Thunderstruck (51 page)

On September 20, 1932, he killed himself by slashing his own throat.

M
YSTERY LINGERED AROUND THE
C
RIPPEN
case like tulle fog at a cemetery. An editor for the magazine
John Bull
addressed an open letter to Crippen shortly before his execution in which he asked, “Was it
your
hand which did the deed, and was it your hand
alone
which sought to destroy all traces of the tragedy?” He did not believe it possible. “Tell me,” he wrote, “by what superhuman strength was the body of a heavy woman carried down below? Did you alone do that, and, in addition, dig the floor, remove the clay, cover up, rebrick and make good—you, a little, half-blind, elderly, weak and timid man? And, including the butchery, all in twenty-four hours!”

John Bull’s
scenario did challenge the imagination. It presupposed that Crippen killed Belle somewhere upstairs, then dragged her down to the basement. The evidence at the grave certainly suggested that at one point or another dragging occurred. There were pieces of cord and a man’s handkerchief that had been tied tightly to form a loop. The handkerchief could have been secured around Belle’s neck, the cord then attached to it to form a convenient handle for towing—at least, that is, until the handkerchief became torn.

But maybe Crippen never dragged Belle’s
entire
corpse down to the basement. The remains of pajamas and a camisole suggest she was in nightclothes at the time of her death. Perhaps he killed her upstairs. He gave her poison, maybe in an evening brandy, and when she became disoriented, he led her to the upstairs bathroom. There, perhaps, she began to make far more noise than he had anticipated. It is possible he shot her, as the reports from neighbors suggested—though again such belated accounts must be treated with skepticism. More likely he strangled her. He tied his handkerchief tightly around her neck. She struggled but began to lose consciousness. She fell. Using all his strength, Crippen levered her body into the bathtub. He severed both her carotid arteries and waited as her body drained of blood. The tub provided an operating theater within which the gore could be contained and rinsed. He would not have risked leaving a trail of blood as he carried Belle’s head, hands, feet, and bones to the Regent’s Canal or the Cattle Market or some other suitable point of disposal. He brought the rest of Belle to the cellar in fragments.

There are problems with this theory as well. If Crippen had conducted his evisceration under such well-lit and controlled conditions, surely he would have recognized that he had left important pieces of evidence in the debris—the Hinde’s curlers, complete with strands of hair; the portions of pajama top; the camisole; the knotted handkerchief. Their presence in the remains suggests he worked under conditions far less ideal than the bathroom afforded, and that he overlooked them because they were masked by blood and viscera and darkness. As Belle lay dead, upstairs or down, he dug the grave in the cellar, planning to rely on the earthen walls of the excavation to contain the blood. He dragged her to the grave and then began his surgery. The light was not good. Blood coated everything. He pulled from the remains Belle’s head and the other portions that he hoped to get rid of, then rinsed them in the sink of the adjacent kitchen. He wrapped them carefully in oiled canvas or a raincoat and left them in the cellar, where he could be reasonably certain Ethel would not go. Over the next few nights, in installments, he carried off the head, bones, hands, and feet.

The most important question is how a man so mild and kind-hearted could resort to murder in the first place. One theory, put forth by a prominent jurist of the day, proposed that Crippen killed Belle by accident—that he deployed hyoscine merely to sedate her in order to buy himself a night of peace but miscalculated the dose. This seems improbable. Crippen knew the properties of hyoscine and knew how little of it would constitute a fatal dose. How much he actually gave her can never be known, but those familiar with the case believed he administered all five grains.

That Crippen intended to kill her cannot be doubted. What remains, then, is the likely reality that he had come to loathe Belle so completely, and to need Ethel so deeply, that when Belle lit into him for the minor infraction of failing to show Paul Martinetti to the bathroom, something in his soul fractured. Aided by gravity, he dragged Belle’s corpse to the basement and in an adrenaline-powered fugue set out to remove her from the world as utterly as if she had never existed. One of the three barristers assigned to his prosecution, Travers Humphreys, later wrote, “I never looked upon Crippen as a great criminal. He made a bad mistake and paid the penalty which Society provides for those who commit the crime of which he was rightly convicted, but in another country he would I feel sure have been given the benefit of ‘extenuating circumstances.’”

As to whether he had help, no one can ever know. Ethel’s jury accepted without quarrel her defense that she knew nothing of the killing. And yet there were aspects of Ethel that abraded the popular image of her as an unwitting and lovestruck companion. She wrote with sophistication. She was daring and craved adventure. Richard D. Muir, who led her prosecution as well as Crippen’s, seemed to have his doubts about her innocence. He wrote later, “Full justice has not yet been done.”

