Murder of the Black Museum 1875-1975: The Dark Secrets Behind a Hundred Years of the Most Notorious Crimes in England

by Honeycombe, Gordon

  Such a one was Mrs Margery Gardner, a thirty-two-year-old film extra. She had rather masochistic tendencies, her bent being flagellation and bondage. With this, it seems, in mind, in May 1946 she went with a good-looking, well-built and gentlemanly younger man to the Pembridge Court Hotel in Notting Hill Gate, where she was saved from a fate worse than flogging by the intrusion of a hotel detective.

  Some weeks before this another woman, naked and bound as Margery Gardner had been, was saved in a hotel in the Strand by a similar intervention prompted by her screams. This woman later refused to prefer charges, presumably to avoid appearing in court and to escape the ensuing publicity.

  On the other hand, Yvonne Symonds, who had no predilection for bondage or anything of the sort – or indeed even any knowledge of such things – was saved a few weeks later when she spent a night in a hotel room with the same man by what one can only suppose was her own innocence and trust.

  Yvonne Symonds was nineteen. She was staying at the Overseas Club, and on Saturday, 15 June 1946, she went to a WRNS dance in Chelsea. There she chanced to meet a charming army officer in civvies who called himself Lt Col Heath. He was ten years older than she, quite young to be a colonel, but it was possible for him to have achieved such a rank in the war. He took her to the Panama Club in South Kensington and then back to the Overseas Club. Much enamoured of him, she spent most of Sunday in his company and agreed, after he made a proposal of marriage, to spend the night with him at the Pembridge Court Hotel, 34 Pembridge Gardens, Notting Hill Gate. He booked them in as ‘Lt Col and Mrs NGC Heath’. Nothing untoward happened to her in Room 4, despite Heath’s recent and frustrating experiences with the lady in the Strand hotel and with Mrs Gardner.

  None the worse, the next day she returned to her parents’ home in Worthing, leaving Heath alone in the hotel. He telephoned her in Worthing several times and amused himself in unknown ways on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. He also telephoned Margery Gardner, and as fate would have it she agreed to see him on Thursday, 20 June.

  That night they visited the Panama Club in Cromwell Place and left just after midnight, getting a taxi back to Pembridge Gardens. Both were the worse for drink. Heath took a minute or so to count out the fare – 1s 9d, to which he added 5d – and then walked off towards the Pembridge Court Hotel with his arm round his companion’s waist. The taxi driver, Harold Harter, later recalled that Heath wore a grey, pin-striped suit and that Mrs Gardner had a tight-fitting hat and a three-quarter tweed coat. To the man on the door at the Panama Club she had seemed ‘rather dowdy’.

  Mrs Margery Aimée Brownell Gardner, three years older than Heath, led what was then known as a bohemian life. Married before the war, she had recently separated from her husband and was occasionally employed as a film extra. Heath, who had stayed twice before at the hotel under the name of Lt Col Armstrong, let himself into the nineteen-bedroom hotel with a front door key – there was no night porter – and took Mrs Gardner up to Room 4 on the first floor: it had two single beds. The occupants of three other adjacent bedrooms slept on, undisturbed by any sound.

  The following afternoon, a chambermaid, receiving no answer to her knocking, went into the unlocked room. The curtains were drawn; both beds were disordered; and a body under the bedclothes of one so alarmed her that the assistant manageress was fetched. Mrs Alice Wyatt entered the room and drew back the curtains.

  When she recovered from her shock and horror at seeing the state of the body in the bed nearest the door, the police were called. Sergeant Fred Averill walked over from Notting Hill police station, arriving at the hotel at about 2.35 pm.

  The naked body of Margery Gardner lay on her back under the bedclothes, her right arm underneath her. Her ankles were tied tightly together with a handkerchief, and her hands had also been tied behind her back. This was later deduced from the marks on her wrists, although the ligature was missing – as was the material with which she seemed to have been gagged and which would have stifled her screams. Her face and chin were bruised, as if she had been hit by a fist and as if a hand had gripped her jaw to prevent her opening her mouth or moving her head. She had been scourged seventeen times by something that had left a criss-cross diamond-like pattern on her face (twice) and on her front and back. Her breasts had been bitten and the nipples nearly bitten off. In addition, some rough instrument had been thrust up her vagina and fiercely rotated, causing much bleeding. All these injuries had been inflicted before her death, which had been caused by suffocation – either by the gag, a pillow, or the bed clothes, or by having her head, face down, pressed into a pillow.

