, he used the sleeve of his jumper to wipe tears from his eyes. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

‘Chief Inspector Gillan of Scotland Yard, Mr Thorne. I’m here to arrest you.’

‘What for?’

‘Involvement in the disappearance of Miss Elsie Cameron. We have a warrant to dig up your property.’

Norman looked past him to where several policemen were leaning on spades. ‘What happened to the other inspector?’

‘Scotland Yard was called in a week ago. I’ve been running the case since your neighbour, Mrs Annie Price, gave evidence to Sussex police. She saw Miss Cameron walk through your gate at five-fifteen on the evening of December 5th.’

Norman knew Annie Price. She was one of Bessie’s despised curtain twitchers. A woman with nothing better to do in life than spy on her neighbours. ‘It wasn’t Elsie,’ he said.

The Chief Inspector stepped into the shack. ‘Then who was it, Mr Thorne?’ He read Bessie’s letter over Norman’s shoulder. ‘Miss Coldicott?’

‘It wasn’t anyone. I was here alone.’

Gillan put a hand under the young man’s arm and hauled him to his feet. ‘I’m betting Elsie’s somewhere in this ploughed field, Norman. But if I’m wrong, I’ll be the first to say sorry.’

Four hours later, Norman was asked to account for the contents of an Oxo-cube tin. Found under a pile of rubbish in his tool shed, the tin contained a broken wrist-watch, some cheap jewellery and a bracelet.

‘Do these belong to Elsie Cameron?’ Gillan asked him.

‘Yes . . . but it’s not what you think. She hid them there the last time she came.’

‘Why? They aren’t worth anything.’

The question threw Norman. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘She didn’t tell me why.’

At nine-thirty the next morning, Gillan showed him Elsie’s overnight case. It was sodden and filthy. ‘Do you recognize any of this?’ he asked, removing the baby’s frock, the two pairs of shoes, the wash bag and a pair of damaged spectacles.

Norman stared at the items.

‘The case was buried near your hut. We think these are Miss Cameron’s glasses. Who put them there?’

Norman didn’t answer.

‘If we find her body, you’ll be charged with murder. Do you understand that? And the penalty for murder is to be hanged by the neck until you’re dead. Is there anything you want to tell me that might save your life?’

Norman ran his tongue across dry lips. ‘No,’ he whispered.

Ten hours later, he changed his mind. At eight o’clock in the evening he asked to speak to Chief Inspector Gillan.

‘I didn’t kill Elsie,’ he told him, ‘but I know where her body is. It’s under the chicken run where the Leghorns are.’

‘Do you want to make a statement, Norman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I must remind you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.’

Sussex Constabulary

Statement given by Norman Thorne at 8.15 p.m. on January 15th, 1925

I was surprised when Elsie arrived at the farm on Friday, 5 December. It was shortly after five o’clock in the evening. She was in an angry mood. She calmed down when I gave her a cup of tea and some bread and butter. I asked her why she had come and where she planned to sleep.

She said she was going to sleep in the shack. And that she intended staying there until we were married. I told her she couldn’t do that and we had a bit of a row. At seven-thirty, I went to the Coshams to see if they could put her up for the night. They were out.

When I got back to the farm Elsie was in a bad temper. We had a row about Bessie Coldicott. Elsie cried because I’d been unfaithful. I cooked her a boiled egg to raise her spirits. She calmed down again until about nine-thirty when I told her I had to meet Bessie off the train.

Elsie tried to stop me going. She yelled at me and pulled me towards the bed. She said she wanted me to sleep with her. I refused and told her to go to bed on her own. She started sobbing. I could hear her as I went to the gate.

I walked Bessie and her mother home from the station then returned to the farm about half past eleven. The light was on in the shack. It was shining through the window. When I opened the door I saw Elsie hanging from the beam by a piece of washing-line cord. I couldn’t believe it. I cut the cord and laid her on the bed. She was dead. She had her frock off and her hair was down. I put out the light and lay on the table for about an hour.

I thought about going to Dr Turle and knocking up someone to call the police. Then I realized the position I was in. There were so many people who knew I didn’t want to marry Elsie. Who would believe I hadn’t killed her? The only thing I could think to do was bury her body and pretend I’d never seen her.

I got out my hacksaw and sawed off her legs and head by the glow of the fire. I did that because I thought smaller pieces would be easier to bury. I put her head in a biscuit tin and wrapped the rest in newspaper. I dug holes in the chicken run nearest the gate and put Elsie into them.

Then I burnt her clothes and cleaned the shack. I was afraid to tell the truth before. Elsie always said she’d kill herself if I let her down. But I never thought she’d do it.

Signed:

Crowborough police station – January 16th, 1925

C
HIEF
I
NSPECTOR
G
ILLAN FOLDED
his hands on the table. ‘What happened to the washing-line cord?’