Contents (33)
- Collected Stories
- Ruth Rendell
- Acknowledgement
- The Fallen Curtain
- The Fallen Curtain
- People Don’t Do Such Things
- A Bad Heart
- You Can’t Be Too Careful
- The Double
- The Venus Fly Trap
- The Clinging Woman
- The Vinegar Mother
- The Fall of a Coin
- Almost Human
- Divided We Stand
- Means of Evil
- Means of Evil
- Old Wives’ Tales
- Ginger and the Kingsmarkham Chalk Circle
- Achilles Heel
- When the Wedding Was Over
- The Fever Tree
- The Fever Tree
- The Dreadful Day of Judgement
- A Glowing Future
- An Outside Interest
- A Case of Coincidence
- Thornapple
- May and June
- A Needle for the Devil
- Front Seat
- Paintbox Place
- The Wrong Category
Did Norah Lestrange walk all the way to Wrexlade or did someone give her a lift and for reasons unknown abandon her there? She could have walked, it is no more than two miles from the Murrey Gryphon to the spot where her body was found half an hour before midnight. Miss Hallam Saul suggests that she was friendly with a second man in the Chelmsford neighbourhood and, in the absence of Vandepeer, set off to meet him that evening. Unlikely though that seems, similar suggestions were put forward in court. It was as if they all said, a woman like that, a woman so immoral, so promiscuous, so lacking in all proper feeling, a woman like that will do anything.
Her body was found by two young Wrexlade men going home after an evening spent at the White Swan on the Ladeley-Wrexlade road. They phoned the police from the call box on the opposite side of the lane, and the first place the police went to, because it was the nearest habitation, was the Brannels’ cottage. Norah Lestrange’s body lay half-hidden in long grass on the verge by the bridge over the river Lade, and the Brannels’ home, Lade Cottage, was a hundred yards the other side of the bridge. They went there initially only to ask the occupants if they had seen or heard anything untoward that evening.
Old Brannel came down in his nightshirt with a coat over it. He hadn’t been asleep when the police came, he said, he had been awakened a few minutes before by his son coming in. The detective superintendent looked at Kenneth Edward Brannel, at his huge dangling hands, as he stood leaning against the wall, his eyes bewildered, his mouth a little open. No, he couldn’t say where he had been, round and about, up and down, he couldn’t say more.
They searched the house, although they had no warrant. Much was made of this by the defence at the trial. In Kenneth Brannel’s bedroom, in the drawer of the tallboy, they found Wendy Cutforth’s bracelet, Maureen Hunter’s lock of red hair, Ann Daly’s green silk scarf, and the handkerchief with M on it for Mary Trenthyde. The Wrexlade Monster had been caught at last. They cautioned Brannel and charged him and he looked at them in a puzzled way and said: ‘I don’t think I killed the lady. I don’t remember. But maybe I did, I forget things and it’s like a mist comes up . . .’
Michael Lestrange was told of the death of his wife in the early hours of the morning. Their purpose in coming to him was to tell him the news and ask him if he would later go with them to Chelmsford formally to identify his wife’s body. They asked him no questions and would have expressed their sympathy and left him in peace, had he not declared that it was he who had killed Norah and that he wanted to make a full confession.