  There were many bloodstains in the bedroom, especially on the sheets of the other disordered bed by the window. This suggested that the main injuries had been inflicted there, and that the woman’s body had been moved.

  Her face had been washed, but there was still some dried blood caught in her nostrils and in the lashes of her left eye. There was no evidence that any intercourse had taken place. The handkerchief that bound her ankles was embroidered with a ‘K’ and marked ‘L Kearns’. But this clue was later found to be misleading and the handkerchief’s owner had nothing to do with Mrs Gardner’s death.

  That morning, Friday, 21 June, Neville Heath telephoned his unofficial fiancée in Worthing and travelled down by train to see her. He and Yvonne had lunch together and he booked himself a room at the Ocean Hotel. Miss Symonds met him again the following morning, when he mentioned a murder in London that was featured in the morning papers. He said he would tell her something about it later. She introduced him to her parents and they all went to the local golf club. That night, he took Yvonne out for dinner at the Blue Peter Club in Angmering. During the meal she said: ‘Look here, you told me you were going to tell me more about that murder.’ He obliged.

  ‘He told me,’ she said later, ‘that it happened in the room he booked at the Pembridge Court Hotel.’ The amazed Miss Symonds heard that he had actually seen the body – ‘a very gruesome sight’, he said – and that he had met the victim earlier in the evening and lent her his keys; she had had a man with her and they had nowhere else to go. He had slept elsewhere. He told her Inspector Barratt had telephoned him at this other place, had picked him up and had taken him to the hotel where he was shown the body. She continued: ‘He said Mr Barratt had said he thought she had been suffocated … that a poker had been used on her … had been stuck up her … had probably killed her.’ Heath seemed concerned about the victim. He said that the sort of person who could do a thing like that must be ‘a sexual maniac’. After dinner, he escorted Yvonne back to her home.

  The Sunday morning papers were full of the murder, and Miss Symonds’s parents were most distressed to read that Scotland Yard wished to interview a six-foot man named ‘Neville George Clevely Heath’, aged twenty-nine. Their daughter anxiously telephoned her fiancé at the Ocean Hotel. She told him her parents were rather worried by what they had read. ‘Yes, I thought they would be,’ he replied. He reassured her, saying he was going back to London to talk to the police and would telephone her that evening. He never did, and fortunately for Miss Symonds she never heard from him or saw him again until she gave evidence at the West London magistrates’ court and then at the Old Bailey.

  Neville Heath left Worthing that Sunday afternoon and took a train to Bournemouth. Before he left he posted a letter that he had begun, or written, the day before. It was addressed to Chief Inspector Barratt of New Scotland Yard, and arrived at the Yard on Monday, 24 June. The letter, signed ‘NGC Heath’, embellished what he had told Miss Symonds, excluding any reference to Barratt himself. Heath said that he had lent his hotel keys to Mrs Gardner, who had met an acquaintance ‘with whom she was obliged to sleep’ for financial reasons. Mrs Gardner, he said, intimated to him that if he returned after 2 am he might spend the remainder of the night with her. He did so, he said, and on his return ‘found her in the condition of which you are aware. I realised that I was in an invidious position, and rather than notify the po
lice, I packed my belongings and left.’ He then described Mrs Gardner’s acquaintance, called Jack, and ended: ‘I have the instrument with which Mrs Gardner was beaten and am forwarding this to you today.’

  This he neglected to do, and the police neglected to provide the newspapers with any photo of him – with the result that he was able to stay at the Tollard Royal Hotel in Bournemouth for thirteen days without attracting much attention, other than that he was over-familiar with the head porter and seemed to have nothing other than a light-brown sports jacket, flannel trousers and some shirts to wear.

