London: 31 January, 1910
On the night of 31 January, 1910, Cora Crippen dressed for the last time and looked at her reflection in the mirror miserably. The dress she was wearing was over two years old; it had been a birthday present from Hawley and she had quite liked it at the time, but now it seemed dated and overly familiar. ‘Why do I always have to wear the same things?’ she asked herself. ‘Why can’t Hawley provide for me like other husbands do for their wives?’ It was a continuing sore point with her, despite the fact that she had amassed a considerable amount of savings of her own. However, she simply refused to spend this money on herself, preferring to indulge her gentlemen friends instead. It was Hawley’s job, she believed, to pay for the things she needed. Cora was convinced that Louise Smythson would notice how often she had worn this particular dress in the past and would despise her for it. She had often heard the woman make unflattering comments behind the backs of other women when they were seen in the same outfit one time too many and she had joined her in mocking them. Although she felt in her heart that she was superior to Louise in every way—she had never had to work behind the bar of a public house, for example—she could not argue with the fact that Louise was married to a member of the aristocracy, while her own husband was a mere part-time dentist and shop assistant.
Her friendship with Louise had been suffering recently, and she was aware that she was being pushed further and further outside the other woman’s social circle. Many of the ladies had begun to consider her coarse and affected, looking at her contemptuously and making it clear that they were disappointed in her constant inability to improve herself. Of course she had brought a lot of this on her own head by her behaviour in recent times. Two weeks before, she had attended a recital by the famous pianist Leopold Godowsky at the Music Hall Ladies’ Guild; she had drunk too much wine and had fallen asleep during the performance, snoring so loudly that one of the elderly members had poked her in the back with a jewel-encrusted finger and shushed her loudly. A week after that, at one of their regular cocktail evenings, she had once again become inebriated and had flirted with a young waiter, who was eventually forced to inform her, in front of a crowd, that he was recently married and was not at all interested in her attentions, eliciting embarrassment for her and admiration for him.
Since then, the invitations to tea had dried up and her presence at Guild meetings had become more and more awkward. She was aware that Nicholas Smythson was having a birthday dinner soon, and even more aware of the fact that no invitation had arrived for her. If she was not careful, she would be evicted from the Music Hall Ladies’ Guild altogether, and then where would she be? At home with Hawley, that’s where.
In the light of these events, she had invited the Smythsons over for a bridge night, despite the fact that she didn’t particularly want another night alone with them. As Mrs Louise Smythson had been her sponsor when she had originally been accepted into the Music Hall Ladies’ Guild, it was up to Cora to impress her once again with a display of exemplary behaviour, hence the invitation to Hilldrop Crescent for the evening.
‘They’re such an awkward couple,’ Nicholas complained as they approached the house. ‘Every time we see them, they end up having an argument. It’s highly embarrassing.’
‘Of course it is, darling,’ Mrs Louise Smythson agreed. ‘But it’s almost impossible to say “No” to the woman. She does insist so. Between you and I, I think she is going to be eased out of our group quite soon.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘But don’t say anything about it to anyone. Margaret Nash and I have been talking, and some of the others too, and we think she’s just too crude.’
‘Well, you were the one who invited her into your society in the first place, my dear. You have only yourself to blame.’
‘I invited her in when I thought she really was somebody. She made so many extravagant claims. But it was a miscalculation on my part. Clearly the woman is mad. She has delusions of grandeur which she will never achieve. This nonsense about her being a singer, for example. She’s always just about to gain international stardom, and does it ever happen? No. It’s ridiculous. She told me once that she was going to be singing at Buckingham Palace in front of the Queen. Sheer fantasy on her part. No, I’m afraid the time has come to remove Cora Crippen and her dull husband from our lives for good. I promise this will be the last evening like this.’
‘So why are we going there tonight, then?’ Nicholas asked irritably. ‘Why couldn’t the new policy have begun yesterday?’
‘Because it takes time, Nicholas, that’s why. Only two ladies have ever been expelled from the Guild before, and their behaviour was just as bad. Obviously, we can’t just throw someone out without a reason, however. It has to come through the medium of suggestion. But I can be a lot more subtle than you realize. I intend to begin by not inviting her to your birthday dinner next weekend, which she knows is taking place, and she has been hanging out for an invitation to it. I believe that’s what this card evening is all about, if I’m to be honest with myself. She’s hoping I’ll reciprocate, which I will not do. Why, she’d probably get drunk and try to seduce Alfred.’
