Known to the Police

by Thomas Holmes

1. Not one of them exhibited any sense of shame, no matter how disgraceful the attendant circumstances.

2. Not one of them exhibited any nervousness or fear of the consequences.

3. Those who admitted their guilt justified their actions, and appeared to believe that they had done the right thing.

4. Those who denied their guilt, denied it with cool and positive assurance, and denied it to the last with almost contempt, as if the charge was more an insult than anything serious.

5. None of them betrayed the slightest sorrow.

6. Every one of them appeared of sound mind so far as reasoning powers were concerned, for they were quite lucid, and remarkably quick to see a point in their favour.

7. None of them were fully able to realize the position in which they stood, as ordinary people must have realized it.

Of course, everyone will admit that the man or woman who can plan and carry out a murder, whether that murder is likely to be detected or not, is not, and cannot be, a normal person; but what we require to know is where they depart from the normal, and how and why they depart from the normal.

I would like to say that the particulars just given are the results not only of my observation of prisoners when in the dock, but also of many personal and private conversations with them. In a word, I do not consider that any of these prisoners were thoroughly sane. It may be said—it is often said—that in human nature "we find what we look for," and there is truth in the saying; but when trying to understand these people, I had not the slightest idea of what I was seeking. I knew there must be some cause that led to the crime, something out of the ordinary in their minds, but what it was and how to find it was more than I could tell. So I have watched, have talked and listened. For these prisoners were always ready to talk: there was no secrecy with them, excepting with regard to the crime; otherwise they were talkative enough. It takes some time and patience to discover whether or not in people there is a suspicion of brain trouble. They appear so natural that several lengthened conversations may be required before anything at all is revealed. I trust that it will not be thought that I am betraying confidences that poor wretches have given to me, for no prisoner, guilty or innocent, ever confided in me without such confidences being considered sacred; but as their cases are not of recent date, no harm can be done, and possibly good may ensue, if I give some particulars that I gained regarding their mental peculiarities. Being anxious to ascertain how far my experience was confirmed by the experience of others, quite recently I put a question to the chaplain of one of our largest prisons, and whose experience was much greater than my own in this particular direction. I asked him whether he had ever known anyone who was about to suffer the death penalty for a premeditated and cleverly contrived murder exhibit any sense of remorse, sorrow, or fear. His answer was exactly what I expected—"that he had performed his last sad offices for a considerable number of such prisoners, and that he had discovered neither fear nor remorse in any of them; with one exception, they all denied their guilt." I want it to be perfectly clear that I am speaking now about murderers who committed premeditated crimes that had been cleverly carried out, impromptu murders not being considered.

I now propose to give a sufficient number of examples to prove my point. In a poor street within two hundred yards of my own door I had frequently seen a beautiful boy of about four years old. His appearance, his clothing, his cleanliness, and even his speech, told unmistakably that he was not belonging to the poor. I knew the old people that he lived with, and felt quite sure that it was not owing to their exertions that he was so beautifully dressed and kept so spotlessly clean, for they were old, feeble, and very poor. But the old people had a daughter living with them, and it was the daughter who had charge of the child, for the little fellow was a "nurse-child." Good payment must have been given for the care of the child, for it was the only source of income for the household. The foster-mother was devoted to the boy, and he reflected every credit upon her love and care. Many times when I have met them I have spoken a cheery word to the little fellow, never dreaming of the coming tragedy, or that I should meet his real mother and discuss his death with her. The dead body of a boy between four and five years of age had been discovered in the women's lavatory of a North London railway-station. Without doubt the child had been ruthlessly murdered. His head had been smashed; his face was crushed beyond recognition. A calcined brick lay close by the body, and had evidently been used for perpetrating the deed. No other trace of the murder was forthcoming, and the body was taken to the nearest mortuary. Meanwhile the foster-mother and her aged parents were mourning the loss of the bonny boy, for the boy's mother had taken him from them that he might begin his education in a boarding-school for young children at Brighton. They had learned to love the child, and now he was gone. The old people missed him sadly, and the nurse-mother wept for him. The house seemed so dull without him. The murder occurred on a Saturday. On one of the early days of the ensuing week a neighbour chanced to tell the nurse-mother that she had read in a Sunday paper about the discovery of a child's mangled body at a North London railway-station, and also that the body remained unidentified at the mortuary. Although the nurse had not the slightest suspicion—for on the Saturday morning she had accompanied the boy and his mother to London Bridge, where tickets had been taken for Brighton, and the nurse had seen them safely on the correct platform and the train waiting—yet the loss of her nurse-child had so affected her that she wept as her neighbour told her of the newspaper account, and they went together to the mortuary, which was some miles away, to see the "other little dear." It was some years before the nurse recovered from the shock she sustained on her visit to the mortuary, for the mangled and disfigured body was that of her late charge—her "dear Manfred." I question whether even now she has recovered, for several times I know that she has been ill, and sometimes when I have been sent for, she seemed likely to lose her reason, the one and only thing that occupied her mind being the tragic discovery of her dear boy's maimed body. But the child's mother undoubtedly went to Brighton on that particular Saturday afternoon. She intended to go to Brighton, not for the purpose of placing her child in a school, but for another purpose by no means so praiseworthy, yet for a purpose that was esteemed by her a sufficient justification for the murder of the child. She had lured a young man into a promise to spend the week-end with her at Brighton, and some reason had to be found and given for her visit. Placing the child in a suitable school seemed a sufficient reason, so the nurse was instructed to get the boy's clothing ready and accompany her to London Bridge. This was accordingly done, and the nurse returned home, fully believing that the boy and his mother were on the way to Brighton. But the mother did not go to Brighton by that train. She allowed it to go without her, and when the nurse was safely away she left the platform, saying that she had missed it, but would return and go by a later train. She then took a bus for Broad Street Station, there taking a return ticket for Dalston, where she alighted. The lavatory in question was on the platform, consequently she did not pass the ticket-barrier. After accomplishing her object with the brick I have referred to, and which she had carried in her reticule all day for the purpose—for she had taken it from the garden of the house where she lived—she returned to Broad Street, giving her correct ticket up, and then on to London Bridge and Brighton early enough to meet the young man, who was about half her own age, and who spent the week-end with her.