Crippen: A Novel of Murder

  ‘Hawley.’

  ‘Again, Hawley, I do apologize for having to put you through that ordeal. And I appreciate your frankness with me. Let me assure you I will be as discreet about the matter as possible.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. I’ll see you soon then.’

  ‘Yes. Goodbye.’ He jumped into the waiting cab and drove off, waving a hand out the window as he left, as impressed with Hawley Crippen as he had ever been with any suspect in his career. Standing in the rain, however, watching him as he drove away, Hawley was less sure. ‘This,’ he muttered to himself as he turned around and made for home, ‘is all far from over.’

  Monday, 11 July

  It was three days before Inspector Dew was able to call back at 39 Hilldrop Crescent, and he had left it until the evening, not just because Dr Crippen had suggested that this was the best time to catch him at home, but because his own working day was over by then and he hoped to interest Hawley in a drink at the local pub. His life contained few friends and he believed that he might have discovered one in this pleasant fellow. It was totally unlike him to encourage a new friendship, but their conversation at lunch had energized him and stirred memories. In the intervening days he had set about putting the minds of his most recent tormentors at rest regarding the supposed disappearance of Cora Crippen, and for the first time in his career he did so without discovering any evidence to prove the suspect’s innocence first. To his irritation, the Police Commissioner, who had so insisted in the first place that he call around to investigate, scarcely seemed to remember the original query when he contacted him.

  ‘Crippen?’ he shouted down the phone. ‘What Crippen? What on earth are you talking about, Dew?’

  ‘Doctor Crippen,’ he replied. ‘You asked me to investigate the matter of his wife’s disappearance?’

  ‘I asked you? When did I? Have you gone mad?’

  ‘A few days ago,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Lord Smythson had spoken to you about it.’

  ‘Smythson? Oh yes, rings a bell somewhere,’ he grunted. ‘Well, what of it? Did he do it or didn’t he?’

  Dew laughed. ‘He’s no more guilty of murdering his wife than I am,’ he said. ‘He’s a perfectly pleasant man in fact. A few personal troubles, but nothing to push him to that extreme.’

  ‘And where’s the wife, then? Back home already, is she? Come to her senses?’

  ‘Not exactly, Commissioner. It seems she ran off with another fellow. He was a bit embarrassed about it, so he told everyone she’d died. Not clever, but not criminal either.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line; his colleague had not reached such an elevated position without some sleuthing abilities of his own. ‘He told you that, did he?’ he asked. ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Yes, I believed him,’ Dew replied.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I can read a man, Commissioner. I’ve been in this game long enough and I can promise you that Dr Crippen is absolutely innocent of any wrongdoing. He knows he’s made a stupid mistake and I gave him a good telling-off for it,’ he lied. ‘I don’t think he’ll be doing anything like that again.’

  ‘Right,’ said the commissioner, not entirely convinced. ‘Well, get on to that woman and let her know that everything’s all right, will you?’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘The Smythson woman. The one who started this whole thing off in the first place. Tell her we’ve investigated thoroughly and there’s no case to answer. Hopefully she’ll stop bothering us all then.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, irritated that he had to perform this task when it had been the Police Commissioner who had agreed to her request that he should investigate in the first place. He was about to suggest, humorously but hopefully, his idea of arresting her for wasting police time, but the line had already gone dead. He flicked through the small file he had created on Dr Crippen and picked up the phone again to call Mrs Louise Smythson.

  Hilldrop Crescent was a lot quieter than it had been the last time he’d seen it. The children were nowhere to be seen and the street outside Hawley Crippen’s home was almost deserted. He looked at the row of neat, terraced houses and wondered for a moment why his own life had not led him to a home like this.

  He paused at the window of number 39 and peered inside, and he was surprised to see the figure of a young boy in the distance, tidying up in the kitchen. He squinted his eyes for a better look, but it was difficult to make him out. Did Dr Crippen have a son he hadn’t mentioned? he wondered to himself, stepping up to the door and knocking.