  He arrived at the hotel on the evening of Sunday, 23 June, calling himself Group Captain Rupert Brooke. The hotel was on the West Cliff, overlooking the sea. He was given Room 71, and was moved on 27 June to Room 81 on the second floor as he wanted a room with a gas fire; he complained of being cold. Room 4 at the Pembridge Court Hotel had also had a gas fire but, according to the manageress there, a poker had not been part of the furnishings. Otherwise, according to the Tollard Royal’s head porter, Heath was just like any other male guest, reading, drinking beer and going out at night to shows and dances. There was also dancing at the hotel twice a week.

  Ten days passed without apparent incident, except that Heath met a girl called Peggy at a dance at the Pavilion. On the morning of Wednesday, 3 July, he was sitting on the promenade under the West Cliff when he saw her again, walking along the front with another girl. He joined them, and when Peggy left in about half an hour he asked the other girl, Doreen Marshall, who was staying at the Norfolk Hotel, to have tea with him that afternoon. She was twenty-one. Heath later told the police something of what happened that afternoon and that night:

  I met her along the promenade about 2.45 pm in the afternoon, and after a short stroll we went to the Tollard Royal for tea at about 3.45. The conversation was fairly general and covered the fact that she had served in the WRNS. She mentioned the fact that she had been ill, with influenza, and was down in Bournemouth to recuperate. She left the hotel at about 5.45 after accepting my invitation to dinner in the evening. At approximately 7.15 I was standing outside the hotel when I saw Miss Marshall approaching the hotel on foot down West Hill Road. [She had, in fact, left the Norfolk Hotel in a taxi.] I entered the hotel, went to my room to get some tobacco and came downstairs again just as she was entering the lounge. We dined at about 8.15 pm and sat talking in the lounge after dinner, moving into the writing room at about 10 pm. [His timings were vague as he had no wristwatch.]

  The conversation was again general but she told me she was considering cutting short her holiday in Bournemouth and returning home (to Pinner) on Friday instead of Monday. She mentioned an American staying in the hotel (her hotel) and told me that he had taken her for car rides into the country and to Poole. She also mentioned an invitation to go with him to Exeter, but I gathered, although she did not actually say so, that she did not intend to go. Another American was mentioned – I believe his name was Pat – to whom I believe she was unofficially engaged some while ago … Conversation continued general until approximately 11.30 pm. At 11 pm (approx) Miss Marshall suggested going away, but I persuaded her to stay a little longer. At about 11.30 pm the weather was clear and we left the hotel and sat on a seat near the hotel overlooking the sea.

  The night porter, who had served them with drinks, thought that Miss Marshall seemed tired and pale and a little distressed. It seems she asked another hotel guest to order a taxi for her and that Heath countermanded this, saying he would walk her home. When they left just after midnight, he told the porter he would be back in half an hour. ‘No, in quarter of an hour,’ said Miss Marshall. Hatless, she was wearing a black frock and a yellow camel-hair coat and carried a handbag. Around her neck was a single string of twenty-eight pearls. She was 5 ft 3 in tall.

  According to Heath, they walked down towards the Pavilion and he left her at the pier, from where she headed back to the Norfolk Hotel in Richmond Hill through the public gardens. He said he returned to his hotel on foot via Durley Chine, west of the hotel – a very circuitous route. ‘It rained heavily before I reached the hotel,’ he said. He continued: ‘I guessed that the night porter would be waiting for me to come in, and as a ladder had that day been placed up against my window, I decided to practise a small deception on him, and entered my hotel bedroom via the ladder.’

  So he did, and there he was, asleep in bed, when the night porter, wondering whether the playful group captain was in or not, peeped into Room 81 at 4.30 am. He noticed that Mr Brooke’s shoes outside the door were caked with sand.

  The following morning, Heath joked about his little deception with the staff. He continued to stay at the hotel, his manner and appearance unchanged apart from the fact that he had a couple of scratch marks on his neck, took to wearing a scarf, and for once paid for his drinks in cash.

  On Friday, 5 July the manager of the Norfolk Hotel notified the police that Miss Marshall had been missing for two days. He also telephoned the Tollard Royal manager, Mr Relf, as he believed she had dined there the previous Wednesday.

  On Saturday morning, about 10.15 am, Mr Relf asked Group Captain Brooke whether his dinner guest on Wednesday had been a Miss Marshall from Pinner. Heath laughed this off, saying: ‘Oh, no. I’ve known that lady for a long while, and she certainly doesn’t come from Pinner!’ The manager suggested nonetheless that Mr Brooke should get in touch with the police.