‘My dear, he’s just a child.’
‘You haven’t heard the stories I have heard, Nicholas,’ she replied knowingly. ‘Just watch. She’ll spend all night desperately trying to get back into my good books.’
Nicholas nodded. He didn’t care much whether she came to his birthday dinner or not. He was immune to the charms of most of his wife’s friends and had little interest in socializing with them. If they were there, fine. If not, well that was fine, too. Usually he spoke only to the husbands anyway. Not that Hawley Crippen was much of a conversationalist. Damn fool hardly ever opened his mouth unless you asked him a direct question, and even then he was always knocked down by that wife of his. Nicholas couldn’t understand a man letting himself be pushed around in that way.
‘Don’t slouch like that when you’re walking, Nicholas,’ Louise chided. ‘You’ll get a hunchback if you’re not careful.’
‘Cora, how lovely to see you,’ Louise said when they arrived, kissing her on the cheek as they stepped inside. She gave a quick glance at Cora’s dress and raised an eyebrow but said nothing; her hostess caught the look, however, and cursed her husband again for not buying her a new gown.
‘Louise,’ she said. ‘Nicholas. I’m so glad you could make it. Hawley and I were just saying that we don’t see enough of each other any more.’
‘Really?’ Louise asked, looking at Hawley, who chose neither to confirm nor to deny the allegation. ‘Well, we’re all so busy, I expect.’
Cora took their coats and they went to the living room, where she had laid out some snacks and drinks. They settled down for a game of bridge but the cards were a mere background to their conversation, which was awkward from the start.
‘Where’s that handsome boy who used to live with you?’ Louise asked. ‘What was his name again? Your lodger?’
‘Alec Heath,’ Hawley said quietly, not looking up from his cards.
‘Yes, that’s the one. Whatever happened to him? Did he move out?’
‘He’s gone to Mexico,’ Cora explained. ‘Andrew Nash gave him a job out there.’
‘He didn’t!’ she exclaimed, surprised. ‘I didn’t know they knew each other.’
‘Well, they didn’t really,’ Cora said. ‘They only met here on a single occasion, but they talked about Andrew’s work over there, and a few days later Alec went to see him and offered himself for a position in his plant. They must have hit it off somehow, because before I knew it he was packing his bags and off he went. We haven’t seen or heard from him since, have we, Hawley?’
‘No,’ he said. Naturally, he had been pleased when Alec had left Hilldrop Crescent; although the lodger had seduced his wife, he had not felt the strength to confront him about it, nor had he ever raised the matter with Cora. And despite the fact that there was no question of intimacy between Hawley and Cora any more, he could not stand the idea of her being with another man. It raised his levels of humiliation even further when he was cuckolded by a mere boy. Cora, however, had no shame about the incident. She had tried neither to explain it nor apologize for it. In fact, she looked back to her afternoons with Alec Heath as some of the most pleasurable of her life.
‘He was so useful to have around the house,’ she said, refusing to let the matter drop, enjoying the fact that this conversation strand was probably annoying Hawley intensely. ‘He was always ready to help me out when I needed something.’
‘Indeed,’ said Louise.
‘Naturally, being younger, he was able to attend to some things that Hawley wasn’t. Isn’t that right, darling?’ He shot her a look of contempt but she was enjoying her double entendres and wasn’t ready to finish yet. ‘He managed to take care of things around this house that hadn’t been seen to for years. Cleared out a lot of cobwebs, so to speak. I must admit I miss him.’
‘My wife finds my company infinitely less stimulating than that of her younger friends,’ Hawley said quietly.
Nicholas Smythson shifted uncomfortably in his seat; here was the start of it. He’d seen it several times before. The moment Hawley got involved, it was offering carte blanche to his wife to attack him.
‘Forgive me if I find it difficult to get worked up over the extraction of someone’s molars,’ she said, not looking at him but smiling fixedly at the Smythsons instead. ‘This is what I have to listen to when he comes in of an evening, you see. Detailed descriptions of the dental health of half of London. He’s such a romantic. Is it any wonder we’ve never had children?’