  When it opened he was surprised, and a little embarrassed, to see that it was not a young man at all who had been inside, but a young woman with a slim, boyish build standing before him. She was wearing a pair of Hawley’s old trousers, their turn-ups rolled up, and they hung baggily on her, giving her an urchin-like appearance that Dew found strangely appealing. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ he said, doffing his hat and blushing a little at her strange appearance. ‘Sorry to disturb you. Inspector Walter Dew. Scotland Yard. Is Dr Crippen in, do you know?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. ‘He’s at his surgery tonight. Can I help you at all?’

  ‘Oh,’ Dew said, disappointed. ‘And you are . . . ?’

  ‘Ethel LeNeve,’ she replied, breaking into a wide smile that made him notice for the first time the scar above her lip. His policeman’s mind made him wonder where she had acquired it. A childhood accident? A violent father? An argumentative lover?

  ‘Oh, Miss LeNeve,’ he said, nodding. ‘Yes, of course. I’ve heard your name mentioned.’

  She cocked her head to one side in surprise and stared at him. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Might I ask where?’

  That had been less than tactful of him and he regretted it. He could hardly tell her that there were certain ladies in society who considered her to be a harlot and a thief; that would hardly be polite. For once he was lost for words, but she saved him by not waiting for an answer. ‘Perhaps we should go inside,’ she said. ‘Rather than talk in the street.’

  ‘Certainly,’ he agreed. ‘Thank you.’

  She ushered him into the living room where he had talked with Dr Crippen a few days before. He waited for her to sit down before taking the same seat he had used on that occasion.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive my appearance,’ she said, looking down at her manly clothes and more than aware of the dirt and perspiration on her face. ‘I decided to do some cleaning and borrowed some of Hawley’s old things. I must look a fright.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss LeNeve,’ he said. ‘On the contrary. Hard work never makes anyone look any the worse.’

  She smiled, put at ease by his manner. ‘Hawley told me you’d been to see him,’ she said after a brief silence, ready to set aside the small talk and get down to business. ‘Actually, he was quite taken with you, I think.’

  Dew felt pleased and encouraged that he did not have to hide the reason for his visit. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it. I must admit that in all my years in the force I never felt quite so foolish as I did when I understood the kind of man Dr Crippen is. I was only following instructions to follow up the lead, you understand.’

  ‘Of course. But might I ask—who suggested such a monstrous thing in the first place?’

  The inspector thought about it. Strictly speaking he should not tell her, but already he had developed an idea that he and the Crippen-LeNeves were going to become fast friends. He recalled the conversation he had endured with Mrs Louise Smythson over the phone and knew that he could barely tolerate her.

  ‘Innocent?’ she had cried, horrified when he told her the case against Dr Crippen was closed. ‘Hawley Crippen innocent? Presumably only in a language where “innocent” actually means “guilty.” For heaven’s sake, he killed her, Inspector Dew. As sure as eggs is eggs, he slit her throat from ear to ear and drank her blood. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mrs Smythson,’ he replied, part of
him trying to keep his temper in check, the other part trying not to laugh at her lurid fantasies. ‘I’ve spoken to Dr Crippen and he has assured me that—’

  ‘Oh please,’ she said interrupting him. ‘He’s assured you that he didn’t do it, so that’s an end to the matter, is that it? So tell me, Inspector, if you fellows ever manage to catch Jack the Ripper slashing up some poor tart, his arms dripping in blood, and he says, “honestly, it wasn’t me,” then you’ll set him free? Is that the way Scotland Yard conduct their business these days? Oh my! Maybe he is Jack the Ripper!’

  ‘Mrs Smythson, we have strict guidelines to follow when undertaking an investigation,’ Dew said. ‘Unfortunately I am not at liberty to outline them to you at this time. However, rest assured that I have spoken to Dr Crippen and have learned a little more about this case than you might currently know, and I am simply informing you that he has no charges to answer. Also, I think perhaps you are letting your imagination run away with you a little and that, I promise you, can be a dangerous thing.’