The missing portions of Belle’s body were never found, though Scotland Yard spent a good deal of time looking. Detectives probed Regent’s Canal where it passed through Regent’s Park. A London “sewerman” named Edward Hopper came forward and recommended that detectives examine the “intercepter” on the sewer line that drained waste from Nos. 38 and 39 Hilldrop Crescent. “We carefully examined a quantity of dirt and rubbish which was in the intercepter, but could not find any trace of flesh or bones,” wrote the detective in charge, one Sergeant Cornish.

Prior experience had taught Scotland Yard that English murderers had a predilection for stuffing bodies into trunks and leaving them at train stations, so the CID asked the managers of every station in London and its suburbs to check their cloakrooms for parcels and luggage left unclaimed since early February. They found mysterious boxes and suitcases of all sizes, including a trunk with three padlocks at the Cambridge Heath Station of the Great Eastern Railway. Police opened some of the abandoned cargo, but in most cases a simple external examination sufficed. Sergeant Cornish, in charge here as well, concluded his report, “There is no bad smell attached to any of the packages, all of which we are quite satisfied contain household effects and wearing apparel.”

The women of the Ladies’ Guild took custody of Belle’s remains from the Islington Mortuary Chapel of Ease. The Public Health Department was glad to see them go, judging them “likely to cause a serious nuisance.” At precisely 3:15 on October 11, 1910, a small cortege consisting of a horse-drawn hearse and three mourning coaches set off on a slow, sad drive across the top of London to the St. Pancras Cemetery in East Finchley. Soon afterward the ladies of the guild watched as a coffin bearing their old friend was set into the earth. The police were on hand to make sure spectators did not disrupt or crowd the service, and they reported that everything “passed off quietly.”

C
HIEF
I
NSPECTOR
D
EW
saw the Crippen case as a fitting point at which to retire. His career as a detective had begun with a crime involving mutilation and murder, and now it ended with one. He felt great sympathy for Crippen and Le Neve. He wrote, “Dr. Crippen’s love for the girl, for whom he had risked so much, was the biggest thing in his whole life.”

He retired to a cottage called the Wee Hoose and in 1938 published a memoir,
I Caught Crippen,
in which he described the case as “the most intriguing murder mystery of the century.” He dedicated the book to his son, Stanley, killed during World War I, and to his three daughters, one of whom happened to be named Ethel.

He died at his cottage on December 16, 1947.

C
APTAIN
K
ENDALL RECEIVED
the £250 reward from the Home Office but never cashed the check. He had it framed instead.

The great chase made Kendall a world celebrity and a star within the Canadian Pacific Railway. He rose quickly within the company and became captain of the
Empress of Ireland,
the ship aboard which he previously had been first officer and that once had taken Marconi and Beatrice to Nova Scotia. Just before two in the morning, on May 29, 1914, in almost the same location where Dew had boarded the
Montrose,
a Norwegian freighter rammed the
Empress
in the midst of a thick, sudden fog. The freighter backed away and remained afloat. The
Empress
sank in fourteen minutes, at a cost of 1,012 lives. Kendall was thrown from the bridge into the water when the ship suddenly rolled onto its side. He survived.

The toll would have been higher if not for the presence of mind of Ronald Ferguson, the
Empress
’s senior Marconi officer, who managed to send a distress call before the ship’s power failed.

An inquiry absolved Kendall of blame, but the railway assigned him a desk job in Antwerp. This, however, did not long shelter him from adventure. He was there when World War I began. As the Germans raced to seize Antwerp, Kendall commandeered his old ship, the
Montrose,
and filled it and a sister ship with Belgian refugees, then used the
Montrose
to tow the latter to safety in Britain. He joined the Royal Navy and was given command of a ship, only to have it sunk by torpedo. After the war he spent another twenty years working for Canadian Pacific, again at a desk.

During the war, the Admiralty bought the
Montrose
and moored it at the entrance to Dover harbor as a guardship, but a storm tore it loose, drove it from the harbor, and destroyed it on the Goodwin Sands, where George Kemp had spent so many harrowing nights aboard the East Goodwin lightship. The
Montrose
did not go gently. One mast remained in view until June 22, 1963, when yachtsmen suddenly realized the old ship had left them at last.

Two years later the old captain left as well.