‘Had a problem with my own teeth a few years back,’ Nicholas said, trying to steer the conversation away from their hosts insulting each other. ‘Easiest thing for it was to get them all pulled out and a false set put in. I haven’t looked back since, have I, Louise? It was painful at the time, of course, but not a twinge since.’
‘Nicholas,’ Louise said quietly, putting her hand on top of his. ‘I really don’t think the Crippens want to hear about that.’
‘Really?’ he asked, looking from one to the other in surprise, as if the rules of decorum had only just dawned on him. ‘Sorry,’ he added, noticing his wife’s irritated look. ‘We fellows, eh?’ he said to Hawley, looking across at him and attempting to draw him into a conspiracy of two. ‘We can’t do right at all, can we?’
‘Hawley can’t, that’s for sure,’ said Cora. ‘He’s useless. Worse than useless.’ She said it with a set smile on her face, as if the whole thing was a terrific joke, only nobody was laughing.
Nicholas coughed to break the silence. ‘I thought that Alec was going to pursue that little thing who was here last time,’ said Louise. ‘He seemed to take a shine to her after all.’
‘What little thing?’
‘That girl who works with Hawley. The mousy creature. With the ugly scar above her lip. What was her name?’
‘Ethel is a decent, respectable sort,’ Hawley said in a flat tone. ‘I very much doubt whether she would be interested in the likes of Alec Heath.’
‘My husband has taken that wretched creature under his wing,’ Cora said in exasperation. ‘I think he believes it makes him appear kind and generous to allow a nobody like her to associate with us. Do you know, he even suggested that we invite her to join our Music Hall Ladies’ Guild.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Louise said quickly, eager not to have another lower-class person in on her recommendation. She was still having to pay off her apologies for Cora.
‘And why not?’ Hawley asked, offended. ‘Would she not be a worthy addition to any society?’
‘I just don’t think she’s the type of woman we’re looking for,’ said Louise, unwilling to be bullied. ‘Nor are we hers, probably.’
‘She’s not our sort, Hawley,’ said Cora.
Louise licked her lips and saw a rare opportunity. ‘Of course, if you feel strongly about it, Cora, perhaps you and she could organize your own chapter. A new society, if you will.’
‘But I don’t feel strongly about it. I entirely agree with you. As I said, she’s not our sort at all.’
‘Certainly not our sort,’ said Louise. ‘Obviously she’s not the type I could introduce to my brother-in-law, Lord Smythson.’
‘Louise,’ Nicholas cautioned her, seeing where she was going with this.
‘But I’ve never met Lord Smythson either,’ Cora pointed out.
‘No, indeed you haven’t.’
‘And Ethel LeNeve and I are hardly in the same class.’
Louise nodded and said nothing for a moment. ‘Of course she does work with your husband,’ she said eventually. ‘They have the same position in life. Which would imply that your attitude to her might be a little condescending, all things considered.’
Cora could feel the blood draining from her face. Although she was well aware of the increasingly frosty relationship between her and the members of the Music Hall Ladies’ Guild, she had no idea why Louise was deliberately provoking her. Of course, she had behaved badly in recent times, but that was only because she had enjoyed too much wine; she had apologized and had promised there would be no further incidents like that. She looked at Nicholas, who instantly stared down at his cards, and then at Hawley. For her part, Louise was a little surprised to hear herself being quite so provocative this early in the evening. The words had seemed to come out of her mouth before she could do anything about them.
‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ Cora demanded after a moment, staring at Hawley as if he was the cause of the insult—which, by his association with Ethel LeNeve, she believed him to be. ‘Aren’t you going to defend me?’
‘Indeed I am,’ he said in a firm voice, leaning forward and pointing a finger at Louise. ‘I think that’s a very unfair thing to say, Louise, I really do. I’m sorry. I realize you’re a guest here, but I have to say it.’
‘Now,’ Cora said smugly, pleased with him.
‘To suggest that Ethel LeNeve is a lower-class person is simply wrong. For your information, she is an educated, intelligent, witty, and extremely personable young lady.’
‘Ethel LeNeve?’ Cora cried, outraged. ‘Ethel LeNeve? You’re defending her? What about me?’
‘Now really, Cora,’ Louise said, laughing gently. ‘There’s no need to get upset about it. I didn’t mean any offence. I think perhaps you’re reading more into what I said than I actually meant.’
