Free Chickenfeed by Minette Walters

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