  He did so, telephoning Bournemouth police station within half an hour. The officer in charge of the case was out, so Heath said he would phone again. He did so at half-past three and spoke to DC Souter, who asked him if he would come and look at a photograph of the missing Miss Marshall. Heath agreed, and arranged to visit the police station at 5.30 pm.

  There he happened to meet Doreen’s father and sister, who had travelled to Bournemouth from London. He consoled them, looked at Miss Marshall’s photo, and was able to say that the girl with whom he had dined was indeed the missing girl. As he gave an account of his dealings with her, DC Souter was struck by the group captain’s resemblance to the photo of a man wanted for murder that had been circulated by Scotland Yard. He told his superiors about his suspicions and suggested to Rupert Brooke that his real name was Neville Heath. Although the group captain denied this, he was detained in the police station by delaying tactics until DI George Gates saw him at about 6.30 pm. Heath was searched. £4 10s was found on him in notes and cash. It was later established that he had pawned Doreen Marshall’s ring for £5 on Friday and her watch for £3 on Saturday morning.

  When Heath was told he was being officially detained for further questions, he complained of feeling chilly and asked if he could get his jacket from the Tollard Royal: he was wearing a buttoned-up tieless flannel shirt and flannel trousers. He said he would come back. DI Gates fetched the jacket himself.

  It was searched at the police station in front of Heath. In a pocket was found a cloakroom ticket issued at Bournemouth West railway station on 23 June, as well as a single artificial pearl and the return half of a first-class railway ticket from Bournemouth to London, which had belonged to Doreen Marshall. Heath said he found it on a seat in the lounge of the Tollard Royal. Gates then went to the railway station to claim the luggage Heath had left there. It turned out to be a suitcase.

  Inside was some clothing: a mackintosh, a hat, and other articles marked with the name ‘Heath’. There was also a blue neckerchief and a dark blue woollen scarf, both bloodstained, the latter with several hairs stuck to it that had come from Margery Gardner’s head. Finally, there was a leather-bound riding switch, with a striking criss-cross weave. Where the end had worn away, a bunch of wire filaments was exposed. The switch had been washed or wiped, but some blood still remained on it.

  At about 9.45 pm, DI Gates told Heath he knew who he was and that he would be further detained until officers of the Metropolitan Police arrived to interview him in connection with the murder of Mrs Gardner. ‘Oh, all right,’ said Heath.

  He began
writing out a carefully worded statement at about half-past eleven, finishing it at 2.45 am on 7 July. That same day, Detective Inspector Reg Spooner arrived in Bournemouth and followed up the investigations already made by the Bournemouth police. He eventually saw Heath in the early hours of Monday, 8 July, at about 5.20 am. Heath said: ‘I will make a statement after I’ve had some sleep.’ He was taken by car to London a few hours later. That evening he was charged with the murder of Margery Gardner but declared: ‘I have nothing to say at the moment.’

  About the time that he was charged, the body of Doreen Marshall was found. Earlier the same day a young woman, Miss Evans, out exercising her black spaniel dog in Branksome Chine after returning home from work, noticed a swarm of flies in some rhododendron bushes. Later, after reading a newspaper account of the missing girl, she discussed her suspicions with her father over their evening meal. Mr Evans was intrigued. At about eight o’clock, he and his daughter visited the chine and found the body. By half-past eight, the find had been reported to the police.

  Branksome Dene Chine is a deep wooded valley running inland from the sea, about a mile west of what used to be the Tollard Royal Hotel, in the opposite direction from the pier and the Norfolk Hotel. It can be reached by a long walk past three other chines, along the seafront under the cliffs. The body was found some distance away from the beach, to the right of a path in a subsidiary chine, dumped in some thick rhododendron bushes and covered first with the victim’s clothes, the black dress and the yellow coat, and then with a fir-tree bough. The body, naked except for a left shoe, had apparently been moved a short distance: bloodstains and a broken string of pearls were found some twenty feet away, and nearby was a torn stocking. Another stocking was found high up in some bushes, and a blue powder compact 70 yards south of where Doreen Marshall’s body lay.