‘Well, what did you mean then?’ she asked. ‘It’s hard for me not to feel offended when you mention me in the same breath as that guttersnipe. And you suggest that I’m not good enough to meet your precious family. And I might as well tell you now, don’t think I haven’t felt myself being excluded from social functions.’
‘Social functions? Such as?’
‘Nicholas’s birthday party. I still haven’t received an invitation and I know for a fact that many of the other ladies are going.’
‘It’s a small party,’ Louise protested, willing to give her enough rope to hang herself. ‘For family and close friends only.’
‘And what am I then?’ Cora screeched.
‘A very close friend,’ Louise said, relenting a little in the face of her hysteria. ‘And of course you must come. You’d be very welcome. Both of you would.’
Nicholas agreed, although internally he sighed.
This seemed to calm Cora down a little and they continued to play cards, but the atmosphere had been spoiled and the silence between them all was deafening.
Finally, believing that all was lost anyway, resentment built up inside Cora too much and started to bubble over. ‘Of course, it isn’t me at all that you’re embarrassed by,’ she said finally, the alcohol hitting home again. ‘It’s Hawley. He’s the one you want to be rid of. He’s the one dragging us all down. Obviously I don’t need to bring him with me. I could leave him at home if you prefer.’
‘Cora!’ said Hawley, offended.
‘No, I will say my piece. I’ve had to put up with this long enough. Being dragged down by the likes of you,’ she said, snarling at him, ‘a useless halfwit without an ounce of respectability in his body. Is it any wonder I can’t advance in life when I have you hanging round my neck all the time, weighing me down like an albatross.’
‘Cora, please. Our guests—’
‘They know I’m right,’ she screamed, looking to them for support, but it was not forthcoming. Both Smythsons sat there, stony-faced and rigid. ‘The fact is, I’m in this position because of you. My career has suffered because you have never shown me any support. And you do know why Alec Heath left, don’t you?’ she asked, turning around to stare at Louise. ‘He left because he got tired of listening to Hawley’s whining all day and all night. He loved me. We used to make love all night, you know, when Hawley had gone to sleep.’
‘Cora!’
‘It’s true,’ she said, her words beginning to slur. ‘You know it’s the truth and you just won’t face up to it.’ She giggled and leaned closer to Louise. ‘He caught us once, you know,’ she said, winking at her. ‘Stood in the doorway while Alec had me, and just watched. Probably couldn’t even get it up then. He fails even as a voyeur.’
‘I think we should leave, Nicholas,’ Louise said in a sharp voice, standing up. ‘Please fetch my coat.’
‘No, you should stay,’ Cora said, staring at her as if she had no idea why she could possibly want to go. ‘It’s you who should leave, Hawley. Go on, get out. Louise, Nicholas, you both have to stay. I promise that Hawley won’t spoil anything for us again.’
‘We are leaving, Cora,’ said Louise. ‘And I think this is a disgraceful way to behave in front of respectable people. I’ve never had to listen to profanity like that in my life.’
‘As if I could care less what you think, you jumped-up tart,’ said Cora, changing tack. ‘For God’s sake, I remember you when you were pulling pints down the Cock and Three Bells and dropping your knickers for anyone with a few shillings in their pockets.’
‘Nicholas! My coat! Now!’
‘That’s right. Run away from it. You all run away from the truth. Well, you can all just get out, then, get the hell out, the lot of you,’ she screamed.
The Smythsons wrenched open the front door and stormed through it, Louise pushing Nicholas forcibly down the steps.
‘And you can forget your membership of the Music Hall Ladies’ Guild,’ Louise said as she stood in the street, trying to pull her coat on but putting her right arm into the left sleeve by mistake and becoming confused. ‘Consider it revoked.’
‘Go on, you old tart,’ Cora shouted. ‘There’s probably an old drunk in a gutter somewhere willing to shell out for you. You can earn the money for your cab home.’
She turned back into the living room, wiping a trail of spittle away from her chin, and spied her husband standing there, trembling visibly. ‘And what are you still doing here?’ she asked, going over and hitting him viciously across the head. ‘Go on. Get out. Get out!’ She continued to slap him and punch him until he too was out through the front door and down in the street, looking back at her in dismay. ‘And don’t come back,’ she shouted. ‘I’m finished with you.’