  ‘Inspector, from the day I met that man I knew there was something fishy about him. It’s in his eyes! The way he looks at you! It’s clear he can’t be trusted.’

  ‘Nevertheless—’

  ‘Ha!’ she said, exasperated with him and not a little disappointed that there was not going to be a more gruesome end to this tale.

  ‘Nevertheless, Mrs Smythson, if you require any further information, I suggest you talk to Dr Crippen himself and not to the police authorities.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ she said haughtily. ‘He’d probably come after me with a bread knife if he knew I’d been talking. Heavens!’ she added, startled. ‘You didn’t tell him, did you? You didn’t say it was I or Mrs Nash who came to see you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, wishing he had. ‘Such conversations as the ones that we have had are always kept strictly confidential. And when you went above my head and asked your brother-in-law to speak to one of my superiors, that’s kept confidential too, so you needn’t worry.’ He had thrown that in as a reprimand and to prove that there was solidarity of a sort among officers. ‘However, that’s an end to the matter now, once and for all.’

  ‘It’s an end to Cora Crippen,’ she said. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Inspector.’

  ‘I believe I have, Mrs Smythson. Now I must urge you to let the matter drop. Any spurious allegations on your part could lead to criminal proceedings.’

  ‘But that’s exactly what we’re looking for!’

  ‘Against you, Mrs Smythson. You can’t just go around accusing innocent people of murder whenever you feel like it. There are laws against slander, you know.’ There was a silence at the other end of the phone for a few moments and eventually he was forced to say ‘Hello?’ to discover whether she was still there or not. When she finally spoke, her voice was deep and angry.

  ‘I hope you’re not threatening me, Inspector Dew.’

  ‘Certainly not. I’m simply trying to help you by pointing out—’

  ‘You are aware who my brother-in-law is?’

  ‘Only too well. However, the facts are the facts and I’m afraid that’s all I can offer you now.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But when you find that you were wrong and I was right and that conniving miscreant is swinging at the end of a rope, perhaps you’ll see your way to offering me an apology. You’ve let me down once too often now, Inspector Dew.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he replied, exhausted. ‘And thank you for your interest, Mrs Smythson. Goodbye.’ He hung up promptly, stepping away from the phone lest it jump up and bite him.

  ‘Let’s just say,’ said Inspector Dew, choosing his words carefully, ‘that certain members of Cora Crippen’s circle of friends disapprove of Dr Crippen.’

  Ethel smiled. ‘I thought so,’ she said. ‘I said as much to Hawley. I said it would be someone from that chattering bunch of idle women. Nothing else to do, so they make up ridiculous allegations and waste everyone’s time pursuing them.’

  ‘Obviously it would be wrong of me to say that I agree heartily with every word you say,’ he replied with a smile, ‘so I won’t say so.’

  Ethel laughed and looked down at the table, chipping away a small candle-wax smudge with the nail of her finger. ‘I think we understand each other, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  He shook his head. ‘I won’t stay long,’ he said. ‘What time do you expect Dr Crippen home?’

  ‘Any time now,’ she said, checking her watch. ‘Oh, do stay. I know he’d be sorry to have missed you.’

  ‘Perhaps a few more minutes,’ he said. He licked his lips and wondered whether it would be forward of him to ask the question which was hovering around in his mind. He decided in favour of it; after all, they were getting along well and she appeared to have nothing to hide. ‘Tell me it’s none of my business if you like,’ he began, ‘but what exactly is your position in this household?’

  ‘My position?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, feeling himself begin to blush a little at the personal nature of the question. ‘Have you been helping Dr Crippen keep his house in order since his wife left him?’