She slammed the door shut and collapsed on the floor. She hated her life. She hated her husband. She hated London. But everything would change now. She had probably lost all her friends. Well, it didn’t matter. Tomorrow morning, she determined, she would get up and pack her bags and leave Hawley for ever. Get out of London and move to somewhere where her talents would finally be appreciated. She marched up the stairs to bed and lay there, unable to sleep for quite some time through her trembling anger.
She had placed a glass of water beside the bed because she always woke in the middle of the night in need of a drink. She was not to know that she would not live to see the morning.
At three o’clock in the morning a light drizzle was falling over London and he was dressed in the same long coat and hat that he had worn the afternoon he had purchased the poison. Since then he had bought some gloves to match his outfit in case this moment ever arose; in truth, he could hardly believe that he was going to go through with it now; it had seemed like a strange but necessary notion when he had planned it originally, but to actually see it through? That was something else. Until the moment came, he wasn’t even sure that he would. But his heart was in the job ahead. Too much had happened to change his mind. Matters had gone too far. The beatings, the screaming matches, the humiliation. And, having found true love for the first time, he didn’t want to lose it now. How could they ever be together while that woman stood in their way? There was only one option. He had to get rid of her.
Something about his aspect as he walked slowly towards 39 Hilldrop Crescent made even the late-night dogs in the street stop their barking and stand still, watching him, as if his demeanour told them that they would do wrong to provoke him with their noise. He was determined; there was no question about that. He felt in his pockets; the left-hand one contained the bottle and a handkerchief; in the right were three solid, sharp knives to finish the deed. His heart beat fast within his chest but somehow he wasn’t afraid. Despite a religious upbringing, he didn’t fear God and he wasn’t worried about retribution. Cora Crippen, he reasoned, was a demon in her own right and had no business remaining on this earth. The happiness of two people depended on her death. Her life brought only sadness and misery to those who surrounded her. Surely, therefore, he was doing a worthwhile thing removing her from the world.
He paused only briefly outside the house and that was to check that the lights were all off inside. The keys were already in his hand, and at first he inserted the wrong one in the lock, struggling with it before finding the one that fitted correctly and opening the door. He held it ajar for a moment without going inside, listening for any sound from within, but there was none to be heard so he stepped in and closed the door gently behind him. He considered taking his coat off and hanging it up in the hallway—after all, this could take some time—but decided against it. The less noise he made right now, the better.
He walked slowly up the stairs, able to hear the sound of his own breathing as he did so, convinced that it would wake the house, and he stopped outside the bedroom door. Taking the bottle out of his pocket, he took the lid off, making sure not to breathe in too deeply as he held it firmly in his grip. Then, placing a gloved hand on the handle of the door, he opened it slowly and stood in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark and staring at the figure within.
Cora was lying in bed, the sheets half pushed off her to reveal her upper body, tossing and turning and murmuring something in her sleep. The drama of the earlier part of the evening had given her difficulty in sleeping at first, and she had only drifted off half an hour before and was still in a fretful doze.
A sliver of moonlight was coming in through the slightly parted curtains and its arc ended on the pale, ghostly skin of Cora’s right elbow. This was it, the last moment when he could turn around and change his mind. Creeping forward, he saw the glass of water beside the bed, half empty, and he poured the entire contents of the bottle into it. Replacing it on the night table, he returned to the doorway and coughed out loud, in order to disturb her sleep.
Her eyes opened slowly and she rubbed at them before raising herself up in the bed and, squinting, looked towards the figure in the doorway.
‘Hawley?’ she asked in a sleepy voice. ‘Is that you?’ His reply was a mere grunt, a clearing of the throat, and before she could focus her eyes on him, he walked away, hiding on the landing, out of sight. ‘Don’t make so much noise, you fool,’ she grunted, her last words. ‘I’m trying to sleep.’
Before settling back on the pillows, she reached across for the glass of water and swallowed its contents in one go. He heard her suddenly wheeze for air, the stop-start sounds as she tried to breathe and failed, and he turned back into the bedroom while she clawed at her throat in pain. Her eyes opened wide as she saw him standing over her and she shook her head, amazed and confused by his presence, while the life slowly drained out of her. Emotionless, he watched as she fell back against the pillows and gave a few more fitful gasps before lying still, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling, a small trickle of water running from the side of her mouth down her right cheek. He gasped in amazement that it was actually over—that she was finally dead—and he felt great strength emerge from within. Nervous, amazed at his own audacity, he reached down and, taking a deep breath, placed his hands beneath her body, lifting her up.
She was heavier than he had ever imagined she would be, and it was a struggle getting her down the stairs. On more than one occasion he thought he was going to slip and drop her and watch her tumble to the ground, where she might break her neck; for a moment he considered throwing her. After all, she was already dead and he could do her no more harm. He reconsidered, however, thinking that the noise of her falling body might wake the neighbours, who could come to investigate. The stairs were narrow, and by the time he reached the downstairs floor he was perspiring heavily and had to put her carefully on the ground in order to recover his breath.
Stepping over to the cellar door, he opened it and peered down, searching for the switch for the single light bulb that showed the way down to the basement. It didn’t offer much light, so he found some candles in the living room and brought them downstairs first, standing them at the back of the cellar, and lit them, creating a circle of light around the area where he was planning on working. Returning to the ground floor, he picked Cora up once again and felt the muscles in his arms cry out in pain as he negotiated the stone steps to the cellar and finally reached the chosen place. He dumped her there in a corner and took a moment to recover his breath.
Removing his jacket, gloves and hat, he took out a small chisel from his pocket and began prising the stone slabs up from their base. There was a layer of sand beneath them and then a grid of wooden slats which led down to a cement base below. In between, however, was an empty area about three inches thick. He lifted up enough panels until he had what he considered to be enough room, and then he returned to the body of Cora Crippen.
He laid her down flat on the ground over the now cleared area and wondered where to begin. He amazed himself by feeling no sense of horror, just urgency. He removed several knives from his pocket and laid them out on the ground. As he did so, a slight murmur seemed to emerge from her mouth and he stared at her in fright. Had he imagined it? Her lips seemed to move and whisper something, so, without giving it any thought, he reached for the sharpest of the knives and slit her throat open, watching in surprise as an empty wound sprang out, before suddenly filling with blood which poured down either side of her neck. A sucking noise came from her epiglottis as her body appeared to make a final desperate bid for air, but it ended quickly. He held her there for several minutes until her throat had bled dry and then he began the task he dreaded most, the necessary task, the only way to get rid of the body once and for all.
He gathered piles of newspapers from the other side of the cellar and left them at a little distance from the body, ready to wrap around their gruesome contents, and then set about amputating her arms and legs. It was a difficult task as the bones and muscles at the hip and shoulder were tougher than he expected them to be. They took some sharp cutting and a strong arm. Nevertheless, within about an hour Cora Crippen’s torso lay there with her limbs in a pile at her side. To his surprise, after the first arm separated, the grotesqueness of the situation no longer bothered him and he worked industriously, rather than with any sense of dread.
Next to go was the head. The throat had already been slit, so a few wellchosen deep stabs around the neck separated it from the body quite easily and he set it aside for the moment. The ground under the body was covered in blood but it was seeping quite easily through the gaps in the flooring and collecting in a pool on the cement below. The cellar floor was perfectly flat, so it settled there, leaving only a thin, dark-red covering behind.
He separated the arms and legs and the elbow and knee joints and then sliced off the hands and feet, wrapping each part in a parcel of newspapers before placing them carefully in the ground. Soon afterwards, there was only the matter of the torso. He sliced through it in an ‘X’ fashion and pulled back the skin, revealing the viscera of the body. Using a serrated-edged knife, he cut out the major organs—heart, liver, kidneys—and laid each of them in its own neat package, which also went underground. The rib cage came next, and it had to be broken and squashed in as otherwise it took up too much space. All that was left then was what remained of the torso, which he carved into four equal pieces, wrapped up carefully, and buried. Finally, he took a bag of sand from the other side of the cellar and poured it over the packages, covering the bloodstained newspapers thoroughly before replacing the panels and stepping heavily on them to press them back into place. Within a few hours of arriving at 39 Hilldrop Crescent, the greater part of Cora Crippen was safely buried in the cellar, which itself looked as if it had hardly been touched at all.
He blew out the candles and took them away, then switched off the single light and closed the cellar, eventually locking the front door of 39 Hill-drop Crescent behind him.
He took the head in a bag with him.
‘Well, that’s that,’ he muttered as he walked away down the street.