  She thought about it and decided on honesty. ‘Hawley and I have worked together for many years,’ she explained. ‘At Munyon’s, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’

  ‘I was his assistant there, you see. Well, I still am in point of fact. And we’ve become fast friends. And since Cora left, well, it’s true that we’ve built on that friendship.’

  ‘You’re living here then?’

  ‘I care for him very much, Inspector.’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have suggested otherwise.’

  ‘I think I can make him happy,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘And he can do the same for me. Although, considering the relationship he’s just got out of, it wouldn’t take much to be an improvement.’

  Dew raised an eyebrow. ‘You knew Cora Crippen well then?’ he asked.

  ‘Not very well,’ she replied, regretting her last comment. ‘But well enough. Well enough to know that she was the devil’s own hound. And that she was only put on this earth to make poor Hawley’s life a living nightmare.’ Inspector Dew nodded and pursed his lips. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I know it sounds as though I’m going too far and becoming melodramatic, but you didn’t know her. She made his life a misery. Every moment of every day she mistreated him.’

  ‘He seemed quite fond of her when he spoke to me,’ Dew said doubtfully.

  ‘Well, that’s Hawley for you,’ she explained. ‘He won’t be rude about her to anyone, not even to me. He’s that kind of a man. The old school. No matter what she did, he forgave her. She cheated on him, she insulted him, she beat him—’

  ‘She beat him?’

  ‘Many times. I saw the scars myself. On one occasion I was sure he needed stitches on his face, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It took months for the wound to heal properly. Oh, this is him now, I think,’ she added, straining her neck to see out of the window and spying Hawley walking down the street towards them.

  Dew shook his head. ‘I hadn’t realized,’ he said. ‘He had confided in me something about her . . . infidelities, but nothing about the violence.’

  ‘Of course if we want to be Christian,’ said Ethel, ‘we could suggest that there was something wrong in her head, something that made her behave like that despite herself. But I’m not sure I do want to be Christian, Inspector. Does that make me sound hard?’

  ‘You care about him,’ he said. ‘It’s understandable.’

  ‘The truth is, I don’t believe that it’s the case anyway,’ she said. ‘I think she was just so frustrated in life that her only way to survive it was to cause misery for someone else. All she wanted was to be a star, you see. A singing sensation, as she kept telling everyone. Her biggest ambition in life was to see her name splashed across the front pages of the newspapers. To go down in history. To
have people write books about her. She was deluded.’

  ‘And you don’t believe it will ever happen.’

  ‘Of course not, Inspector. She was a second-rate talent. She could hold a tune, but I can draw a little. It doesn’t make me Monet.’

  Dew laughed and looked around, wondering why the front door had not opened yet. ‘He’s on his way?’ he asked.

  Ethel looked out through the window again, but she couldn’t see her lover anywhere in the street. ‘Oh!’ she said, a little surprised. ‘I was sure I saw him. I must have been mistaken. But please do wait, Inspector. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.’

  He glanced at his watch and shook his head. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you tell him from me that I’ll call around again on Wednesday evening. Say about eight o’clock? If he could be in then, I’d appreciate it.’

  He stood up and reached for his hat, and she walked ahead of him to the door. ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure he’s here. He’ll be very sorry he missed you.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘But if he could be here then, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He walked down the steps and was about to step out into the street when she stopped him. ‘Inspector?’ she called, and he looked back at her, waiting for her to continue. ‘You do see it, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘You see what a good man he is? What a gentle man? It’s not just me, I mean.’

  He thought about it and envied Hawley the love of this woman. Hesitating for only a moment, he smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, Miss LeNeve,’ he said. ‘Yes, I believe I do.’

  She smiled now, relieved, and stepped back into the house, closing the door behind her. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She considered returning to the garden but it was getting late now and she was feeling too tired to work, so she went upstairs to change instead.

  Within five minutes she heard the front door open and stepped out on to the landing. ‘Hawley,’ she said, delighted to see him. ‘You’ve just missed our visitor.’